Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Logan woke to the sound of the steady beeping of a heart monitor. Slowly, he opened his eyes to the sterile grey ceiling of the mansion’s infirmary. He didn’t remember getting there. The last thing he remembered was pain—an ungodly amount of pain, ripped from his body with a scream he hadn’t been aware he could make. He sat up, dizzy from the lack of weight he was used to. Metal. Pain. Blood. Screaming. Pain. 

His claws came out with a familiar snikt, and he clenched his fists, staring at the six white bones extruding from his hands. The metal was gone. The fucking asshole had ripped the adamantium right off his fucking body. Logan sat back in the hospital bed, watching as the claws disappeared into his knuckles. The heart monitor was still beeping. Growling, he ripped the electrodes off his bare chest, which only caused a flatline. After another second, he ran his left claws through the machine. He could still do that at least. 

The doors of the med bay opened after another minute, and Morph came in panic, looking where Logan was lying, and completely froze, jaw dropping. “Holy shit, you’re awake!”

By the time Wolverine could open his mouth, they had made their way over to the bed and embraced him tightly. “I have never been more glad to see you in my entire life!”

Logan scoffed, but accepted the hug, patting their back. How long had he been out?

Finally, Morph let go of him, a genuine smile creeping on their pale face. “The heart monitor went off, I thought something was wrong, but—” They glanced at the broken screen. “I guess you took care of it.”

“Morph,” Logan began, shocked by how rough his voice sounded. “How long…”

They frowned and sat on the bed. “Six months.”

“What do you fucking mean it’s been six months?” He looked around and noted how empty it was. How silent. 

“You wouldn’t wake up. You healed, took forever, but it was like you were Sleeping Beauty. And none of us could get into your head.”

He couldn’t help but give a shit-eating grin at the comparison. “Aw, you didn’t try to kiss me awake?”

Morph’s face turned red. “Shut up.”

“What do you mean by no one getting into my head? Where’s Jeanie? Chuck?” He paused, staring at Hank’s workspace, everything covered in a thin layer of dust. “Where is everyone?”

They swallowed. “They… they just disappeared. Forge and I, we’ve been trying to find them, but until yesterday, we thought they were dead.”

“...Why yesterday?”

“Bishop showed up. Said that everyone is time-displaced.”

“How the fuck did that happen?”

Morph shrugged and sighed. “I have no idea.”

Logan stared into his blanket-covered lap. He was pretty sure the only item of clothing on his body was his underwear. “The school?”

“The kids who could go home went home. Turns out I’m not too bad with kids. Jubilee’s been a massive help. Also, Colossus and Kitty are back.”

“She’s alright?”

They nodded. “She and Roberto showed up four months ago, spent the two months just trying to get back here. …Cable’s here too. Forge’s tryin’ to fix his arm, but his powers went to shit. Apparently, Scott and Jean appeared to him before they killed Bastion. Sounded like final words.”

Something twinged in his gut. “Part of me wonderin’ if I should’ve stayed asleep.”

Morph said nothing, but the expression on their face made clear they understood in more ways than one.

When Jubilee saw Logan (after he’d gone to his room, showered, and put on clothes, obviously), she had barreled right into him. Still getting used to being a hundred pounds lighter, he had almost lost his balance. Almost. He chuckled and ruffled the kid’s hair before she went into a tirade at the speed of light, explaining every little detail Logan had missed in the last six months, blurring her words together, but he got the gist of it—it was hard trying to get back to your home when you didn’t have money or knowledge of geography.

He was absolutely useless to Forge and Bishop. He didn’t know jackshit about technology, and he knew even less however the fuck time travel worked. The school was closed, everyone else in the world thought they were all dead, and the metal from his fucking bones was gone. It wasn’t like he had loved them, not the way it made his body creak against the weight, the constant reminder that he had volunteered for it, the memory of pain and experimentation—but he felt like a completely different person now. All he had known for decades, since he woke up with no memories, was a body with adamantium bones, and now it was gone. Bone wasn’t the same as metal. 

When he had gone into the Danger Room, three days after he woke up, the stark difference in his body made it clear. He was faster, no longer lugging over 300 pounds, but bone didn’t cut through things the way metal did, and even if he could dig his claws into something, it required more effort, more energy. He was still the Wolverine, and technically, he had spent most of his life without metal in his body, but with everyone gone…  he could feel his age, and he hated it. 

Cable was one mystery he couldn’t figure out. That cranky, time-traveling asshole was Nathan? Nathan was a baby who’d been stolen by a fucking madman, poisoned, and sent to a future where he could live. He had held him, only once, but he still remembered how he felt in his arms, so small and innocent. And there was the same baby, now old and hardened. …He liked Cable. They could sit in absolute silence and converse entirely through facial expressions. Still, he couldn’t shake the disbelief that the 6’8 white-haired man built like a fucking fridge was the same fucking baby who’d been born less than a year ago.

Two weeks after Bishop arrived and thirteen days after Logan woke up, they found them. He wasn’t sure how they’d done it, something about using Bishop’s technology and some aspects of Cerebro to locate and bring them back to the present, but as they watched them materialize into Forge’s lab, it quickly became apparent that Scott and Jean were still missing. The ever-talkative Beast explained what had happened, that somehow they’d ended up in Ancient Egypt, encountering a mutant called En Sabah Nur, but they had only spent a few days there, not six months. Jean and Scott had not been with them. 

“How is that possible?” Morph asked. “Three days for you guys and six months for us?”

Cable, who had been silent the entire time, glanced at Bishop. “Time and time travel work differently.”

Bishop nodded after a moment. 

Logan looked around the crowded room before he fixated on Magneto, who stood near the Professor. He could hear the way his heartbeat quickened when he saw Wolverine alive, and the smell of fear and regret swimming around him. Honestly, Logan thought he should be commended on his self-control because he wanted nothing more than to jump the fucking asshole and see how’d he like it to have his bones ripped out of his body.

Adjustment. That was what Charles had said. To reopen the school and inform the world that the X-Men were alive and going nowhere. To adjust to the hole that was the location of Jean and Cyclops, which neither Forge, Bishop, nor the Professor had managed to find. To adjust to the excruciating fact that Magneto was a resident of the manor, that somewhere deep in him, Logan had to forgive and forget. Like he’d ever fucking do that. He suspected Cable knew something he wasn’t telling them, based on how he’d tense, or the way his heart rate went up whenever they mentioned Cyke and Jeanie. He knew something and was lying about it, but Logan didn’t bother mentioning it to anyone. He had a reason, and the guy knew his shit. It was probably for the better.

It was nice to see the liveliness of the school again, to see how happy everyone was that he had recovered, but it bothered him that most people were happy to gloss over the fact that they had almost died because of Magneto. That he had almost died because of him. And now he lived among them again like nothing had fucking happened?

He stood alone on the balcony above the main entrance, cigar lit and staring at the main gardens in front of the gate. It was late, past midnight, but Logan was restless. Being in a coma for six months probably factored into that. The January weather had left a thin layer of snow, and he could see his breath every time he exhaled. He always liked winter. It reminded him of home and what few childhood memories he could recall against the swirling turmoil of mush that was his fucked-up brain. 

As he tapped his cigar on the marble, he caught a scent in the air, getting closer to the balcony doors. He scowled. Erik.

“What do you want?” He asked when the doors creaked and opened.

Magneto sighed. “That nose of yours never fails, does it?”

“My self-control might. Who knows, maybe one of these days I’ll snap and see how much force bone needs to take someone’s head off. Especially if that head belongs to a man who can control metal.”

Erik stood next to him, watching the tree line. “Anger makes one do many things.”

Logan put out his cigar on the marble. “Is that your way of saying sorry I ripped the adamantium off your bones, I was half crazy from rage?”

He didn’t respond for some time, eyes still watching the nearby forest. “...Is that what you want? An apology?”

“No. You’re a stubborn, hateful, self-righteous asshole. If you want forgiveness, ask Kurt, I’m not Catholic.”

Erik smirked and turned to face the shorter man directly. “And you’re not what you just described me?”

“I’m a stubborn asshole. Not self-righteous. And only hateful half the time.” He sighed. “I don’t like the fact that you’re here, that everyone’s pretty much brushed off the fact I was in a fucking coma for six months because of you, because you weren’t right in the head. I don’t give a fuck. You’re not the only one who’s gone crazy. But… I know how controlling emotion can be.”

“I never understood how someone like you could willingly be part of Charles’ peacekeepers.”

“I like Chuck more than I’ll ever like you. Even if right now I think he’s a shady son of a bitch. And I’d rather get shot in the head with another adamantium bullet than be near Sabertooth.”

Magneto snorted. “Then we’ll tolerate one another?”

“I’m not shaking your hand, bub.”

“I wasn’t offering it.”

Logan swallowed. “We can try that coexistence Chuck is such a fan of.”

Erik looked like he wanted to laugh, but he nodded and turned away, leaving Wolverine without a second word. 

He shivered and inhaled deeply. It had gotten colder since he stepped outside, and he could smell the incoming storm. He picked up the remainder of his cigar, thought about tossing it over, but a memory of Scott growing upset the last time he’d done that popped into his head. He had scoffed and commented on Cyclops having a stick up his ass, but he threw the cigar in the trash.

Logan missed Jean. He missed her red hair, her laugh, and the way her eyes lit up when she was doing something she loved. He savored the taste of what her lips had been like, part of him wishing he had let her keep kissing him, but he’d done the right thing. It’d always been the Scott and Jean show, and he was just a bystander. …Though if he was being honest with himself, and not that he’d ever admit to anyone, even Morph, he missed Cyclops too. Scott would have made more of a fuss about Erik staying after all he’d done. Even if by himself, he was one of the most awkward and repressed people Logan knew, there was a reason why he was the leader of the X-Men and Logan was not. 

It had been chewing on his mind for a while. When he slept, he had flashbacks of Asteroid M. Flashes of unbearable pain, the sound of his own screaming, blood in his vision, but he remembered voices, before the pain had been too much, and he slipped into unconsciousness. He had avoided thinking about it because he didn’t know what to do about it. Scott had been by his bedside. So had Morph. 

Don't you dare break her heart. Be the best at what you do. Heal.

She can't say it. But I can... I love you, Logan. Stay with me.

Jean was at the forefront of both statements, but he remembered the way their hearts had beat in the exact same way—panicked and desperate.

Chapter Text

On a February morning, Logan finally got around to stealing Scott’s motorcycle and taking it out for a ride. It hadn’t been touched in months, so really, he was doing a favor by taking it out. The cold wind blew through his hair, and the fog had practically cleared the roads, so the only sound echoing across the empty highways was the motor roaring past the speed limit. It was one of the more peaceful things he’d experienced in a long time. 

He parked the bike in its usual spot, stuffing the keys in his pocket. From the garage, he could hear loud chatter, almost yelling, coming from the main hall. Having smelled that practically everyone was there for some reason, his curiosity got the best of him, and he walked over. Everyone was standing in a circle, and the mood actually seemed happy, celebratory.

He inhaled deeply, about to ask what was going on, when he caught two scents he hadn’t smelled in months. Jean and Scott. He froze in shock, eyes widening. No fucking way—

“Logan!” Hank beamed and stepped away, revealing said couple.

They were both in some kind of weird desert garb, long and loose flowing robes. Cyclops wore his visor while Jean’s hair was done in a braid. Where and when the fuck had they been? 

“Holy fuckin’ shit,” he uttered, unsure what else to say.

When they turned to where he was standing, he heard both of their heartbeats start pounding. Jean’s face lit up, and she rushed over.

“You’re alright!” She exclaimed, pulling him to a suffocating hug, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders tightly. 

He could feel her, smell her, and his knees almost buckled by how overwhelmed he was by her. Shit, it’d been a long seven months. He stepped back before he did something to embarrass himself. She smiled shyly, leaning down to quickly peck his cheek, and he was pretty sure his face was the color of her hair. 

“Logan,” Scott said, standing next to his wife. “It’s good to see you recovered.” He put his hand on his bicep and squeezed gently, a small smile forming on his face.

Logan tried very hard not to react to the casual touch. Either he had been replaced with some alien lifeform that thought their relationship was much better than it actually was, or he and Jean had been away a lot longer than seven months. He swallowed and nodded, looking at the pair. They were weary, and he could see almost purple eye bags under Jean’s eyes, but they looked exactly the same as they had seven months before.

“It’s good to see you guys too.” He looked around the room for Bishop and Forge. “…I didn’t know Forge found you.” 

“I didn’t,” Forge spoke up, looking quite perplexed. “They came back on their own. I have no idea how.”

Logan cocked a brow. “One of you got time travel powers ya neglected to tell us?”

“No,” Jean replied, shaking her head. She glanced at her husband, frowning. “...We had help.” She turned back to him. “Your body… you’re healed?”

He held up his right hand and watched his claws come out of his knuckles. “Missing a thing or two.” He looked up to where Erik stood in shadow, watching the reunion. “No thanks to that asshole.”

Scott frowned and turned, and his demeanor changed, glancing at Charles. “Why is he here?”

The attention turned to Magneto, and everyone started talking at once. Logan stepped back from the noise, glad to have the attention off him. He sighed, a thousand thoughts churning in his head. They were alive. They were back. Something was off. How long had they been gone? Where and when had they gone?

When he looked up again, he noticed Cable was standing away from everyone, like him. For someone whose parents had basically said a final goodbye to him, he didn’t look very happy to see them. He honestly looked upset, as if he were mourning something. Yeah, he definitely knew something about their disappearance, and Logan was going to corner him about it the first chance he got.

That chance ended up being later that night, when he found Nathan alone in the kitchen drinking a beer. Forge had built him a new arm, but his powers were still shit. 

“You knew where they were the whole time, didn’t you?” He began, going to the fridge and pulling out a beer he kept hidden behind the soda.

“What makes you think that?”

“People’s heart rates change when they lie. I can hear that. Sometimes they give off a certain smell.” He popped open the tab and took a sip.

“Emotions smell?” Cable muttered, and Logan could almost feel the eyeroll.

“Strong ones do.” He turned around to face him. “Like fear, anger, pain, lust… but sometimes I can smell when someone’s lying. And in the last month or two, your heart rate went up whenever someone mentioned Mommy and Daddy, but I figured since you’re Mr. Future, you had a reason to keep your mouth shut. So talk.”

“Or what?”

Snikt. He raised his left hand and cocked a brow. “They’re not metal anymore, but they can still do some serious damage.” 

“...You’re an asshole.”

He smirked and leaned on the counter. “So are you.”

Nathan sighed. “...They were in my future. About 2,000 years from now. They… used different names, and I was a kid, but they were with me for a few years.”

“Years?”

“The leader of our clan… we called her Mother Askanti. One of her powers was time travel. She knew who they really were, kept them in our time, kept them the same age as when they arrived, but when she died, they faded back to their present, and I thought I lost the only parents I ever knew.” Cable wasn’t telling him everything, based on the way he refused to make eye contact, staring into his beer can, but it was enough that Logan wouldn’t push it further. 

Wolverine swallowed the rest of his beer before he spoke, digesting the information. “...If you knew, why didn’t you say anything? Or act less of a dick?”

“I didn’t know that… Sco—my father and Jean were the same two people who raised me. I didn’t put two and two together until they disappeared, and when Bishop said they were time-displaced, that confirmed it.”

No wonder they looked so depressed. Scott had finally gotten the chance to be a father. They were a family and were forced to separate, just like they had almost a year ago. 

Everything was almost back to normal, or at least it pretended to be. Gambit’s death still left a pretty big hole in their dynamic as a group, but the Professor was back at the mansion, and Cyclops was once more the leader of the X-Men. Neither Jean nor Scott would talk about their time in the future, but it was clear that it had impacted the pair greatly. They were different, more secretive, and when Logan saw them together alone, they wouldn’t speak at all, only communicating through her telepathy.

What Scott and Morph had said at his bedside was all he could think about. They had said different things, but reacted the same way. They used Jean as a motivator to heal, but now Logan thought they had used her as a shield. Morph loved him. They had confessed with Jean’s voice and body. Scott… he could never figure the guy out. He had been genuinely happy to see him, and Logan didn’t think he was that much of an asshole not to want him to recover, but their relationship was built entirely on disliking one another and having feelings for the same woman. Their mutual dislike had softened over the years, something from hatred to whatever it was now, and they worked well as a team, when Logan wasn’t being a stubborn pain in the ass and Cyclops wasn’t being a bossy little bitch. After everything that had happened with Madelyne and Nathan, he even felt sorry for the guy—not that he’d ever tell him.

For Morph… he felt guilty. The idea that they had feelings for him wasn’t surprising, given how the pair had been practically flirting with each other for years. Some of it was in jest, other times… he found Morph attractive, and the thought had crossed his mind before, but it’d only ever been strictly sexual or platonic. He loved Morph, but not the way they did or wanted him to. Guess they meant it a lot more than Logan ever did.

The shitter part was that Scott crossed his mind in more ways than one. The guy was, unfortunately, good-looking, and well, he had jacked off to the idea of bending Cyclops over and showing him who was really boss more times than he’d like to admit, but it’d always been in a context of hate sex or a masculinity complex, never anything more. Now? He didn’t know. Scott had reacted the same way his wife did when they saw him for the first time up and about since almost dying on Asteroid M. That panic, that fear he heard and smelled while barely conscious, haunted him because it meant Cyke cared about him a lot more than Logan had ever thought, and he was terrified that if he examined his own feelings closely, it would be the same. Wolverine could be blunt and crass, but he could read between the lines of what the younger man had said. Do it for her, for me, for both of us.

They both loved Jean. That was the normal status quo since he had practically joined the X-Men well over a decade ago. Something between him and Scott? That wasn’t normal. That couldn’t happen. Scott was straight, or at least he never gave any hint he had feelings for anyone else but Jean. ...Well, there was Madelyne, but Logan didn’t count her. He didn’t talk about his own sexuality, but he always figured no one would be surprised if he told them he fucked guys. Cyclops, on the other hand…  now that he thought about it, Logan couldn’t think of any time ever where he ever talked about sex, and the only kisses he ever gave Jean in public were chaste pecks. Maybe his habit of repressing everything also covered a sexuality crisis. Did Logan want that? Scott had a stick-up-the-ass personality and micromanaged to levels Logan didn’t think were humanly possible, but in the rare moments he revealed his fucked-up sense of humor or time and time again proved exactly Cyclops was the leader and Wolverine was not, he almost liked the guy. Logan already wanted to fuck him, so did that mean he wanted hi—fuck. He did. He fucking did. 

When the fuck had that happened? Why the fuck—out of the two presented options, why couldn’t it have been the much easier and less complicated option? The one with way less turmoil and drama, and didn’t include another person involved, even if she was the person he’d loved for years. He was an idiot because clearly one option was much healthier and made way more sense, and—  

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you thinking that hard before. Is your mutation evolving for higher-level thinking?” Morph announced, walking over to the bench where Logan had been lost in thought, inside the greenhouse. They were holding a pack of Labatt Blue. “I’ve been looking for ya.”

He flinched, wanting to shove his head into the ground. Of course one of the three people he really wanted to avoid appeared at the worst time possible.

They frowned and sat down next to him. “Shit, what’s wrong?”

“I…” he wavered, eyeing the condensation of the beer can. “I need a beer.”

“They’re Canadian, just for you,” they said sarcastically, handing him one. “Went all the way across the border.”

 “They sell these at the gas station twenty minutes away, bub,” he replied, drinking all of it in one go.

Morph stared at him and blinked. “I was going to say to use your imagination, but… what’s wrong with you? You didn’t even reply to my beautifully creative insult.”

Logan swallowed, debating whether or not he should tell them. “...If ya had two choices, one you knew was way fuckin’ healthier, made more sense, and honestly would be better for everyone all around, but ya can’t help but lean toward the stupidier, more complicated one that you know will cause problems.”

“Guess you really did evolve some higher-level thinking.”

“Morph.”

“Sorry.” They took a sip of their beer and sighed. “People pleasing only takes you so far. I would know. Sometimes… you gotta embrace what you want, even if you know there’ll be consequences. At the end of the day, you’ll be happier, and if the people around you don’t want that, do they really care about you?”

God, Logan was a fucking cunt. Morph was advising against what they wanted without realizing it. He should be honest. He should tell them and stop pussyfooting around it. 

“Morph?”

They set their beer down. “Yeah, Logan?”

He could hear their heartbeat quicken in anticipation, and he felt like even more of an asshole. “Right after uh Erik ripped the adamantium off my bones, I was in this half-unconscious fluid state, and the only thing I could feel, see, smell, and touch was pain before my body eventually sank into a coma. I could hear things, though, and before I fully slipped away… I heard what ya said as Jeanie. And I heard how your heart beat.”

Morph’s face turned red, and they looked away, finishing the rest of the beer and grabbing another can. He could smell the waves of fear and anxiety surrounding them, and he sighed, licking his lips and taking a deep breath.

“I’m not good at this. …I think you’re my closest friend, and… I do love you, but… not in the way you want me to. The way I honestly fuckin’ wish I could. I’m a fuckin’ asshole, and you don’t deserve me. I mean, hell, you’re hot. I’ve jacked off to the idea before.”

They looked up, eyebrows raised. 

“That’s not a compliment, I’ve jacked off a vodka bottle that was shaped like a woman. …I can do sexual, friends-with-benefits kinda bullshit, but I can’t do romantic because I don’t feel that way, as much as I wish I did, bub. I won’t hurt ya any more than I already am and lie.” He picked up another beer, popped the tab off, and took a sip. “In another life, I would’ve taken ya up on those feelings. I know we’ve been walking the line between banter and flirting for a while.”

Morph was quiet for some time, tears pooling in their eyes, but the whiff of anxiety and fear had disappeared. “I don’t know what’s worse, being rejected or how genuinely bad you feel about doing it.” They sniffed and wiped their face. “I don’t think I could do a fuck buddies thing with you. I’d just hurt myself thinking it’s something more. …Nice to know that you do think I’m sexually attractive.”

Logan shook his head. “Christ, I feel like a fuckin’ dick.”

“You should.”

They glanced at each other, and he saw a hint of a smirk on the other mutant’s face. He and Morph drank in silence, finishing their second can and eventually their third before someone spoke up again. 

“So that healthy choice you were talking about… You meant me?”

“Yeah.”

“Flattered to know that I’m clearly the better option, but alas, you have terrible judgment. Who’s the other one?”

“Do you really wanna know?”

Morph shrugged. “Big gossip fan, you know that. Might make me feel better. Or worse. Still wanna know. So spill.”

“You weren’t the only one to use Red to hide your own feelings. Cyke… he basically said to heal for her, but I think he meant for both of them.”

“...And what makes you think that?”

“His heart rate was exactly the same as yours. …And when he and Jeanie came back, I mean, you were there. He was happy to see I was okay.”

They leaned back on their palms, taking in the information. “...You’re saying you think Scott has feelings for you?” They morphed into said man, glasses, polo, and all. “This guy? You hate each other, well, highly dislike each other.” They pointed at themself. “This fucker?”

Logan sadly nodded. God, it sounded weird hearing fuck in Scott’s voice, even if it was really Morph. “Imagine how I feel.”

They turned back into themself. “And you may feel similarly? …Convenient solution to the love-triangle problem we’ve all been sick of dealing with.”

“You walked on me concluding that I think I want him beyond just fantasized hate sex.”

“Shit. I don’t think I’ve ever been jealous of Scott Summers until now.”

“I don’t know… he’s never given any indication that he’s also interested in men.”

They shrugged. “He spent most of his childhood being abused and beaten up. That’s bound to lead to sexually repressive problems, gay or not. It’s probably a miracle he’s not more fucked up.”

Fair. He rubbed his face. “I’m sorry.”

“We can’t have everything, can we?”

“You deserve to be with someone who makes you happy.”

“So do you.”

Logan bit back a snide remark as the pair fell back into silence, staring at the plants and listening to the sound of muffled crickets outside. He had no fucking idea what he was going to do, and in all honesty, he was too much of a coward to do anything about it. For now.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t immediate, and he didn’t notice it for a while, but something had shifted. Publicly, the Jean-Scott-Logan dynamic hadn’t changed at all. He still flirted with Jean, never enough to be vulgar or indecent, just the usual saccharine charm and niceties. Snide remarks and half-hearted rebellious actions or mutterings during training in the Danger Room or group meetings whenever Cyclops did something overly anal or annoying. That was what everyone expected from the three: a constant battle of tug-a-war until something snapped and lashed out. Rather than lashing out, however, something private that Logan could barely understand had emerged. 

It felt almost dangerous to be alone with either of them. With Jean, the flirting had become a two-way path, like she was egging him on, touching him more, bright eyes flared with something forbidden. He and Scott argued less alone, instead staring at one another with the intensity of fire, daring one another to be the first to look away. He would listen to the sound of the taller man’s heartbeat, thumping louder and louder the longer Logan looked at him. Then he’d smirk, and even with those shades, he could see the question playing, like any of the inhibitions before had melted away, and it was only a matter of time before someone crossed the line they had drawn years ago.

He wanted them—that was one thing that’d become evident within this fucked-up psychological game they were playing. He wanted to fuck Jean, fuck Scott, fuck them both, alone and at the same time. And yet, none of them had stepped over the finish line. A tiny part of Logan still thought that he was imagining and overthinking all of this, and one wrong move could ruin more things than just the tension-laced air around them. How far would it go? How long could he avoid his own feelings over the fear of rejection and ridicule, that this had all been some elaborate joke? How long before he did something to make one of them snap?

Close to six am, Logan left his bedroom for the Danger Room, something he had done every weekday since he had woken up in January, usually spending an hour, adjusting to the lack of metal in his body, learning how to use bone claws instead. It had proved useful in team training sessions, with everyone still used to what had been before. Plus, he preferred working out alone, and solo training in the Danger Room guaranteed it before dawn.

And of course, when he got to the Danger Room, he could see Scott’s name on the display board. Seriously? He scowled but opened the door anyway, walking and dropping his towel and gym bag on the floor as Cyclops blasted some robot into the wall. Like Logan, he was in gym clothes—a t-shirt and jogging pants—instead of his uniform.

“Computer, end simulation,” Scott said loudly, and all the other robots disappeared. 

“You are aware that I come here Monday through Friday at six.”

He glanced at his watch. “It’s 6:17.”

“I snoozed my alarm, sue me. You couldn’t wait fifteen minutes?”

“I was already up and down here.”

Logan rolled his eyes, unzipping his jacket and tossing it next to his bag. “Well, I was going to spar the computer, but you can stay here if you want. Better to fight a person anyway. No powers,” he told him, stretching his arms against his ribbed tank top. 

Scott put his hands on his hips. “What kind of sparring?”

“Bo staff.” He couldn’t help but smirk. Cyke was great at hand-to-hand combat, not so much when it came to long-handled weapons.

“...I could use the practice,” he said after a moment. 

“Computer, run Logan-AZ12 for two people,” He said into the empty space.

The dull metal room quickly turned into an old-fashioned Japanese dojo, and in the center, robotic arms placed two wooden bo staffs on the floor before disappearing. He walked over and picked one up, feeling the weight in his hand. 

“Don’t you take off your socks and shoes in a dojo?” Scott mused, picking up the other staff. 

He stood in a fighting stance, both hands gripping the wood. “Don’t tell the sensei.”

Cyclops scoffed but stood in position, holding the weapon diagonally.

Logan inhaled the sharp air, listening and looking for any telltale sign of where the other man might move. It came quickly, even for his enhanced senses, but he parried the strike and pushed Scott back, aiming the end of his staff for his stomach, but Cyclops dodged out of the way, their bo staffs hitting each other with a loud CRACK.

Shit, he’d gotten better at this. Almost exponentially. As much as he loved easily beating people, it was nice when someone could keep up with him. Scott wasn’t trained in the actual martial art of bōjutsu like Logan was, but he had learned some basics over the years. This, however? It was rougher—dirtier, but as they dodged and struck each other with increasing intensity, sweat pooling at the back of his neck, Logan was having fun.

The question plagued him, though. When did he get good at fighting with a staff? And that weird, silent tension they had going? He was tired of it, beating around the bush over something neither of them wanted to admit or do something about. Frustration had seeped into his mind from unanswered questions and unbidden curiosity, and well, Logan was enough of an asshole to start something. He wanted Scott to react. 

“When did you become so good at this?” He began casually, stepping back and twirling the bo staff absentmindedly.

Cyclops shrugged as they circled each other. “It’s good to practice skills you aren’t efficient at.”

“Then why haven’t your social skills improved?”

Logan could practically feel the eye roll radiating off Scott, who just shook his head. He stepped forward, aiming for a strike, but the taller man side-stepped and thrusted forward, and he barely dodged out of the way.

“I thought we were doing the silent thing.”

“I’m bored with that. …The future. That’s where you picked up, didn’t you?”

His heart started beating faster, and his face soured. “I don’t want to talk about it. You know that.”

“You were gone for seven months. For you, it was several years. You got to raise your kid. What was so bad about it?”

He bit his lip, and Logan smelled the frustration coming off him. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Slim, you’re talking to the almost two hundred-year-old guy who lost two lifetimes of memories. And from Cable said—”

“What did you do?” His nostril flared.

Bingo. Logan tried hard not to smirk, leaning on his staff. “I knew he was lying about not knowing where you were, but I never said anything. Thought he probably had a reason. Turns out the reason was entirely selfish, not that I blame him. So when you and Red came back, and he looked depressed, well, I asked him about it. Barely gave me anything but more than what you two have said.”

Scott clenched a fist and took a deep breath. “Can we just drop it? I thought we were sparring.”

Yeah, well, Logan didn’t want to drop it, not when he was already asking the question he had avoided for months. “Why did the old woman help you? Keep you there. What did she have to benefit from it? The fuck was her name, Mother Askanti?”

Scott’s mood immediately shifted from annoyance to anger, dropping the staff and walking right up to Logan, eagerly using his height to glare down. “Drop it, Logan.”

He looked up into his visor, listening to the angry heartbeat and how the man clenched his teeth. “No, I don’t think I will. Who was she?”

Cyclops stepped back and looked away. “Fuck off.”

Logan dropped his staff, crossing his arms. “Wow, you’re using big boy words, good for you. Do you kiss Jeanie with that dirty mouth?”

He strode back into Logan’s personal space. “That’s what you want to talk about right now?”

“I’m always in the mood to talk about your wife.” A shit-eating grin spread across his face. “She kissed me, did ya know that? Not me. She did. Should’ve let her really get in with it, but I didn’t because I’m such a nice guy.”

Scott sighed, and Wolverine could smell his mint toothpaste on his breath. He turned around, shoulders hunched. “I know she did. She told me.”

“Right in time with the little psychic affair you and Mad—”

“Don’t say her name,” he hissed, facing Logan.

“Who knew Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes had it in him, juggling two wo—”

He interrupted him again with a harsh laugh, shaking his head. “I thought we were past this, and with everything that’s happened in the last year—but you’re still an asshole with the maturity of a thirteen-year-old.” He looked up. “Computer, end session.”

The Danger Room returned to its original state, robotic arms grabbing the two bo staffs as Scott walked toward the entrance.  

Logan grabbed his arm before he could get too far. “Where’d ya think you’re going?”

“Away from you,” he snarled, trying to yank his arm back.

He may not have had an adamantium skeleton anymore, but he was still leagues stronger than Scott, and he wasn’t gonna let him leave just yet, not when he was finally reacting, finally talking. He pulled him toward his chest, inhaling the scent of a sweaty and pissed off Scott Summers. “Or what, Slim?”

  “Fuck you,” he growled, shoving Logan off him.

The memory of Scott’s voice telling him to heal played in his head as red rushed through it, and the next thing he knew, he had Cyclops pinned to the metal floor, tightly gripping his wrists above his head. He could smell his anger and frustration, but uncertainty was peaking through it. Now or never. 

“If you wanna act like a little bitch and whine, fine. If you want violence, fine. But here’s the thing, Scott,” he began, using his actual name for once to get his attention.

It worked. Cyke stopped struggling underneath him and stared, frustration melting into anxiety. 

“I know what ya said. Before you disappeared. It was one of the last things I heard before I slipped into the coma, but I heard that. You used her name, but based on the way your heart was pounding in desperation, and how it feels almost dangerous to be alone with you and Red… did you mean something else, Slim?”

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. It was the only thing Logan could hear, the pounding inside Scott’s chest. The man beneath him said absolutely nothing, breathing loudly through his nose. Logan stared into the visor, panting. He had Scott underneath him, who wasn’t struggling to get out of his grip. He smelled like sweat, odorless deodorant, and the distinct scent that Logan had always associated with him. He wanted to punch him. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to lick the sweat between his neck and collarbone before biting so hard he broke the skin. Blood rushed to his groin and—fuck. He was hard. Shit. 

Scott was bound to feel him, and his eyes started shifting, not wanting to let go but not wanting Summers to say something. He moved slightly and heard a soft groan, something poking into his sweatpants. Then he smelled it—that sweet, delicious smell of arousal, and he looked down to see that Cyclops was just as hard as he was. He looked back to see the man’s face, and he was as red as the lenses of his visor and glasses. Lust churned in Logan’s brain, shutting up every other part in his head, the desire to see Scott squirm under him and gasp too strong to think about anything else and its consequences. So he let go of his right hand, and before Scott could react or try to free himself, Wolverine spit into his hand and shoved it down the younger man’s underwear, wrapping around his cock.

He gasped and bucked his hips into Logan’s, using his free hand to muffle the noise that came out of his throat. The older man dug his hard-on into Scott’s thigh, groaning at the friction as he started roughly jerking him off. The spit wasn’t enough, and he could imagine that it felt like sandpaper, but Cyke seemed to like it enough, rolling his hips against the dead weight of Logan’s body, teeth biting his lip so hard that he was surprised he couldn’t smell blood. He couldn’t see the guy’s dick, but based on how it felt, it seemed decent—slender, cut. He thought about pulling the sweatpants down to get a better look, but watching how red Scott’s lips were and feeling his own neglected cock beg for something beyond dry humping, a more selfish idea came into mind.

Scott practically whined when Logan let go of him, but quickly shut up when he grabbed the collar of his t-shirt, pulling him onto his knees as he stood up. He could feel the lust-fueled power rush through him, staring down at the man as he tangled a hand into his hair, pulling him closer to his body until his nose was centimeters away from his crotch. With his other hand, Logan undid the strings of his jogging pants, pulled them and his underwear down to his lower thighs, sighing in sweet relief when his cock sprang out. He pulled Cyke’s hair, forcing him to look up. 

He was panting, nostrils flaring, hands at his sides. He looked dazed, or at least Logan thought he was—the visor wasn't giving away much. Logan brought his other hand to the guy’s lips, which parted slightly. He quickly drew them away, too turned on and impatient to take his time with it, biting his lip when he wrapped his hand around of his cock not bothering to listen to the tiny voice in the back of his mind, whispering that this was a bad idea, that he shouldn’t be rough for no reason, that he should ask before he did something that could fuck up everything. He closed his eyes and looked up. The smell of shocked arousal was too addicting, the taller man’s heavy breathing was music to his ears, and the thought of cumming all over the Boy Scout’s face sounded like a fucking wet dream come true.

Before he could start jerking himself off, however,  Scott grabbed his hips and pulled him forward, and he felt a hot, wet mouth engulf his cock. Biting back a moan, he opened his eyes to see the guy gagging, but taking it nonetheless, and his brain nearly shorted out, even when he felt teeth—the idea that Cyke would do that hadn’t crossed his mind. Ever. 

“Fuck,” he mumbled under his breath, bringing his hands to the sides of Scott’s head, pulling him closer until his nose was touching his pubic hair.

He choked and gasped—or at least tried to, and somehow it only made Logan harder, his fingers running through auburn hair, barely able to keep his hips from moving. He wanted to fuck his face. Fuck, he wanted it bad. His fingers gripped Scott’s hair tightly, grumbling deep when he felt the flick of a tongue. When Cyclop’s left hand trailed from Logan’s hip to his own cock, he took that as a clear enough sign, bucking himself into his mouth, finding a rough pace he took greedily. 

Pleasure filled his body and mind, reveling over the fact that he was fucking Scott Summers’ face, listening to the sound of chokes, gasps, and half-sobs coming from the man on his knees. He could smell the desperation coming off in waves, and from the corner of his eyes, he could see Cyke’s hand moving in his pants, his body growing shakier and shakier. Logan groaned loudly, feeling his core tighten, growing more and more sensitive until he came with a grunt, pulling away from Cyclop’s mouth with a stumble. 

Regret. That was the first thing he felt when the feelings of his orgasm passed, and a cold, cruel sensation washed over his body. Self-disgust. Regret. He looked at the floor, watching Scott cough and gasp for air on his hands and knees, smelling like sex and sweat. He could see semen in his right hand and could smell both of theirs mixed into the air. He hadn’t even asked if he wanted it. He just grabbed him and fucked his mouth like some kind of slut. Oh god, why the fuck had he done that? What the fuck was wrong was him? Classes started in less than two hours. Oh Jesus—

Logan’s breathing quickened, and he could hear his heart pounding in his chest, louder than anything he had ever heard before. Panic rose in his body, climbing up to reach his throat as he swallowed back a gag. Hands shaking, he pulled his underwear and jogging pants up, then ran them through his hair, yanking at the roots. He looked away from Scott. He couldn’t look at him—he had to get out of there, he had to leave, what the fuck was wrong with him, what the fuck?!

He picked up his gym bag and zip-up jacket and left the Danger Room as fast as he could without running, leaving his towel and the taller man, still on his hands and knees on the metal floor and huffing for breath, alone.

Chapter Text

6:47. That was what the first clock he saw said when he reached the main stairwell. Classes started at 8:30. He didn’t have a class until 9:45, but the halls would be flooding with kids soon enough. He felt like his heart was going to explode and splatter onto the hardwood floors. He could smell a few people already up and around, but he was too focused on trying not to freak the fuck out to notice who exactly was wandering the halls. 

Logan’s feet thudded against the stairs as he climbed them, gripping his gym bag in one hand and his jacket in the other, the only thought on his mind was getting to his bedroom and away from everyone. He had picked his bedroom to be at the end of the hall on purpose, but for the first time since arriving there, he really fucking regretted the choice of bedroom, wanting nothing more than to slam his door shut so he could sit and think about whatever the fuck had just happe—

“Careful!” a woman’s voice cried before Logan even realized what was going on. 

He blinked and stepped back, and his heart fell to his stomach. Of course the one other fucking person he desperately wanted to avoid was the same person he’d nearly run into in his encroaching panic. His heart started beating faster, and he looked at his feet, unable to look her in the eye. 

“You’re in a hurry,” Jean mused. “It’s not even seven.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He had to get out of there, he had to fucking get away from her.

“...Are you alright? You don’t look well. Did something happen?”

Logan forced himself to look up, and he immediately felt worse. Her blue eyes were drowning in concern. He dropped his gym and jacket, trying, trying to think about anything other than what had happened in the Danger Room. “I-I jus-I just need to be alone right now, Red.”

She took his hands gently, her thumb gently stroking across his knuckles. “What’s wrong, Logan?”

He jerked away, his face growing hot. The more he tried not to think about it, the more pressing it became. Scott hard against him, Scott on his knees looking up, Scott’s mouth on him, Scott, Scott, Scott—

Jean gasped loudly and stepped away, her jaw dropping as her face paled. “Oh my god.”

   Shit. shit, shit, fuck. The cat was out of the bag, and Logan wanted to rip his heart out of his chest. Why was his life like this? Maybe he should’ve stayed in that fucking coma. God, he wished he hadn’t heard what Scott had said. That would’ve made things easier, and he could’ve buried any other thought he’d ever had about the guy in the back of his head and never worry that his feelings extended to more than just Jean.

Her heart was pounding almost as loudly as his. Her eyes were everywhere but on his, her lips pursed into a thin line, trying to make sense of it all. He could smell the shock radiating off her, but he didn’t smell hurt or disgust. Finally, she turned back to face him, and her face was unreadable. She stepped back into his space, breathing hard, and grabbed his face. The tips of her green-painted nails touched his sideburns gently despite the rough way she grabbed him, pulling him closer to her. He blinked, inhaling the fresh smell of her mint toothpaste, her floral perfume, growing anxious. Why was she getting closer? He could feel the warmth from her body, her uneven breath, what was she doing—oh. She was kissing him, kissing him hard, gripping his face in her hands, and he could barely comprehend what was happening, but her lips were warm, and she was soft, and everything else seemed unimportant. 

He kissed her back, tasting her mint toothpaste because what else was he supposed to do, pushing any errant thought to the back of his head. His fingers ran through her hair, eyes closed, drinking in every little noise she made. It was nothing like the last time, though the last time he hadn’t returned it, but God, he was regretting it now. She overwhelmed his senses, and it seemed like everything that had just happened didn’t matter. Of course, the moment it passed through his mind, it wouldn’t leave—why was she kissing him? He had just fucked her husband’s fucking face, that didn’t warrant a ki—

Jean pulled away before he could finish the thought. She was panting, her lips swollen, and she looked shocked. “I… I-I… Logan.”

Reality came crashing back as he inhaled deeply and ran his fingers through his hair. What the fuck? Why the fuck? They were in the goddamn hallway, anyone could’ve seen that.

Her face turned red, and he realized he was projecting. “...I don’t know why I did…” she wavered off, her eyebrows knitted together, deep in thought. After a moment, Jean’s face turned as red as her hair, and as she lowered her head, Logan could smell her embarrassment, alongside a faint indication of arousal. “I think you should come to our room tonight.”

Logan felt like a deer in headlights, staring blankly as she walked away, the smell of her perfume trailing behind her. It took a minute to remember that this was the hallway where the majority of the adults lived, including Hank, and no way in fucking hell was he going to run into Beast when he knew reeked of sex and Jean and Scott. He still couldn’t wrap his head around it. Maybe he was dreaming. That seemed way more likely. Then again, he probably wouldn’t be feeling this much guilt if this were a dream.

He usually didn’t bother showering after working out, but today… he was a fish to water, standing under the showerhead until the hot water ran out. I think you should come to our room tonight. It was a proposition. That much he knew. Was she going to find Scott and tell him what she did? Tell him what she had asked? The remorse from what he’d done in the Danger Room remained, but the guilt less so. He shouldn’t have gone about it like that, but he guessed it had been the line that the three of them had been dancing around that was finally crossed. Something was going to happen eventually, and well, he felt worse about how he’d gone about it.

The day passed achingly slow. He was five minutes late for the 9:45 class. He didn’t even bother with a lecture, staring at the group of sixteen and seventeen-year-olds until they all mutually decided it was a great time to review their notes for the exam in a week. He actually liked teaching history, and the kids always loved it when he told a story from his past that tied into a lesson, though admittedly, he usually couldn’t remember enough to make most of it completely truthful. He even enjoyed this class, American History, as much as his Canadian bones did not want him to. Today though? Sulking alone in his room with nothing but his thoughts and way too many beers sounded like paradise.

 The other three classes he taught passed similarly. He sat at the desk in the front of the classroom and tried not to think about the events of the morning, but since life fucking hated him, that was the only thing he could think of. The scents of Scott and Jean haunted his senses, the lingering touches of Scott’s hands on his hips, Jean’s hands on his face as she kissed him with a passion he could barely fathom. It was terrifying. It was what he wanted. Would it ruin everything? What the fuck were the couple thinking about? Had Jean psychically told her husband that she had invited the guy he had just technically cheated on her with to their bedroom?

He went to the nearby convenience store after his last class and bought a bottle of Crown Royal because he refused to buy any American whiskey on principle. He needed something stronger than beer. He ignored the optional team exercise in the Danger Room—he had no fucking idea how the fuck he was going to be in there anytime soon without thinking about blowjobs and facefucking, and instead did what he had wanted to do the whole day: sit alone on his bed, the curtains drawn, and drink straight from the bottle. Drinking straight whiskey was one of his more stupid ideas, but fuck, he needed to get his mind off everything somehow. He didn’t even like Crown Royal, but it did the job he wanted it to do. It was times like these when he despised his enhanced metabolism and healing. It took a lot to get him drunk, but well, at least he didn’t have to worry about a massive hangover.

It started to taste like nothing when Logan got halfway through the bottle. His head was buzzing, staring at his dresser and the blank wall behind it. The room was dark, save for the light under the door and between the curtains. It was barely four in the afternoon, and here he was, drinking a bottle of whiskey. His eyelids felt heavy, and when there was hardly a quarter left of the bottle, he could feel himself swaying, even though he was seated. Thank fuck, he was finally drunk. He clumsily closed the bottle, letting it gently slip from his hand as it hit the carpet floor. 

Logan fell back into his bed, his head spinning as he stared at the ceiling. He could barely think. He couldn't keep his eyes open. His body felt like a heavyweight, his brain was sloshing around in his head, and it only felt natural to give in to the temptation of closing his eyes and resting for a few minutes. 

He woke up to the sensation of falling, sitting up and gasping before he was immediately hit by a sour taste in his mouth and a pounding headache. He groaned, rubbing his face. He was covered in sweat, his flannel sticking to his back. He blinked hard, taking off the flannel slowly, and turned to his nightstand, where his clock read 7:12. A few minutes of shut-eye turned into a three-hour alcohol-infused coma-nap. Dinner for the adults had started ten minutes ago. 

As it turns out, three hours was not enough for his body to process three-quarters of a bottle of Crown Royal, meaning he ended up with a hangover after all. He slowly descended the stairs, wincing at the loud noises coming from everywhere. It was a Friday night, no shock there that everyone was doing something. He guessed that was what you got when you decided to drink before five o’clock. 

They usually ate where the kids ate, meaning buffet-style serving and long tables. When he walked in, he was immediately greeted with scents of a dozen different people, including Jean and Cyclops. He thought about just grabbing food and then returning to his room, but he figured that one of the kids had mentioned his lack of teaching and didn’t want to start more questions. Quietly, he served himself dinner and sat at the table furthest away from the couple.

“Yeesh, you smell like a distillery,” Morph announced, sitting down next to him with their food.

Logan closed his eyes. He still had a headache. “Your point?”

“When did that happen?”

“When I bought a bottle of Crown Royal three and a half hours ago.”

They looked disturbed. “You drank a whole bottle of whiskey?”

A couple of heads turned in their direction. He could feel Jean’s eyes on him, but he refused to look up. “I drank three-quarters of it.”

“Oh yeah, like that’s a big difference. Why?”

“None of your concern.”

They pursed their lips. “And you’re already sober?”

“Slept through it. Woke up fifteen minutes ago. You’re not helping with the headache.”

“Not apologizing because why the fuck are you drinking that much? In broad daylight?”

Logan sighed. “Didn’t feel like thinkin’.”

“Guess the new higher-level thinking mutation isn’t mixing well.”

He glanced at the taller mutant and flipped them off.

Morph laughed. “Okay, but genuinely. Are you alright? Some of the kids said you didn’t do anything in any of the classes you teach. And you didn’t go to team training.”

The shorter man huffed. “The training was optional. …Yeah, yeah, fine, something’s off. My fault too, but I don’t want to talk about it, bub.”

They shrugged. “Shocked I didn’t have to waterboard that information out of ya, but fine. You know you can talk to me. As you previously established, we are best friends in the whole wide world.” Morph fluttered their eyes with a shit-eating grin.

Logan rolled his eyes. “Shaddup.”

“Cyclops canceled all his classes today. Said he got a bad migraine, but he looked fine at the team exercise. Know anything about that?”

Well, that just made things worse. Shit, why did Morph have to tell him that? He swallowed, hoping his face didn’t show anything that might indicate he did know something about that. “No, I didn’t know that. Why would I?”

Morph gave him a look.

Logan replied with a Drop It face. 

“Alright,” they muttered under their breath.

He looked at his plate of spaghetti and meatballs. Most of it was eaten. “I’m crashing for the night, I still have a headache,” he said, pinching his nose as he stood up. It was true, but he also wanted to get away from everybody staring at him.

“G’night, Logan,” Morph replied, though they still had a strange look on their face, like they knew something was up. 

“Night,” he mumbled, holding his plate as he headed toward the doorway. As he was leaving the room, he briefly looked around, watching everyone talk with one another until his eyes fell upon Jean and Cyke, and whoop-de-fucking-doo, they were looking right at him. 

Cable was sitting next to them, but he was speaking to Bishop. Scott had changed into a light blue button-up, while Jean was still wearing the clothes from the morning. They looked like nothing had happened, and everything was hunky dory. She tilted her head, and he didn’t have to be a telepath to see the question on her face. Will you do it? 

He gulped and looked away, walking toward the kitchen where he washed and dried his plate and fork before putting them away. By the time he got to his room, the headache was mostly gone, but his heart was beating loudly, and he felt a pit forming in his stomach. He went to his bathroom and turned on the sink, splashing water on his face like it would do anything. 

Logan turned off the sink and looked in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot from the whiskey, and the sweat stains underneath his arms of his white t-shirt were quite visible. He looked the same he always did, hair sticking up in a way he never knew why, and a resting disgruntled face. They wanted him. They actually fucking wanted him. He could make everything he ever wanted happen if he did what Jean had asked. God, he had fucked up today in more ways than one, but for some reason, the consequences were the exact opposite of what he thought would happen.

Would it be a conversation? Sex? What did they want from him? A fuckbuddy? A partner? He loved, fucked, and fought with the same burning passion and intensity. Would they accept that? Would they let him? He wanted it, he wanted it bad. 

He brushed his teeth and tongue, trying to get rid of the whiskey breath. He smoked a cigar and a second one. He paced across the room like a caged animal, trying to put his thoughts together. When he glanced at his clock and read the digital numbers of 9:03, he let out a massive sigh. Anxiety twisted his stomach, but he left his room quietly, closing the door behind him. 

The hallway felt never-ending as he walked past various bedrooms toward the room of his destination. Logan could smell them, growing stronger and stronger. He could see the bedroom door was wide open, waiting. For him. He took a deep breath, shoved all his apprehensions and fears down his gut, and walked toward the door. 

The room was dark save for a lamp on one of the nightstands. Sitting on the left side of the bed were Jean and Scott. Logan’s foot hit a creaky plank when he got to their doorway, and they both looked up at the same time. His body blocked most of the light from the hall, and the room suddenly seemed a lot smaller. He could hear their hearts beating in near unison. The room smelled like a blend of their scents, and for a brief moment, he wondered if heaven smelled like this. Like Scott and Jean and Jean and Scott. 

Logan glanced around the empty hallway from the corners of his eyes and swallowed, stepping past the threshold and into their bedroom. Neither of the couple on the bed moved until Jean lifted her hand, eyes glowing blue as the door slammed shut and locked behind him.

Chapter Text

The sound of breathing grew heavier, and Logan honestly couldn’t tell who was the loudest. The dim light of the lamp glowed faintly, casting a shadow on the sitting couple, but it didn’t affect his vision. He could see the pale green of her blouse, the light blue of his button-up, the light reflecting red on Scott’s glasses. They were still staring at him. He stared back. There were a hundred thousand things he could say, and yet he couldn’t voice a single one of them. 

After what seemed like hours, minutes, and seconds simultaneously, he left the spot his feet were glued to and sat on the bed, which creaked quietly from the added weight. He imagined it would’ve been a lot louder if he still had an adamantium skeleton. His left knee brushed against Scott’s, and instead of drawing away, the taller man leaned into it, letting their knees touch like they were capable of touching each other without violence. Even their foray into this had been violent. Regret swirled in Logan’s stomach. They had hurt each other countless times, and even he had to admit he was the perpetrator most of the time. 

They were both capable of gentle touches and kind things. He doubted they would be sitting on a bed with Jean if they weren’t. He wanted that softness. He wanted to give it in return. The public face probably wouldn’t change—they had reputations to keep up after all, but privately? Logan was a big fucking romantic sap, and he had an inkling he wasn’t the only one. 

He licked his lips, boring holes into the carpet. “...I’m sorry,” he whispered, with the meaning of ten thousand other words behind it. It wasn’t enough for everything. It was barely enough for the events of today, but… he honestly couldn’t think of a single instance where he’d said those two words to Cyclops.

A warm hand touched his knee gently, and he looked up. Scott stared at him, looked him right in the eye, and Logan thought he could almost see past the ruby quartz and into those warm brown eyes he’d only ever seen when they had first encountered the Morlocks years ago, when Logan had—well, he didn’t want to think about that now, trying not to think about the bent photo he still kept in drawer, hidden under a dozen other nicknacks he accumulated over the years. He could admit to himself now that it wasn’t just one person in the picture he longed over. Jean leaned her head on her husband’s shoulder with a small smile, and like the absolute sucker he was, he smiled back. 

He tried to think of something else to say, but the words died in his throat. He’d never been good with words anyway, but as he covered his hand over Scott’s, he realized he had nothing else to say. Perhaps in the morning, when emotions were sorted out, but now… there were more meaningful things than words crossing his mind.

He shifted his body to face the pair directly. The memory of Jean’s mouth on his still haunted his lips, eyes narrowing to the untouched pair. He hadn’t kissed him that morning. He wished he had. Before Logan realized it, he had reached up and touched Scott’s cheek. It was smooth, clean-shaven from Cyke’s habit of shaving every morning. The taller man’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, but he leaned into his hand, exhaling loudly. 

Logan’s hand drifted from Summers’ cheek to his lips and finally to his neck, and he cocked a brow, letting the unspoken question hang in the air. The taller man promptly leaned forward, and that was all he needed, pulling Scott down and capturing his lips with his. His breath smelled like Listerine, and Logan swallowed back a groan, his other hand digging into auburn hair, listening to the way Scott sighed against him. The fucker had brushed his teeth and used mouthwash. He wanted to laugh. Instead, he shoved his tongue into his mouth and pushed back until Scott’s head was against his wife’s chest, and Logan was practically on him. 

He kissed him like he was drunk, sloppily, with tongue. His free hand ran up Jean’s thigh, and when he finally broke away for air, he caught her eyes, wide with lust. He inhaled the mixed scents of arousal and smiled, feeling shy for some reason. She smiled back. He moved to sit beside her, the bed creaking as his weight shifted to the center. Scott still sat between her legs, panting, the back of his head against her chest. 

Logan leaned forward to kiss her, a light peck that quickly grew into something with more tongue, and he groaned into her mouth, wrapping a hand around her neck to pull her closer. He could feel Scott moving, shifting around so he could kiss his wife’s neck. Jean moaned, her nails digging into his arm. It pinched, but he couldn’t care less, growing hard at the mere sound of her. Scott moved up from her neck to her chin to her mouth, and Logan felt his lips next to his, the overwhelming smell of mouthwash filling his nose. Kissing two people at once? Fuck. He turned, trying to get as much of the two as he could, his free hand tangling up the back of Scott’s head, tongue sliding against two sets of mouths, gently biting and tugging. 

He got lost in the sensation, taking in the sight, how they smelled, how they sounded aroused, and somewhere in between the kissing, groping, and getting tangled in a sea of limbs, Logan found himself lying on the bed, shirtless, as the married couple undressed above him. It wasn’t for show, not with the fervent way Jean ripped her husband’s shirt off his body while she used her telekinesis to undo his belt, sliding it off the loops of his jeans and letting it fall to the floor. Scott’s hands were busy pulling off her blouse, revealing a plain, pink bra, but Jesus Christ, if Logan wasn’t hard already, he sure as fuck was now. 

Jean turned her head with a smirk, leaning away from her husband and hovering over Logan, bending down to capture his lips with hers. He groaned, pulling her close to his body, hands immediately going to the back of her bra, unclasping the hook with ease. He ran his hands down her bare back, pulling her closer to his body, licking and kissing her neck while she dug her hips into his. He bit back a groan, eyes wandering to where Scott knelt, his knees digging into his jean-covered calves. The button of the taller man’s jeans was undone, and the pulled-down zipper revealed a glimpse of dark green underwear. Logan smirked, flipping himself and Jean over, giving the guy what Logan thought was a great view of his ass. He pulled the bra off her body, and good fucking god, her bare breasts were better than he ever imagined. 

He trailed down her body, licking and kissing her sternum before wrapping one hand on her right breast and his mouth on the left. Jean gasped, bucking her hips against his, and he moaned into her tit, his cock growing increasingly uncomfortable in his pants. From the corner of his eyes, he watched as Scott bent down to kiss his wife, and he noticed that he’d taken off his jeans and underwear, catching a brief glimpse of a soft and cut cock, obscured by the man’s long legs. Jesus. 

Deciding that he and Jean were clearly missing out on being completely nude, he trailed sloppy kisses down her stomach, unbuttoning her tan capris and pulling the zipper down with his teeth. She gasped, muffled by her husband’s mouth, and for the first time since they had started this, Logan heard her voice in his head.

Take it off, take all of it off, she pleaded, not quite enough to be considered desperate but close enough. 

He nodded, sitting up to pull her pants and underwear in one go, relishing the way they peeled off her legs. He sat back on his calves, his raking across her body, from her soft breasts to her toned legs, and fucking god, her arousal drowned his senses as he stared at her wet cunt. The curtain matched the drapes, and Jesus, he was so hard it was painful, unbuttoning and zipping down his jeans for sweet fucking relief. He didn’t bother with the strip show, shoving down his pants and briefs to his lower thighs, his cock springing out, hard and dripping. 

He felt Jean telekinetically taking off the rest of his jeans and briefs and crawled over her, leaning down to kiss her, groaning as he felt Scott’s lanky arm wrap around his body as he kissed the side of his face. Her russet curls were damp, and he moaned into her mouth, pressing down on her hips for friction. She turned them to their sides, her hands dragging all over his body, her fingers running through his coarse chest hair. Logan ran a hand through her hair, and from the corner of his eye, he watched Scott settle behind her, entangling his long legs with hers, his lips hungrily exploring the bare skin of her lightly freckled neck and shoulders. Logan’s left arm left her waist, touching the younger man’s face. His pointer and middle fingers pressed against his lips, asking the silent question. Scott barely opened his mouth before Logan shoved them, a little rougher than he had meant. He choked for a moment before swirling his tongue around them and honest to fucking god moaning. Fucking God, he was ruined. How the fuck was he supposed to have sex with anyone else now? They hadn’t even gotten to any actual fucking, and he could barely think. Shit, he needed it now, needed to fuck them before all the blood in his brain went to his dick, and his feral instincts took over—not that he thought it was a bad thing, just not a first-time sex thing.

The screeching sound of a drawer opening shook him from his lust-filled delirium, and he looked up to see lube and two condom packets floating over the trio. Logan pulled out his saliva-covered fingers from Scott’s mouth and trailed them down Jean’s body, rubbing them against her clit. She groaned into his ear, clenching her legs around his arm. Her voice was in his head, telling him where she wanted him, where she wanted Scott, how much she had wanted this, and Logan could only listen. 

He heard the lube cap popping open, the way Jean had grunted into his neck when Scott’s fingers penetrated her bottom. He listened to the way she whimpered when he sucked on her neck while he slipped two fingers in her, how the condom rolled onto his cock with an invisible hand, and the way the couple both groaned when Scott entered her, her eyes fluttering shut as Scott’s face tightened, biting his lip. 

Logan could feel the taller man. He was in Jean, and fucking hell, it felt good. As the three found a pace they enjoyed, he could feel Scott’s cock against the lining as he thrust into Jean. Their legs were entangled, hands stroking, scratching, lips sucking, kissing, or biting, and it shocked him by how in tandem they all were. He drowned in their scents, their arousal, the pinch of pain of Jean’s nails digging into his arms, how tight Scott had his eyes shut when his glasses slipped down his nose from movement. One hand was on Scott’s hip, fingers pressing down, urging him to buck his hips, pulling along with the rhythm. He hoped it’d bruise. His other hand was in Jean’s hair, pressed between her head and the pillow. His stomach and balls tightened, urging his hips faster as one of Jean’s hands slipped between their bodies to touch her clit.

Logan came first, and he wasn’t even ashamed of it, spilling into the condom with a loud groan, biting his lips so hard he tasted blood. He licked his lips, panting as he leaned back and watched Jean fall apart in her husband’s arms, who came last with a muffled grunt.  He lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. His brain was fuzzy, and he could barely form a thought. After a minute, he watched as the spoiled condom peeled off his body. From the corner of his eye, he could see a sweat-soaked Jean, whose eyes glowed blue as two condoms floated over the bed into a small trash can beside the nightstand. She sighed loudly, sinking into the bed in exhaustion. He turned to his side, Jean with a tired smile on her face, one of her hands found their way to card gently through Logan’s hair. He scooted closer to her body, resting his head on her chest and listening to her heart beat.

Scott lay face forward, his head resting on his folded arms, breathing heavily. His hair was damp from sweat, sticking to the sides of his face. He had a swimmer’s body, long, lean, and muscular. His (admittedly flat) ass didn’t do him any favors, even nude, but shit, he’d be lying if it wasn’t nice to look at, a sexed up Scott Summers. Holy fucking shit, he’d just had a three-way with them. His head was on Jean’s breast, and he could hear her heart beating against his ear with each breath she took. Was it over already? He didn’t want it to be. His healing factor gave him a quick recovery time, and the way the raw smell of sex was wafting in his nose, it wouldn’t be long before he got hard again. 

Scott, the clean freak, would eventually get up to shower, and then it’d be over, and Logan would be sporting a hard-on that he’d have to take care of alone in his room or bathroom like a fucking horny teenager. The fingers in his hair stopped moving, and he remembered he was lying on the chest of a fucking telepath. The same fingers tugged at his hair, so he glanced upward into her blue eyes. She sighed, an amused smirk creeping on her face. The hand that was not in Logan’s hair drifted over to her husband’s back, and she started walking her pointer and middle finger up and down his muscular back. The younger man shivered but did not look up, head still buried in his arms. Her fingers danced across his back, drifting further and further down until Jean shifted, gently pushing his head off her body so she could sit up, slipping a finger down her husband’s crack. 

Scott clenched, a muffled gasp of surprise lurching out of his mouth. Logan stared, his cock twitching in renewed interest. Jean glanced at Logan, hovering over the taller man’s body. She cocked her head, an almost malicious smile crawling across her face. Leaning down, she kissed her husband’s left shoulder with a wet kiss, licking across his shoulder blade until she sank her teeth, and Scott groaned underneath her. She continued her assault, kissing and biting down his back while Logan tried not to drool at the sight. He was already hard again, though he wasn’t sure if it was from watching Jean or hearing the muffled noises that came out of Scott’s mouth. She went lower. And lower. And lower until she bit his left ass cheek.

Scott yelped, lifting his head and craning his neck to see what she was doing. She paused, sitting up, tilting her head, a gentle expression crossing her face. The glasses and dim lamp lighting made it hard to see his face, and the overwhelming smell of sex and arousal drowned out any other scent. He was quiet for a moment before he lay his head back on his arms, head turned in Logan’s direction, staring at the older man. Then Jean did something that Logan had never thought of her doing, even in his wildest fantasies. She lowered her head to her husband’s body, spreading his upper buttocks apart with her hands, and licked his asshole. The older mutant’s eyes widened in shock as Scott bit his lips hard, muffling out a whimper. Fuck.

She continued, drawing out noises from the man underneath her that Logan hadn’t thought were possible for Mr. Walking-Bag-of-Repression. His body had shifted, head buried into his pillow, arms gripping the sheets, hips angled up. It would’ve taken a saint to resist, and Logan was far from one of those, leaning in to capture his lips with his, drinking in the noises he made into his mouth, a hand in his sweat-soaked hair. His boner was back with a vengeance, and he was almost desperate enough just to rut into the sheets. Almost.

From the corner of his eye, he could see the lube floating over his head, and he pulled away (reluctantly) to see Jean doing the same, lips swollen and covered in saliva—and holy fuck that was hot as shit. The half-used tube hovered next to her, and she cocked her head. 

Switch? She asked, and by the way Scott nodded and shivered into the mattress, it was clear he’d gotten the question too. 

Logan glanced at the lube, back at Scott, and then Jean, lips curling into a smirk. He was selfish. He took the tube out of the air, watching as Jean used her powers to position her husband onto his knees and forearms. He had what he wanted, and no way in hell was he letting it go anytime soon. He was in their room, in their bed, and was going to fuck them both. Very selfish.

Squirting it onto his fingers, he lathered his pointer and middle finger, not bothering to draw it out, and stuck both into his spit-covered hole, figuring it was already loose enough from Jean’s ministrations. Scott groaned, clenching around Logan’s fingers. It was hot and tight, and well, the tight ass’ ass was tight. He pushed in further, sinking his fingers further and twisting and scissoring. Jean lay on her side, running her hands down Scott’s bitten-up back, sucking on his earlobe. It looked like she was dirty-talking to him telepathically, the way he looked at her, face as red as his glasses. She smirked, her free hand running through his hair. Scott was much more submissive in bed than Logan had figured, throwing the thought to the back of his mind for a later conversation. He was too fucking horny not to stick his throbbing cock in him. 

When he added a third finger to the mix and changed his angle, Scott shouted in pleasured shock, and Logan grinned. Found it. Instead of continuing his assault on his prostate, he pulled his fingers out completely, flipping the taller man onto his back before he could whimper a complaint, bending over the long and lean body to kiss him roughly. He shoved his tongue into Scott’s mouth, licking his teeth and tongue. He could hear Jean opening the nightstand drawer and shutting it just as quickly. She poked his side with a nail, and he looked up to see her holding another condom packet, tearing off the top foil with an invisible hand. 

Logan sat on his calves, watching as Jean rolled the condom onto his aching cock, hissing when she touched him. With heavy eyelids, he eyed the man lying on the bed, with every bit of self-control he had not to throw his legs open and bury himself inside of him. Flushed and panting heavily, Scott nodded after a moment, spreading his legs. He almost quipped about the robotic way he opened up, but Logan bit his tongue and pushed his thighs closer to his chest. He stared at the twitching hole, vision growing red from lust, and without another second to waste, he thrust into him. 

Logan groaned. It was hot and tight and Scott Summers. He put his hands on either side of the younger man’s head, capturing his gasps with a kiss, angling his hips to go deeper. He fucked him with an emerging urgency, eager to shove his dick into him and just let him have it, growing drunk on the moans and gasps he let out, euphoric when he felt his nails scratch down his back. Jean was watching. She was sprawled out and watching, eventually running her lips all over his body, biting and licking the way she had done to Scott’s back. 

Logan felt elated, like he would never come down from this high, surrounded by the couple, knowing how they felt as he fucked them, how they moaned and gasped in pleasure, how they sounded when they came. His balls grew tighter, and his stomach was in knots, but he could feel them, physically and beyond. He buried his face into Scott’s neck, chasing his high faster and faster, feeling the taller man finally get hard again, and Jean’s hand snaking down to jerk him off while she kissed them both. 

Blindly, he lifted his head and caught her lower lip with his teeth, lifting a hand to pull her closer, his hips pounding in a fury, having found his spot once more and treating it like a honing beacon, listening to Scott’s muffled moans turn into cries, chasing that high, closer and closer and—fuck. He came into the condom with a yell, muffled by Jean’s mouth. Seconds later, he felt something warm coat his stomach and chest as the leader of the X-Men came with a gasp. 

Exhaustion ran through him like a train, groaning as he pulled out and tossed the condom without a second thought onto the floor. He flipped onto his back, heaving as he stared at the ceiling, tuning out anything else as sleep came to him, not bothering to fight it.

The sun poked through the blinds, and Logan was never one to sleep in. He opened his eyes to the ceiling and sensed that he wasn’t alone. The overwhelming scents of Scott and Jean overran his nose, and after glancing on his left and right sides to see said sleeping couple, he sighed. He’d fucking done it. Holy fuckin’ God, he’d done it. It was better than anything he’d ever imagined.

He looked down at his bare chest, saw it was clean, and almost laughed. They’d wiped him down passed out, and fell asleep on either side of his body. His heart skipped a beat. They had let him stay. 

Yawning, Logan sat up against the headboard, smiling at the way Jean’s red hair was all over her face, and Scott’s eyemask was the same yellow as his Wolverine suit. Hickies and bruises had blossomed all over their bodies, though Scott clearly had it much worse. Sex up and passed out, he looked so painfully human. He was pretty sure that other than Jean, he was the first person to see him like this. At least he hoped. Logan knew his possessive streak ran a mile long, and it wasn’t going away anytime soon. They were his.

Save for the two times he’d heard Jean in his head, the only words that had been spoken were his apology. I’m sorry. Two words, and yet, he’d learn more about either of them last night than he had over the many years he’d been with the X-Men. So much was spoken in light of the few words uttered. Christ.

He settled back into the bed, feeling Jean curl around his right arm, using his left to pull Scott closer. Already half-awake, he responded by laying his head on Logan’s chest, sighing loudly. Logan closed his eyes and started carding through the younger man’s hair absentmindedly. They still had a lot to talk about, a lot to do, but he decided to stay in until someone’s alarm went off and started the day. It was quiet, early on a Saturday morning when students and faculty slept in, and he liked the peace. For once, he stayed in bed and enjoyed the silence.