Limitless.
Title: Limitless
Fandom: X-Men (movieverse)
Pairing: Scott Summers x Logan (CyclopsxWolverine)
Length: 340 words.
Rating: PG-13 for a few swears.
Status: Complete. Just drabblelength.
So I don't normally do dedications, but this one is for sg_fic who I promised a ridiculous amount of time ago I'd write up some slash.
Unbeta'd, because I still haven't got one.
This is what happens when a fangirl watches X Men, sees Logan's blank face and thinks HE'S TOTALLY IN DENIAL.
Limitless
They made an agreement, a long time ago - Scott called it a promise, but you see, Logan’s never really been much good at those.
There were limits, Logan found, limits which Scott did not like to cross. Limits which mainly included Jean, and limits which when provoked Scott became fiercely protective over. Naturally, it was these limits which Logan enjoyed the most; just how many times, for instance, would Scott be willing to be fucked in a night, before he ran from the room to hide his shame? Or, maybe (though this was more a wonder), how long their fingers would brush in the kitchen, the classroom, the corridor, before interruptions or Scott’s damnable social desirability complex would kick in, and the younger would shy away from him for the whole day?
Or, just how far could he go with Jean before Scott decided to do something about it?
Logan never found this out, because from the very second he approached her - touched her - kissed her - Scott fled from him and didn’t return. A mistake, he realised, and one he regretted so very much - not that he would ever admit it. Not even till the kid was long gone, long fucking gone and to places he couldn’t drag him back out of.
Logan, very early on, convinced himself of one very pure thing; sex was sex. It was fucking good sex, but it was sex. It wasn’t attachment. It wasn’t ‘I’ll look out for you’ sex, it wasn’t ‘I’ll miss you’ sex and it certainly fucking wasn’t ‘I’ll cry for you’ sex, because, you see, Logan didn’t fucking cry for anyone. It was, it could be said, a mutually beneficial agreement; a remarkable, congruent opportunity.
They made an agreement, a long time ago - Scott called it a promise, but you see, Logan’s never really been much good at those - that sex was sex, Jean was Jean and this was wrong.
As Logan’s fingers twined around the hovering shades, he realised he’d not really been much good at agreements, either.
Fandom: X-Men (movieverse)
Pairing: Scott Summers x Logan (CyclopsxWolverine)
Length: 340 words.
Rating: PG-13 for a few swears.
Status: Complete. Just drabblelength.
So I don't normally do dedications, but this one is for sg_fic who I promised a ridiculous amount of time ago I'd write up some slash.
Unbeta'd, because I still haven't got one.
This is what happens when a fangirl watches X Men, sees Logan's blank face and thinks HE'S TOTALLY IN DENIAL.
Limitless
They made an agreement, a long time ago - Scott called it a promise, but you see, Logan’s never really been much good at those.
There were limits, Logan found, limits which Scott did not like to cross. Limits which mainly included Jean, and limits which when provoked Scott became fiercely protective over. Naturally, it was these limits which Logan enjoyed the most; just how many times, for instance, would Scott be willing to be fucked in a night, before he ran from the room to hide his shame? Or, maybe (though this was more a wonder), how long their fingers would brush in the kitchen, the classroom, the corridor, before interruptions or Scott’s damnable social desirability complex would kick in, and the younger would shy away from him for the whole day?
Or, just how far could he go with Jean before Scott decided to do something about it?
Logan never found this out, because from the very second he approached her - touched her - kissed her - Scott fled from him and didn’t return. A mistake, he realised, and one he regretted so very much - not that he would ever admit it. Not even till the kid was long gone, long fucking gone and to places he couldn’t drag him back out of.
Logan, very early on, convinced himself of one very pure thing; sex was sex. It was fucking good sex, but it was sex. It wasn’t attachment. It wasn’t ‘I’ll look out for you’ sex, it wasn’t ‘I’ll miss you’ sex and it certainly fucking wasn’t ‘I’ll cry for you’ sex, because, you see, Logan didn’t fucking cry for anyone. It was, it could be said, a mutually beneficial agreement; a remarkable, congruent opportunity.
They made an agreement, a long time ago - Scott called it a promise, but you see, Logan’s never really been much good at those - that sex was sex, Jean was Jean and this was wrong.
As Logan’s fingers twined around the hovering shades, he realised he’d not really been much good at agreements, either.