Summary: Someone admits he has got feelings for Logan.
Disclaimer: The characters belong to Marvel, but the idea is mine. Iím not receiving any payment for this story, so please donít sue me. I have nothing valuable, so it would only be a tremendous waste of time, effort and financial resources. This story contains mature situations, coarse language, and explicit descriptions of sexual contact between two consenting adults. If you are under the legal age in your area to view adult-oriented material, or if it is illegal for you to view this material in your area, then do not continue. If you read it, you assume responsibility for yourself.
As always, I welcome feedback. If you like the story, great! If you donít, thatís fine, too! I tell the stories I want in my own way. This is my blessing, this is my curse! :)
Wolverine stood motionless, every muscle on alert, and ready to spring into action if necessary. He listened. His super-sensitive hearing picked up sounds of pursuit from behind him. Autumn wind blew in his face and carried the sent of his pursuer with it. He had come out here to hunt some rabbits, but found that he was the quarry instead.
Logan didnít like that. Didnít like that at all.
Adrenalin threatened to surge through his body and trigger the "fight or flight" response Xavier often yammered on about to his Psych students. Fortunately, though, Loganís years of study in Japan gave him the tools to quiet his body and mind. He slowed his breathing and focused his awareness on himself. When the initial urge had passed, he opened his eyes and looked around. No one was there. He inhaled deeply. Still no scent from behind. He grunted.
"Probíly just my head playiní tricks," he muttered and turned back. "Maybe I should head back to the house anyways."
As he walked, Logan thought about his time with the X-Men. He had seen a lot of things that most people only dreamed of: underwater civilizations, alien empires, beings with godlike powers. But, he was still basically the same man that had walked through the front door of the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters all those years ago. Now, it was called the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning. Whatever the name, it took in mutants and taught them the control and proper use of their unique genetic gifts.
Everyone but me.
Then again, Logan hadnít expected miracles. His mutant powers were autonomic - his senses were incredibly keen and his body automatically healed itself whenever he was injured. Logan had come to Charles Xavier for another type of help. He wanted to control the beast that lurked within him.
Few people realized just how appropriate his code name, Wolverine, was. Like his namesake, Logan was compact and strong. In battle, he fought with a tenacity and an intensity that would have impressed the Vikings. But in Loganís case, he entered a feral state of consciousness when he was enraged, a place in his mind where the Animal gained ascendance over the Man. While Xavier had reinforced the fact that he was not a beast, Logan always felt his feral self growling in the back of his mind, tempting him with the freedom of the Wild.
Logan spun around. It was the sound of a twig. He sniffed the air. Still no scent. Logan knew he was being followed. "Mebbe one oí the kids is playiní around wití the old man," he muttered. "If itís Jubilee, Iíll spank her ass so hard sheíll have ta crap standiní up fer a week!"
Logan resumed his walk. He chuckled. He liked Jubilation Lee. Although she was young, sheíd been through a lot and was wise beyond her years. She understood him, never questioned him, never judged his actions. She wasnít above playing a practical joke on "her bud, Wolvie."
A scent drifted across Loganís nose. He stopped in his tracks.
Loganís heart pounded in his chest. He was being stalked after all. No, it was different from simple pursuit. He was being hunted, and the hunter had decided to bring things out in the open. It was a good thing, too. Logan knew who it was.
The only person who ever really understood him.
"Get the hell out here, Vic," Logan called, "aní stop pussyfootiní around!"
Laughter echoed through the trees. After several agonizing seconds, Victor Creed stepped out from his hiding place. He stopped, keeping a lot of distance between himself and the X-Man.
"You shouldía seen the look on yer face, runt!" Creed howled. Tears rolled down his cheeks. "Ya looked like a rabbit ready ta bolt!" The larger man doubled over and clutched his sides as laughter wracked through him.
Logan took out a cigar and lit it. "yeah. I ainít impressed, Creed, so smarten up."
Sabertooth stopped laughing. He stood up and looked down at Logan. The two men were physical opposites. Where Logan was short and compact, Victor was over 7 feet tall. Loganís black hair grew into two points above his head. Creeds mass of blond curls tumbled down his back like the mane of a lion.
There were similarities, though. Both men were Canadians, They had worked together in a special covert operations unit for the Department of National Defence. Even their mutant powers were alike. Victor Creed sported enhanced senses and a healing factor of his own.
"So, whata ya want?" Logan asked.
Creed crossed his arms. "Heard ya got yer adamantium claws back, old man," he replied, "aní I wanted to see if it was true."
Logan puffed on his cigar. He bent his right forearm at the elbow and held his wrist straight. Three thin pieces of the light, unbreakable metal slid out from their housings between his knuckles. The long blades, Wolverineís much-famed "claws," glinted in the late afternoon sunlight.
"See? Good as new," the X-Man said. "Now get yer ass outta here Ďfore I kick it out!"
"The day you kick my ass, runt, is the day Charlie marries Magneto!" Creed retorted, baring his fangs.
Loganís laughter bubbled up and out into the clearing. The thought of Chuckie and Maggie vowing eternal love for one another was so . . . ridiculous. He retracted his claws and sat on a nearby stump. Creed laughed, too. "Funny, ainít it?" he asked.
"Yeah, ya could say that," Logan answered. His dark blue eyes twinkled with mirth. Then, he grew stern again. "Seriously, Vic. Ya saw the claws like ya wanted, so ĎScat, cat!í"
Creed leaned back against a tree, massive muscles threatening to burst from the thin cotton T-shirt. Stretched taut over them. "That ainít the real reason I came ta see ya. Just an excuse," he said.
Logan stubbed out the cigar. "Figured that, since ya ainít exactly concerned fer my welfare. So spill it. Ya come lookiní fer a fight?" The X-Manís eyes glinted with the anticipation of a positive response.
He and Sabertooth had their share of knock-down drag-out brawls in the past. These contests usually ended in a draw - their powers, strengths, and weaknesses too similar to give either man a clear-cut advantage. They fought battles that were ferocious, yet enthralling at the same time, like two predators competing for the right to live.
"Nah.," Creed said. He looked at the log nails on his right hand. "My claws ainít in no mood ta get broke off."
"So, WHATTA YA WANT, THEN?"
Loganís jaw dropped. "Talkinís hardly yer strong suit there, Vic," he said.
"Yep, I know, but this is important. Iíve been doiní a lot oí thinkiní lately . . ."
"You? Thinkiní?" Logan teased.
Creed squared his shoulders. Ice blue eyes flashed anger at the shorter man. "Shut yer mouth aní lissen, dammit!" he yelled.
Logan was stunned into silence. Creed sat on the ground and sighed. "I came down here ta ask ya somethiní. Do ya remember what it was like before ya joined the X-Men?"
Logan had no idea how to react. Maybe this is an alien clone of Creed clutch-grown aní dropped off here.
"I remember some stuff Ďbout that time," Creed said, looking away, "You aní me, we had some great times together. Huntiní aní fishiní. Things wasnít always so bad between us."
"Yeah . . ." Logan said.
"You wasnít scared shitless oí me like the others."
"Ya ainít so tough, Vic, thatís why I ainít scared oí you."
Creed glowered at the X-Man. "Stop beiní an asshole! Nah., forget it. I shouldnía come here, shouldnía said anythiní," he said and stood up. Loganís smile faded. Creed actually looked hurt, almost dejected. "Look, Vic, Iím sorry. I just ainít used ta yer soft aní cuddly side."
"I ainít an animal, Logan. Least not all oí the time."
"I know that."
"Do ya?" Creed asked. The pain on his face looked all too familiar to Logan. He wore that expression himself on more than one occasion. Most people thought Wolverine was a psychotic homicidal maniac whom the X-Men barely managed to keep under control. Very few people saw the man behind the reputation, and fewer still really knew Logan.
"Yeah, I do," Logan said.
Creed walked over to the stump that Logan sat on. He crouched down next to it and let out a deep breath. "Most oí my life, I been treated like an animal, no like some crud less than dirt," he said. "No matter where I went or who I met, I didnít fit in. I was only good fer maiminí aní killiní people." He looked into Loganís eyes. "After a while, killiní was the only thing that made me feel good. Made me feel alive. I was forty miles oí bad road. Didnít matter what anyone thought oí me." He snapped off a long piece of grass and chewed it. "That is, I didnít care until I met you."
"Whyís that?" Logan asked.
"ĎCause yer like I am. Me aní you, weíre cut from the same cloth. There problíy ainít never been two muties with powers as close as ours. ĎSides, you know what itís like to have the killiní urge."
"Yep, but I donít kill innocent people, no matter how I feel," Logan pointed out.
Creed got up and stormed across the clearing. "But I ainít as strong as you, Logan!" he screamed, "Ya got friends, almost a family. Ya got a place ta stay." He swept his hand around the clearing. "What do I got? Who do I got? Nobodyíd give a damn if I dropped off the face oí the earth," he said. Tear glinted in his eyes, as icy as the bitterness in his voice. "Hell, theyíd probíly cheer!"
"Yeah, bub," Logan said. He couldnít hold in a grin. "Yer right, there."
Victor didnít return the grin. "Ya donít get it, do ya?" he asked, "Címon, runt! Iím pouriní my hear out, here!"
"So, what are ya tryiní to say, then?"
"That yer all I got, Logan," Creed replied. He walked back over to Logan, grabbed his shoulders, and kissed him square on the mouth. It took several seconds for Loganís brain to register what had happened. Once it did, he pushed the other mutant away and held him at armís length. A smile spread across Victorís mouth. "Ya donít know what yer gonna do now, do ya, hotshot?" Sabertooth teased.
"What in the HELL was that all about?"
"Ya liked it."
"No, I didnít!"
"Bullshit, Logan. I got heightened senses, too, remember? I can smell it offa ya. Yer giviní off more musk than a bull moose in the Fall."
Logan stiffened. Creed was right. He could smell his own arousal. "So what? Itís a perfectly normal reaction ta what ya did Ďcause I wasnít expectiní it."
"Maybe, but I bet ya ainít never had a man kiss ya like that before."
"Hold yer horses there, bucko," Logan said. "That ainít necessarily true. There was that one time duriní WWII when me aní Captain America was stayin in the French hotel . . ."
Creedís eyes widened. "Bull! Thereís no way you got it on with any Avenger, let alone Glory Pants."
"Believe what ya want, bub," Logan said. "I donít care one way or the other."
"Yes ya do. Iím the only person in the world who really knows what ya go through."
Logan pushed Creed back and stood up. He walked across the clearing. A stream murmured nearby. He felt hot and sticky all of a sudden. Wish I could jump in that stream, he thought. He felt Creed approach and squeeze his shoulders. This close, Loganís senses swam, almost overwhelmed by the animalian sensations that flooded over him: Creedís scent, the heat from his body, the feel of his touch. He was helpless as Creed spun him around and kissed him a second time, this kiss deeper than the first. Tongues caressed sharp teeth and smooth gums, plumbing the inner recesses of the otherís mouth. Blood pounded through Loganís veins. He knew nothing outside of this place, no one beyond this man: his mortal enemy, only friend, and would-be lover.
At that moment, Logan wanted it, too. Cool air tickled hot skin Creed had opened Loganís flannel plaid shirt and had found his nipples. He caressed them until they were as hard as pebbles on his chest. "Do ya want this, runt?" he asked.
"Stop yakiní and do it, already!" Logan snarled.
"Whatever ya say, Wolverine," Creed said. Logan watched as Creedís hand drifted down his chest to the front of his jeans, where it squeezed the prominent bulge it found there. "Ainít ya just rariní ta go!" he exclaimed.
Logan moaned as Creed massaged the front of his pants. "Ya could say that," he managed to say. The two men fell onto the carpet of yellowed grass below. Wolverine popped out a single claw and sliced through Creedís thin cotton shirt, baring that massive chest. Logan was stunned by the otherís manís size. Victor was truly a magnificent specimen of mutant manhood. Logan lapped at the flesh now exposed to his, savoring the salty taste of Creedís skin. Desire began to cloud his senses, until . . .
A voice in the distance.
Coming closer. The two men stopped, frozen in their embrace.
"Logan? Are you out here?"
A womanís voice.
"Dammit!" Logan hissed. He pulled away from Creed and stood up. "Ya gotta get outta here, Vic," he whispered.
"Why? Ya afraid the skirtíll tell all yer buddies and theyíll think less oí ya?" Victor asked, his tone mocking Loganís obvious distress.
Logan didnít answer. Jean was coming their way, the sounds of her footsteps now audible. "She problíy sensed yer thoughts, runt," Creed said, "aní yer right. I better split. Be too hard ta explain this whole thing anyhow."
"No. Wait," Logan said.
"Who are you talking to, Logan?" Jean Summers asked as she stepped into the clearing. Logan looked around. Creed was gone. In front of him were the scraps of the white cotton T-shirt remained. Logan picked them up and stuffed them in his pocket. "No one, Jeannie," he replied, "no one at all."
"Well, you should come back to the mansion. Remyís cooked a real Cajun feast!"
Logan buttoned up his shirt before he turned to face Jean. "Good idea," he said, "Iím starviní all of a sudden."
"It must be this fresh air," she said. The two turned back and walked toward the Institute. Logan looked down at the scraps of cloth that poked out from his jeans. "Yeah, that must be it," he said, to no one in particular.
He looked up and saw Jean smile. They walked in silence. She wouldnít ask. He wouldnít tell. He pushed the scraps of cotton down into his jeansí pocket and hoped that Victor came back soon.
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