Disclaimer: The X-Men and Alpha Flight belong to Marvel. The movie belongs to Fox. I do feel like Scott and Logan are a little bit mine since I've been borrowing them for so long.
The Alpha Flight safe house was in Cote St. Luc, west of Montreal proper. I found it without incident and knocked on the door. A young woman I didn't know answered, introduced herself as Marina, saying "You must be Cyclops," and inviting me inside. She took me into the living room, announced me, and quickly exited.
Heather Hudson was there, as was Jean-Paul. They both got up to greet me, both kissed me and inquired about my trip up there, telling me they were glad I had come. Logan was sitting there, too, but acknowledged my entrance with only a curt, "Hi, Scott". The fourth person sitting in the room was an older man I'd never met who had to be James MacDonald Hudson, Heather's husband and the founder of Alpha Flight. He stood when I entered. I walked over to him and Heather introduced us, using our code names, but when I called him "Guardian" he corrected me, saying, "Please, Scott, just call me 'Mac' when we aren't on a mission." He apologized for not entertaining us at their headquarters in Toronto, explaining that they had other business in Montreal to attend to and empty space in this house. I told him that it was just as easy to get to Montreal and I was happy to have the opportunity to practice my French.
Logan still hadn't said a word beyond his initial greeting but kept shooting me these intense looks. I couldn't tell if he was mad or upset or what, but he sure didn't look happy. The rest of us made small talk for a few minutes and then Heather suggested that Logan show me up to our room, saying that she thought he could fill me in on the discussions they had had so far. He stood up and left the room without so much as a word to anyone. I kind of shrugged at the rest of them, saying "See you later". I picked up my suitcase and followed Logan out of the room and up the stairs. He walked down a long hall and opened the door of the third room on the right. I followed him in and closed it.
He pushed me up against the closed door and kissed me, hard, reaching to stroke my cock through my jeans. It felt great to be with him again but I was worriedabout him and wanted to know what was going on. He's often pretty quiet, but his behavior downstairs had been downright anti-social. "What's wrong, Logan?" I asked. He just shook his head. "What does that mean?"
"Not now, Scott. We'll talk after," he said and kissed me again. Then he extended one claw and started slicing my shirt off of me, beginning at the left side of the collar and cutting down the sleeve to the wrist. I started to protest - it was a new shirt, plus I hadn't brought that many clothes with me and wasn't sure how long I'd be staying - but he just stuck his tongue in my mouth again, shutting me up. He sliced the other sleeve in the same way, careful not to cut me. Then he turned me around and cut down the middle of the back of the shirt. It fell to the floor and he pushed up against me, kissing the back of my neck. I could feel him hard against me and wondered if he was going to push me against the wall and fuck me standing up like that. But he spun me around again, facing me, and kissed me, running his tongue along the roof of my mouth. He had that feral look about him, and started pushing in hard with his tongue, kissing me so intensely and roughly that I was getting a little bit frightened for him. I was worried that he was moving into sex-to-forget mode, and wondering what had happened to him to get him to that point.
He stopped kissing me on the mouth and started cutting down the side of my pants, ignoring my pleas that he at least let me take off my belt first, the only one I had brought with me. He cut the jeans slowly, cutting through belt and pants and boxers, both sides, moving down my body as he cut, kissing and licking me on the neck, chest and belly. The pants fell away and I was standing there in nothing but my glasses and my boots, with him kneeling in front of me. I was feeling equal parts embarrassed, annoyed, confused and hot.
He started sucking me and the embarrassed, annoyed and confused parts of my brain just disappeared. He held my ass with both hands, pushing me deep into hismouth and down his throat, again and again, using his tongue on the underside of my dick in this wonderful way that sent shivers down my spine. He'd pull backand lick the head, then push me in again. Spread my cheeks and stuck a finger inside, finding a good spot, making me thrust into his mouth repeatedly. I foundmyself wondering if he had kept his word that he would tell me if he had had somebody else. This didn't feel like anyone's second attempt at giving a blow job.
Well, I was enjoying it too much to worry about that. Started feeling really weak in the knees, though, almost collapsing on him. I tried to tell him I thought we should change positions, didn't think I could keep standing, but nothing came out of my mouth but his name and some incoherent noises. He realized my problem, though, and held me up, with his hands and with his body pressed against my legs. I had my hands in his hair, twisting and pulling a little, feeling myself riding the crest of that wave, finally coming in his mouth and then just standing there, bent over him a little, trying to catch my breath. Then I knelt down in front of him and we kissed again.
I started unbuttoning his shirt and helped him take it off. "See, Logan," I said, "It's possible to undress people without ripping their clothes to shreds." He didn't smile, didn't say anything. He let me take the rest of his clothes off.
Then he stood up and took me by the hand, leading me over to the bed. He told me to kneel next to the bed, leaning over it. So I did. There was a small bottle of some kind of oil or something on the night stand and he went over and got it and poured some on his hands. Then he started spreading it on my thighs and ass. It smelled like almonds and felt warm and kind of tingly. He coated a couple of fingers with it, too, and pushed one inside me, then the other. Then he took his fingers out, spread my legs a little, knelt between them and pushed his cock into me. He pushed in slowly, a bit at a time, until he was all the way in, his balls touching me. His upper body was pressed against me and he just stayed still, deep inside me, kind of nuzzling the back of my neck but not moving yet. He hadn't said a word all this time. Finally he spoke.
"Can I start now, Scott?" he said. "You ready? I wanted to give you a chance to just feel me, like you said on the phone." It felt good to think of him listening, thinking about what I said, wanting to reenact that scene in some respects. I told him I was ready and he started moving in and out, with long strokes. "I love riding you," he said. "You're my steed, my stallion." He was pushing harder and faster now and I was pushing back to meet him. The bed was against a wall, which was a good thing because it would have been traveling with his powerful strokes if it hadn't been. As it was, it was making a thwack-thwack noise against the wall every time he thrusted in. We were both sweating now and that seemed to activate something in the oil he had put on me - the almond smell was much stronger. He was whispering in my ear while he fucked me, saying all sorts of things. Good things, hot things, loving things. He had his hands on my sides, moving up and down and then settling on my hips as he fucked me harder and harder, the bed bumping against the wall with his movement. And then there was one final thrust, so hard it hurt, and he just kind of froze in place, jammed all the way into my ass, pumping that cum into me. Then he just stayed there for a minute on top of me, his head turned to the side, cheek on my back. "That was good, Scott," he said. "Thanks. I feel better."
He pulled out and got on the bed. I took off my boots and lay down next to him. I put my arms around him and pulled him to me. Everything seemed fine for a minute, and then he started shaking, his whole body trembling. I'd only seen him like this when he had just woken up from a nightmare.
"Logan, what's wrong?" He didn't answer. I was getting really scared, but didn't want to let it show. I figured I'd try another tack. "What can I do for you?"
That, at least, got a response. "Can you rub my back, Scott?" he asked, still shaking. "Put some of that stuff on me," he said, gesturing towards the bottle of oil. He turned on his belly and I put some of the oil on my hands and started massaging his back and shoulders. The shaking subsided and some of the tension seemed to leave his body, too. "Say something," he said. "A story or a poem. Something far away and not about us or anything we know."
The first thing I could think of that met those criteria was "Kubla Khan", so I recited Coleridge's fantasy to him. It seemed to help; I could feel his body under me, relaxing some more with the words and the massage. "I like that," he said when I was done. "I like the part about the river - say that again."
"You mean -
'Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.'
That part? Yeah, it's a nice image, isn't it?"
"So, what does it all mean? What's it supposed to be about?"
"It was a drug-induced hallucination, I think. I don't usually mention that part to the students, though. I just say that he had a vivid imagination."
"Like you?" he asked. I was relieved to hear him teasing me a little, sounding relaxed and happy. "Would you put some on my legs, too, now?"
I did, rubbed it into his legs and his ass. It was a tiny bottle and I had just about emptied it by this time. "You're almost out," I told him. "What is it, anyway?"
"I don't know. Something 'Ro gave me. She said it's good for tension. I thought it might work for sex, too. Did it feel good on you?"
"Yeah. It felt good on me. You felt good on me. And in me. You okay now?"
"Fine."
"Are you going to tell me what's going on?"
He turned over on his back. His eyes were wide open but he seemed not to see me. "That guy - he gave me a big hug," he said.
"Jean-Paul? He's like that with everybody. The Quebecois are a little more demonstrative than your average North American males."
"Not Jean-Paul. The other one. Hudson. He knew me."
"Knew you? You'd met him before?"
"Apparently. I didn't know him. I reached out my hand to shake - see, I've learned something since I met you - and he put his arms around me, like a big bear hug. Said he was so glad to see me again. I told him I didn't think I knew him."
"What did he say to that?"
"He apologized, said that I looked exactly the same so he had forgotten how much he had changed in the last thirty years. And then he said 'It's me - Mac. It's so great to see you, Logan. Guardian and Wolverine, together again.' I didn't know what to say."
"You don't have any memory of him? None at all?"
"None. Thirty years ago would put it somewhere in the middle of my lost years. I have fragmented memories from the Weapon X times, some from a few years afterthat, but then nothing until waking up in the woods something like fifteen years ago."
"So, Logan, this is a good thing, isn't it? If Mac knew you, maybe he can help you fit together some of the missing time."
"Yeah, that's what I thought. I was getting kind of excited. I came here for the project, and for you, but I was thinking I could get something out of it for me, for finding out about myself. But then he says to me, 'I heard you went independent. Not me, I'm afraid. Still a cog in the government machinery.' Scott, he's an assassin. What are you guys doing mixed up with somebody like that?"
"Oh, I really don't think so," I said, sounding as skeptical as I felt. "I've worked with Alpha Flight people before. They're like us - the good guys."
"He said we worked together - he's in the government. We know what I did for the government."
"That was a long time ago. Logan, I know Alpha Flight. They do the same kinds of missions we do: anti-terrorist operations, mutant rescue, saving the Earth frombeing taken over by hostile alien races. You know, the usual stuff."
"But they're part of the government?" he asked, gripping my arm so tightly that I knew I'd have a bruise there afterwards. "Why didn't you tell me? You know how I feel about my government service," spitting out the last two words like a curse.
"I don't know, I guess I should have. I'm sorry. I never thought about it, I guess. If I thought anything about the government aspect it was just that it must be nice to live somewhere where the government recognizes mutant contributions and talent, was willing to hire mutants for this kind of work. Although I like our independence, too."
He had a wild look in his eyes that was scaring me. And his gaze was furtive, darting back and forth around the room. "Maybe this is all a trap - maybe they don't want a joint project. Maybe they don't plan on having anything to do with it. They just wanted to lure me here so they could take me back to Churchill, back to Weapon X, back to the knives and the needles and the cold and the wolves and, and, and...."
His voice trailed off. He was shaking again and he had this strange, faraway look in his eyes. I put my arms around him again and tried to calm him down. "Logan, there's no more Weapon X. You went back to Churchill. Remember? It's all gone. There's a spaceport there, a shipping port, polar bears, a town. No Weapon X. All those people are dead."
"Dead? Dead?" His teeth were chattering now. "Am I dead? No, I'm not dead." This last sentence was said slowly, with a kind of bemused wonder. And then he looked me in the face, that wild look still in his eyes. "How come I'm not dead, Scott?"
"It's something special about you, Logan. It's part of the healing factor. You live a long, long time. Longer than anyone. We don't know how long." I was still holding him and the shaking was starting to subside, so I kept talking, kept holding him. "Weapon X is over. You saw that for yourself. They're dead, Logan. You're still here. They're all dead."
"Not him. Not Hudson."
"He's not one of them, Logan. He couldn't be. Think about it. How old do you think he is? Mid-fifties? Weapon X was over fifty years ago, wasn't it?"
He nodded, slowly. I felt encouraged and went on. "It's a good thing you met him here. Maybe he has information. He's a good guy - Charles thinks so. You know Charles would know if he were an assassin. It's not a trap, Logan. You're safe, safe with me."
His body was relaxing now. The shaking seemed to be completely over. He lay back on the bed, eyes closed. "I'm so tired, Scott. I don't know what to do."
"There's always sleep. I've found that works well when I'm tired." He chuckled a little and sounded like himself again. "Are you okay now?" I asked.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry about the panic. You're right - he couldn't be one of them. I was too upset to put it together, to figure out the timing. Thanks, Scott. You're good to me."
"What are friends for?" He smiled at that, eyes still closed. "Hey, Logan. You're good to me, too. Real good." The smile got bigger.
"Logan?"
"Yeah?"
"About that blow job. Who've you been practicing on?"
"Does that mean you liked it?"
"Oh, yes." I waited a minute for him to answer my question but he didn't say anything more. I was about to ask him again when I realized he was sound asleep, grinning from ear to ear.
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