Shears: Chapter 3/? [NC-17; Logan/Scott]
Title: Shears
Author: worblehat
Genre: X-Men
Pairing: Logan/Scott
Rating: NC-17 overall
Disclaimer: These characters probably belong to Marvel. Not me.
Notes: Work-In-Progress!
Summary: A reluctant story of a man with heightened senses, who is saved most unwillingly (if he'd been awake at the time). Logan/Scott, adult-rated overall. Angst-filled, for your pleasure. ;) Sex withing the next two chapters, most assuredly.
Word Count: 2,781
Logan's dreams that night are fuller than he's ever remembered before. It is Jean who's done this to him? Is it Cyclops' girlfriend who had seemed to find a leak in his mind, making him more susceptible to these thoughts?
He turns in his bed, moving from side to side, only slightly. The air is cool on his skin and he can tell he's dreaming; yet can't make himself wake. The coverlet is at his waist, but even that feels too suffocating. His whole body is tense, wondering, waiting to see what it is they've done: what it is Jean's seen...
Something moves close - something Logan finds himself wanting to push away. He can't tell in this state - half-asleep, half-afraid - what it is that is around him at that moment. A protective feeling washes over him and he tries to shake himself awake. He knows he has to stop this -
But he doesn't want to.
A little more, one more glimpse; something to tie him back into his own past. He wants to see what they've done to him. He wants to see the monster they so eagerly await with their champagne glasses and easy chatter. He wants to see -
His claws are the first to move before he is even fully awake. Rogue's face, young and bright, full of surprise, dominates his vision. He can see the life leaving them almost immediately.
Oh shit.
She breathes, shaky and high-pitched, as if she's fighting for it.
No, no, no.
He stares at her, willing it all to be a bad dream - as if it has ever worked before. He was meant to protect her: she confided in him. It has been a long time since anyone's seemed so vulnerable to him. Even Scott shuts himself off at certain points (certain points named Jean, Logan thinks sulkily before turning his attention to the matter at hand). But not Marie.
Not Rogue.
Her eyes are open wide as he retracts. This hurts so much more than anything else he's experienced. He watches her, wondering what to do - calling out into the night for help. No one comes.
No one helps.
Logan's thoughts cloud over.
He feels the gentle caress of Marie's fingers against his cheek. He thinks that it can't be this bad, being touched by someone so afraid, so heartbreaking as the breath in her body leaves her.
Until his breath leaves him, and the world cascades away. He tries to catch it, but his hands won't move.
It's Jean who reaches him first, urging Scott to bring a pillow. Logan smells Scott near him and his eyes close, his lips drawn tight to hide the smile; the satisfaction he feels. He is safe now - he knows he is.
Just before his eyes close, he catches a glimpse of Scott, looking at Marie: in shock. In concern. In curiosity.
And a frown that slips against his lips - a look Logan knows, and dwells within it, for the short moments before the world blacks out around him.
Jealousy.
***
"Logan?"
The Professor's voice is the first to greet him back. His head feels foggy, clouded with vague memories. He attempts to piece the threads together - the times leading up to him feeling so drained, so uncannily not himself - but everything feels too heavy. Even his thoughts are lagging, and he closes his eyes when the older man leaves.
Rogue. She could have killed him.
He closes his eyes more tightly, trying to ward away such a thought.
And is glad she hasn't.
Glad he has another chance. However slim.
***
Cyclops' eyes dart back and forth over the x-ray. It's odd, to think of a man whose very bones have been replaced. He wonders idly what it could mean, to be made so differently from other humans. Even the other mutants at the school were allowed to keep their own body parts; their own hearts, their own souls.
Their own marrow.
He wants to trace the lines, see just how far the replacement goes before the Professor's words hit his consciousness. "It's strange," says Charles Xavier. "There are more powerful mutants out there. Why should this one be so important to him?"
Scott has a few ideas that bubble to the surface; he pushes them away as he attempts to smirk at the lines and angles flashed against the screen. Logan has been nothing but an inconvenience since he's arrived: putting himself in danger initially, slipping his hands around Jean's wrists when they had no business being there.
He sighs to himself, hoping the Professor won't catch it. He looks up again, and a wave of sadness takes him, slowly. His mind seems to be on auto-pilot, answering the Professor's inquiry with a smirk. "Maybe it's his way with people," he jokes, smiling at the skeleton of a figure he finds he doesn't understand at all, but which troubles him in a way he's not yet known.
"You don't like him?" asks the Professor, his back towards Scott.
He takes longer than he means to before answering; it is hard to tear his gaze away. Why he should find such an arrogant being's skeleton fascinating, he can't quite figure out. He shifts his gaze to Charles: a friend of old. "How could you tell?" Scott retorts, smiling in spite of himself. He knows he doesn't like Logan; and yet. And yet the odd hair, the way it sticks up, as if Logan had planned it to match the silly name engraved upon the slice of metal hanging around the silver chain about his neck. Everything about this new mutant aggravates him; just as much as it makes his palms sweat and his breath uncertain.
He hides it in his smirk, knowing that Charles Xavier is used to such ploys. He holds himself steady, attempting to close off his mind as much as possible, not quite wanting the Professor to probe. He can sense the amusement, the slight surprise in the crippled man before he eases out of Scott's thoughts: it is a feeling to which Scott Summers has become accustomed, after too many accidents involving his own anger, and his eyes.
"Well, I am psychic, you know," says Charles easily, back turned towards Scott as his red-tinted glasses scan the body once more, smoothing over the harsh angles with his look, wondering how it feels.
Wanting to know exactly how it feels.
Scott feels another wave of surprise at how quickly time passes between thoughts and actions when the Professor is around. He knows he should be used to it by now; and he has been, until recently. Something in Logan is slowing him down.
He resolves to find out what.
***
Logan enters the chamber, trying not to let the slight jitter of his hand show as he realises Scott is there with the Professor. "Where is she," he says, concerned. Rogue has left - nobody knows where. He lets his gaze rest on Scott briefly, silently grateful for the chance to see the red-eyed form one more time; glad that Rogue only used him to survive instead of...
"Who?" asks Scott, his voice formal and authoritative - challenging. Logan's fingers feel odd and he clenches them tighter to his side. Almost protectively so. The challenge is there and he marks it for later, in his mind.
"Rogue," says the Professor, interrupting his thoughts. "She's gone."
***
Scott's eyes, hidden behind thick glasses, watch. He sees Logan enter Cerebro, following the Professor's direction. If the Professor trusts him, Scott knows he can trust him - or rather he hopes, in a sudden flash of something he can't identify.
There's something too tough around Logan: an insatiable need that he can identify. Every look Logan gives him is a challenge. He's seen the way Logan looks at Jean - eyes lifting, eyebrows soft and gentle, tempting her. He watches the way Jean's body reactions, tightening stiffly.
His own body reacts similarly. Even Jean can sense the way Logan's body pulses around them, exuding a territorial manor. He sulks behind red eyes, unsure what to do. For as much as he wants Jean to be his - knows Jean to be his - he can't stop staring at the way Logan's arms move, the way his lips curl, or the soft smell of warm cigar that trails after the wolf-like mutant.
Scott Summers likes watching Logan.
***
Logan follows the Professor into the round room, looking around. There are panels, all well-constructed, holding tight. This is a room where he feels inexplicably safe, for the first time in years. The Professor's low voice washes over him, and he asks questions, wondering what it is he's doing in here in the first place. He can tell from the watchful eyes at his back that this is not a common occurrence being led inside Professor X's secret lair, or whatever this place is. He wants to cast a challenging look back at Scott, but -
A shift in the air, and he can see Scott looking at the ground. Though he hasn't spoken nearly a word (at least, not directly) to the red-eyed man all day, he find his body strangely in tune with Scott's. It's as if every touch manifests itself within Scott's chest, writhing and unsure. He thinks he must be imagining the low-cast eyes: no one would be able to tell where Cyclops was looking - why would he choose to look at the floor?
Trying to shake off this feeling, he walks closer to the Professor, his newest mentor. Something in the other's tone makes his bones resonate: a similar feeling.
One of loss.
Logan resolves never to let that be him.
***
"Have you ever...?" he asks Jean, unwilling to look at Scott. Everything in his body feels shaky; everything is too watched just then. He can smell Scott, stronger than ever before. It is a different sort of scent: demanding yet silent.
Jean answers him, yet all he can feel is Scott's eyes upon him. He tries to ignore it, tries to shut it out: after all, he could simply be imagining it. Logan already knows he will never be able to see Scott's eyes open and upon. Perhaps it is all a dream: strange, weirdly-directed dream.
"No," answers Jean. "It takes a certain degree of control and for someone like me, well it's-"
He senses Scott's defensive shift, hears his words interrupting Jean. Everything about Scott Summers in that moment is focused on Logan: whether because of hate or some other reason. Logan watches him, awaiting his response, attempting to keep a look of nonchalance on his face.
The word barely registers - not so much as the tone, which sinks into Logan with sad claws.
"...dangerous," finishes Scott, and Logan wonders why Cyclops' eyes seemed solely trained on him.
***
When the Professor emerges from Cerebro, it is to tell Logan that he needs to stay in this awkward, mutant-inhabited mansion while Storm and Cyclops go to find Rogue. He waits, patiently, only protesting once, knowing it will do no good. Instead, he sniffs the air, his body, all of his senses searching for a way out of here.
Marie needs him. There is something within him that brings out a need to protect - a need he hasn't felt in years, if at all. It's new and it frightens him a little. It isn't he same feeling he has towards Scott, who seems to have made it his mission to try and piss off Logan with subtle smirks at every opportunity: Marie is helpless, scared. Dependent on him.
Whereas Scott is just.
Well. Logan doesn't really have the words for it just then.
Sneaking through the corridors, he finds his way near the main automobile chamber. The smell of gas and cleaner fills his nostrils. He edges his way closer, keeping a lookout for anyone else. Perhaps it is the cover of well-tuned engines that cloud his otherwise keen senses, allowing Scott to find him there, prowling; in the end, Logan finds he doesn't care about the reason. Scott's lips are tight, his expression perturbed. Logan presses forward.
"You know," he says gently, the barest hint of a growl in his voice. "You're really beginning to irk me, one-eye."
Scott smiles, his head nodding upwards just once, taking in the insult in good humour. He edges close to Logan, grabs the edges of the borrowed jacket. "You really need to start watching your steps, Wolverine," he says, as much malice and mockery in his voice as what he has endured the previous night in Logan's taunts.
Logan smirks. The scent grows stronger and he can't help the bulge in his trousers, wondering if he dares to press it against the other man, if only to frighten him; he decides to pull away, but -
Scott's arms are faster, holding Logan steady. The adamantium in his body makes him shift into a more threatening position, though he chooses to focus on Scott's lips instead of figuring out a way to maul the other and make a quick getaway. He sidles close, whispering against Scott's ear.
"You have a problem with my name, Cyclops?"
Scott's hand snakes up his back, pulling him backward by the small tuft of hair at the base of his neck, which Logan has allowed to grow a little longer. There was much to be said for looking like a wolf: it made him feel more normal, somehow. He delighted in the small fingers, clamped in his strands, restraining him. Baring his neck slightly, he growled, low and menacing.
Scott simply watches.
"Are you gonna do something," whispers Logan, his voice hoarse. "Or are you just gonna stand there admiring me all night?"
Scott's cheeks flush; Logan's heart races. The hand in his hair pulls tighter, forcing his body a little more strongly against the wall, separating them from the machines. His face is pulled taut; and though Logan can't see his eyes, he can somehow feel the torn emotions within: emotions he himself had felt once, but for very different reasons.
"Gently," he whispers, threading raw fingers through Scott's hair. Cyclops seems glued, stuck; hands not working, threats silenced. Logan brought his face before Scott's and watched, eyes flickering in the otherwise dark night. He gained courage as two fingers skated up Scott's spine, otherwise unperturbed - by threats, rash fingers, or anything else.
He pushes for the first time. His intention is evident in his body: his lips gently skirt along Scott's open ones, tongue slipping out to taste the otherwise chaste hesitance. He smiles, hand standing up straight, fingers straining underneath the soft fabric Scott wears, tracing lines into his chest. His nimble, warm tongue skates along Scott's ear, giving one whisper before her turns and goes, un-chased, unbidden in the otherwise open moonlight.
"I'll be back for you," he says. "Just don't follow me."
Scott doesn't open his eyes until the last traces of Logan have left his body. Every limb screams to be lowered to the ground, eyes closed and warm: limb reaching out only once.
"Whatever you do," he warns. "Don't touch my bike."
Logan's kiss is unexpected, hushing him immediately: warm, gentle, hands at either sides of his face, urging him onward into ten rushed seconds of need and want combined before he's gone again.
"I mean it," says Scott, but no one is there.
***
Scott enters the hall, where all the modes of transportation are kept. He scans the room quickly, an otherwise-healthy smirk quickly replaced by a soft frown.
Damn it.
"Where's my motorcycle?" he asks Storm, gesturing at the all-too-obvious space where his bike used to be - the same place he's explicity asked Logan to keep away from. Anger burns within him.
That asshole, he swears quietly to himself, wondering in spite of himself just where it is that Logan's gone.
On to Chapter IV
Author: worblehat
Genre: X-Men
Pairing: Logan/Scott
Rating: NC-17 overall
Disclaimer: These characters probably belong to Marvel. Not me.
Notes: Work-In-Progress!
Summary: A reluctant story of a man with heightened senses, who is saved most unwillingly (if he'd been awake at the time). Logan/Scott, adult-rated overall. Angst-filled, for your pleasure. ;) Sex withing the next two chapters, most assuredly.
Word Count: 2,781
Logan's dreams that night are fuller than he's ever remembered before. It is Jean who's done this to him? Is it Cyclops' girlfriend who had seemed to find a leak in his mind, making him more susceptible to these thoughts?
He turns in his bed, moving from side to side, only slightly. The air is cool on his skin and he can tell he's dreaming; yet can't make himself wake. The coverlet is at his waist, but even that feels too suffocating. His whole body is tense, wondering, waiting to see what it is they've done: what it is Jean's seen...
Something moves close - something Logan finds himself wanting to push away. He can't tell in this state - half-asleep, half-afraid - what it is that is around him at that moment. A protective feeling washes over him and he tries to shake himself awake. He knows he has to stop this -
But he doesn't want to.
A little more, one more glimpse; something to tie him back into his own past. He wants to see what they've done to him. He wants to see the monster they so eagerly await with their champagne glasses and easy chatter. He wants to see -
His claws are the first to move before he is even fully awake. Rogue's face, young and bright, full of surprise, dominates his vision. He can see the life leaving them almost immediately.
Oh shit.
She breathes, shaky and high-pitched, as if she's fighting for it.
No, no, no.
He stares at her, willing it all to be a bad dream - as if it has ever worked before. He was meant to protect her: she confided in him. It has been a long time since anyone's seemed so vulnerable to him. Even Scott shuts himself off at certain points (certain points named Jean, Logan thinks sulkily before turning his attention to the matter at hand). But not Marie.
Not Rogue.
Her eyes are open wide as he retracts. This hurts so much more than anything else he's experienced. He watches her, wondering what to do - calling out into the night for help. No one comes.
No one helps.
Logan's thoughts cloud over.
He feels the gentle caress of Marie's fingers against his cheek. He thinks that it can't be this bad, being touched by someone so afraid, so heartbreaking as the breath in her body leaves her.
Until his breath leaves him, and the world cascades away. He tries to catch it, but his hands won't move.
It's Jean who reaches him first, urging Scott to bring a pillow. Logan smells Scott near him and his eyes close, his lips drawn tight to hide the smile; the satisfaction he feels. He is safe now - he knows he is.
Just before his eyes close, he catches a glimpse of Scott, looking at Marie: in shock. In concern. In curiosity.
And a frown that slips against his lips - a look Logan knows, and dwells within it, for the short moments before the world blacks out around him.
Jealousy.
***
"Logan?"
The Professor's voice is the first to greet him back. His head feels foggy, clouded with vague memories. He attempts to piece the threads together - the times leading up to him feeling so drained, so uncannily not himself - but everything feels too heavy. Even his thoughts are lagging, and he closes his eyes when the older man leaves.
Rogue. She could have killed him.
He closes his eyes more tightly, trying to ward away such a thought.
And is glad she hasn't.
Glad he has another chance. However slim.
***
Cyclops' eyes dart back and forth over the x-ray. It's odd, to think of a man whose very bones have been replaced. He wonders idly what it could mean, to be made so differently from other humans. Even the other mutants at the school were allowed to keep their own body parts; their own hearts, their own souls.
Their own marrow.
He wants to trace the lines, see just how far the replacement goes before the Professor's words hit his consciousness. "It's strange," says Charles Xavier. "There are more powerful mutants out there. Why should this one be so important to him?"
Scott has a few ideas that bubble to the surface; he pushes them away as he attempts to smirk at the lines and angles flashed against the screen. Logan has been nothing but an inconvenience since he's arrived: putting himself in danger initially, slipping his hands around Jean's wrists when they had no business being there.
He sighs to himself, hoping the Professor won't catch it. He looks up again, and a wave of sadness takes him, slowly. His mind seems to be on auto-pilot, answering the Professor's inquiry with a smirk. "Maybe it's his way with people," he jokes, smiling at the skeleton of a figure he finds he doesn't understand at all, but which troubles him in a way he's not yet known.
"You don't like him?" asks the Professor, his back towards Scott.
He takes longer than he means to before answering; it is hard to tear his gaze away. Why he should find such an arrogant being's skeleton fascinating, he can't quite figure out. He shifts his gaze to Charles: a friend of old. "How could you tell?" Scott retorts, smiling in spite of himself. He knows he doesn't like Logan; and yet. And yet the odd hair, the way it sticks up, as if Logan had planned it to match the silly name engraved upon the slice of metal hanging around the silver chain about his neck. Everything about this new mutant aggravates him; just as much as it makes his palms sweat and his breath uncertain.
He hides it in his smirk, knowing that Charles Xavier is used to such ploys. He holds himself steady, attempting to close off his mind as much as possible, not quite wanting the Professor to probe. He can sense the amusement, the slight surprise in the crippled man before he eases out of Scott's thoughts: it is a feeling to which Scott Summers has become accustomed, after too many accidents involving his own anger, and his eyes.
"Well, I am psychic, you know," says Charles easily, back turned towards Scott as his red-tinted glasses scan the body once more, smoothing over the harsh angles with his look, wondering how it feels.
Wanting to know exactly how it feels.
Scott feels another wave of surprise at how quickly time passes between thoughts and actions when the Professor is around. He knows he should be used to it by now; and he has been, until recently. Something in Logan is slowing him down.
He resolves to find out what.
***
Logan enters the chamber, trying not to let the slight jitter of his hand show as he realises Scott is there with the Professor. "Where is she," he says, concerned. Rogue has left - nobody knows where. He lets his gaze rest on Scott briefly, silently grateful for the chance to see the red-eyed form one more time; glad that Rogue only used him to survive instead of...
"Who?" asks Scott, his voice formal and authoritative - challenging. Logan's fingers feel odd and he clenches them tighter to his side. Almost protectively so. The challenge is there and he marks it for later, in his mind.
"Rogue," says the Professor, interrupting his thoughts. "She's gone."
***
Scott's eyes, hidden behind thick glasses, watch. He sees Logan enter Cerebro, following the Professor's direction. If the Professor trusts him, Scott knows he can trust him - or rather he hopes, in a sudden flash of something he can't identify.
There's something too tough around Logan: an insatiable need that he can identify. Every look Logan gives him is a challenge. He's seen the way Logan looks at Jean - eyes lifting, eyebrows soft and gentle, tempting her. He watches the way Jean's body reactions, tightening stiffly.
His own body reacts similarly. Even Jean can sense the way Logan's body pulses around them, exuding a territorial manor. He sulks behind red eyes, unsure what to do. For as much as he wants Jean to be his - knows Jean to be his - he can't stop staring at the way Logan's arms move, the way his lips curl, or the soft smell of warm cigar that trails after the wolf-like mutant.
Scott Summers likes watching Logan.
***
Logan follows the Professor into the round room, looking around. There are panels, all well-constructed, holding tight. This is a room where he feels inexplicably safe, for the first time in years. The Professor's low voice washes over him, and he asks questions, wondering what it is he's doing in here in the first place. He can tell from the watchful eyes at his back that this is not a common occurrence being led inside Professor X's secret lair, or whatever this place is. He wants to cast a challenging look back at Scott, but -
A shift in the air, and he can see Scott looking at the ground. Though he hasn't spoken nearly a word (at least, not directly) to the red-eyed man all day, he find his body strangely in tune with Scott's. It's as if every touch manifests itself within Scott's chest, writhing and unsure. He thinks he must be imagining the low-cast eyes: no one would be able to tell where Cyclops was looking - why would he choose to look at the floor?
Trying to shake off this feeling, he walks closer to the Professor, his newest mentor. Something in the other's tone makes his bones resonate: a similar feeling.
One of loss.
Logan resolves never to let that be him.
***
"Have you ever...?" he asks Jean, unwilling to look at Scott. Everything in his body feels shaky; everything is too watched just then. He can smell Scott, stronger than ever before. It is a different sort of scent: demanding yet silent.
Jean answers him, yet all he can feel is Scott's eyes upon him. He tries to ignore it, tries to shut it out: after all, he could simply be imagining it. Logan already knows he will never be able to see Scott's eyes open and upon. Perhaps it is all a dream: strange, weirdly-directed dream.
"No," answers Jean. "It takes a certain degree of control and for someone like me, well it's-"
He senses Scott's defensive shift, hears his words interrupting Jean. Everything about Scott Summers in that moment is focused on Logan: whether because of hate or some other reason. Logan watches him, awaiting his response, attempting to keep a look of nonchalance on his face.
The word barely registers - not so much as the tone, which sinks into Logan with sad claws.
"...dangerous," finishes Scott, and Logan wonders why Cyclops' eyes seemed solely trained on him.
***
When the Professor emerges from Cerebro, it is to tell Logan that he needs to stay in this awkward, mutant-inhabited mansion while Storm and Cyclops go to find Rogue. He waits, patiently, only protesting once, knowing it will do no good. Instead, he sniffs the air, his body, all of his senses searching for a way out of here.
Marie needs him. There is something within him that brings out a need to protect - a need he hasn't felt in years, if at all. It's new and it frightens him a little. It isn't he same feeling he has towards Scott, who seems to have made it his mission to try and piss off Logan with subtle smirks at every opportunity: Marie is helpless, scared. Dependent on him.
Whereas Scott is just.
Well. Logan doesn't really have the words for it just then.
Sneaking through the corridors, he finds his way near the main automobile chamber. The smell of gas and cleaner fills his nostrils. He edges his way closer, keeping a lookout for anyone else. Perhaps it is the cover of well-tuned engines that cloud his otherwise keen senses, allowing Scott to find him there, prowling; in the end, Logan finds he doesn't care about the reason. Scott's lips are tight, his expression perturbed. Logan presses forward.
"You know," he says gently, the barest hint of a growl in his voice. "You're really beginning to irk me, one-eye."
Scott smiles, his head nodding upwards just once, taking in the insult in good humour. He edges close to Logan, grabs the edges of the borrowed jacket. "You really need to start watching your steps, Wolverine," he says, as much malice and mockery in his voice as what he has endured the previous night in Logan's taunts.
Logan smirks. The scent grows stronger and he can't help the bulge in his trousers, wondering if he dares to press it against the other man, if only to frighten him; he decides to pull away, but -
Scott's arms are faster, holding Logan steady. The adamantium in his body makes him shift into a more threatening position, though he chooses to focus on Scott's lips instead of figuring out a way to maul the other and make a quick getaway. He sidles close, whispering against Scott's ear.
"You have a problem with my name, Cyclops?"
Scott's hand snakes up his back, pulling him backward by the small tuft of hair at the base of his neck, which Logan has allowed to grow a little longer. There was much to be said for looking like a wolf: it made him feel more normal, somehow. He delighted in the small fingers, clamped in his strands, restraining him. Baring his neck slightly, he growled, low and menacing.
Scott simply watches.
"Are you gonna do something," whispers Logan, his voice hoarse. "Or are you just gonna stand there admiring me all night?"
Scott's cheeks flush; Logan's heart races. The hand in his hair pulls tighter, forcing his body a little more strongly against the wall, separating them from the machines. His face is pulled taut; and though Logan can't see his eyes, he can somehow feel the torn emotions within: emotions he himself had felt once, but for very different reasons.
"Gently," he whispers, threading raw fingers through Scott's hair. Cyclops seems glued, stuck; hands not working, threats silenced. Logan brought his face before Scott's and watched, eyes flickering in the otherwise dark night. He gained courage as two fingers skated up Scott's spine, otherwise unperturbed - by threats, rash fingers, or anything else.
He pushes for the first time. His intention is evident in his body: his lips gently skirt along Scott's open ones, tongue slipping out to taste the otherwise chaste hesitance. He smiles, hand standing up straight, fingers straining underneath the soft fabric Scott wears, tracing lines into his chest. His nimble, warm tongue skates along Scott's ear, giving one whisper before her turns and goes, un-chased, unbidden in the otherwise open moonlight.
"I'll be back for you," he says. "Just don't follow me."
Scott doesn't open his eyes until the last traces of Logan have left his body. Every limb screams to be lowered to the ground, eyes closed and warm: limb reaching out only once.
"Whatever you do," he warns. "Don't touch my bike."
Logan's kiss is unexpected, hushing him immediately: warm, gentle, hands at either sides of his face, urging him onward into ten rushed seconds of need and want combined before he's gone again.
"I mean it," says Scott, but no one is there.
***
Scott enters the hall, where all the modes of transportation are kept. He scans the room quickly, an otherwise-healthy smirk quickly replaced by a soft frown.
Damn it.
"Where's my motorcycle?" he asks Storm, gesturing at the all-too-obvious space where his bike used to be - the same place he's explicity asked Logan to keep away from. Anger burns within him.
That asshole, he swears quietly to himself, wondering in spite of himself just where it is that Logan's gone.
On to Chapter IV