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Rating: R Pairing: Scott/Logan [Movieverse] Archive: if you must... let me know Author's
Note: The rating is for
language, mainly and a little blood (again).
Hmmm. Follows:
‘That Smile’ Disclaimer:
Uh-huh. Still not
mine. Damn. Scott
found Jean in their room, in the bathroom preparing for bed.
It was late. He
didn’t remember exactly how long he’d stood in the gym alone –
thinking, wondering, worrying – after Logan had left.
But when he’d shaken himself back to awareness and come
upstairs, the mansion was dark and mostly quiet.
As quiet as a building full of teenagers could get. He leaned
against the doorframe, watching her wash her face.
Her hair was drawn back in a loose ponytail.
She was dressed in a flowing dark robe over one of his old tee
shirts, her favorite sleeping attire.
He held his left arm across his body, hand cupping his upper arm.
Feeling the sting of fresh bruises underneath. Her gaze
rose to his in the mirror, concerned.
“What happened?” she asked, softly, frowning.
Knowing him well, able to read him often without having to resort
to telepathy. For which he
was guiltily grateful right then. “I might
have messed up.” “How?” “Asked
too much, too soon. He
could leave again.” She looked
down. Carefully folded the
washcloth after wringing it out. Tugged
the elastic band out of her hair, letting it fall free.
Then she turned to face him. “How’s
your arm?” she asked, glancing at him sidelong. “Fine,”
he said, letting her divert the subject.
She walked up to him, her expression somber, faintly worried.
She was nearly his height, something that had always pleased him,
and able to look him in the eye. She
put one hand over his heart, the other cupped his face.
Scott
closed his eyes behind his glasses and turned into her touch.
Letting her presence, her gentle compassion wash over him.
Feeling faintly unworthy. He
shuddered. Then
straightened and wrapped his arms tightly around her, pressing her
close, burying his face in her neck.
Her arms slid around him in return, her pulse thundering against
his cheek. She was
uncertain too. “There’s
something there, Scott,” she said, quietly, her voice shaking
slightly. “I know it. The two of you will have to sort it out somehow.
He’s so focused on you…” “I
know,” he breathed, still shuddering.
“God, Jean, I love you.” “I love
you too, honey,” she said, voice thin. “I
don’t know how…” he began. Her
lips against his cut him off. The
kiss was soft, tender. Strangely
unfamiliar. He accepted it,
sank into it. Drawing her
into him, as memory unfolded. Light and love.
Affinity and promise. Challenge
and grace. Jean. She
slipped back slowly, her eyes closed.
“Let it go for now,” she said, breath warm against his mouth. He pulled
her back, his grasp tight. Hands
sliding up to hold her head in place as he kissed her; firm, hard, mouth
parting over hers. Tongue
sweeping relentlessly inside. She
moaned deep in her throat, pressing herself close, her suddenly peaked
nipples rubbing his chest. He drew
back just enough to let his mouth slide across her face, lips seeking.
Her head tilted back, her hands stroked up his back in return,
into his hair, careful, as always, of his glasses.
He nibbled and bit his way down her neck, to the scooped collar
of the old shirt. She made
a soft breathy sound of pleasure. Suddenly
anxious for the feel of her under his hands, the scent of her skin, the
taste of her. He caught her
tightly to him, and spun her, half moaning, half laughing toward the
bed. “Scott!”
she cried softly as he lowered her down, hands firm on her, not letting
her wriggle away. Crouching
between her spread thighs. His
face still, intent. Absorbing
the beauty of her. She was
watching him, her eyes wide, dark.
Lips parted on a gasp. He
bent his head, mouth and tongue finding the hollow of her throat, hands
cupping her shoulders. Her
pulse was throbbing under his touch, her hands urgent on him in return.
He
stripped her robe away, feeling the smoothness of her skin under his
hands. The silk of her hair
as he pulled the shirt over her head.
Naked, sleek, she arched against him and he worshiped her with
his gaze. Bent and took a
hard nipple into his mouth, heard her moan of pleasure, felt her hands
fierce on him. Lost himself
in Jean. This was
love. This was right. Julio
waited until Gavin was asleep. When
the entire mansion was still and long quiet, with only the occasional
odd creak of old, old walls settling to make him start.
Wary. No need for a
light. The moon glowed
brightly against the curtains. More than
enough light to see. More
than enough light to dig out his small box of treasures from deep under
his bed. To open it and
sort through the carefully arranged items.
Carefully arranged so that he would know if someone had disturbed
them. But no one ever had,
since Gavin. Gavin had
protected him, comforted him, become his friend.
All without asking anything in return. They were
his own personal things. Someday,
he’d share them with Gavin. He’d
hoped to do it soon. But
now, Mr. Summers had distracted his friend.
Given him something outside Julio’s friendship.
Made him happy in a way that Julio never could have.
Already he was preoccupied.
Already other kids were taking notice of the boy that Mr. Summers
and even the Wolverine were paying so much attention to.
Soon Gavin would be accepted by the others.
Welcomed. So where
would that leave Julio? Alone
again? He shivered at the
thought; the bed shook as well, rattling briefly against the wall.
He forced himself to calm down, to still the outpouring of his
hated mutant power. The
rattling stopped. Not
wanting to awaken his friend, he carefully lifted out from the shoebox
the few things he’d managed to keep on the streets.
Until he finally found the one thing that had set him free. Scott woke
with a start, not knowing exactly why.
Disoriented. Jean
was still sleeping in his arms; the weight of her head on his upper arm
had numbed his whole arm. He
gently shifted her to her own pillow, carefully sliding his arm out from
under her and rolling onto his back to let the blood flow back.
Gritting his teeth against the pins-and-needles sensation. He looked
around the room as he waited for the feeling to fade.
His soft sleeping goggles sent everything into stark shadow.
Moonlight made the curtains glow. There was
a shape in the window seat. He sat up
slowly, warily. Hand rising
to his sleep goggles. “Your
rules, my game,” Logan said softly, barely a whisper in the night. “No,”
Scott said, voice low, intensity vibrating in the air. “My game too.
Now get out.” The shape
slipped from the window seat, into darkness.
Silently. “What’s
the matter, honey?” Jean murmured, stirring beside him.
“Bathroom.
Go back to sleep,” he whispered, grateful that she reinforced
her psychic shields heavily at night.
To avoid the dreaming minds of others, even him.
He slid out of the bed. She
mumbled an incoherent assent and rolled back over.
Already asleep again. He’d
long envied her that skill. He
listened carefully. Logan was still in the room, somewhere.
He walked to the door by memory, half-expecting to run into the
other man on the way. He made it
to the hall unimpeded, waiting a moment before a dark shape appeared and
Logan’s hand slid around his arm.
He closed the door quietly behind them.
Yanked his arm away impatiently, and took a few steps down the
hall toward the stairs, away from the door.
The shadow followed on his heels, the gleam of eyes and teeth
showing briefly in the faint light. “Went to
her for it, did you?” Logan said mockingly, voice little more than a
murmur. “Back
off,” Scott said, angry and alarmed but forcing it down.
"How much more, Logan?
How many times do I have to prove it to you?" "Until
you convince me, Scotty-boy," the other man said. Scott stood, silent, tense in the dark hall. Staring at the dark shape beside him. Wondering how far he would have to go, could go. Dared go. Remembered something in Jean’s touch, her kisses. A desperation, a fear. From a telepath. "You
can't have me, Logan, but that doesn't mean I
can't have you," he
finally said. Logan's
breath hissed in sharply. "Remember that."
"That's
not the way it works…" "Yes,
it is," Scott interrupted, low, fierce.
"My rules. My
game. Or you're gone. Now.
Tonight. Can you
live with that?" Silence.
Thick. Dragging.
His wound was throbbing with pain, he realized, because his hands
were fisted at his sides. Tense
as he waited for the Wolverine’s reply, or the Wolverine’s attack,
at a disadvantage in the near-darkness and fully aware of it. Then Logan
dropped to his knees in front of him, his hands clutching Scott’s
hips, the loose flannel of pajama pants, forehead resting against his
taut stomach. Breathing
hard, almost panting. And
shuddering as if freezing. “Yes.”
Logan’s voice hoarse, the word raw.
Then, “Bastard. Why
did it have to be you?” “I
didn’t start this,” Scott said, as gently as he could manage.
Fighting himself. “But I’ll finish it however I have to.
Do you trust me, Logan?” Logan’s
hands tightened on his hips painfully, fingers digging in deeply,
possibly bruising. His head
scrubbed back and forth against Scott’s bare stomach as he shook his
head, wiry hair harsh. Scott
kept his hands at his sides, but couldn’t force his hands to open, to
relax. “Do
you?” Scott demanded. “As much
as I can.” The words low,
pained. “My head’s so
fucked, Scotty. You.
You’re crystal. I
need…” “What do
you need, Logan?” “Everything,
Scotty. I need
everything.” Scott
slipped back into his room, pausing at the door after he closed and
locked it to lean back against the cool wood, heart racing.
Afraid he’d made a mistake, taken a wrong turn, read the
situation wrong. Second
guessing himself as he did after every major decision.
Tearing it apart to make certain he’d done the best he could,
and if not, to find a way to make sure he would the next time.
He’d let
Logan hold him for a long time. The
shudders gradually slowing, stopping.
Until the other man finally just climbed to his feet and walked
away. In silence.
And Scott wasn’t entirely certain if he was leaving the school
itself or just him for now, but he hadn’t called after him.
Had just let him go. “Scott?”
Jean called softly. Wide
awake. He closed his eyes
and let his head thump back against the door. “Yes,”
he said, fighting down dismay. “Logan
was here, wasn’t he?” “Yes.
I’m sorry,” he said, mind whirling.
He heard her leave the bed, walk toward him, saw just a slender
shape in the moon-shadowed room. Everyone
had better night vision than he did, but he could still track motion.
Her hand caught his, drew him away from the door, back to the
bed. Wrapping her arms
around his chest from behind, cradling him between her thighs as she
leaned against the headboard. Enfolding
him in her warmth, her love. “I knew,
before,” she said quietly, her cheek resting on his hair. “Knew
what?” he asked, feeling slow, bemused, trying to find a way to tell
her what was going on. But
soaking up her presence for now. Relaxing
as he couldn’t anywhere else. Only
with Jean did the walls come down.
He’d kept too much from her for too long now.
He needed her as check. To
keep him grounded and real. “That he
really wanted you, and not me,” she said huskily. “That flirting
with me was a way to get your attention.” Scott
shivered hard, arms rising up to enfold hers, fingers lacing with hers.
Her words falling like rocks into water, leaving only a ripple on
the surface but coming to rest deep inside. “God,
Jean, what do I do?” he whispered.
“I love you. I
won’t lose you. But we
need him. And he needs us,
or he’ll self-destruct.” She made a soft sobbing sound, her breath ruffling his hair. Her fingers flexed in his, tightening. Holding him close. Her heart beat steady against his back. “Always
trying to save them all, aren’t you?
That’s why I love you so much, Scott Summers,” she said.
“Maybe you should be reminding yourself what you need.
And asking if what Logan wants is really
what he needs.” Scott
sighed deeply, feeling Jean around him, the gentle brush of her mind
against his. And this time
he didn’t block her out. He
let her in.
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