The Hand That Wears The Ring (X-Men, Logan/Scott, PG-13)
Title: The Hand That Wears The Ring
Pairing: Logan/Scott
Word Count: 4400
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Originally written at my tumblr
Summary: To gain information on the Pro-Humanity Neighbourhood Alliance, Logan and Scott attend a couples-only dinner party. It doesn't go well.
Scott doubts he will make it through the day without resorting to violence. His new ‘husband’ has a healing factor that would stop any violent outpourings of frustration from being fatal. He already knows that that will turn out to be an incredibly useful detail in their short-lived fake relationship.
“Grin and bear it, sunshine,” Logan suggests, slinging an arm around his shoulders. They wear matching golden bands on their ring fingers, and they are so close that ‘personal space’ has ceased to have any meaning. Scott still doesn’t think that this can look convincing. Surely anyone should be able to see that this isn’t natural for them.
“You two look very happy together,” Xavier says, barely contained mirth in his voice and twinkling in his eyes.
Logan messes up Scott’s hair with a smug smirk.
“Just keep your mind on the task,” Scott reminds them.
The Pro-Humanity Neighbourhood Alliance has been attracting more attention, and more converts, to their cause in recent months. A group of suburban professionals whose activities seem mostly reserved to meeting up to discuss the dangers of mutants in society, and appearing on talk shows to complain about current challenges to anti-mutant legislation - bigoted, but harmless. There are hints that the organisation could be more active than simple speeches, that there could be violence lurking beneath the rallies and dinner parties. With a welcome evening being hosted tonight, invitation only, it's the perfect opportunity to gather whatever information they can.
He still isn’t sure if posing as a married couple with Logan is the best plan. Xavier assures him that it is, but with the current mischievous glint in his eye Scott doesn’t entirely trust his intentions. Yet they have managed to secure an invitation to the soiree, made up entirely of other couples. Storm's face is already known to them. Logan and Scott have the best chance of slipping in undetected.
“Let’s get this over with,” Scott mutters, frowning in determination.
“Are you divorcing me already?” Logan asks.
Oh yes. Scott is going to murder him before the day is out. He is even going to enjoy it.
*
Standing in their host's living room with a clump of other couples, adrenaline continues to shoot through Scott's body - every instinct on full alert to the danger around him. He clutches a glass of champagne in his hand, barely touched, and smiles as he listens to the conversation going on around them.
Scott can feel a dozen pairs of eyes on him and Logan. Having mingled in their group for nearly half an hour, Scott feels exhausted: the pressure of suburbanite conversation is more gruelling than he would have anticipated. He is used to discussing alien threats and team unity. Chores and gardening are, by comparison, foreign to him.
Logan isn’t particularly helpful. All he seems willing to do is grunt occasionally if someone mentions a topic that interests him - like motorbikes or blood-filled violence. Thankfully the second topic hasn’t yet come up.
“You still haven’t told us how you met,” says Martha, the group’s unofficial leader. Her smile is warm, but her eyes are sharp. “I’d love to hear about it.”
Scott opens his mouth, but his tongue freezes - the ring on his finger seems to burn lying heat into his skin. Jean glares to life in his mind, her ghost a flicker of guilt even now. Logan reaches out for him, takes his hand and squeezes. “He saved my life,” he says. Scott looks towards him, a neutral mask on his face to hide his surprise. “As embarrassing as that is.”
“Hey,” Scott objects, nudging Logan gently with his elbow.
Logan shrugs. His palm is so warm. “I was driving in snow. Out of my depth, I guess. I crashed - the truck nearly went on fire while I was unconscious. This asshole came along and got me free. Like an annoying little knight in shining armour.”
For once, Scott is glad that his eyes are covered - Logan can’t see the rush of warmth and affection. Scott’s mouth twitches, and he allows his head to drop as he looks down at their hands, joined like a real couple.
“You two are so sweet,” Martha states. “It’s adorable.”
Scott doesn’t think they’ve won her over quite yet - but if Logan can keep up this act, maybe this plan can actually work.
*
“Sit your ass down,” Logan barks after dinner, nodding towards the empty space on the couch beside him. His arm stretches out along the back of the couch, and the only place to sit would leave Scott nestled in against him. Even with a distant, distracted audience, that is the last thing that Scott wants. Having been invited to sit down by his loving spouse, there aren’t many ways to wiggle out of it.
He parks himself beside Logan, holding himself as far from him as he can - but that doesn’t make one bit of difference, not when Logan curls his arm around his shoulders and pulls him in closer. “Play the game, hubbie,” Logan murmurs by his ear, a huff of hot air. Scott’s eyes close behind his visor, an automatic shiver. “Everyone’s watching.”
“That doesn’t mean we have to snuggle,” Scott answers, a smile forced upon his face. Logan’s fingers brush against his upper arm, stroking with a gentleness Scott wouldn’t have imagined him capable of. “We don’t need to lay this on too strong.”
“Is it really that tough to sit beside me?” Logan asks. “You’ll give a man a complex if you keep talking like that.”
“Cute,” Scott mutters. It’s distracting enough to be this close to Logan, almost lost in the heat that he radiates, without Logan muddying the waters even further - teasing is just teasing. “Just remember what we’re here for.”
“Like you’d let me forget,” Logan says. He brushes a kiss against Scott’s temple: it even feels sarcastic. “Just another couple of days, then we’re out of here. You’ve got a divorce coming.”
“I’m counting the hours,” Scott responds, while smiling pleasantly when he sees the group’s leader glancing curiously towards them. If he can remember that they’re here to bring down an anti-mutant activist group, this becomes a lot more tolerable. He can even pretend that he isn’t enjoying this, Logan’s arm wrapped around his shoulders and the unique sense of belonging.
*
Their host is terribly gracious when she offers them a spare room in her house. “You’ve come all this way,” she says with a smile like a wolf’s. “I couldn’t make you go home now. Come, come, there’s room for everyone.”
Like the other handful of couples that had attended the open night, they have found themselves in a comfortable guest bedroom. Scott and Logan wait near the door once they’ve been left alone. The biggest problem of the night looms in front of them: the double bed.
Scott tries to imagine what a night spent alongside Logan will be. In this hostile environment, one of them ought to stay awake at all times. He still doesn’t feel reassured.
Nonetheless, Logan ambles towards the bed and kicks his boots off as if there is no issue. “I’ll take first watch,” he says. “You need to rest those eyes of yours.”
Scott could tell him that his mutation is no more damaging to his eyes than Logan’s is, but he’s too exhausted to care at this point. If Xavier ever asks him to do a thing like this again, Scott will turn him down - politely, but bluntly.
He potters around the cream-coloured guest room and prepares for tomorrow as much as he can, reviewing what they’ve learned so far and feeling the telepathic brush of the Professor’s mutation to let him know that the information has been taken and appreciated. Perhaps something good will come of all of this.
Eventually there is no putting it off any longer. He turns back to the bed and finds Logan lounging on it already, lying on top of the covers with his nose buried in a book. It’s a disconcerting sight.
“Are you going to stay there?” Scott asks.
“Do you see anywhere else for me to sit?” Logan responds. He shrugs and only looks up from his book for a cursory glance. “I promise not to cop a feel while you’re sleeping.”
Scott frowns and opens his mouth, but the words don’t come. It hardly feels worth it to scold him. Nothing he says sinks in. “Wake me in a few hours,” he sighs as he slips beneath the sheets, closing his eyes behind his lenses. The weight of the day instantly slides from his shoulders. His head hits the pillow and he is gone.
He wakes up the next morning to find his face pressed against Logan’s thigh, his arm flung over Logan’s leg, and one very amused mutant looking down at him. He can’t do anything but cringe.
Fighting Sentinels is infinitely more enjoyable than this.
Scott untangles himself from Logan as quickly as possible once he wakes up, his cheeks heating up as he generates a thousand excuses about why he would end up clinging to Logan in his sleep. It’s all perfectly innocent, a case of naturally being drawn to heat while he was sleeping, but Logan doesn’t seem remotely interested in listening. “They’re talking down the hall,” he says, nodding towards the door, his voice nothing but an undertone. “They know who you are.”
Scott is not nearly awake enough for this. He sits up and looks towards the door, but no hate-filled menaces jump through it just yet. “You’re sure?”
“They recognise you from the school. Must’ve been keeping an eye on us.” Logan glances towards him, but his expression is so guarded that it’s impossible for Scott to tell what he’s thinking. “You want to get out of here? Might get dangerous.”
Scott doesn’t bother to answer that. He’s faced worse threats, and Logan has been right at his side for most of them. “The professor only wanted us to gather information. He didn’t want a confrontation.”
“Don’t think he’s going to get what he wants,” Logan says. “They’re going to try to take you down. They’ve got you here. Might as well use the opportunity.”
Scott nods. “Good,” he says. “Then we’ll have something to hold against them.” Groups can’t be arrested for bigotry alone. If they turned to violence, then maybe there was a chance of the police doing something. Hoping for help from authority when it came to anti-mutant violence was shaky at best, but there was nothing else to be done. They couldn’t turn to Logan’s solutions: ‘stabbing’ was rarely the best way to handle threats to their community.
“You sure about this?” Logan asks. “It could get messy. They really want you dead.”
Scott isn’t sure if he’s ever going to be able to grasp that. He knows that humans are scared of them; they are scared of change and progress and the very real possibility that humanity is going to be left behind, an evolutionary dead-end. Yet the rejection of tolerance and the reactive violence will never do anything but make Scott harden himself against the outside world.
“Just be ready,” he says. “When they make a move, we need the authorities to be on their way. I can defend myself, but we cannot be the bad guys here. No injuries. Just self-defence.”
Logan grunts, but it doesn’t especially sound like he’s agreeing. “If it gets too messy, I’m not holding back,” he states, but he doesn’t give any more explanation than that. Lying in bed with him, talking about fighting side-by-side in the near future, Scott has a sense of unfamiliar comfort, as if they might have been doing this for years - as if, maybe, they should have been.
“They won’t make a move for another few hours, slim. You should get another couple of hours sleep if you can.”
“What about you?”
“Don’t need it.” Logan smirks. “‘sides, you looked too damn comfortable humping my leg to wake you up.”
Scott’s eyes widen behind his visor and his jaw clenches. “I did not,” he huffs.
All his protests won’t stop Logan from smirking.
If Logan spreads this story around the school, Scott might actually have to kill him - healing factor be damned.
*
It doesn’t take the group long to make their move. Logan and Scott leave their guest bedroom and head down for breakfast with the others, everyone crowded into the kitchen and getting in one another’s way. Even if Logan hadn’t warned him about their plans, Scott would have been able to tell something was up - suburban hate groups aren’t nearly as subtle as they think they are.
About as subtle as a blade pressed against his throat, in fact.
“Don’t move,” Martha warns from behind him, while a sharp kitchen knife is pressed neatly against his Adam’s apple. “We know who you are. Both of you.”
In front of him, just too distant to be of assistance, Logan’s eyes are on nothing but the knife. Scott tries to warn him silently to keep his claws at bay. They don’t need to escalate this.
“Now. Walk - slowly - into the lounge. One wrong move and I’ll cut.”
Scott doesn’t believe her; she’s never had a taste of blood. This group has always been more dangerous for its words than its actions, although he knows the professor has had his concerns about how those activities might boil over. Now, he only hopes that the professor is listening, far away in Cerebro.
“We’re not going anywhere,” Logan states, eyeing up the group. They are heavily outnumbered, and if violence breaks out people are going to get hurt - Scott can hardly deny that. Between them, he and Logan vastly outpower a group of suburban bigots. There is a reason they’re afraid of mutants. “Put the knife down. No one needs to get hurt.”
“You’re the ones who lied your way into my house,” Martha says. Her knife remains firm and solid against Scott’s throat. “This is self-defence.”
“If you hurt him, I’ll kill you. All of you,” Logan warns her, looking straight past Scott’s face.
“Logan,” Scott snaps, only to feel the pressure of the knife against his throat, a warning.
“You’re in our schools. You teach our children. Something has to be done,” Martha states, a tremble in her voice. The rest of the kitchen is silent, her disciples watching.
And the knife slips.
Barely anything, no worse than he’s cut himself shaving, but there is blood in the air - and the second the scent hits Logan, they’re screwed. The logical part of Logan's mind shuts down and he attacks, ripping through the group with just his fists, throwing people to the ground and socking them in the gut when they rush him. Scott thrusts his elbow back against Martha to dislodge her, apologising as he does it, but it isn't enough to appease Logan. Logan shoves him out of the way to get to her, taking her down as she struggles to catch her breath.
The fight is over in under a minute, nothing left but a group of unconscious adults.
*
“What did you do?” Scott snaps, as he looks around at the carnage. Logan is panting through his nose, fists splattered with blood, while beaten suburbanites lie on the ground - unconscious, thankfully. Logan’s claws had stayed out of play. “Logan, we had a plan.”
Logan looks at him, the expression on his face nothing short of feral. Scott has seen Logan in these rages before - berserk and wild. That doesn’t mean he’s going to put up with it.
It takes Logan a moment to remember how to speak. “She hurt you,” Logan explains. “I stopped it. You can say ‘thank you’ any time you like.”
“It was under control,” Scott says. The stinging pain on his neck, the slightest cut, suggests that might not be as true as he wishes, but there is nothing that could explain the wild fury in Logan’s eyes. “We have to get out of here. What are the police going to do if they turn up and see… this?”
All they’ve done is confirmed every fear these people have. All they’d done is made themselves out to be monsters.
“I could have killed them,” Logan says. “Would have, if you weren’t here to whine about it.”
“It’s not ‘whining’ to ask you to shy away from murder,” Scott fumes, while he picks his way past Martha’s prone body and tries not to think about the aching head that she is going to have when she wakes up. “Come on.”
He smoulders in anger all the way to their car, while Logan drags his feet behind him like a sullen schoolboy. When they get into the car Logan slams the door behind him so hard that the entire vehicle shakes. Scott refuses to acknowledge it. He’s a teacher: he has dealt with dozens of sinister super-powered strops from hormonal teenagers.
The silence inside the car is frosty. Scott keeps his eyes on the road, while his mind floods through everything they’re going to have to do to deal with the consequences. Hopefully the professor is already on top of things, but given his reluctance to intervene directly it’s difficult to tell.
He’s so wrapped up in his own thoughts that it takes a pointed grunt from Logan to get his attention. Paused at a red light, he glances towards Logan expectantly. He’s ready for a fight, but he doesn’t expect Logan to gesture at his hand on the steering wheel. “I want my ring back,” he says.
Scott looks down at the gold band around his finger. After wearing it for a matter of days it sits naturally there, warmed to his skin. He picks his hand off of the wheel and pulls the ring from his finger, tugging at it sticks at the knuckle, before he deposits it in Logan’s waiting palm where it is swiftly squirrelled out of sight.
“’m glad that’s over,” Logan grumbles. “Not sure I could’ve put up with another day of it.”
“It’s not over yet. We still need to deal with what you did,” Scott says. “Attacking seven people with no cause…”
“The professor can work his magic,” Logan says, “Which is what he should have done in the first place instead of sending us in.”
Scott’s jaw clenches, before he simply says, “The professor has his reasons.”
They don’t speak again until the city is behind them and the mansion is in sight. For Logan, silence is typical, but there’s something different about this one - heated and self-righteous. As he drives, Scott can’t stop thinking about the way Logan had looked when he’d first been cut, the fear and anger that had exploded on his face. He’s never seen him look like that before.
It won’t be something he can forget in a hurry.
*
Scott makes it back to the mansion in record time, only to find that the professor is expecting them. “He’s in Cerebro,” Storm explains as they walk through the front door. Logan trails behind him, fuming, but Scott does his best to tune him out. After days in unearned proximity, Scott can’t deal with him any more. “He’s asked not to be disturbed.”
“Does he know what happened?”
“He’s taking care of it.”
That’s as much reassurance as he’s going to get. He takes a few moments to catch up with Storm and trade news, before he slinks upstairs to his bedroom, ready for a shower and some sleep. Logan has disappeared into the depths of the school, and Scott tells himself to be glad about that. A heavy knot settles in his chest nonetheless. He rolls his shoulders to chase away as much of the week’s tension as he can.
As soon as he makes it to his bedroom, he is shoved through the doorway from behind before he has a chance to walk in. His hand is half-way to his visor before someone grabs his wrist and pins it to the wall - Logan. Who else?
“Me and you need to have a talk,” Logan insists, pinning Scott with the bulk of his weight, so close that Scott can feel the heat of his breath. “‘bout what happened back there. You’re going to go and and mouth off and whine to the others about how I ‘lost control’ and ruined your little mission. That ain’t what happened.”
Scott attempts to shove Logan off of him, but short of breaking a wrist or full-on wrestling him to the floor, Logan won’t be budged. He's too big. “Yeah? Then what happened?”
Logan inhales sharply through his nose. “You were wearing my ring,” he says, “and she cut you. For the whole damn weekend I’ve been putting up with your whiny ass, but that was okay because you were - ” He cuts himself off to grunt in frustration. “But she made you bleed. And the second I smelled that, instinct kicked in. There’s nothing like blood for it, Slim.”
Scott finds himself nodding - agreeing, consenting, he doesn’t even know. Logan releases his wrist, and his hand floats to the cut on Scott’s neck, scabbed over already. It’ll heal away in a matter of days, but Logan brushes his fingers over it like it’s a mortal wound. Scott swallows. He hadn’t realised Logan knew how to be gentle. Maybe he's thought about what Logan could be like far more than he's willing to let on. Maybe the reason this weekend has been so difficult for him isn't because the proximity with Logan has been unbearable.
“Scott…” Logan starts to say, but he never gets to finish. Scott hooks his released hand around the back of Logan’s neck, pulling him in roughly. There isn’t any resistance; Logan moulds against him instantly, kissing him as soon as it’s clear that is what Scott wants. He groans against Scott and his hand cups the side of his neck, thumb resting against Scott’s pulse. It’s a soft attack, Logan’s tongue licking Scott’s mouth open and devouring him so carefully and thoroughly that Scott can only think one thing: finally.
Logan kisses him like they’re both drowning - it’s overwhelming and intense, Logan’s hands strong and unrelenting. He’s everywhere, pressing against Scott with raw, physical strength. It hurts, the burn of his stubble and the bruising force of his hands, but Scott gives as good as he gets, his brain fuzzy with novelty and surprise. Logan tugs at his hair and bites at his lips, low growls and groans emanating every time Scott threatens to break away.
Eventually he has to turn his head, breathing heavily while leaning against the wall - Logan keeps him caged in, placing his hands against the wall on either side of Scott’s head, as if there’s a chance Scott might bolt if Logan doesn’t keep him in place. It’s a fair concern.
“Don’t,” Logan murmurs. “You’re about to start making this a big deal. Don’t do it.”
“This is a ‘big deal’. You kissed me.” It feels bizarre even as he says it, but Scott doesn’t want to push Logan away. He likes being trapped.
“You married me,” Logan counters. “That means you started it.”
“Fake-married. That really doesn’t count.” It’s difficult to remember to argue when Logan strokes one hand down his upper arm, firm against his biceps. “Logan, what is this? What’s going on?”
Logan simply chuckles against his lips, a heavy puff of air. “Didn’t think you’d need that part explained, Slim,” he says, and it is very tempting to knee him in the groin just to get rid of the smug amusement in his voice.
“That’s not what I mean,” Scott says, “and you know it.”
“I told you not to do this,” Logan complains. He tries to kiss him again but Scott shifts his head to avoid it. “Really? You want us to talk about our ‘feelings’? I’m telling you I want you. That’s it.”
“That’s all?”
“I liked having you as my wife,” Logan concedes with a smirk.
This time Scott gives into the temptation to shut him up, as he pushes away from the wall and shoves Logan back instead. Nipping at Logan’s lip, it feels good to finally have an outlet for this frustration.
*
The Manor is silent when Xavier emerges from Cerebro, but the telepathic assault is almost instant. Students are dutifully getting on with their homework (or predictably avoiding it, which is just as frequent) and their minds tick over as to be expected. The thoughts emanating from Scott’s room are anything but normal, however.
Xavier’s eyebrows raise and he abruptly withdraws his telepathic gaze, glad that no one is there to see him blush. He clears his throat and steers his chair forward through the white corridors of the mansion’s basement, past sites of former battles and training rooms for children who should never have had to be soldiers. If this was the nudge Logan and Scott required, perhaps Xavier has finally got something right.
He ascends in the lift to the ground floor. As soon as the doors slide open, he finds Storm waiting for him, her arms folded over her chest. “How did it go?” she asks.
There are many answers to that question. Xavier has soothed the minds of their enemies and blurred over certain details: nothing remains that could compromise the safety of their school. It feels dirty to do it, but at times extraordinary measures are called for. He has not only his own morality to think of. The lives of children are at stake.
In practical terms, their attempt at subterfuge has been an abysmal failure. With nothing more than their injuries and fuzzy memories, the hatred of the Pro-Humanity Neighbourhood Alliance will only grow, as was perhaps always inevitable. The X-men have always excelled in reaction rather than proactive goals.
Yet Xavier smiles all the same. “Everything went according to plan,” he states with a twinkle in his eye. Storm’s frown indicates that she hasn’t a clue what he’s talking about, but as she accompanies him down the hallway Xavier sees no reason to explain. The dynamic between Logan and Scott has always been volatile at best: no doubt any change will soon be impossible for even the telepathically-uninclined to miss.
Pairing: Logan/Scott
Word Count: 4400
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Originally written at my tumblr
Summary: To gain information on the Pro-Humanity Neighbourhood Alliance, Logan and Scott attend a couples-only dinner party. It doesn't go well.
Scott doubts he will make it through the day without resorting to violence. His new ‘husband’ has a healing factor that would stop any violent outpourings of frustration from being fatal. He already knows that that will turn out to be an incredibly useful detail in their short-lived fake relationship.
“Grin and bear it, sunshine,” Logan suggests, slinging an arm around his shoulders. They wear matching golden bands on their ring fingers, and they are so close that ‘personal space’ has ceased to have any meaning. Scott still doesn’t think that this can look convincing. Surely anyone should be able to see that this isn’t natural for them.
“You two look very happy together,” Xavier says, barely contained mirth in his voice and twinkling in his eyes.
Logan messes up Scott’s hair with a smug smirk.
“Just keep your mind on the task,” Scott reminds them.
The Pro-Humanity Neighbourhood Alliance has been attracting more attention, and more converts, to their cause in recent months. A group of suburban professionals whose activities seem mostly reserved to meeting up to discuss the dangers of mutants in society, and appearing on talk shows to complain about current challenges to anti-mutant legislation - bigoted, but harmless. There are hints that the organisation could be more active than simple speeches, that there could be violence lurking beneath the rallies and dinner parties. With a welcome evening being hosted tonight, invitation only, it's the perfect opportunity to gather whatever information they can.
He still isn’t sure if posing as a married couple with Logan is the best plan. Xavier assures him that it is, but with the current mischievous glint in his eye Scott doesn’t entirely trust his intentions. Yet they have managed to secure an invitation to the soiree, made up entirely of other couples. Storm's face is already known to them. Logan and Scott have the best chance of slipping in undetected.
“Let’s get this over with,” Scott mutters, frowning in determination.
“Are you divorcing me already?” Logan asks.
Oh yes. Scott is going to murder him before the day is out. He is even going to enjoy it.
*
Standing in their host's living room with a clump of other couples, adrenaline continues to shoot through Scott's body - every instinct on full alert to the danger around him. He clutches a glass of champagne in his hand, barely touched, and smiles as he listens to the conversation going on around them.
Scott can feel a dozen pairs of eyes on him and Logan. Having mingled in their group for nearly half an hour, Scott feels exhausted: the pressure of suburbanite conversation is more gruelling than he would have anticipated. He is used to discussing alien threats and team unity. Chores and gardening are, by comparison, foreign to him.
Logan isn’t particularly helpful. All he seems willing to do is grunt occasionally if someone mentions a topic that interests him - like motorbikes or blood-filled violence. Thankfully the second topic hasn’t yet come up.
“You still haven’t told us how you met,” says Martha, the group’s unofficial leader. Her smile is warm, but her eyes are sharp. “I’d love to hear about it.”
Scott opens his mouth, but his tongue freezes - the ring on his finger seems to burn lying heat into his skin. Jean glares to life in his mind, her ghost a flicker of guilt even now. Logan reaches out for him, takes his hand and squeezes. “He saved my life,” he says. Scott looks towards him, a neutral mask on his face to hide his surprise. “As embarrassing as that is.”
“Hey,” Scott objects, nudging Logan gently with his elbow.
Logan shrugs. His palm is so warm. “I was driving in snow. Out of my depth, I guess. I crashed - the truck nearly went on fire while I was unconscious. This asshole came along and got me free. Like an annoying little knight in shining armour.”
For once, Scott is glad that his eyes are covered - Logan can’t see the rush of warmth and affection. Scott’s mouth twitches, and he allows his head to drop as he looks down at their hands, joined like a real couple.
“You two are so sweet,” Martha states. “It’s adorable.”
Scott doesn’t think they’ve won her over quite yet - but if Logan can keep up this act, maybe this plan can actually work.
*
“Sit your ass down,” Logan barks after dinner, nodding towards the empty space on the couch beside him. His arm stretches out along the back of the couch, and the only place to sit would leave Scott nestled in against him. Even with a distant, distracted audience, that is the last thing that Scott wants. Having been invited to sit down by his loving spouse, there aren’t many ways to wiggle out of it.
He parks himself beside Logan, holding himself as far from him as he can - but that doesn’t make one bit of difference, not when Logan curls his arm around his shoulders and pulls him in closer. “Play the game, hubbie,” Logan murmurs by his ear, a huff of hot air. Scott’s eyes close behind his visor, an automatic shiver. “Everyone’s watching.”
“That doesn’t mean we have to snuggle,” Scott answers, a smile forced upon his face. Logan’s fingers brush against his upper arm, stroking with a gentleness Scott wouldn’t have imagined him capable of. “We don’t need to lay this on too strong.”
“Is it really that tough to sit beside me?” Logan asks. “You’ll give a man a complex if you keep talking like that.”
“Cute,” Scott mutters. It’s distracting enough to be this close to Logan, almost lost in the heat that he radiates, without Logan muddying the waters even further - teasing is just teasing. “Just remember what we’re here for.”
“Like you’d let me forget,” Logan says. He brushes a kiss against Scott’s temple: it even feels sarcastic. “Just another couple of days, then we’re out of here. You’ve got a divorce coming.”
“I’m counting the hours,” Scott responds, while smiling pleasantly when he sees the group’s leader glancing curiously towards them. If he can remember that they’re here to bring down an anti-mutant activist group, this becomes a lot more tolerable. He can even pretend that he isn’t enjoying this, Logan’s arm wrapped around his shoulders and the unique sense of belonging.
*
Their host is terribly gracious when she offers them a spare room in her house. “You’ve come all this way,” she says with a smile like a wolf’s. “I couldn’t make you go home now. Come, come, there’s room for everyone.”
Like the other handful of couples that had attended the open night, they have found themselves in a comfortable guest bedroom. Scott and Logan wait near the door once they’ve been left alone. The biggest problem of the night looms in front of them: the double bed.
Scott tries to imagine what a night spent alongside Logan will be. In this hostile environment, one of them ought to stay awake at all times. He still doesn’t feel reassured.
Nonetheless, Logan ambles towards the bed and kicks his boots off as if there is no issue. “I’ll take first watch,” he says. “You need to rest those eyes of yours.”
Scott could tell him that his mutation is no more damaging to his eyes than Logan’s is, but he’s too exhausted to care at this point. If Xavier ever asks him to do a thing like this again, Scott will turn him down - politely, but bluntly.
He potters around the cream-coloured guest room and prepares for tomorrow as much as he can, reviewing what they’ve learned so far and feeling the telepathic brush of the Professor’s mutation to let him know that the information has been taken and appreciated. Perhaps something good will come of all of this.
Eventually there is no putting it off any longer. He turns back to the bed and finds Logan lounging on it already, lying on top of the covers with his nose buried in a book. It’s a disconcerting sight.
“Are you going to stay there?” Scott asks.
“Do you see anywhere else for me to sit?” Logan responds. He shrugs and only looks up from his book for a cursory glance. “I promise not to cop a feel while you’re sleeping.”
Scott frowns and opens his mouth, but the words don’t come. It hardly feels worth it to scold him. Nothing he says sinks in. “Wake me in a few hours,” he sighs as he slips beneath the sheets, closing his eyes behind his lenses. The weight of the day instantly slides from his shoulders. His head hits the pillow and he is gone.
He wakes up the next morning to find his face pressed against Logan’s thigh, his arm flung over Logan’s leg, and one very amused mutant looking down at him. He can’t do anything but cringe.
Fighting Sentinels is infinitely more enjoyable than this.
Scott untangles himself from Logan as quickly as possible once he wakes up, his cheeks heating up as he generates a thousand excuses about why he would end up clinging to Logan in his sleep. It’s all perfectly innocent, a case of naturally being drawn to heat while he was sleeping, but Logan doesn’t seem remotely interested in listening. “They’re talking down the hall,” he says, nodding towards the door, his voice nothing but an undertone. “They know who you are.”
Scott is not nearly awake enough for this. He sits up and looks towards the door, but no hate-filled menaces jump through it just yet. “You’re sure?”
“They recognise you from the school. Must’ve been keeping an eye on us.” Logan glances towards him, but his expression is so guarded that it’s impossible for Scott to tell what he’s thinking. “You want to get out of here? Might get dangerous.”
Scott doesn’t bother to answer that. He’s faced worse threats, and Logan has been right at his side for most of them. “The professor only wanted us to gather information. He didn’t want a confrontation.”
“Don’t think he’s going to get what he wants,” Logan says. “They’re going to try to take you down. They’ve got you here. Might as well use the opportunity.”
Scott nods. “Good,” he says. “Then we’ll have something to hold against them.” Groups can’t be arrested for bigotry alone. If they turned to violence, then maybe there was a chance of the police doing something. Hoping for help from authority when it came to anti-mutant violence was shaky at best, but there was nothing else to be done. They couldn’t turn to Logan’s solutions: ‘stabbing’ was rarely the best way to handle threats to their community.
“You sure about this?” Logan asks. “It could get messy. They really want you dead.”
Scott isn’t sure if he’s ever going to be able to grasp that. He knows that humans are scared of them; they are scared of change and progress and the very real possibility that humanity is going to be left behind, an evolutionary dead-end. Yet the rejection of tolerance and the reactive violence will never do anything but make Scott harden himself against the outside world.
“Just be ready,” he says. “When they make a move, we need the authorities to be on their way. I can defend myself, but we cannot be the bad guys here. No injuries. Just self-defence.”
Logan grunts, but it doesn’t especially sound like he’s agreeing. “If it gets too messy, I’m not holding back,” he states, but he doesn’t give any more explanation than that. Lying in bed with him, talking about fighting side-by-side in the near future, Scott has a sense of unfamiliar comfort, as if they might have been doing this for years - as if, maybe, they should have been.
“They won’t make a move for another few hours, slim. You should get another couple of hours sleep if you can.”
“What about you?”
“Don’t need it.” Logan smirks. “‘sides, you looked too damn comfortable humping my leg to wake you up.”
Scott’s eyes widen behind his visor and his jaw clenches. “I did not,” he huffs.
All his protests won’t stop Logan from smirking.
If Logan spreads this story around the school, Scott might actually have to kill him - healing factor be damned.
*
It doesn’t take the group long to make their move. Logan and Scott leave their guest bedroom and head down for breakfast with the others, everyone crowded into the kitchen and getting in one another’s way. Even if Logan hadn’t warned him about their plans, Scott would have been able to tell something was up - suburban hate groups aren’t nearly as subtle as they think they are.
About as subtle as a blade pressed against his throat, in fact.
“Don’t move,” Martha warns from behind him, while a sharp kitchen knife is pressed neatly against his Adam’s apple. “We know who you are. Both of you.”
In front of him, just too distant to be of assistance, Logan’s eyes are on nothing but the knife. Scott tries to warn him silently to keep his claws at bay. They don’t need to escalate this.
“Now. Walk - slowly - into the lounge. One wrong move and I’ll cut.”
Scott doesn’t believe her; she’s never had a taste of blood. This group has always been more dangerous for its words than its actions, although he knows the professor has had his concerns about how those activities might boil over. Now, he only hopes that the professor is listening, far away in Cerebro.
“We’re not going anywhere,” Logan states, eyeing up the group. They are heavily outnumbered, and if violence breaks out people are going to get hurt - Scott can hardly deny that. Between them, he and Logan vastly outpower a group of suburban bigots. There is a reason they’re afraid of mutants. “Put the knife down. No one needs to get hurt.”
“You’re the ones who lied your way into my house,” Martha says. Her knife remains firm and solid against Scott’s throat. “This is self-defence.”
“If you hurt him, I’ll kill you. All of you,” Logan warns her, looking straight past Scott’s face.
“Logan,” Scott snaps, only to feel the pressure of the knife against his throat, a warning.
“You’re in our schools. You teach our children. Something has to be done,” Martha states, a tremble in her voice. The rest of the kitchen is silent, her disciples watching.
And the knife slips.
Barely anything, no worse than he’s cut himself shaving, but there is blood in the air - and the second the scent hits Logan, they’re screwed. The logical part of Logan's mind shuts down and he attacks, ripping through the group with just his fists, throwing people to the ground and socking them in the gut when they rush him. Scott thrusts his elbow back against Martha to dislodge her, apologising as he does it, but it isn't enough to appease Logan. Logan shoves him out of the way to get to her, taking her down as she struggles to catch her breath.
The fight is over in under a minute, nothing left but a group of unconscious adults.
*
“What did you do?” Scott snaps, as he looks around at the carnage. Logan is panting through his nose, fists splattered with blood, while beaten suburbanites lie on the ground - unconscious, thankfully. Logan’s claws had stayed out of play. “Logan, we had a plan.”
Logan looks at him, the expression on his face nothing short of feral. Scott has seen Logan in these rages before - berserk and wild. That doesn’t mean he’s going to put up with it.
It takes Logan a moment to remember how to speak. “She hurt you,” Logan explains. “I stopped it. You can say ‘thank you’ any time you like.”
“It was under control,” Scott says. The stinging pain on his neck, the slightest cut, suggests that might not be as true as he wishes, but there is nothing that could explain the wild fury in Logan’s eyes. “We have to get out of here. What are the police going to do if they turn up and see… this?”
All they’ve done is confirmed every fear these people have. All they’d done is made themselves out to be monsters.
“I could have killed them,” Logan says. “Would have, if you weren’t here to whine about it.”
“It’s not ‘whining’ to ask you to shy away from murder,” Scott fumes, while he picks his way past Martha’s prone body and tries not to think about the aching head that she is going to have when she wakes up. “Come on.”
He smoulders in anger all the way to their car, while Logan drags his feet behind him like a sullen schoolboy. When they get into the car Logan slams the door behind him so hard that the entire vehicle shakes. Scott refuses to acknowledge it. He’s a teacher: he has dealt with dozens of sinister super-powered strops from hormonal teenagers.
The silence inside the car is frosty. Scott keeps his eyes on the road, while his mind floods through everything they’re going to have to do to deal with the consequences. Hopefully the professor is already on top of things, but given his reluctance to intervene directly it’s difficult to tell.
He’s so wrapped up in his own thoughts that it takes a pointed grunt from Logan to get his attention. Paused at a red light, he glances towards Logan expectantly. He’s ready for a fight, but he doesn’t expect Logan to gesture at his hand on the steering wheel. “I want my ring back,” he says.
Scott looks down at the gold band around his finger. After wearing it for a matter of days it sits naturally there, warmed to his skin. He picks his hand off of the wheel and pulls the ring from his finger, tugging at it sticks at the knuckle, before he deposits it in Logan’s waiting palm where it is swiftly squirrelled out of sight.
“’m glad that’s over,” Logan grumbles. “Not sure I could’ve put up with another day of it.”
“It’s not over yet. We still need to deal with what you did,” Scott says. “Attacking seven people with no cause…”
“The professor can work his magic,” Logan says, “Which is what he should have done in the first place instead of sending us in.”
Scott’s jaw clenches, before he simply says, “The professor has his reasons.”
They don’t speak again until the city is behind them and the mansion is in sight. For Logan, silence is typical, but there’s something different about this one - heated and self-righteous. As he drives, Scott can’t stop thinking about the way Logan had looked when he’d first been cut, the fear and anger that had exploded on his face. He’s never seen him look like that before.
It won’t be something he can forget in a hurry.
*
Scott makes it back to the mansion in record time, only to find that the professor is expecting them. “He’s in Cerebro,” Storm explains as they walk through the front door. Logan trails behind him, fuming, but Scott does his best to tune him out. After days in unearned proximity, Scott can’t deal with him any more. “He’s asked not to be disturbed.”
“Does he know what happened?”
“He’s taking care of it.”
That’s as much reassurance as he’s going to get. He takes a few moments to catch up with Storm and trade news, before he slinks upstairs to his bedroom, ready for a shower and some sleep. Logan has disappeared into the depths of the school, and Scott tells himself to be glad about that. A heavy knot settles in his chest nonetheless. He rolls his shoulders to chase away as much of the week’s tension as he can.
As soon as he makes it to his bedroom, he is shoved through the doorway from behind before he has a chance to walk in. His hand is half-way to his visor before someone grabs his wrist and pins it to the wall - Logan. Who else?
“Me and you need to have a talk,” Logan insists, pinning Scott with the bulk of his weight, so close that Scott can feel the heat of his breath. “‘bout what happened back there. You’re going to go and and mouth off and whine to the others about how I ‘lost control’ and ruined your little mission. That ain’t what happened.”
Scott attempts to shove Logan off of him, but short of breaking a wrist or full-on wrestling him to the floor, Logan won’t be budged. He's too big. “Yeah? Then what happened?”
Logan inhales sharply through his nose. “You were wearing my ring,” he says, “and she cut you. For the whole damn weekend I’ve been putting up with your whiny ass, but that was okay because you were - ” He cuts himself off to grunt in frustration. “But she made you bleed. And the second I smelled that, instinct kicked in. There’s nothing like blood for it, Slim.”
Scott finds himself nodding - agreeing, consenting, he doesn’t even know. Logan releases his wrist, and his hand floats to the cut on Scott’s neck, scabbed over already. It’ll heal away in a matter of days, but Logan brushes his fingers over it like it’s a mortal wound. Scott swallows. He hadn’t realised Logan knew how to be gentle. Maybe he's thought about what Logan could be like far more than he's willing to let on. Maybe the reason this weekend has been so difficult for him isn't because the proximity with Logan has been unbearable.
“Scott…” Logan starts to say, but he never gets to finish. Scott hooks his released hand around the back of Logan’s neck, pulling him in roughly. There isn’t any resistance; Logan moulds against him instantly, kissing him as soon as it’s clear that is what Scott wants. He groans against Scott and his hand cups the side of his neck, thumb resting against Scott’s pulse. It’s a soft attack, Logan’s tongue licking Scott’s mouth open and devouring him so carefully and thoroughly that Scott can only think one thing: finally.
Logan kisses him like they’re both drowning - it’s overwhelming and intense, Logan’s hands strong and unrelenting. He’s everywhere, pressing against Scott with raw, physical strength. It hurts, the burn of his stubble and the bruising force of his hands, but Scott gives as good as he gets, his brain fuzzy with novelty and surprise. Logan tugs at his hair and bites at his lips, low growls and groans emanating every time Scott threatens to break away.
Eventually he has to turn his head, breathing heavily while leaning against the wall - Logan keeps him caged in, placing his hands against the wall on either side of Scott’s head, as if there’s a chance Scott might bolt if Logan doesn’t keep him in place. It’s a fair concern.
“Don’t,” Logan murmurs. “You’re about to start making this a big deal. Don’t do it.”
“This is a ‘big deal’. You kissed me.” It feels bizarre even as he says it, but Scott doesn’t want to push Logan away. He likes being trapped.
“You married me,” Logan counters. “That means you started it.”
“Fake-married. That really doesn’t count.” It’s difficult to remember to argue when Logan strokes one hand down his upper arm, firm against his biceps. “Logan, what is this? What’s going on?”
Logan simply chuckles against his lips, a heavy puff of air. “Didn’t think you’d need that part explained, Slim,” he says, and it is very tempting to knee him in the groin just to get rid of the smug amusement in his voice.
“That’s not what I mean,” Scott says, “and you know it.”
“I told you not to do this,” Logan complains. He tries to kiss him again but Scott shifts his head to avoid it. “Really? You want us to talk about our ‘feelings’? I’m telling you I want you. That’s it.”
“That’s all?”
“I liked having you as my wife,” Logan concedes with a smirk.
This time Scott gives into the temptation to shut him up, as he pushes away from the wall and shoves Logan back instead. Nipping at Logan’s lip, it feels good to finally have an outlet for this frustration.
*
The Manor is silent when Xavier emerges from Cerebro, but the telepathic assault is almost instant. Students are dutifully getting on with their homework (or predictably avoiding it, which is just as frequent) and their minds tick over as to be expected. The thoughts emanating from Scott’s room are anything but normal, however.
Xavier’s eyebrows raise and he abruptly withdraws his telepathic gaze, glad that no one is there to see him blush. He clears his throat and steers his chair forward through the white corridors of the mansion’s basement, past sites of former battles and training rooms for children who should never have had to be soldiers. If this was the nudge Logan and Scott required, perhaps Xavier has finally got something right.
He ascends in the lift to the ground floor. As soon as the doors slide open, he finds Storm waiting for him, her arms folded over her chest. “How did it go?” she asks.
There are many answers to that question. Xavier has soothed the minds of their enemies and blurred over certain details: nothing remains that could compromise the safety of their school. It feels dirty to do it, but at times extraordinary measures are called for. He has not only his own morality to think of. The lives of children are at stake.
In practical terms, their attempt at subterfuge has been an abysmal failure. With nothing more than their injuries and fuzzy memories, the hatred of the Pro-Humanity Neighbourhood Alliance will only grow, as was perhaps always inevitable. The X-men have always excelled in reaction rather than proactive goals.
Yet Xavier smiles all the same. “Everything went according to plan,” he states with a twinkle in his eye. Storm’s frown indicates that she hasn’t a clue what he’s talking about, but as she accompanies him down the hallway Xavier sees no reason to explain. The dynamic between Logan and Scott has always been volatile at best: no doubt any change will soon be impossible for even the telepathically-uninclined to miss.