Muscle Memory, an X-Men story in the movie universe by Glacis. Rated NC17. No copyright infringement intended.

Scott Summers had just about reached his limit. There was an abnormal intensity to the red light escaping from his visor, and his usual garnet-hued view of the world was closer to the crimson of blood than it should have been.

Logan's blood. Wolverine's blood. Blood that, if he didn't spill some soon, he just might choke on.

The bastard had been sniffing around Jean since he was carried in the door. The rational part of Scott's mind knew he was being unfair, if not slightly ridiculous. After all, he'd carried Logan in to the compound himself. Unconscious. Half-roasted and half-frozen, beaten nearly to a pulp. There was no way Logan could actually have been leering at Jean, it just felt that way. He'd certainly started as soon as he got his damned eyes open.

His spine straightened until it resembled a steel rod. There he was, doing it again. Leaning in. Crowding her. She was ignoring him, or at least Scott hoped she was ignoring him, but she had that little smile on her face.

It was seriously pissing him off. "I hate him," he muttered to himself for the tenth time that day. It was sounding less and less effective every time he said it. The need to take the other man out behind the basketball court out of sight of the kids and pound the snot out of him grew with every repetition. Then he saw something he hadn't seen before.

Logan's shoulder twitched. Not much, but enough to make him suspicious. Then he leaned even closer to Jean.

Scott growled. "Hate him," he said very softly. Yeah. It happened again. Twitch. Lean.

The bastard could hear him. Was baiting him. Rubbing his nose in it.

His temper skyrocketed and he half-strode, half-lunged toward Logan. Jean looked up swiftly, her eyes widening as she read his intent in his actions if not his thoughts. Logan turned slowly, controlled menace in every overgrown hairy muscle.

"Outside. Now." He didn't bother waiting to see if the bastard would follow him. He pivoted on his heel and stomped out the door. Just past the playing field he stepped into a private garden, high-walled and safe from the prying eyes of the students. They didn't need to see their teacher teaching the new guy a lesson. In very short order, Logan prowled up behind him.

"What's your problem, One-eye?"

"You," he growled, disgusted with himself for the sophomoric dialog but so angry he couldn't come up with words longer than a single syllable, much less string them together. The last time he'd gotten this mad he'd punch a hole through three walls with the force of his eyesight. He'd been extremely careful to maintain control at all times ever since.

It had been a long fourteen years. When he snapped, it was almost audible. His fist was in motion before his brain caught up with it.

Logan moved faster than any human Scott had ever seen. His wrist was caught in a grip he could well believe was reinforced with adamantium; he could feel the bones creak. Before they gave under the strain, Logan leaned into the hold and tossed Scott over his shoulder and flat on his back. If he'd had the breath and hadn't been so mad he was literally blind with it, he'd've been humiliated. His head whipped back and impacted solidly on the ground, and he reached out automatically for his visor as it went spinning away. A bolt of sheer energy slammed out from his eyes, uncontrolled, and scorched a ten foot trench in the earth.

His eyelids snapped shut automatically.

He heard the distinct crack as his visor impacted with something harder than it was. The anger turned to ice in his veins. He curled his body into a ball, cradling his head in his arms. The chant of regret that had begun when he was a child started all over again in his mind, cursing his lack of control, knowing he'd never truly have it again, blind to the world around him as he fought his worst enemy -- himself.

Logan froze in place, hands instinctively up and fisted, ready to take the kid apart if he swung again. The lightning taking out chunks of turf startled him, and he drew back. It took him a second to realize what it was, and he glanced over at the visor the boy'd lost when he'd been dropped on his ass. He grinned slightly at the visor, lying on a large rock, a piece of red screen crumpled like chewing gum foil in the busted frame.

"Shouldn't be so tough on your toys, Cyke," he started to tease, a sneer under the words. Little boys playing tough guy in a man's world never had impressed him. Then he looked down at Scott Summers.

Who looked a little like a puppy who'd been kicked in the belly. The kid's face looked just that, like a kid, and a scared one at that. His eyes were hidden behind his arms, his hair falling over hands, his knees pulled up to his chest. Logan wondered, for a second, if the unrestrained blast had somehow hurt the other mutant, then took a second look at the boy's posture.

If any more red lightning leaked out, the only one who'd be hurt by it would be One-eye. It'd go through his hands, his arms, his legs, then down into the ground. "Jesus," Logan said softly. Kid must've had some bad experiences to be so damned protective of everybody else. It was a bit of a revelation to him. He didn't remember much of his own past, besides the nightmares and the pain, but his number one rule had been Protect Number One for as far back as he could remember. Not wrap his own body up as a barrier to stop himself from hurting anybody else.

The tiniest hint of guilt crept in, and he sighed. He'd known what flirting with Jeannie had done to the kid. That was why he'd done it. Hadn't been for the chance at the woman; she'd made it clear while she liked him, she loved Captain Red-eye here. But there'd been more to it than just pissing the kid off.

He'd smelled good. It messed with Logan's mind. Made him want to get in the guy's face. In his pants.

Inching closer, eyes intent on what he could see of Scott's pale face, Logan took a deep breath. The scent of fear. Lots of it. Old, deep-rooted, as much a part of the man as the usual spiciness he could now barely smell. It over-rode everything : anger, frustration, heat, sex. The kid smelled clean, and like he'd taste good. Logan glanced around the little garden they'd ended up in. Private. Nobody he could hear around. Couldn't smell anything but Cyclops and himself, and a squirrel thirty feet or so away to the south. Reaching out one hand, he stopped a scant inch from Scott's arm.

He couldn't just kiss the kid. He'd land on his own ass, for sure, once he was in hitting distance -- One-eye'd be pissed, and he couldn't really blame him. With a wry half-smile, he caught hold of Scott's hand. The long fingers clenched instinctively into a fist under his own. The smile widened into a grin. His instincts were right. As usual.

"Fuck it," he growled, sticking out his chin and pulling Scott's arm forward until his knuckles grazed it. "Go ahead. Belt me one. You been wanting to since I walked in the door yesterday. Give it your best shot, Cyke."

Brown hair flopped to the side as Scott raised his head in a parody of glaring at him, eyes still scrunched tight. "You didn't walk, I carried you," he protested, but there wasn't any heart behind it.

Logan's eyes were caught by the angularity of the kid's face when it wasn't covered up by the visor. He looked both younger and older without it, in a weird way. The hair falling over his forehead contrasted with the deep slash of his cheekbones and a chin so pointed it could be used to plow a field. The kid's mouth had a funny curve to it, and he saw the lines of dimples on each side of it. He wondered what color those screwed up eyes had been, before they turned red as fire.

He'd actually opened his mouth to ask the question, laughing to himself that his brain was in his pants, when the fist against his jaw opened up and cupped his chin. He froze again.

Scott's scent had changed. Fear was drying up, and curiosity was coming through. The spice was back, and so was the sex. Fingertips ran through the wiry hair at the side of his face, following the line to his mouth, then exploring along the edge of his top lip. It tickled, a little. It turned him on, a lot. His tongue flicked out to catch the tickle, and licked the end of a finger.

The hand stilled, palm lying gently against his jawbone, fingers stretching from his mouth along his cheek to the corner of his eye and down to his earlobe.

"Whatcha doin'?" His voice was hoarse. That quirky mouth on the kid sent him a cocky grin. Shaky around the edges, and there was uncertainty layering over the sex in the smell rising up from him, but it was a good try.

"What d'you think I'm doing?"

"Touchin' me." It felt good. It felt strange. He sure as hell wasn't used to the gentleness. Felt like butterfly wings on his skin. He knew pain. He didn't know this ... whatever the hell it was. He didn't have any defense against it.

"There's hope for you yet," Scott snarked back at him. The hand moved, thumb now brushing against his cheek, fingers lacing in the hair at his temple.

Logan growled. "What d'you want, One-eye?"

The hand was snatched back like it'd been burnt. "Nothing from you," Scott grunted, rolling to the side.

It was easy to pin him. Easy to press him back into the grass and lock down his attempts to escape or punch or kick. Easy to hold him down until all he could do was squirm and cuss under his breath. Tough to ignore the fact that they were both hard. Judging by how red Scott's pale skin had gotten, tough for both of them.

"Y'know, it's just words. Don't make no difference. You can call me Claw if it makes ya feel better." The startled look on Scott's face was worth it. Mainly because his mouth fell open, even as he kept his eyes tightly shut. Made it easy to stick his tongue in that mouth.

He tasted as damned good as he smelled.

The fact that he was kissing him must've gotten to Scott, because the hand came back, and brought the other one with it. Fingers combed through his hair, pulling on it, but not hard. Tracing his eyebrows, ghosting over his eyes, dancing across his eyelashes when he was forced to close them. Breaking the kiss to draw in a breath and let it out on a chuckle, he had to ask again. "What're you doin'?" This time he got a serious answer.

"Finding out what you look like." Then the hands curved over his ears and tugged him back into a kiss that was deeper and wetter than the first one.

It wasn't the first time he had a roll with a guy, but it was the strangest. He got the kid's clothes off without too much being ripped, and getting himself naked was even easier, since Scott's hands were busy the whole time. Took off his shirt, spent forever raking his hands through Logan's chest hair. Somewhere, someplace, somebody'd taught this guy a thing or two about turning another man's body inside out.

He hadn't known his belly button could be a turn-on spot, until Scott's fingers got to it. Or the small of his back, or the hollow where his thigh met his pelvis. Or even the back of his knee. Scott was everywhere, those damned hands were everywhere, and by the time he finally pinned the kid back down and got his mouth around that cock that had been making him crazy since he'd pulled the tighty-whities off it, it felt like his whole damned body'd been mapped in Braille. Everything tingled.

Looking up from around a mouthful of balls, he glanced along the length he'd been licking, all slick and wet in the sunshine, then further up Scott's body. There was a little hair on his chest, just enough to make the muscles show up nice. He was built like a swimmer, or a runner. His head was tossed back, and his hand was stuffed in his mouth, and his eyes were still screwed tight shut. Good thing, or there'd've been a laser fireworks show that'd bring the whole damned school running, and he wasn't done yet.

Letting the balls drop into his hand, he rolled them around in his fingers while he swallowed Scott's cock down to the bush. His other hand twisted and slid between Scott's thighs and up between his ass cheeks. Spit and sweat helped open the way, and he curled a couple fingers into the tight hole. Even around his fist, the kid was making noise. Good. All that control could come in handy, he supposed, but sex wasn't a place for control. Long as the guy kept his eyes shut, everything else could fly.

Maybe he could get some kind of blindfold for the next time. The thought that there would be a next time, hardening into determination even as it occurred to him, startled him, and he swallowed. His throat rippling around Scott's meat was all it took, and the kid just about swallowed his own fist trying to cut off the scream.

Logan grinned as he sucked fast, trying to catch it all. Yeah. Damned tasty.

He let the softening cock fall from his mouth with a final lick, and looked at Scott's sprawled, twitching body with a cross between smug pride and rampant horniness. Using his hand, still in place in the kid's ass, as a handle, he shifted the heavy weight of a totally relaxed man into position. Muscled the thighs wider open and slid his hand out.

Scott whimpered. Logan looked up from where their bodies came together and grinned at Scott's expression. He looked wiped out and starving at the same time. There was grass in his hair, and his mouth was red and chapped-looking from gnawing on his fist. His hands had fallen down beside him and were digging into the ground. Hm, had to do something about that, or the noise could still get 'em company before he was done. And that just wouldn't do.

He leaned forward, catching the back of Scott's head in his hand. With his other hand, he steadied himself, then pushed. At the same time he entered Scott's ass, he covered the kid's mouth with his. Turned out it was a good thing -- the scream he swallowed could've doubled as an air raid siren.

Then those hands were back on his body, mapping his back, mapping his ass and thighs as they pumped, running along the backs of his arms and over his shoulders. Scott was eating him more than kissing him, all sweet hunger and just as damned far into it as Logan was. It didn't take nearly as long as he'd've hoped before he was coming, and Scott took every bit of it, straining against him as hard as Logan was straining into him.

He lay there for a little while afterward, trying to catch his breath, his head buried in the crick of Scott's neck. Long fingers were carding through his hair, and he felt more at peace than he had in fifteen years. It shocked the hell out of him that he should find that peace stark-naked rammed up the butt of a guy he'd disliked on sight who had hated him the first time he saw him, too. It didn't make any sense.

None of it made any sense. Drawing back, he looked down into Scott's relaxed face. Relaxed, that was, except for his eyes. Even they didn't look as tightly screwed up as they had, just closed. Normal, like. He touched the end of his nose to Scott's.

"What color are your eyes?" he finally asked. Scott shrugged one bare, sweaty, and slightly grass-stained shoulder.

"Blue. What color are yours?"

"Huh?" Then it hit him that everything Scott saw was red. Of course. "Brown."

Fingers brushed over his eyelashes again as he closed them under the touch, almost as if Scott could feel the color through his fingertips. Logan grinned.

"Will you know me next time you see me, now you've got me all traced out?" he teased.

Scott tensed for a second, then grinned back, lopsidedly. "Yeah. Muscle memory's a wonderful thing."

With an effort, Logan disentangled his hands from around Scott's body and sat up, reaching for his pants. "I'll get ya a new visor."

"Just lead me to the lab." Scott sat up too, wincing a little, and Logan watched him carefully. The grin didn't slip. He stood up with more grace than Logan would've expected, since he'd just fucked him halfway through the ground. "And to my clothes!"

For a second, he thought strongly of never letting Scott get dressed again. That body was addictive. Then reality hit him, and he reached over, snagged Scott's pants, and threw them at him. Scott caught them with ease.

"You got radar, too?" Logan asked, half seriously. Scott's grin froze, then relaxed.

"Training. Practice. Necessity. After awhile, you get used to it."

He bent, pulling on his shorts, getting dressed matter-of-factly, completely unaware of the fact that Logan stared at him the entire time. If Scott had memorized his body with his hands, then Logan was memorizing Scott's the old-fashioned way. Imprinting the image on his brain just as he had the feel and the smell and the taste of the man.

When they were dressed, he wrapped his hand lightly around Scott's wrist, grabbed up the remains of the broken visor and headed them back toward the school. Halfway there, without looking at the guy walking silently beside him, he asked, "This a one-off?"

Scott tripped over his feet. Logan caught him, set him back on track, and kept walking, guiding him along. After a moment, he got an answer.

"I don't know." It wasn't a great answer, but it was honest, at least. "There's a lot going on right now. Whatever Magneto's planning, it has to be number one priority. Then there's Jean."

"I ain't askin' ya to marry me. I'm askin' ya if we're gonna fuck again."

This time, Scott stopped dead, then was pulled off his feet when Logan didn't stop. He stumbled back to an upright position and scrambled along beside Logan until they were back in step. It was even longer before there was an answer. They were actually in the school, outside the door to the lab.

"Yes," Scott told him, then yanked his hand away and practically bolted into the lab, slamming the door shut behind him.

Logan stood in the hallway for a long time, what he figured afterward was a really stupid smile on his face, before it dawned on him that the doctor in the lab was both the girlfriend of the guy he'd just fucked out in the garden, and could read minds. Considering what was going through his mind just then, he wasted no time in getting back to his own room and taking a shower.

A nice, long, cold one.

It certainly hadn't been what he'd intended when he'd decided Wolverine needed an attitude adjustment, but it hadn't been a bad way to get under the man's skin. Scott grinned to himself. It had been a long time since he'd had sex with a man. He wouldn't have expected it to be with Logan.

Of course, his life never had gone the way of his expectations, so even that wasn't completely unexpected. The fact that Logan wanted to do it again had been. His own hostility had been bled away by his fear when he lost his visor, and the searing heat tearing up the ground had been a reminder of what the consequences of losing control could be. He'd needed reassurance, then.

He'd gotten it.

Not quite what he'd been expecting. Ever.

Stepping into the lab, he was suddenly struck be a wave of sheer embarrassment, underlain with a load of guilt. Jean. Who was, at the moment, taking his shattered visor from his hand and brushing his hair back from his face with the other hand.

"Are you ... all right?"

He knew the instant that she knew. He could hear it in her voice. Concern replaced by bemusement, then startlement, and the tiniest hint of arousal. In a way, he was blind, and like any who had suffered blindness over most of his life, his other senses were heightened. Touch, primarily, and hearing as well. Logan's accusation of radar hadn't been far off the mark. He could hear a number of emotions in her voice, but he didn't hear any pain. Or any disapprobation.

Just that tiny hint of arousal. That got larger as she moved closer, and her hand stopped plucking grass from his hair and started stroking it instead. He swallowed, his mouth going dry.

"You know I am," he whispered as she leaned forward, resting her cheek against his.

"I know." She kissed his cheek, then leaned sideways and kissed his mouth. His lips opened, and his mind flashed on Logan doing the same to him shortly before. Her breath caught in his mouth and her tongue swiped over his, as if she could taste Logan on him. He shivered. His fingertips tingled.

She led him over to the examination table and followed him down to the surface, her hands tracing where Logan's had just been. His mind swung wildly between the recent past and the present, and he could almost feel her soaking in the sense-memories. Breaking the kiss, he caught her face in his hands, touching their foreheads together. He wished he could see her, but the trembling in her body was as honest as the expression on her face would be.

Perhaps even moreso.

"Is this going to get in the way?" he asked roughly. He felt her grin beneath his fingers.

"It's going to make it better," she assured him, and as she straddled him, he had the oddest feeling she just might be right.

end