(no subject)
Title: Bones
Fandom: X-Men (movieverse)
Pairing: Wolverine/Angel
Challenge/Prompt: 30randomkisses, 014. Inch
Rating: Hard PG-15
Genre: Slash
Summary: Blonde hair, blue eyes, whiter than white feathers- the world’s fallen apart and they have their own angel for judgement day.
Warnings: Spoilers for X3: The Last Stand, kinda violence.
Author’s Notes: Wolverine/Angel hatesex. I’m not sure why I’ve wanted to write this since seeing the film, but I have, and now it exists. Look at that.
There’s something about the shyness, the excellent education, the burdened-by-power martyrdom that reminds Logan of Scott. “More like a mouse than a bird” he remarks once, just to watch the boy blush. Blonde hair, blue eyes, whiter than white feathers- the world’s fallen apart and they have their own angel for judgement day.
(Go ahead then, Logan thinks, judge me.)
It was Jean that killed Scott and he himself that killed Jean. Logan knows that Worthington and his father’s pharmaceutical company are not at all to blame for the deaths of the two people he loved more than life (maybe not his life; but more than someone’s life). But the kid is to blame for Rogue and the brush of her bare fingers along Bobby’s arm, for the normal life she has wrapped around herself like a protective cloak from the way she used to be. And because of that simple fact, Warren Worthington III will get the blame for everything.
Logan despises boys who live under their fathers’ cold and far-reaching shadows. Perhaps it’s because he himself lacks a father and a family name to uphold and honour, but it’s probably more the weakness and vulnerability, the uncertainty that they show in themselves that makes him angry. The angel that tried to cut off his own wings to keep his family happy. Logan hates that weakness, and it’s yet another reason why the Worthington boy is only fit to be his scapegoat.
The wings look so soft, so genteel, like to touch them would be the smoothest thing imaginable. They further add to Logan’s belief that the kid is beautiful and worthless and helpless and will die in the first scrap they get into, and good riddance. No one needs a pretty boy with expensive clothes (slit at the back to allow his wings to be free, the vision haunting Logan to an incomprehensible degree), drifting around the mansion, speaking so little and reminding Logan of everything he no longer has.
But then one of those wings brushes past him in the Danger Room, knocking him down and cutting his face because those incredible feathers are also deceptively sharp. He’s on his feet healing in seconds, and swears he sees the angel wink.
It’s about then that Logan realises that Storm’s new Golden Boy, the quietly-spoken little rich kid who honestly looks like he’s never left home in his life, is teasing him. Or at least, is under the impression that he’s teasing him.
Later on, Logan bites the shoulderblade above the left wing until he draws blood, and likes the way the wings flutter like a caged bird with every thrust, Worthington’s fingers spread on the wall and quivering like he’s in shock and Logan thinks about saying you wanted this but that would mean having to acknowledge that maybe he wanted this a little too, and he doesn’t; it’s punishment. Penance.
He leaves the angel, fallen from grace and maybe something else, shivering and still against the wall of his room, blood and come trickling down the back of bruised thighs, blood on his wings, and Logan vaguely wonders whether he’ll cry when the door closes and wonders even more vaguely if the boy cares enough to cry.
He comes back though. Logan isn’t quite expecting that. But Worthington comes back for a second go and a third and after that they both lose count except the bruises multiply and the wings no longer quiver as they spread themselves as obediently as their owner does.
He is not Scott but one day Logan considers that the boy’s had a lot to go through, wings buried hard under his clothes, considering himself dirty and tainted and trying to slice himself open as a kid. He’s still got the scars on his shoulders. Logan’s bitten them open by now, drawn fresh blood, but they’re still there, like nothing will erase them. They’re all so damaged and no matter what bills are passed and no matter how much tolerance is preached they won’t be safe or accepted.
(He wonders vaguely if this makes him God; getting an angel to spread for him, getting an angel to act like a whore merely to keep him quiet or satisfied or something.)
Logan is more surprised when Angel grabs his shoulders, holding him still for a moment, managing to meet his eyes. There’s surprising determination in those baby blues, and Logan wants to laugh that this kid thinks that he has something on him, has an inch on him. He’ll never own him. He won’t let him.
And then the kid’s mouth is on his.
Logan considers pushing him away, but he doesn’t and it’s a moment of weakness. Give them an inch and they’ll take a mile but Worthington’s hands are cupping the back of Logan’s head and for a moment he wonders if Angel will actually snap his neck. Logan will heal and a point will have been proved and he can feel the muscles straining in those surprisingly strong arms. An idea occurs to him. Birds have light bones to fly; boy must have light bones too. Easily breakable. One squeeze and the whole thing will shatter; he’ll never be able to use that hand again. Pulped and dead. Much better point to be proved.
He bites down on the Angel’s lower lip until he tastes blood.
The kid pulls back but he isn’t afraid and he’s smiling even though he’s bleeding and for one astonishing moment Logan honestly can’t work out who’s won, until he decides to forcibly remind them both that he’ll always be the victor, spinning Warren around until he’s pressed into the wall and silently begging, because Logan will never give that inch to anyone. Never.
Logan knows that he shouldn’t be touched by people unprepared for the metal under his skin, for the hatred and danger and sadism that runs miles deep, beyond his control. For the wolf buried in Logan’s claws, his teeth, his bare[ly trembling] hands. The angel isn’t ready, he knows that, but he is deceptively strong, lengthening blonde hair falling into his eyes. Laughing and gasping breathlessly at the feeling of Logan pounding relentlessly, mercilessly into him. This kid needs to be punished, wants this to a masochistic degree that Logan is barely capable of ever understanding, and he wants to stop giving the boy what he wants, but he can’t and they both know that.
He pushes in harder, deeper, wanting Worthington to feel this tomorrow when he walks, when he sits, when he sleeps, when he comes back for more. Wants him to remember that whatever he does, he’ll never get Logan to like him.
Fandom: X-Men (movieverse)
Pairing: Wolverine/Angel
Challenge/Prompt: 30randomkisses, 014. Inch
Rating: Hard PG-15
Genre: Slash
Summary: Blonde hair, blue eyes, whiter than white feathers- the world’s fallen apart and they have their own angel for judgement day.
Warnings: Spoilers for X3: The Last Stand, kinda violence.
Author’s Notes: Wolverine/Angel hatesex. I’m not sure why I’ve wanted to write this since seeing the film, but I have, and now it exists. Look at that.
There’s something about the shyness, the excellent education, the burdened-by-power martyrdom that reminds Logan of Scott. “More like a mouse than a bird” he remarks once, just to watch the boy blush. Blonde hair, blue eyes, whiter than white feathers- the world’s fallen apart and they have their own angel for judgement day.
(Go ahead then, Logan thinks, judge me.)
It was Jean that killed Scott and he himself that killed Jean. Logan knows that Worthington and his father’s pharmaceutical company are not at all to blame for the deaths of the two people he loved more than life (maybe not his life; but more than someone’s life). But the kid is to blame for Rogue and the brush of her bare fingers along Bobby’s arm, for the normal life she has wrapped around herself like a protective cloak from the way she used to be. And because of that simple fact, Warren Worthington III will get the blame for everything.
Logan despises boys who live under their fathers’ cold and far-reaching shadows. Perhaps it’s because he himself lacks a father and a family name to uphold and honour, but it’s probably more the weakness and vulnerability, the uncertainty that they show in themselves that makes him angry. The angel that tried to cut off his own wings to keep his family happy. Logan hates that weakness, and it’s yet another reason why the Worthington boy is only fit to be his scapegoat.
The wings look so soft, so genteel, like to touch them would be the smoothest thing imaginable. They further add to Logan’s belief that the kid is beautiful and worthless and helpless and will die in the first scrap they get into, and good riddance. No one needs a pretty boy with expensive clothes (slit at the back to allow his wings to be free, the vision haunting Logan to an incomprehensible degree), drifting around the mansion, speaking so little and reminding Logan of everything he no longer has.
But then one of those wings brushes past him in the Danger Room, knocking him down and cutting his face because those incredible feathers are also deceptively sharp. He’s on his feet healing in seconds, and swears he sees the angel wink.
It’s about then that Logan realises that Storm’s new Golden Boy, the quietly-spoken little rich kid who honestly looks like he’s never left home in his life, is teasing him. Or at least, is under the impression that he’s teasing him.
Later on, Logan bites the shoulderblade above the left wing until he draws blood, and likes the way the wings flutter like a caged bird with every thrust, Worthington’s fingers spread on the wall and quivering like he’s in shock and Logan thinks about saying you wanted this but that would mean having to acknowledge that maybe he wanted this a little too, and he doesn’t; it’s punishment. Penance.
He leaves the angel, fallen from grace and maybe something else, shivering and still against the wall of his room, blood and come trickling down the back of bruised thighs, blood on his wings, and Logan vaguely wonders whether he’ll cry when the door closes and wonders even more vaguely if the boy cares enough to cry.
He comes back though. Logan isn’t quite expecting that. But Worthington comes back for a second go and a third and after that they both lose count except the bruises multiply and the wings no longer quiver as they spread themselves as obediently as their owner does.
He is not Scott but one day Logan considers that the boy’s had a lot to go through, wings buried hard under his clothes, considering himself dirty and tainted and trying to slice himself open as a kid. He’s still got the scars on his shoulders. Logan’s bitten them open by now, drawn fresh blood, but they’re still there, like nothing will erase them. They’re all so damaged and no matter what bills are passed and no matter how much tolerance is preached they won’t be safe or accepted.
(He wonders vaguely if this makes him God; getting an angel to spread for him, getting an angel to act like a whore merely to keep him quiet or satisfied or something.)
Logan is more surprised when Angel grabs his shoulders, holding him still for a moment, managing to meet his eyes. There’s surprising determination in those baby blues, and Logan wants to laugh that this kid thinks that he has something on him, has an inch on him. He’ll never own him. He won’t let him.
And then the kid’s mouth is on his.
Logan considers pushing him away, but he doesn’t and it’s a moment of weakness. Give them an inch and they’ll take a mile but Worthington’s hands are cupping the back of Logan’s head and for a moment he wonders if Angel will actually snap his neck. Logan will heal and a point will have been proved and he can feel the muscles straining in those surprisingly strong arms. An idea occurs to him. Birds have light bones to fly; boy must have light bones too. Easily breakable. One squeeze and the whole thing will shatter; he’ll never be able to use that hand again. Pulped and dead. Much better point to be proved.
He bites down on the Angel’s lower lip until he tastes blood.
The kid pulls back but he isn’t afraid and he’s smiling even though he’s bleeding and for one astonishing moment Logan honestly can’t work out who’s won, until he decides to forcibly remind them both that he’ll always be the victor, spinning Warren around until he’s pressed into the wall and silently begging, because Logan will never give that inch to anyone. Never.
Logan knows that he shouldn’t be touched by people unprepared for the metal under his skin, for the hatred and danger and sadism that runs miles deep, beyond his control. For the wolf buried in Logan’s claws, his teeth, his bare[ly trembling] hands. The angel isn’t ready, he knows that, but he is deceptively strong, lengthening blonde hair falling into his eyes. Laughing and gasping breathlessly at the feeling of Logan pounding relentlessly, mercilessly into him. This kid needs to be punished, wants this to a masochistic degree that Logan is barely capable of ever understanding, and he wants to stop giving the boy what he wants, but he can’t and they both know that.
He pushes in harder, deeper, wanting Worthington to feel this tomorrow when he walks, when he sits, when he sleeps, when he comes back for more. Wants him to remember that whatever he does, he’ll never get Logan to like him.