A Little More Than a Hand
by
Blue as a Cat


Disclaimer: These characters and the place they dwell in belong entirely to Marvel. I suck them in, masticate, and spit them back out. No one gets hurt. Not even the characters, they like to get out and about every so often. But please don't sue me, this is all in Good Fun.

Author Note = Please feed me back and tell me what you think of this here turkey. It's my first ever Xfic, and I'm not sure if I did a single thing right, so email would be *much* appreciated.

---

Logan was back. Scott, standing in the mansion kitchen, was quite sure of that. There had been two six-packs of beer in the fridge, and both were gone. There was also a rather nasty-looking trail of blood leading from the front door to the kitchen and up the stairs.

Remy and Kurt had alerted him to the situation. Rather, they had complained to him about all the beer being gone, and Scott had noted the blood as he resignedly investigated. When Scott had asked them to check if Logan was all right, neither Remy nor Kurt had expressed much interest in seeking out a certainly injured and almost certainly very grouchy Wolverine. They were both his friends and they knew that he would heal himself. And, if he couldn't, there wasn't anything they could do about it.

Or, as Remy had charmingly said, in measured tones one would use to explain something very simple to a stupid child, "Monsieur BÍte, he either heal himself or he ain' gonna heal. An' when he healin', he's in a bad mood. And le Nightcrawler et moi, we ain' stupid. We don' wan' get stuck wit' dose steak knives he got when he's in a bad mood."

"Ja stimme ich ¸berein," Kurt had said. Scott hadn't been sure what that meant, but it just sounded like he was agreeing with Remy.

Scott sighed. He contemplated the blood on the floor. He really should go check on Logan. Make sure he was all right. It was, after all, his duty as a leader. Something deep inside of him thrummed with worry at the thought that Logan might be seriously injured, judging from all the blood, but he pushed it aside and chalked it up to his leaderly tendencies.

A snide little voice in his head said that it was a hell of lot more than that, but he ignored it. It wasn't the first time he'd heard that voice when Logan was concerned, and he was convinced that ignoring it was the best route for everyone.

Sighing again, he marched out of the kitchen and up the stairs to Logan's room. The door was all smudged with blood and wasn't closed entirely. That, if nothing else, was a sure indication that Logan was badly hurt. He *never* forgot to close his door properly. Scott nudged it open and slid inside.

The bed was a bloody wreck, covered in bits of rags and what looked like old, now bloodstained socks. The trail of blood and mess clearly led to the bathroom. Scott, breathing heavily now with apprehension, slowly made his way into the bathroom.

~*~

Logan was sitting up in the bathtub, that much he could see. It relieved him immensely that Logan was at least uninjured enough to be able to sit up in the tub.

Logan was watching him warily, those narrowed eyes hard as ice chips. He didn't say anything and he wasn't growling, so Scott assumed that his presence was not entirely unwelcome. It looked like he was cradling one hand with the other, although Scott couldn't be sure so far from the tub. The floor separating the bathroom door from the bathtub was littered with bloodied bits of cloth and smashed up beer cans. Scott carefully edged his way through them, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure that Logan could hear it.

He told himself that it was just nerves from having to tiptoe through this mess of nameless bloody detritus, that he was a leader and sometimes a leader had to do things they didn't want to do. Even if those things involved creeping through a wrecked and bloodied bathroom towards a clearly pissed off Wolverine.

The snide voice in his head told him that he wasn't objecting to the situation nearly as much as he should have been. He ignored it.

~*~

Reaching the tub, he looked over the edge at Wolverine's lap and gasped. Logan was indeed cradling one hand with the other. The hand he was cradling was... gone. All the flesh and muscle were gone as cleanly as though they had never been. Copious amounts of blood were spurting from the wrist.

An eerie bare skeleton of adamantium-laced bones stood protruding from the raw wrist, like some horrible travesty of a medical diagram. Scott could see the blood-streaked metal claws nestled between the visible knuckles.

A sudden and unreasoning fear for Logan rose up in his chest. He managed to squeak something somewhat coherent about going to get a doctor straight away before he raced out of the room, absurdly wanting to scream for Hank and barely keeping himself from doing so.

"You see?" the snide little voice put in, but he wasn't in the mood to listen to it just now.

~*~

Scott had raced out of the bathroom like a bat out of hell. Logan didn't particularly care if Hank came and had a look or not, there wasn't a damn thing that anyone was going to be able to do about this, and he knew it full well. But if it made Cyke happy to think that he was being important, then let the kid be happy.

Logan sighed and laid his head back against the cool tiles. He reached out with his good hand, searching for another beer. His maimed hand lay uselessly in his lap. Although the bone structure was intact, thanks to the adamantium, all of the muscles and tendons were gone, making it impossible for Logan to move it. He wished like hell that it would grow back. He really didn't want to go through the rest of his painfully long life with only one working hand.

The bleeding seemed to have slowed, though. He checked more carefully. Yeah, definitely slower. Maybe once it stopped completely the healing would begin in earnest. It was just possible that the hand hadn't regrown yet because the healing factor was so busy patching up arteries and replacing all the blood he was pumping out into the tub.

He was really pissed off about this whole thing. Damned Weapon X. He had heard that the Canadian government was thinking about starting it up again. Catching some new mutants. Doing some new experiments on them. He couldn't stand the thought of it.

Of course, Sabretooth had known that he wouldn't be able to stand the thought of it. Had known it, and had used it to get Wolverine to come out into the woods miles away from civilization or other X-Men. Logan growled softly into the quiet bathroom. Hell, he'd fought Creed plenty of times. Never got away without an scratch or two, but then again, neither did Creed. And it wasn't ever anything he couldn't heal, sooner or later.

But Creed hadn't been playing fair this time. Logan supposed there wasn't any such thing as 'playing fair' for Sabretooth, but this had been low even by his standards. Creed usually seemed to take a weird sort of pride in being able to take on Wolverine using nothing but his own body. This time, though, he'd had a little help from someone. Logan didn't know if it was Sinister or Magneto or someone else. He supposed it didn't really matter, at this point.

Logan and Creed had fought, clawing and snarling and punching. Logan had just raked his claws across Creed's rib cage, forcing the taller mutant to step back and hunch forward. When he straightened up, he was clutching a beaker in his hand. He'd tossed it at Wolverine, who had of course thrown up a hand to stop it. The liquid inside had burned away all the flesh it touched. Luckily, it hadn't splattered on Logan anywhere else, but he still found himself curled on the ground around a blisteringly pain-wracked hand that suddenly wouldn't move when he wanted it to, while Sabretooth's scent faded and the small noises he made moving through the forest receded into the distance.

So Logan had stumbled back to the mansion, blood showering everywhere. It didn't take him long to down a six-pack in the kitchen for fortification and grab some more beer to bring up to his room. He fumbled a little with the door, having to lean heavily on it and breathe carefully as a wave of dizziness hit him. Supposed it was the blood loss. When he finally got it open he spent an hour trying to stem the flow of blood with towels, old socks, any rag he could get his hands on. When that didn't work, he decided to minimize the already-considerable mess by sitting in the bathtub and waiting for his hand to heal, or to bleed to death.

He had been quietly contemplating these options when he'd caught Cyclops' scent, ripe with fear and worry, in his room. Then, of course, Scott had come into the bathroom, and he didn't even need his nose to note the fear and worry. It was an attitude he was used to from Scott, combined fear of him and worry for him. The fear of him... well, he got that from most everyone. The worry for him... he assumed that that was Scott's leader mentality kicking in. He didn't think that Scott actually cared about his well-being. Although... maybe... now, wouldn't it be interesting to push that... see how far it would go...

Logan's pleasant rumination was interrupted by the arrival of Hank and Scott. Hank went right up to the bathtub. Scott hovered anxiously in the doorway, while Logan scowled at him, until Hank told him to leave.

~*~

Scott shifted anxiously from foot to foot out in the hallway. He was surprised that he was feeling this worried about Wolverine. He really didn't want the man to be permanently injured. He told himself that this was just a normal desire to have all members of his team working at peak efficiency, but the snide voice, laughing, told him that wasn't the case and he damn well knew it. He decided to just not think about it, for now. It was easier that way.

Finally, Hank came out. Scott rounded on him quickly, demanding to know if Logan was going to be OK. Hank was a bit surprised at the intensity of Scott's concern, but he refrained from commenting on it. "There are already signs that Logan's hand is beginning to heal itself, but it will indubitably be a slow and painful process. He will not be able to use that hand for some time, and he will be a little weak for a day or so from the blood loss which was, I might add, considerable."

Scott sagged against the wall with a sigh of relief. He chose not to think about why he was so relieved that Logan wasn't going to be permanently crippled, and Hank chose not to bring it up. "How long will he be out of action?"

Hank considered. "I estimate it will take a week for his healing factor to completely repair the damage done to his hand. Of course, that is only a general estimation, as I have not yet had an opportunity to truly examine his mutant abilities in a controlled, scientific setting..."

"Yes, yes, of course," Scott said, not really listening past 'a week'. "Will he require any sort of... care?"

"If he is right-handed, he will almost certainly need aid with his everyday activities," Hank mused, "but if you are referring to medical care, no, there is nothing further I can do for him."

"OK," Scott said, straightening up. "Thank you, Hank. I can handle it from here." He turned and went back into Logan's room.

Hank watched him go. A flicker of amusement passed across his blue-furred face. 'Not my business,' he thought determinedly, and headed back down to his lab, a bit of a grin on his lips.

~*~

Three days had passed since Logan had come home minus a rather key appendage. His wound had stopped bleeding entirely, and was beginning to heal. He was up and about, since his body had already compensated for the blood loss, but he was in a foul mood. He hated being at anything other than peak physical performance, it made him miserable.

He was sprawled on the couch, watching a hockey game, a cold, unopened beer bottle clutched in his good hand. He was about to flick it open one-handed when Scott walked in. He glanced over at the sofa.

"Oh! Logan! Here, I'll get that for you." Scott reached over and opened Logan's beer for him. Logan was about to tell him that he could have easily done it himself, but an idea occurred to him. A very interesting idea. Oh, if this worked... A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. The first time he had smiled since he got home.

~*~

Scott noticed the smile. He felt a corresponding glow deep inside him at the thought of doing something to ease Logan's suffering, even if it was only a little bit. Once again, he was struck by how strange this thought was. Why should he care so much about Logan? He was, after all, just another teammate. A good fighter, always someone he could count on in a battle, but he was nothing more. Was he?

He had been ignoring these feelings for some time now. He believed he was getting rather good at it. He sat down carefully in an armchair, where he could pretend to be watching the hockey game. He slid his eyes over to Logan instead. No one could see what he was looking at behind his sunglasses anyway.

Logan was wearing a thin white tshirt and loose, dark blue sweatpants. Bare feet. His black hair was clumped messily on his head, and he looked even more unshaven than was usual for him. Scott wondered why he wasn't wearing his customary jeans, and then thought that the button fly might have been too hard to manage left-handed. He frowned slightly. It was terrible, really, all the things that Logan surely wasn't able to do with this injury hampering him. A leader shouldn't sit by and let a teammate suffer like that. Right, the little voice piped up, that's just it. Scott was quite used to ignoring it now.

"Logan." Softly. Ignored.

"Logan." A little louder this time. Logan turned those intense blue eyes to him. Grunted. Looked back at the TV. Well. At least he had been acknowledged. Scott decided that he was just going to have to work with what he was given.

"Um... I know it must be hard for you, with... your hand. I just wanted you to know... um, if there's ever anything you need done... I mean, something you can't do with your hand like that... um... I'm here." Now Logan was watching him instead of the hockey game. Scott felt a little quiver of something unidentifiable from that piercing gaze.

Logan looked like he wanted to say something, but was struggling against it. Scott watched for a little bit, and then realized that, of course, Wolverine hated asking for help. There was something that Scott could help him with, but he didn't want to ask for it. Well. He wasn't going to stand for that.

"Logan? What is it?"

"It's... nuthin', Cyke, ya wouldn't help with it, it ain't... yer sort o'thing..."

Scott leaned forward in his chair earnestly. "I'm serious Logan, whatever it is... I'll give you a hand. (oh, stupid thing to say!) *Whatever* it is... I don't care, I just want to help." He was aware of how stupid that sounded, but he needed to convince Logan that it was OK to ask for help with whatever difficulty he was having.

Logan frowned, looked down at his lap. "It's... aw geez Cyke... I ain't... I can't..." He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "I can't use the hand. At all. So I can't... I haven't..." Scott leaned forward even further and tried to look as sincerely helpful as he could. Logan still glared determinedly up at the ceiling.

"Christ, Cyke! I... I haven't jerked off in days!" he finally exploded, still looking at the ceiling and definitely not anywhere near Scott.

Scott froze in his leaned-foward position, a little shocked. It hadn't occurred to him that... well, but now that he thought about it, he supposed that it *would* be a problem. But he had said he would help Logan with whatever he needed help with, and he would be damned if he was going to back down from that. A leader keeps his word.

Any thoughts that he might enjoy this were summarily ignored.

~*~

After delivering his mostly unspoken request, Logan kept his eyes on the ceiling. Couldn't look down at Cyke right now. Just might burst out laughing. Phase 1 of his plan had been delivered perfectly. He wondered what the kid was going to say.

Scott took a deep breath, and then said, softly, "I said I'd help you, Logan. If that's what you need help with, I'll help you." Kid sounded like he was trying to be some kinda great, selfless leader, but Logan could smell a thin line of arousal curl into the air.

Once he was sure he wasn't going to explode with laughter and ruin it all, he looked at Scott. Liked what he saw. The kid was leaning forward still, face turned appealing towards Logan. Scott's brown hair fell over his forehead in a slightly disheveled way, framing the red sunglasses. The nose was thin and straight, the angles of the face clean-cut without being harsh. The heady scent of arousal emanating from him definitely enhanced his appearance. Oh, but this *was* going to be fun.

~*~

They were up in Logan's room, and Scott didn't know what to do with himself. They were both sitting on Logan's bed, close to each other but not quite touching. Logan had cleaned up from the bloodbath several days ago, but there was still a small bloodstain on the bedsheets. Scott fixed his eyes on this, trying to give his brain some time to come out of hiding and help him along here.

After a few minutes he decided that his brain was not going to make an appearance and he would have to make do without it. Logan seemed disinclined to make the first move, so Scott turned around to look at him. Logan gazed back impassively, with an unreadable expression on his face.

"So..." Scott stammered, turning a little red and dropping his eyes to Logan's crotch rather nervously, "um... shall I get started?" He couldn't look at Logan's face. Didn't want him to see the nervousness and the... desire? The little voice, deep in the back of his mind, giggled. He was going to just keep on ignoring that, although he wasn't sure how much longer this approach to it was going to work, but he really didn't need to be worrying about it right now. Of all times.

Logan stood up, startling Scott. He peeled off his shirt with his good hand, then paused with his fingers resting lightly on the elastic waistband of his sweatpants. "Ya sure 'bout this, Cyke? I won't mind if y'ain't up for it, I know it ain't yer thing." Scott wondered how the hell Logan was managing to stay so calm about this.

"No!" A little more forcefully than he'd meant. "I mean, no, of course I don't mind. Not at all." Great. Now he sounded... eager. Not at all what he wanted Logan to think. Right?

He really needed to stop having those sort of thoughts. It was hard to be a competent leader when he was thinking that way about a teammate and it was getting a little hard to ignore the snide little voice telling him that he didn't really want to stop having those thoughts.

Then Logan took his pants off, clearly not wearing any underwea,r and even the snide little voice was struck dumb.

~*~

Logan stepped out of his sweatpants and sat back down next to Scott. The kid was flushed and he was panting slightly. Logan doubted he was even aware that he was doing it, but it was enticing as all hell.

It was a little tricky for most people to tell where his eyes were, what with the red lenses and all, but Logan had been around Scott for a while, and he could tell by the slight variations in the red glow behind glasses where Scott was looking. Right now, he noticed with satisfaction, Scott's eyes were riveted to his cock. The smell of arousal had grown sharper in the air, and Logan wasn't sure that it was all Scott's any more.

~*~

Oh. Wow. Scott's brain continued in its absence, but now he wasn't missing it. If he started thinking about what he was doing, maybe this wonderful sight would suddenly go away, and he didn't want that. No sir. Didn't want that at all.

Logan was hard, and very big. Much bigger than Scott himself. Well, maybe not longer, but *certainly* thicker. His cock had a slight curve to it, making it arch towards Logan's equally hard abdominal muscles. Scott had seen those abs before, of course, whenever Logan didn't have a shirt on, which was often. It was a very abnormal week indeed which did not see at least two or three days of shirtless Logan around the mansion. But Scott was definitely seeing those abs in a whole new light now. He decided that they looked good at any time, but they looked a whole lot better with that massive cock leaning towards them.

Since his brain was still on vacation, it didn't even occur to him to ignore that thought.

Logan's balls were heavy-looking and covered with a dark fuzz. A thick patch of black pubic hair cushioned the base of his shaft. Scott devoured it with his eyes, wishing for the millionth time that he didn't see in shades of red. He desperately wanted to see the slight gradations of color that covered Logan's cock. He wanted to see the color of the head, the color of the bulging veins that pulsed around the shaft.

He had been planning to give Logan a hand job, a sort of surrogate masturbation, nothing more. After all, his brain had insisted, he wasn't attracted to Logan at all. Not in the least. The snide little voice was eminently wrong. He would always help out a teammate, but that was all this was. Helping out a teammate. Being a good leader.

But now that his brain was longer present, he was finding the idea of a hand job a little... inadequate. He wanted more. It wasn't *fair* that he couldn't see the colors of that magnificent organ.

So he decided that he would have to make do with the taste instead.

~*~

Scott had been eyeballing his cock for several minutes. Logan had no idea what he was thinking, he only hoped that the kid wouldn't chicken out. He was starting to really like the idea of Cyclops getting him off. It had been a joke at first, to see how far Scott would go, but now there was a little bit of desire mixed in. 'Course, it was still mostly a joke. Logan loved messing with Scott's head, and once the kid was thinking straight again, this was going to be one hell of a mess in his skull.

He felt a warm wetness on his cock and jumped a little. Woah. Now *there* was a sight for the ol' memory banks.

Scott had gotten off the bed to kneel between his legs. One elegant hand clutched at Wolverine's corded thigh, as though for support. The other was cautiously cupping his balls. The red sunglasses glinted as Scott turned them up to Logan's face, his whole attitude asking for approval. He was biting his lower lip nervously, as though he wasn't sure if it was OK for his to lick Logan's cock or not.

A low rumble of amusement emerged from Logan's chest. He reached out with his good hand and twined his fingers into Scott's tousled chestnut hair. "F'that's what ya wanna do, kid, ya ain't gonna get any complaints from me."

Scott smiled shyly, looking incredibly young and not at all like his usual 'Fearless Leader' self. The glasses turned down, concentrating on Logan's crotch again. A tongue came out to wet red lips. A deep inhalation of breath caught on a tiny hitch of desire. Logan's enhanced senses noted it all, and it was driving him fucking insane.

Just when Logan was thinking that he was going to have to shove Scott down onto his damn cock, Scott parted his lips and got down to business.

~*~

Brain now thoroughly on vacation, Scott tried to make some sense of his position. What, exactly, was this enormous, throbbing presence in his mouth? He'd never had anything like it in there before. Not that he was complaining. Oh no. This was a very, very nice enormous throbbing presence.

He caressed the wide head with his tongue, reveling in the velvety smoothness of it, the fascinating way it could have both hard and soft qualities at the same time. Like steel overlaid with silk. Someone, somewhere far above him, gave a low, rumbling growl. Opening his eyes, Scott saw one hairy hand gripping the bedsheets hard, almost at his eye level.

Taking this as encouragement, Scott opened his mouth still further and slid his lips down the prodigious shaft. He curled his tongue around it, sliding up and down along its length. Slowly at first, unsure, but then faster and faster. Head bobbing enthusiastically, eyes closed, seeing nothing, only feeling and tasting and hearing and smelling. He did this for what seemed like an eternity, but a good eternity.

Scott paused and pulled back so that just the head was in his mouth. He gripped the slick shaft with his hand and pumped it hard. He swirled his tongue around the sensitive head, pressing it to the slit, rolling it around the round form. He heard labored breathing, grinding teeth, all of it undercut with a low frequency growl that was emanating continuously from the muscular chest above him.

The magnificent cock in his mouth suddenly seemed to grow even harder, even bigger. A grunt sounded from on high, and with one irresistible thrust of a well-muscled pelvis Scott found his entire mouth and much of his throat crammed full. The thrust was so quickly executed that his gag reflex didn't even have time to be a factor. Tight, furred balls slapped at his chin.

The big hand clenching the sheets suddenly spasmed and three very deadly claws sprang out from between the knuckles with an unmistakable *snickt*. At that sound, Scott's brain suddenly and jarringly returned. This was *Wolverine*, hardened killer and often feral animal. He was *Cyclops*, leader extraordinaire and all round good guy. This was *Wolverine's* cock, in *his* mouth, and these were *Wolverine's* balls, snug against *his* chin. This was a *bad* situation.

The snide little voice, also back from its temporary sabbatical, gave a snide little cheer of 'told you so!'

Before Scott could think any more about it, Logan came, entire body tensing, low growl erupting into what could only be described as a full-fledged roar. Scott could only think about trying to swallow efficiently, so that he wouldn't drown in what must have been gallons of warm, viscous fluid.

~*~

Scott stumbled into the kitchen, barely seeing the room or its occupants. He had practically raced out of Logan's room. 'Oh god Oh god. I just gave Wolverine a blow job. I just gave Wolverine a blow job.' His brain whirled sickeningly, and he sat down heavily at the table, clutching his head in his hands. He could still taste the salty liquid in his mouth.

'You liked it,' the snide little voice said. He ignored it for the time being. It was bad enough that he had given Logan a blow job. He was still trying to get his mind around that. The fact that he had enjoyed it was going to take rather longer to process.

"Are you all right, mein Freund?" a concerned voice asked. Scott looked up to find Kurt hanging disconcertingly upside down in front of him, his tail securely wrapped around the ceiling fan.

"Yeah," he said, unsteadily (oh god, please don't let him smell my breath), "I'm just... tired."

Kurt dropped gracefully down from the fan, flipping to land upright. He sat down at the table, looking at Scott with some concern. Scott, shaking his head again to clear it, noticed Remy also sitting at the table, regarding him with worry and slight amusement in his glinting, red-on-black eyes. "You workin' yourself too hard dese days, Cyke, an' dat's a fact," Remy said, shaking his head in mock-disapproval.

The Cajun's joking helped Scott to get his bearings. He relaxed a little bit, easing into the accustomed repartee. Nice and normal. "Like you'd know anything about work, Gambit."

Remy's face assumed a falsely injured look that fooled exactly no one. "Moi? Work? Dat ain't no occupation for any self-respectin' t'ief..."

Kurt widened his eyes and might have rolled them, although it was hard to tell from the yellow orbs. "I would believe it. By the way, has anyone seen Logan lately? Ich wurde gesorgt... I have been worrying about him lately, it must be hard, to only have one hand."

Scott tensed again, but Remy said, unconcernedly, "Oh, he goin' t'be jus' fine. I don' t'ink missin' one o' his mains is goin' t'slow him down any, s'pecially since it's growin' back already."

Kurt frowned. "Surely he will still have some difficulty... it is his right hand, nein? That cannot be so simple..."

Scott found that he was having trouble breathing.

"Oh, don' let dat bot'er you," Remy said, still in the same airy, unconcerned tone. Scott leaned forward almost imperceptibly.

"Why... why not?" he asked. Neither of his teammates seemed to notice the choking quality of his voice.

Remy snorted. "Ain' givin' me no respect, Cyke. I'm a t'ief, an' a damn good one too. I always notice what main someone uses. You a righty, Kurt over dere is a righty. Bobby, he a lefty. Moi, I'm what dey call 'ambidext'rous'."

Kurt raised an eyebrow, and Remy puffed up indignantly in his seat. "Oui monsieur, dis ol' Cajun knows un grand mot ou deux! As I was sayin', I have de full use o' bot' my han's. An' de same is true of our bon ami Logan. He ambidext'rous, or my name ain' Remy Etienne LeBeau."

Kurt began playfully teasing Remy ('well, and how do we know that's your real name?') and Remy was playfully bantering back, but Scott didn't hear them. He sat back in his seat very,very slowly.

Logan. Was. Ambidextrous.

"I am going to KILL HIM!" he shouted, leaping from his seat and dashing out of the kitchen.

Remy and Kurt looked around from their jocular conversation, startled into a shocked silence. "Mein Gott," Kurt stammered, "what is the matter with Scott?"

"Don' know," Remy mused, staring out at the kitchen door. "Guess he *has* been workin' himself too hard dese days." He considered for a moment, then nodded sagely. "Dat boy needs t'get laid. Bad."

Both Remy and Kurt burst out laughing.



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