Canadian Nights: The Story of the Borrowed Belt Chapter 7 by Mo
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.
I just sat there on the bed for a few minutes, watching him. He seemed to be sleeping soundly. After a while I saw the rapid eye movements indicating he wasdreaming, but he still seemed quite peaceful, with none of the thrashing and moaning that characterized his nightmare state. His claws were completely retracted, which was also a good sign. I went into the bathroom to shower, and stopped to look at the row of small bottles on the counter by the sink. They seemed to all be different - some were pills (but looking irregular and handmade, not like something from a pharmacy), some leaves. Each had instructions for use in 'Ro's neat handwriting. So, he seemed to be taking her herbal remedies seriously. I hoped they were working for him.
I showered and got fresh clothes out of my suitcase - everything but a belt. "Damn you, Logan," I said, but softly, not wanting to wake him. I spied his pants still on the floor, still with the belt in them. Well, maybe he had another one with him, I thought as I took it out and put it through my own belt loops. And if he didn't, maybe he'd think twice next time.
I walked out of the room and went back downstairs, in search of someone I knew. I ran into Heather in the kitchen. "Are you hungry, Scott?" she asked, choppingonions. "We're not eating for another hour or so, but you could have some cheese and crackers if you like." She gestured to a platter set out on the counter nearby.
"No thanks, not right now. But what I would like is a phone. Is there somewhere I can make a private call? Logan's asleep in our room and I don't want to wake him."
"You can use the study. It's right off the living room and it should be free. Paper and pencils in the desk if you want to make notes." I thanked her and was about to leave, but she said, "Scott. Is Logan okay? He has been acting kind of strangely."
"He's fine. I think he hasn't slept much lately. He's napping now. I bet he'll be more himself later." I finished lying to her and scurried off to the study to call Charles.
Charles listened carefully while I explained what I had observed with Logan. I gave him all the details of the panicky talk about Weapon X and conspiracy and how he thought that Mac was an assassin. Told him about the trembling and the wild, furtive looks and Logan asking why he wasn't dead. I left out all the stuff about the way he seemed to be using sex as an escape. He asked a few clarifying questions but basically just let me talk. "So, I don't know what to do," I finished by saying. "Heather has already asked me what's wrong with him. I don't know what to say to these people. I barely know them and don't really want to tell them that I think Logan's grip on reality is even more tenuous than usual. On the other hand, it certainly seems like they have information that could help him, or at least Mac does. And without disclosing the fact that he doesn't remember Mac at all, I don't see how I can elicit that info. So, what do you think? You know them better. Are they trustworthy? Should I tell them what Logan told me?"
"What I think, Scott, is that it's not your decision to make. Logan has to decide what he wants them to know. He has to determine whether he can trust Mac enough to ask him what their contact had been in the past. You can't protect him from this - it's not a kindness to him. If you're his friend then your proper role is to discuss it with him, offer your advice, but support him in his decision.
"I'm very interested to hear that Mac knew Logan. I think that's a good development all around. And you can certainly tell Logan for me that I have always found both Mac and Heather to be reliable, kind and compassionate allies - and fierce fighters for the rights of mutants. I totally understand Logan's mistrust of anyone associated with the government - Canadian or U.S. But I think that things have changed a lot since the time of Weapon X and the Cold War. Government now in both countries is much more open and accountable. And even at that time I just can't believe that the people who tortured Logan were anything but a renegade department that would have appalled most government officials, had they known about it."
I argued with him a little, but I had to admit that what he said made sense. I would be doing Logan no favor if I talked to Mac and Heather behind his back. I agreed with Charles that it was a good development, that Logan should find out what Mac knew and see if that helped him. But I also agreed that Logan had to be the one to decide, that the best I could do would be to offer my advice. And, if he did talk to them, to offer to try to help him make sense of what he found out.
I went back up to our room, entering quietly in case he was still sleeping. The room was dark so I figured he hadn't woken yet. I closed the door quietly, but then noticed that he wasn't in bed. He was right behind the door, had been waiting for me.
He pushed me against the wall, pinning me with one arm across the chest, starting to unbuckle my belt. He was still naked and I thought he wanted to pick up where we had left off earlier. It was an appealing idea, but I thought it was important that we discuss what approach he wanted to take with the Hudsons before we went downstairs for dinner. "Not now, Logan," I said. "We need to talk." But his intentions weren't amorous.
He pulled the belt off me, and kind of brandished it in front of my face. "Don't take my things without asking me," he said, fiercely, pushing his arm into me hard.
"Logan, you're hurting me, let go." He didn't, just held me there, glaring at me. "Are you really mad about this? I can't believe it. You took my goddamn motorcycle - all I took was a belt. And after you sliced mine up. Don't tell me you really care that I wore your belt."
He didn't answer. Shifted position a little, so he was still holding me against the wall but using his torso and shoulder to pin me, freeing both of his hands. He took both of my hands in one of his and, with the other, started to use the belt to bind my wrists together. "Don't do this, Logan," I said, half-way between pleading and threatening. He didn't answer, pulled it tighter, turned me around so I was facing the wall, my hands tied together with the belt. His one hand was on the belt, holding my hands immobile. I heard the claws on the other extend as he used his body to push me up against the wall.
"Don't do this, Logan," I said to him again, quietly but urgently. "You'll regret it if you do."
"You threatening me, Cyclops?" he snarled. "I don't let people threaten me. And I don't let them take my property."
"No, I'm not threatening you. I'm telling you you're threatening me. You're threatening us. This is not a game, Logan. I am not consenting to this. If you don't stop, I don't know that it's something we can recover from. Think about what you're doing."
Nothing happened for what seemed like eons but was probably only a minute or two, my hands bound and his body pressed against me. I could feel the points ofhis claws on my back, just below the waist. He could have used them with one motion to slice my clothes off or with another to run me through. I was terrified, feeling like he might do either, like he was too far gone for me to reach him.
But he wasn't. I heard the sound of the claws retracting first. It took another few seconds before the pressure on my back went away, as if they had left animpression there that needed time to recede. Then he backed off a bit, letting go of the belt holding my wrists as he did. I took my hands out of the belt, letting it drop to the floor, turning around to face him, moving close. He stood there, hands by his sides, not making a sound, tears streaming down his cheeks. I just looked at him, all of my fear dissolved from seeing him like that. I didn't know what he wanted from me, didn't know if I should touch him or not, say anything or not. We just stood there silently facing each other for a minute or two, and then he spoke. "I'm sorry, Scott," he said, so softly I could barely hear him although I was inches away. The line "Soft as a man with a dead child speaks" came into my head, along with the part that follows it, "Hard as a man in handcuffs, Held where he cannot move." I wasn't even sure who had just been held so hard: Logan or me.
"I'm so sorry," he said again, interrupting my reverie. Not touching me, not looking at me, his eyes on the floor. "I don't know what's wrong with me."
I put my arms around him, kissed his tear-stained cheeks. "It's okay, Logan," I whispered in his ear. "You stopped. That's what matters. You're going to be okay. We're going to be okay."
He just stood there, impassive. I went over to the bed and picked up the nearly empty bottle of almond-scented oil. I brought it back to him, still standing by the wall, and put it in his hand, closing his fingers around it. "There's enough left for once more, Logan. Put it on me," I told him.
He was still crying, and stood there, shaking his head. "No, I can't."
"Sure you can. I want you to. I want you inside me, Logan. Here and now. We need this, Logan. We can't leave what just happened as the last time you touched me. Not even for a little while." He just stood there with the bottle in his hand, so I took it back and pulled out the stopper. Poured a little on my hands and started spreading it on his cock. He was still crying, but getting hard just the same. His hands were clenched tight by his sides. I lifted his right hand, opened it, and turned the bottle upside down on his palm, letting what was left of the almond stuff flow onto his hand. Then I turned to face the wall again, putting my hands up against it, standing like someone who had just been arrested and was about to be frisked.
He waited a minute but then came up behind me, leaning against me, kissing the back of my neck. He reached around with his left hand and undid my fly, letting my pants fall to the floor. "Are you sure, Scott?" he said in my ear. I nodded.
He extended a claw and cut my boxers off of me. I wasn't thrilled about that. I'd really prefer that he not slice up any of my clothes. On the other hand, it wasn't so bad - I had more underwear than pants. And he seemed so fragile right then I didn't want to criticize. He slipped a couple of fingers inside my ass and started moving them around, opening me up, stroking inside me in a way that made me squirm. Then he took them out and put his cock right at the opening, just putting the head in a little way. "Are you sure?" he asked again.
"Oh, yes." I pushed back to meet him and he pushed inside.
He started fucking me then, slowly, gently, reaching around to stroke my cock while he did. I told him I wanted it harder and he started pushing it into me harder and faster, one arm round my chest and the other hand on my dick, doing what I told him to, pumping in and out. "I'm sorry, Scott," he kept saying. "I don't want to hurt you. I love you."
His movements were fast and furious and he came quickly. Stayed inside me, though, the whole length of him pressed against me. Then he rubbed and tugged atme until I came, all the while kissing my neck, my ear, and my cheek, telling me again and again how much he loved me.
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