Chapter Text
The Krakoa of Earth-616 wasn't his reality, but it still felt like home.
Which is to say, Krakoa felt like home. The rest of the world was all but completely alien to him.
Logan didn't know the details, but he did know that during an X-Men & Avengers joint op, the powers of the Scarlet Witch had mixed with the powers of Slipstream, one of the new kids on the team, and sent Logan tumbling through a warp-wave that landed him on a whole other Earth.
That wouldn't have bothered him - wasn't the first time he'd wound up in another universe, wouldn't be the last - except for the walking cautionary tale that was this whole goddamn reality.
Mutants had had it worse than ever here. Legacy, Genosha, Decimation, the Purifiers, the Terrigen plague...shit, makes me fuckin' glad all we gotta worry about are Sentinels. The place was more insular than the school had ever been, mutants having practically embraced tribalism because of humanity's pure, raw hate. He saw every enemy the X-Men had ever had treated as an ally just because they were mutants...or at least, almost every enemy. No matter how hard he looked or sniffed, he didn't detect hide nor hair of Sabretooth. Guess even Mutant Paradise has some standards.
The Logan of this world had had a lot in common with him, and yet nothing in common. Most of the familiar bonds were there - Slim, the Elf, the Russkie, Blue, Rems, and everyone else - but there was a sterility to their friendship, an almost pathological reluctance to go past the platonic and into sexuality. Logan might almost have thought his other self to be straight, weird as that struck him...
...Except for his relationship with Scotty. Even though they used their shared love for Jeannie as an excuse, almost a crutch, to hide thre fact that they were into each other, they were clearly into each other. Logan could smell his other self's arousal spike whenever that Slim walked into a room. Of course, bringing it up had led to a scrap, and they'd had to be separated by that Jean and Emma Frost (who could scold the other Wolverine like no one's business, to Logan's unending amusement). But the feelings were there, no matter how much Mister Twenty-Four-Beers-A-Day protested.
Logan was glad he wasn't so deep in the closet as to use the women he loved as excuses to fuck the guys he loved. Wolvie should spend more time with his world's Herc, Logan had thought fondly.
When it had come time to go back home, that universe's Charles had given him two of Krakoa's magic flowers - 'should the need arise', he said. He wasn't clear on whose need he thought would arise. His world was safer than theirs, but he didn't know how well they'd take a spare copy of everyone from Apocalypse to Exodus to Fabian goddamn Cortez wandering in from that other Earth. A problem for the future, Logan thought, and hoped it was a future that never came.
~*~
After about fifty apologies from Slipstream, and fifty more from Wanda, Logan was finally alone with his flowers. One of them had been given to Storm right away, to be planted and grown in her greenhouse so that Hank and the other science geeks could study it. Logan had been told he could keep the other. He wasn't the best at houseplants, but he knew enough. Sunlight, water, nutrients in the dirt. You didn't spend almost a decade being housemates with Ororo Munroe and not learn the basics of gardening.
Logan kept it by the window - he'd made sure his rooms at the Institute always had a big window that he could look out, or jump out of if he needed to. It smelled great, looked nice, and gave his room just a little bit more of a natural touch, so it didn't completely look like a smoker's den.
Each week, like clockwork, he'd given the flower some water, some nutrients, and turned it so it was facing the sun. And everything was okay for several weeks.
~*~
Then one day, Logan fucked up, and he fucked up big.
If you'd asked Wolverine, after the fact, what had happened, he wouldn't have been able to tell you. But when he'd poured what he thought were plant nutrients into the flowerpot that morning, the flower's color darkened from magenta to a deep royal blue almost immediately. Logan was baffled for a moment, then looked down at the beaker in his hand, and saw the last few drops of Beast's pheromone extract sliding around the bottom.
Shit.
And then the scent of the new flower hit him.
The first hour was pretty much a blur. Logan remembered being hot, sweaty, and the feeling of air on his body as he tore out of his clothes being the most erotic thing he had ever felt. After that it was all growls, and writhing, and his fist being a blur on his cock, healing factor making up the difference for doing this a) unlubed and b) hard and fast enough that he'd have flayed the skin off of it if not for the pre that was oozing down his shaft like lava down the side of a volcano. He didn't remember the first orgasm, or the second, or third, only that the cum barely had time to land on his hairy chest or belly before he was swiping it up, eating it like ambrosia, sucking his fingers clean, and then going again, head so fogged with the blue flower's aroma that he could think of nothing else but masturbate, jerk off, get off, cum, do it again, ad infinitum.
The second hour was then things got fun. Eventually, his healing factor and super senses counterbalanced each other, and what was initially a powerful hit of mind-altering pheromones by way of alternate-universe magic flower bullshit became a regular aphrodisiac. Now he felt like he'd popped a Sildenafil, or watched a few hours' worth of porn without jacking off.
Now, it felt good.
Logan took off the rest of his clothes. Now completely naked, he could kick off this impromptu marathon jerk-off session properly. He was still feverishly horny, but now he could actually enjoy it instead of being a slave to it. He edged this time, stroking almost to the brink of orgasm, then pulling back, letting the near-cum feelings surge through him while he took deep hits of the flower's scent, its pollen wafting through the air like poppers. The whole room seemed to take on a bluish tinge, or maybe that was just the blood rushing out of his brain. Whatever the case, he actually felt it when he came this time, and his roar of completion made the windows rattle.
The third hour was where Logan got creative. Finally possessed of enough self-control to lock his door, he could set up his laptop and start playing porn - which in this case, meant certain security tapes from around the Xavier Institute. Random studs off the Internet were all well and good, but Logan lived with some of the hottest people on the planet, and because of the nature of his relationship with them, he got all the porn he could ever want, for free.
So he watched, and he stroked, and he groaned. It was now at the point where he was pretty much immune to the pollen; he could stop whenever he wanted. But that was the thing: he didn't want. Like a lusty snowball rolling down a mountain of base instinct, Logan's own desire had been picking up steam even as the flower's influence was waning, and now he was masturbating almost entirely under his own power.
The fourth, fifth, and sixth hours passed by in a blur of that bliss. What had been an imperative need-to-fuck-NOW urge was now simply a tang of spice added to Logan's own horniness cocktail. The porn and his own fantasies fueled him, he lost track of time, lost himself to the pleasure, and he loved every second of it.
In that sexual nirvana, Logan felt love for the one person whom he had denied almost his entire life: Logan actually loved himself.
~*~
Logan's eyes slid open and he looked at the clock. It had been eight hours since the feeding mistake.
The sunset was shining through his window, bathing everything in vivid, ruddy orange - except the flower, whose petals glowed almost defiantly blue. He was lucky it had been his day off.
But he couldn't lay in bed and jerk off forever. Even his teammates would frown on that; not least, because not inviting any of them would have been downright out of character for Logan. And while he was pretty sure he'd been immunized to the Krakoan flower's pollen by now, it wasn't a guarantee.
Gotta plant that thing somewhere else. Otherwise, who knows what'll happen if someone else gets hold of it? Especially someone else with super senses, like Hank or...?
He thought of Laura and blanched. What had been a fun (if indavertent) diversion for him would be like a violation to her, who had been used by others for every despicable means imaginable while she was unable to fight back. No. I ain't puttin' her through that. Not now. Not ever.
The flower which had brought him so much pleasure, he suddenly had an urge to destroy, to throw in a fire or into the lake, where it would burn, or drown, before it could hurt anyone he loved.
But...there was no need for that. Taking a deep breath - which, of course, got him another nose full of the plant's pheromones - he thought. He remembered his cabin, out on the grounds - with a basement insulated from the outside world, specifically for when he was entertaining 'guests'. He remembered the grow lights that Ororo kept in storage in case some of her more sensitive plants weren't getting the sunlight they needed.
I can do that. His face split into a broad grin. Matter o'fact, that works out perfect.
Sparing only the briefest of moments to dress for the cold, Logan took the flower in his hands, opened the window to his room, and vaulted out into the orange-purple twilight.