Fic: Love of Two is One, Part I
Title: Love of Two is One (Part I: All New, All Different)
Author: harmonyangel
Fandom: X-Men 616 comicsverse (spanning from the 70s to today)
Pairing/Characters: Jean/Scott/Logan
Rating: I'd say this section is probably R-rated sex, but future chapters might be NC-17
Wordcount: 940
Summary: Five times Jean, Scott, and Logan had sex.
Author's Notes: Written for the "Power of Three" challenge at jeannie_x_slim. This fic will be finished, and the other 4 times will be written, but since this probably won't happen before the challenge deadline on Monday, I figured the best thing to do would be to post it in parts. Many, many thanks to the ever-amazing likeadeuce for beta-ing and listening to me whine. Title stolen from Blue Oyster Cult's "Don't Fear the Reaper."
Love of Two is One
I. All New, All Different
The first time it happened, Logan was lying awake in his too-soft bed, restless as a wolf. He’d been an X-Man for a few months by that point, but he still hadn't gotten used to living at the mansion. It was too old, too settled, all creaking stairs and dusty drapes. Back in Canada, the facility had been nothing but sharp angles and clean metal, antiseptic order. Here there was a bed with a suffocating down comforter instead of hospital corners, and people who expected more than a grunt or a "yes, sir" in response when they talked to him. Logan didn't exactly miss his life from before-he knew better than anyone the ugly side of Department K-but it was all he remembered, the only clear spot in his brain in a sea of incomprehensible noise. He didn’t know how to live any other way.
But these X-Men, he liked them well enough. They were a little too idealistic, maybe, especially that goddamned Boy Scout with the visor, but they were good kids all the same. And then there was Jean Grey, who he maybe liked more than well enough. At the beginning she’d just been a pretty face and fire-red hair, but ever since that whole thing with the crashing spaceship and coming back as the "Phoenix," Logan had been downright transfixed. It wasn't every day a girl sacrificed herself to save his life, after all, and Logan wasn’t the type to take that for granted. Of course, the point was all moot, since her preferences seemed to lean more toward the uptight and one-eyed type, but he figured a guy was allowed to dream.
And dreaming is exactly what he thought he was doing at first, when it happened. Because one second he was in his bed, grumbling about the blankets, and the next he was in another bed entirely. Or, at least, his mind was. His body didn’t seem to be there at all. He was hanging in the air, incorporeal, but he could still see and hear and smell and feel. And what he saw and heard and smelled and felt was Jean Grey. Naked. Having sex with Scott Summers.
Logan tried to move, because even he had enough of a sense of common courtesy to know he shouldn't be where he was, but he found he couldn’t. He was stuck, trapped between the two lovers. And his senses... well, the only word he could think to describe them was "split-screen." It was almost as if he was in both of their bodies at once, in both of their minds, everywhere and nowhere at all.
Part of him was inside Scott, seeing Jean leaning down above him, red hair falling in damp tendrils around her face, full breasts swaying. He felt her warm heat between his legs and long fingers trailing his arms, tasted the kisses she pressed to his lips, smelled her sweat and lust. But another part of him was inside Jean, feeling the mounting tension in her abdomen as she rode Scott's hips. He could taste Scott’s skin, too, feel with Jean's mouth the scrape of his stubble, see his messy brown hair and the undeniable expression of ecstasy even his battle visor couldn't hide.
But even more intense than any of the physical sensations was the feeling of every thought passing between them. Beams of psionic energy, a reddish, barely visible glow, shot through Logan from both sides, trapping him in the crossfire, and he found himself hearing everything, every thought and emotion of every kind and degree. He heard the Scott, Scott, Scott and the Jean, Jean, Jean, heard every can’t bear to lose you and every you never will, I promise and every single I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, oh, Jesus Christ, I love you so fucking much.
Logan felt embarrassed to be there, surrounded by this cocoon of desire and devotion into which he was so obviously an intruder, however invited his presence must have been. Red-hot embarrassment mixed with red-hot lust, and Logan felt simultaneously envious and satisfied in a way he'd never been before and didn’t dare question. He wanted to get out immediately and he wanted to stay forever, and by the time Jean reached the violent climax that flung Logan forcibly out of the others' minds and back into his own body and bed, he had enough ammunition stored up to finish out the ride on his own, hand clasped tightly and eyes closed shut in memory.
The next day, when Logan went down to breakfast, Jean was already there, sipping tea and reading the morning paper. He smiled at her. "Mornin', Jeannie."
She looked up. "Do you want something, Wolverine?" she asked, frowning.
Logan grinned some more, but Jean looked blankly back at him. So he shook his head, muttered, "Nope," and went to the ancient wooden cabinet to grab some oatmeal. If she wanted to pretend nothing had happened, well, that was just fine with him. Not like he expected anything to come of it, anyway. Not like he expected to be a part of that smile Jean was now sharing with Scott, who had walked into the room in a robe and glasses, hair just as rumpled as it had been on his pillow the night before.
It wasn't until months later, when Jean's powers reached a fiery crescendo, ending the long race with her willpower that the latter could never have hoped to win, that Logan realized she might not have known she’d brought him there at all.
Author: harmonyangel
Fandom: X-Men 616 comicsverse (spanning from the 70s to today)
Pairing/Characters: Jean/Scott/Logan
Rating: I'd say this section is probably R-rated sex, but future chapters might be NC-17
Wordcount: 940
Summary: Five times Jean, Scott, and Logan had sex.
Author's Notes: Written for the "Power of Three" challenge at jeannie_x_slim. This fic will be finished, and the other 4 times will be written, but since this probably won't happen before the challenge deadline on Monday, I figured the best thing to do would be to post it in parts. Many, many thanks to the ever-amazing likeadeuce for beta-ing and listening to me whine. Title stolen from Blue Oyster Cult's "Don't Fear the Reaper."
Love of Two is One
I. All New, All Different
The first time it happened, Logan was lying awake in his too-soft bed, restless as a wolf. He’d been an X-Man for a few months by that point, but he still hadn't gotten used to living at the mansion. It was too old, too settled, all creaking stairs and dusty drapes. Back in Canada, the facility had been nothing but sharp angles and clean metal, antiseptic order. Here there was a bed with a suffocating down comforter instead of hospital corners, and people who expected more than a grunt or a "yes, sir" in response when they talked to him. Logan didn't exactly miss his life from before-he knew better than anyone the ugly side of Department K-but it was all he remembered, the only clear spot in his brain in a sea of incomprehensible noise. He didn’t know how to live any other way.
But these X-Men, he liked them well enough. They were a little too idealistic, maybe, especially that goddamned Boy Scout with the visor, but they were good kids all the same. And then there was Jean Grey, who he maybe liked more than well enough. At the beginning she’d just been a pretty face and fire-red hair, but ever since that whole thing with the crashing spaceship and coming back as the "Phoenix," Logan had been downright transfixed. It wasn't every day a girl sacrificed herself to save his life, after all, and Logan wasn’t the type to take that for granted. Of course, the point was all moot, since her preferences seemed to lean more toward the uptight and one-eyed type, but he figured a guy was allowed to dream.
And dreaming is exactly what he thought he was doing at first, when it happened. Because one second he was in his bed, grumbling about the blankets, and the next he was in another bed entirely. Or, at least, his mind was. His body didn’t seem to be there at all. He was hanging in the air, incorporeal, but he could still see and hear and smell and feel. And what he saw and heard and smelled and felt was Jean Grey. Naked. Having sex with Scott Summers.
Logan tried to move, because even he had enough of a sense of common courtesy to know he shouldn't be where he was, but he found he couldn’t. He was stuck, trapped between the two lovers. And his senses... well, the only word he could think to describe them was "split-screen." It was almost as if he was in both of their bodies at once, in both of their minds, everywhere and nowhere at all.
Part of him was inside Scott, seeing Jean leaning down above him, red hair falling in damp tendrils around her face, full breasts swaying. He felt her warm heat between his legs and long fingers trailing his arms, tasted the kisses she pressed to his lips, smelled her sweat and lust. But another part of him was inside Jean, feeling the mounting tension in her abdomen as she rode Scott's hips. He could taste Scott’s skin, too, feel with Jean's mouth the scrape of his stubble, see his messy brown hair and the undeniable expression of ecstasy even his battle visor couldn't hide.
But even more intense than any of the physical sensations was the feeling of every thought passing between them. Beams of psionic energy, a reddish, barely visible glow, shot through Logan from both sides, trapping him in the crossfire, and he found himself hearing everything, every thought and emotion of every kind and degree. He heard the Scott, Scott, Scott and the Jean, Jean, Jean, heard every can’t bear to lose you and every you never will, I promise and every single I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, oh, Jesus Christ, I love you so fucking much.
Logan felt embarrassed to be there, surrounded by this cocoon of desire and devotion into which he was so obviously an intruder, however invited his presence must have been. Red-hot embarrassment mixed with red-hot lust, and Logan felt simultaneously envious and satisfied in a way he'd never been before and didn’t dare question. He wanted to get out immediately and he wanted to stay forever, and by the time Jean reached the violent climax that flung Logan forcibly out of the others' minds and back into his own body and bed, he had enough ammunition stored up to finish out the ride on his own, hand clasped tightly and eyes closed shut in memory.
The next day, when Logan went down to breakfast, Jean was already there, sipping tea and reading the morning paper. He smiled at her. "Mornin', Jeannie."
She looked up. "Do you want something, Wolverine?" she asked, frowning.
Logan grinned some more, but Jean looked blankly back at him. So he shook his head, muttered, "Nope," and went to the ancient wooden cabinet to grab some oatmeal. If she wanted to pretend nothing had happened, well, that was just fine with him. Not like he expected anything to come of it, anyway. Not like he expected to be a part of that smile Jean was now sharing with Scott, who had walked into the room in a robe and glasses, hair just as rumpled as it had been on his pillow the night before.
It wasn't until months later, when Jean's powers reached a fiery crescendo, ending the long race with her willpower that the latter could never have hoped to win, that Logan realized she might not have known she’d brought him there at all.