SCOGAN series, final chapter.
This one got a lot less attention than Part 4 on Y!Gal, which I think is kind of unfortunate, since IMHO the situation here is vastly more erotic. Oh well, people will like what they like.
To be fair, Part 4 is strictly formula for me, while I experimented a lot with this last chapter, mostly because at this point I was so desperate to just finish the damn series that I was willing to try anything. Some of it worked, some of it didn't. I'll leave you to decide which is which.
As was the case throughout this series. TheMadSlasher was an excellent sounding board for my ideas, and contributed some wonderful work of his own. In fact, I think one of the reasons I'm more insecure about this chapter than the others is that I posted it to Y!Gallery unbeta'd. What can I say, I was just so happy to be done that I lost my head a little.
Ah, well. Enjoy!
~*~
The bike roared through the woods and backroads of Westchester County, staying away from Salem Center proper. Just because Logan wanted Scott to throw his self-consciousness to the winds didn't mean either of them were OK with traumatizing kids or giving harmless old ladies a heart attack.
Even so, they weren't completely alone on the roads. The truckers who passed them by honked rudely, bar-hoppers flipped them off and sneered and snarled at the "faggots." But Logan seemed to hardly notice, even though Scott knew he was hearing every word.
So Scott pretended not to notice either...which was easy, all things considered. He was too busy concentrating on the way his naked lower half ground against Logan's, the hair there much softer than it felt as it brushed across his cock and balls. The heat of their bodies, pressed together atop the hot, rumbling, vibrating bike, fought against the chill of the wind that swept around their bared legs, and won...Scott's dick hadn't gone down since they'd taken off.
It was in that moment he knew how he wanted it to end. I don't want to die in a comfortable bed, stoned to the gills to keep from screaming in pain, watching my family and friends cry while secretly wishing I’d just get it the hell over with. I want it to be a hot summer day, or a night like tonight. I want to be riding one of these bikes, and I want it to be something I cannot avoid. I want to know this is it, and look at whatever it is that will end me and twist the throttle all the way open. I want to feel my bike torque into it, letting me know she’s glad to go with me. And I want my eyes wide open.
Of course, his practical side knew it wasn't likely to happen that way. His optic blasts would make quick work of any obstacle, and he was more likely to die leading a mission to save the world, or universe, or whatever, than doing something normal like riding a bike. But the fantasy was nice, in a morbid kind of way.
"We're here," Logan said over the roar of the machine, cutting off Scott's reverie.
He flipped the visor up from his helmet and looked around. They'd turned off the road a while ago, the sturdy tires and shocks of the bike keeping the ride smooth even through what apparently amounted to dirt paths through the woods. Now they came up on a picnic table by a lake, so isolated it might as well be the middle of nowhere. The lights from town were all but invisible here, the only light coming from the bright full moon that reflected off leather, flesh, and sweat.
Logan hopped off the bike and shucked his jacket in one smooth motion, tossing it onto the table as he crawled up on top of it, turning to face Scott wearing his boots, gloves, and a cocky smirk, and nothing else.
"Come on, Summers...ya been starin' at it fer years, now it's yers. Go ahead babe...fuck me. I want it, an' I know ya do too..."
And for a split-second, Scott felt like he couldn't move. The power of Logan's voice...those harsh, rough edges of need, mixed with the encouraging words. This was dirty talk, his brain processed that much...but it wasn't like the words from any of the people he'd been with before. Most had been perfectly willing to treat him like a thing, not to be spoken to, only used...the ones who didn't pile on the verbal abuse even as they availed themselves of his services.
But what Logan was saying wasn't like that. He was encouraging Scott, galvanizing him into action with his words...it made Scott so hot to listen to that deep, rough, masculine voice wash over him. Leaning over Logan, the taller man kissed him desperately.
"Keep talking, Logan...for God's sake, don't you dare shut up!"
The next few minutes were a blur of grinding, naked flesh and leather. Scott let out a constant string of moans as he writhed in Logan's gloved fist, hips churning and grinding his cock against the hot leather grip. Logan lunged for his neck, and the taller man turned his head to give the feral access to it. As Logan kissed and licked and nibbled the clean, smooth flesh, Scott held his head and neck very still...but from the waist down, he was writhing, practically lap-dancing for his feral lover.
After a moment of assault on Scott's neck and upper torso, Logan lay back again, his hands going to his thick legs and muscular ass, pulling them wide open to give Scott uninhibited access. There was no hesitation, no fear or resentment on his face, merely an inviting and ravenous grin. "C'mon Scotty...do what'cha always wanted. 'Cause fuck...right now, stud, I want it too!"
For once in his life, Scott didn't pause or second-guess, despite the 'Cyclops' instincts inside him clamoring to be heard. Words like 'self-control', 'discipline', and 'power' flashed through his mind, but were driven out by the sight of Logan, legs spread for him, that entire hirsuite, muscular, utterly fucking gorgeous body naked and open to Scott's touch. He ran his leather-clad hands over Logan's ass and legs, before sliding a single finger inside...exerting all his self-control not to hurt the man "You'll get it, Logan...God, do you have any idea what you do to me? What doing this with you means to me?"
The stocky man purred at the touch of Scott's gloves against his rock-solid flesh. The purr became a low growl at the feeling of the team leader's finger entering his body. His smirk, that defiant, arrogant, irresistible smirk, stayed glued on his face. "Yeah, it means somethin' ta me too..." he replies, remembering all those times he wanted to stab Cyclops in the skull, skin him alive, rape the bastard...
No. that's Cyclops, not Scotty. An' the Wolverine may get off on that shit, but I'm Logan, a man. Not a fuckin' animal.
Scott's finger pressed against the right spot inside him, and he cried out in ecstasy. "UNNGH! Fuck...Yer always doin' things fer others...sacrificin' ta the grater good and shit. Be selfish fer a fuckin' change... have what ya want...have me...FUUUUCK!!" His own cock stood tall, daring the taller man to even attempt to subdue it.
In answer to this challenge, Scott bent down to suck on Logan's rampant, flagrant masculinity while his finger kept up its prep work, joined by a second...he was captivated by everything about this amazing man, and wanted...needed...to share and partake in as much of it as he could.
Under Scott, the savage growled and shuddered at the feeling of Scott's tongue sliding across his thick length, the warmth and wetness of the mouth engulfing it. His right hand slid out of its glove and behind Scott's head and began to rub encouragingly, the hair fine and silken under his callused palm. "Fuck, Scotty, yer so good at suckin' cock..." His breaths came heavier, more ragged; each additional finger the taller man slid into him only stoked the fire in his groin. "Say it Scotty... I wanna hear ya... ya got no reason ta bottle anythin' up now, Boy Scout..."
"I've talked enough..." Then, Scott yanked his fingers out of Logan's ass, prompting a hard grunt from the other man, and buried his face between the perfect, furry globes, rimming him, giving in to a need and desire unlike anything he'd ever known. In this simple act, Scott the man defied everything Cyclops the leader believed to be true about the world, literally kissing Logan's ass...and then some!...without relinquishing a drop of self-worth. Indeed, it felt as if his actions were providing him with new self-confidence, bolstering his self-esteem even as he gave in to the 'baseness and perversity' his straight-laced leader-self so hated.
Feeling Scott's tongue suddenly bury itself in his ass propelled a roar from Logan's throat. His eyes almost bulged in surprise, the dark irises and pupils blending into a pool of solid shadow against the stark whites. God-damn...it's like he wants ta throw every inhibition out th' fuckin' window... It grated against the repressed, often repressive leader he wanted to crush; who reminded him of Vindicator and all the rest, calling for "duty" and "sacrifice" of what little freedom he had.
But Scott didn't want that. Scott wanted to drink in the same defiance Logan practically secreted from his pores. If only he could keep this entire mental picture in his head as he felt Scott's tongue progressively loosen and weaken his resistance.. "Fuck...aww, god-damn...I'm ready now. C'mon, ya know ya want me, I want'cha just as fuckin' bad. Fuck me, Scott."
Not Fearless Leader. Not Boy Scout. Not Apple Polisher. Scott.
Scott let out a low moan of pleasure at hearing his name on Logan's lips as he left a trail of kisses up the feral's hot, hairy body, lingering on all the erogenous zones he knew...perineum, ballsac, navel, nipples...giving every one of them a loving lick before he positioned his cockhead against Logan's lubricated pucker, looking down at the man he wanted so badly with naked adoration on his face...his walls so far down even the shades couldn't hide his feelings from Logan. Then, he kissed his lover and pushed into him at the same time, hilting himself with the first, slow, fluid thrust even as he and Logan locked lips.
The feral's hairy, thick arms wrapped around Scott when he felt the advancing heat and pressure move into him; his roar of pleasure flowed into the other man's mouth as their tongues wrestled against each other. Every inch of Scott's maleness kept pushing into his body; his own thick shaft dripped precum as their kiss got almost angry in its intensity. His embrace tightened, pulling Scott against him and into him until he felt the hilt of the man above him.
They stayed like that for a long moment, naked men on leather jackets strewn across the picnic table in the park, hot flesh joined at the source of their fire as cool night air washed over them and moonlight streamed down upon them, driving them madder with desire. Then, Logan looked up at Scott with a fresh challenge in his eyes. "Fuck me, Scott. Do it hard. Do it fast. An' do it now."
Scott's entire body trembled, then he gave in, pulling out almost all the way to the crown before slamming back in, making his balls and Logan's shudder from the force of the impact. A few more thrusts like this, and then the pace sped up, the panting and moaning from both men rising in intensity as their hips churned and writhed together in a harmony of struggle.
Logan felt Scott's balls slamming against his ass, felt Scott's thrusts send fresh jolts of pleasure through his body, and wrapped his fist around his cock, jerking in time with the Fearless Leader's thrusts. Scott panted and moaned and cried out as Logan's inner walls rippled across his cock, threatening to pull it out by the roots every time he retracted, but welcoming it with grunts of feral passion as he thrust back in.
The fuck was primal, sweaty, savage in all the best ways. Logan had no idea Scott had even had this in him. There should have been more pain, burning or something, he knew. But there wasn't. The pleasure Logan felt blinded him to everything else...the Summers cock that kept Jean so happy was tearing into him, and he was loving it as much as she ever would. His prostate swelled up from the barrage, and Scott's cock powered alongside it, keeping his healing factor from taking away the glorious sensations.
There was more power in the Scott's strokes than the feral had ever realized, and in that moment he realized just what he had unleashed. And he loved it!
All too soon, it was over. Scott panted and moaned and cried out Logan's name as he clutched the feral close to him, his hips surged inside him, and he let out a blast of cum deep into Logan's ass, his whole body trembling and shuddering from the force of his orgasm. Logan closed his eyes and felt the seed bathe his swollen prostate, then hooked his arms and legs around Scott and ground his hips lewdly, rubbing his cock on Scott's abdomen and grinding his ass further down on Scott's spasming, blasting dick until he let out a primal roar and blew his own load over both men, a torrent of seed that bathed both their torsos in glistening white seed.
They collapsed upon their thrown jackets, panting and gasping for breath as they held on to each other, both men trembling and shuddering from the force of their orgasms...much to Logan's surprise. I'm s'posed ta be the tough one. Biggest, baddest motherfucker in town.
How th' hell can one lay with Slim Summers completely fuck me over like this?
~*~
After they'd washed themselves clean in the lake, the two men lay together for a long time. Scott leaned up and kissed Logan again, more gently. It was a lover's kiss, the kind Logan had seen him and Jean share, and alarm bells went off in his head. Then the slimmer man broke it and laughed, a quiet chuckle. "Don't worry. I'm not sure what this...we...are yet, but I know what we're not."
Logan looked at him with a cocked eyebrow. "So...what now? Ya had yer taste o'the old man's cock, got'cher rocks off, an' now it's back ta us screamin' at each other like usual again?"
Scott shook his head, rolling up to a sitting position...that, incidentally, put his glistening cock within feet of Logan's lips. "I...I don't know. I meant everything I said today. One good fuck..." he grimaced, "or three, however you count it...doesn't change the fact that we're always butting heads. You're my worst nightmare and my goddamn ideal all wrapped up in one infuriating package."
Logan grinned. "I do my humble best, bub," he said, an echo of what he'd said before...had it only been earlier this evening?
Scott looked at him steadily. "I guess the question is...what do you want? This isn't something I can decide by myself...I want to be equal with you in this."
Logan frowned, and thought pensively, his hands trailing over Scott's body. "What happened t'night...it showed me a side o'you I ain't never seen b'fore. I want more a'that, an' I know you want more'a me." He looked up at Scott with that familiar defiance in his eyes. "Why's it gotta be more complicated'n that?"
Something about that struck Scott as unutterably funny, and he threw back his head and laughed aloud. Logan let himself crack a grin. It felt good, seeing Slim express himself. Logan couldn't explain why. "I guess it doesn't, at that!" Scott said, when the laughter had finally died down. "So...we have the rest of the night together before I start combat training in the morning. You wanna spend it here, or...?"
"Nah." Logan threw his jacket and gloves back on, and started trotting back to the bike. "I'm ready ta go back. I wanna keep fuckin'...but I wanna do it in an actual bed. We c'n always rough it some more later...take a week off, go campin' somewhere. You ain't been fucked outside till ya been fucked b'side a roarin' fire in th' Canadian Rockies." He grinned.
"Sounds like a plan," Scott said, climbing aboard after Logan. As the engine revved up and they sped into the shadows of the forests around Westchester, he wondered what he'd awakened inside himself tonight, and how far it would go.
He knew one thing: He'd enjoy finding out.
~FIN~
Sunday, February 13, 2011
SCOGAN, Part 4: An Ideal Brought To Life, Part 2
The penultimate chapter in my SCOGAN series.
TheMadSlasher, as he has throughout this entire story, served as both inspiration and example to me. Parts of these final two chapters were derived heavily from our Scogan RP. For that, and everything else he helped me with (including keeping me on task!), I view this Scogan series as a collaboration with him.
~*~
Of course, Logan hadn't bothered to dress.
Scott knew he didn't care one way or the other whether anyone saw him naked, unless they were someone he didn't want to offend. And now he knew that there was no way in hell him being naked could ever offend Scott.
Even if I walked in on you fucking the hell out of someone else...Remy, Ororo, hell, even Jean...it'd still be hot. I don't own you, I don't want to. I just want to take part in it with you.
Scott still didn't know how he'd gotten his own clothes on, let alone how he and Logan had made it up the elevator and stairs from the sub-basement to his bedroom without getting caught up in each other again.
But as soon as Logan closed the door behind him, it didn't matter anymore. All there was was heat, and hardness, and Scott's lean, only slightly hairy body was pressing against the feral's much more hirsuite, muscled frame. The "Xavier Institute For Higher Learning" shirt he'd thrown on was suddenly on the ground again, his blue jeans pooled about his ankles beside it.
The sight and smell and sound of him were beautiful, deep brown eyes locked on him with the most intense stare Scott imagined Logan had ever given anybody. Still trying to figure out how they'd gone from bickering like teenagers to wanting to fuck in the space of a single afternoon.
Scott didn't care. All he knew was that his sexy, rebellious, incredible creature was here, and for right now, he was here for Scott. He pulled Logan in for another kiss, their naked bodies grinding together, cocks hardening against the feel of one another. It was primal, the basest of savagery as Scott understood it, but it felt so fucking right...
"On the bed, Scotty," Logan breathed. "I'm sick of only gettin' to look at that fine ass. I want some. Now. An' later, that Summers dick that keeps Jean so fuckin' happy is goin' inside me too."
Oh God. Logan was saying everything Scott had ever fantasized about, and it was going straight to his dick. He was going to explode if he didn't get Logan's cock inside him right the fuck now, and he said so, even as Logan pushed him backwards onto the bed.
Logan chuckled. Christ, even his laugh is sexy. "Ya gotta wait a little bit longer, Slim. I ain't never hurt no one with this fucker, and I ain't never gonna, either. Yer gonna get my dick, Scott, that's a fuckin' promise. But not till yer ready for it." Then he went to his knees and lifted Scott's legs, spreading his muscular thighs apart.
"Beautiful..." was all Scott heard before Logan dove in face-first, rimming him to within an inch of his life, and it felt amazing. His cock strained into the air, throbbing and begging for attention, but Scott controlled himself. He knew if he touched his cock while Logan's tongue was buried in his ass, he'd lose it again, and they were just getting started.
So for a few torturous moments he lay on his back, and moaned, and cried out when Logan hit his prostate. He wanted more, wanted everything the feral could do to him, but at the same time, he didn't want Logan to ever stop what he was already doing...
Finally, his problem was solved for him, when Logan leaned over him again, his lips attaching to one of Scott's dark red nipples as he held the taller man's legs apart and thrust into him, slowly and inexorably. Scott squeezed his eyes shut and let out a long, drawn-out moan of pleasure/pain at the intrusion...he felt like he'd been waiting for this forever, and now that he had it it was everything he'd imagined it to be!
"Yeah, Slim, ya like that?" Logan's voice was coming back to him through his haze of pleasure, and Scott found himself aching again. "Toldja I wouldn't hurt ya...I'm just gonna fuck you like you fuckin' deserve."
"Y-yes...oh, fuck yes..." Scott breathed, panting. "Tell me...Logan...God, tell me everything. Everything I deserve, everything you wanted to do. Please..."
Logan looked at him askance for a moment, then broke into a salacious smile, giving Scott's nipple a long, slow lick as he lazily pushed in and out of him. "A'right...where th'fuck do I start?"
He leaned in close, still keeping up that slow, torturous rhythm as he whispered in his leader's ear. "Sometimes ya piss me off so bad I just wanna pop a claw in yer brain...but I know that ain't you, not fer real. When I see you, th'real you, it's so fuckin' hot..."
His hips were rocking faster, his thrusts deeper. Scott felt himself rocked back on the bed with every thrust, heard the protesting squeak of the springs...and didn't give a damn. This was his moment, and Logan's, and the rest of the world be damned.
"There's times...when I see ya need it, an' I ain't pissed off at'cha...I wanna take ya real slow an' gentle...make love to ya like a virgin on his weddin' night. Most a'the time, though, I just wanna plow ya, fuck ya hard enough ta make ya scream...hear my name on those hot fuckin' lips, beggin' me fer more, tellin' me ta do it..."
"HARDER!" Scott cried out, as a dam burst inside him. His eyes locked with Logan's, desperation and demand in them. "Come on then, you sexy fucking bastard, give it to me like you know you want to!"
"All ya had ta do was ask, Scotty," Logan replied, and then Scott's world exploded in a blaze of pleasure as the feral pistoned in and out of him with the speed and intensity of a jackhammer, battering his prostate with a barrage of thrusts so fierce and intense that Scott felt like he was going to split in two. Their hands were all over each other, groping, tugging, and caressing, as their lips met in a searing kiss that seemed to burn Scott from the inside out...delicious, agonizing waves of sensation he never wanted to end.
All too soon, it was over in a blinding flash of heat. Light flashed behind Scott's eyelids as his entire body surged with energy, and his cock swelled in Logan's fist as he convulsed, screaming his lover's name as he came, the waves of seed exploding all over him. The spasms of his body, and especially the clenching of his ass around Logan's cock, triggered something in the feral, and he leaned forward and latched onto Scott's neck, biting down as he gave a final barrage of thrusts, and growling intensely around his mouthful of flesh as he, too, hit his climax.
To Scott, everything went black for a moment. He was brought to his senses by a warm, wet tongue lapping at him, starting with the fresh bite mark on his neck, and travelling over the rest of his body from there.
"Didja like that?" Logan whispered roughly in his ear, sending a thrill through Scott all over again.
"Logan...that was...I've never..."
"No, you ain't never," the feral man responded with a grin. "Sex ain't never been that big a deal fer ya, has it, Slim? Just came with the whole relationship package, ya went through the motions, shot th' load, an' got on with yer life."
"Well, not exactly..." Scott started, but Logan put a finger to his lips. Christ, he wanted to suck that finger.
"Oh yeah, I got it. Yer too much of a Boy Scout t'not treat'cher partners right...make sure they got their rocks off too. But sex ain't just a matter o' give an' take...it's somethin' ya gotta feel. That's what separates us from the animals, Scooter...f'r them, it's all about the act, scratchin' the itch. We're th' only species onna planet that has it f'r reasons besides poppin' out more babies or establishin' a hierarchy...well, us an' dolphins." His grin bespoke pure filth. "But I'd rather fuck you than fuck a dolphin any day."
"Me too," the taller man said wryly. This close, he couldn't avoid it, and didn't want to...he planted an affectionate kiss on Logan's lips. He was rewarded by the surprised expression on the other man's face, followed by an eager return of the kiss, a tidal wave of shared masculinity that surged through both of them, blasting Scott's brain into pieces again.
Then, Logan was climbing off him, grabbing a towel from his nightstand. Scott reached for him almost unconsciously...when do I get my turn? he was about to say, when he caught the glint of the man's dark eyes...just a second before something landed on the bed beside him.
He turned to look. It was a leather jacket.
"Get cleaned up an' put that on. We're goin' ridin'."
Scott nodded and reached for his jeans, but Logan shook his head. "Nuh-uh. Th' jacket, boots, gloves, an' a helmet. That's it."
"You're kidding." Scott was convinced. Logan had finally flipped. Somehow his orgasm had short-circuited his brain.
Logan smirked. "Not this time, Scotty. You need t'loosen up in the worst fuckin' way...an' I'm gonna do that the best way I know how...by showin' ya what it's like t'be me fer a night."
"And flashing everyone in upstate New York is part of this plan?"
"Yup. You gotta learn t'say 'fuck you' t'all those things ya set store by...the rules, the regulations, the goddamn timetable ya set'cher whole life by...you stay in control every fuckin' second o'yer life, never let yerself be really free. I'm gonna fix that."
Scott gave Logan a quizzical look even as he reached for his boots. "And this accomplishes..."
"It don't accomplish a damn thing. Yer gonna have fun with me t'night, Scotty. Stupid, sexual, college-boy fun. Got a problem with that?"
Scott mulled it over in his mind. Cyclops was screaming in his head...going on about responsibilities and images to uphold and putting the good of the team before his own selfish desires.
Cyclops could piss off.
He was Scott Summers tonight...not the Boy Scout, not the Fearless Leader, but the man he could have been. And he was going to be a little bit selfish, a little crazy, just for this one night.
He pulled on his boots, threw the jacket on, and put on his gloves. Nothing else touched his skin, save for his sunglasses.
"Where's my helmet?"
Logan's grin got him hard as a rock again. This was going to be a night unlike any other he'd had his entire life. Even if Cyclops never let him do anything like this ever again, Scott was damned well going to enjoy himself for this one night.
Fuck control. Fuck inhibitions. Logan's right...tonight, I'm going out there completely unfettered.
The door slammed shut behind them, and Scott felt like he'd left an immensely heavy burden back in that room. He didn't ever want to have to pick it up again.
TheMadSlasher, as he has throughout this entire story, served as both inspiration and example to me. Parts of these final two chapters were derived heavily from our Scogan RP. For that, and everything else he helped me with (including keeping me on task!), I view this Scogan series as a collaboration with him.
~*~
Of course, Logan hadn't bothered to dress.
Scott knew he didn't care one way or the other whether anyone saw him naked, unless they were someone he didn't want to offend. And now he knew that there was no way in hell him being naked could ever offend Scott.
Even if I walked in on you fucking the hell out of someone else...Remy, Ororo, hell, even Jean...it'd still be hot. I don't own you, I don't want to. I just want to take part in it with you.
Scott still didn't know how he'd gotten his own clothes on, let alone how he and Logan had made it up the elevator and stairs from the sub-basement to his bedroom without getting caught up in each other again.
But as soon as Logan closed the door behind him, it didn't matter anymore. All there was was heat, and hardness, and Scott's lean, only slightly hairy body was pressing against the feral's much more hirsuite, muscled frame. The "Xavier Institute For Higher Learning" shirt he'd thrown on was suddenly on the ground again, his blue jeans pooled about his ankles beside it.
The sight and smell and sound of him were beautiful, deep brown eyes locked on him with the most intense stare Scott imagined Logan had ever given anybody. Still trying to figure out how they'd gone from bickering like teenagers to wanting to fuck in the space of a single afternoon.
Scott didn't care. All he knew was that his sexy, rebellious, incredible creature was here, and for right now, he was here for Scott. He pulled Logan in for another kiss, their naked bodies grinding together, cocks hardening against the feel of one another. It was primal, the basest of savagery as Scott understood it, but it felt so fucking right...
"On the bed, Scotty," Logan breathed. "I'm sick of only gettin' to look at that fine ass. I want some. Now. An' later, that Summers dick that keeps Jean so fuckin' happy is goin' inside me too."
Oh God. Logan was saying everything Scott had ever fantasized about, and it was going straight to his dick. He was going to explode if he didn't get Logan's cock inside him right the fuck now, and he said so, even as Logan pushed him backwards onto the bed.
Logan chuckled. Christ, even his laugh is sexy. "Ya gotta wait a little bit longer, Slim. I ain't never hurt no one with this fucker, and I ain't never gonna, either. Yer gonna get my dick, Scott, that's a fuckin' promise. But not till yer ready for it." Then he went to his knees and lifted Scott's legs, spreading his muscular thighs apart.
"Beautiful..." was all Scott heard before Logan dove in face-first, rimming him to within an inch of his life, and it felt amazing. His cock strained into the air, throbbing and begging for attention, but Scott controlled himself. He knew if he touched his cock while Logan's tongue was buried in his ass, he'd lose it again, and they were just getting started.
So for a few torturous moments he lay on his back, and moaned, and cried out when Logan hit his prostate. He wanted more, wanted everything the feral could do to him, but at the same time, he didn't want Logan to ever stop what he was already doing...
Finally, his problem was solved for him, when Logan leaned over him again, his lips attaching to one of Scott's dark red nipples as he held the taller man's legs apart and thrust into him, slowly and inexorably. Scott squeezed his eyes shut and let out a long, drawn-out moan of pleasure/pain at the intrusion...he felt like he'd been waiting for this forever, and now that he had it it was everything he'd imagined it to be!
"Yeah, Slim, ya like that?" Logan's voice was coming back to him through his haze of pleasure, and Scott found himself aching again. "Toldja I wouldn't hurt ya...I'm just gonna fuck you like you fuckin' deserve."
"Y-yes...oh, fuck yes..." Scott breathed, panting. "Tell me...Logan...God, tell me everything. Everything I deserve, everything you wanted to do. Please..."
Logan looked at him askance for a moment, then broke into a salacious smile, giving Scott's nipple a long, slow lick as he lazily pushed in and out of him. "A'right...where th'fuck do I start?"
He leaned in close, still keeping up that slow, torturous rhythm as he whispered in his leader's ear. "Sometimes ya piss me off so bad I just wanna pop a claw in yer brain...but I know that ain't you, not fer real. When I see you, th'real you, it's so fuckin' hot..."
His hips were rocking faster, his thrusts deeper. Scott felt himself rocked back on the bed with every thrust, heard the protesting squeak of the springs...and didn't give a damn. This was his moment, and Logan's, and the rest of the world be damned.
"There's times...when I see ya need it, an' I ain't pissed off at'cha...I wanna take ya real slow an' gentle...make love to ya like a virgin on his weddin' night. Most a'the time, though, I just wanna plow ya, fuck ya hard enough ta make ya scream...hear my name on those hot fuckin' lips, beggin' me fer more, tellin' me ta do it..."
"HARDER!" Scott cried out, as a dam burst inside him. His eyes locked with Logan's, desperation and demand in them. "Come on then, you sexy fucking bastard, give it to me like you know you want to!"
"All ya had ta do was ask, Scotty," Logan replied, and then Scott's world exploded in a blaze of pleasure as the feral pistoned in and out of him with the speed and intensity of a jackhammer, battering his prostate with a barrage of thrusts so fierce and intense that Scott felt like he was going to split in two. Their hands were all over each other, groping, tugging, and caressing, as their lips met in a searing kiss that seemed to burn Scott from the inside out...delicious, agonizing waves of sensation he never wanted to end.
All too soon, it was over in a blinding flash of heat. Light flashed behind Scott's eyelids as his entire body surged with energy, and his cock swelled in Logan's fist as he convulsed, screaming his lover's name as he came, the waves of seed exploding all over him. The spasms of his body, and especially the clenching of his ass around Logan's cock, triggered something in the feral, and he leaned forward and latched onto Scott's neck, biting down as he gave a final barrage of thrusts, and growling intensely around his mouthful of flesh as he, too, hit his climax.
To Scott, everything went black for a moment. He was brought to his senses by a warm, wet tongue lapping at him, starting with the fresh bite mark on his neck, and travelling over the rest of his body from there.
"Didja like that?" Logan whispered roughly in his ear, sending a thrill through Scott all over again.
"Logan...that was...I've never..."
"No, you ain't never," the feral man responded with a grin. "Sex ain't never been that big a deal fer ya, has it, Slim? Just came with the whole relationship package, ya went through the motions, shot th' load, an' got on with yer life."
"Well, not exactly..." Scott started, but Logan put a finger to his lips. Christ, he wanted to suck that finger.
"Oh yeah, I got it. Yer too much of a Boy Scout t'not treat'cher partners right...make sure they got their rocks off too. But sex ain't just a matter o' give an' take...it's somethin' ya gotta feel. That's what separates us from the animals, Scooter...f'r them, it's all about the act, scratchin' the itch. We're th' only species onna planet that has it f'r reasons besides poppin' out more babies or establishin' a hierarchy...well, us an' dolphins." His grin bespoke pure filth. "But I'd rather fuck you than fuck a dolphin any day."
"Me too," the taller man said wryly. This close, he couldn't avoid it, and didn't want to...he planted an affectionate kiss on Logan's lips. He was rewarded by the surprised expression on the other man's face, followed by an eager return of the kiss, a tidal wave of shared masculinity that surged through both of them, blasting Scott's brain into pieces again.
Then, Logan was climbing off him, grabbing a towel from his nightstand. Scott reached for him almost unconsciously...when do I get my turn? he was about to say, when he caught the glint of the man's dark eyes...just a second before something landed on the bed beside him.
He turned to look. It was a leather jacket.
"Get cleaned up an' put that on. We're goin' ridin'."
Scott nodded and reached for his jeans, but Logan shook his head. "Nuh-uh. Th' jacket, boots, gloves, an' a helmet. That's it."
"You're kidding." Scott was convinced. Logan had finally flipped. Somehow his orgasm had short-circuited his brain.
Logan smirked. "Not this time, Scotty. You need t'loosen up in the worst fuckin' way...an' I'm gonna do that the best way I know how...by showin' ya what it's like t'be me fer a night."
"And flashing everyone in upstate New York is part of this plan?"
"Yup. You gotta learn t'say 'fuck you' t'all those things ya set store by...the rules, the regulations, the goddamn timetable ya set'cher whole life by...you stay in control every fuckin' second o'yer life, never let yerself be really free. I'm gonna fix that."
Scott gave Logan a quizzical look even as he reached for his boots. "And this accomplishes..."
"It don't accomplish a damn thing. Yer gonna have fun with me t'night, Scotty. Stupid, sexual, college-boy fun. Got a problem with that?"
Scott mulled it over in his mind. Cyclops was screaming in his head...going on about responsibilities and images to uphold and putting the good of the team before his own selfish desires.
Cyclops could piss off.
He was Scott Summers tonight...not the Boy Scout, not the Fearless Leader, but the man he could have been. And he was going to be a little bit selfish, a little crazy, just for this one night.
He pulled on his boots, threw the jacket on, and put on his gloves. Nothing else touched his skin, save for his sunglasses.
"Where's my helmet?"
Logan's grin got him hard as a rock again. This was going to be a night unlike any other he'd had his entire life. Even if Cyclops never let him do anything like this ever again, Scott was damned well going to enjoy himself for this one night.
Fuck control. Fuck inhibitions. Logan's right...tonight, I'm going out there completely unfettered.
The door slammed shut behind them, and Scott felt like he'd left an immensely heavy burden back in that room. He didn't ever want to have to pick it up again.
SCOGAN, Part 3: An Ideal Brought To Life, Part 1
Part 3 of SCOGAN. The "moment" has been had, and now it's time for the fun stuff. :D
Initially, there was going to be one final chapter to the story. "Ideal Brought To Life" was going to be one big sex-fest, and that was it. But when I got to the smut, I came down with a writer's block the size of the Hoover Dam.
TheMadSlasher, again, was an enormous help to me. In fact, from this point onwards, you might be able to catch his influence in quite a bit of the series.
~*~
The locker room doors slammed shut with a click as Scott fumbled desperately for the lock, his lips and tongue completely overwhelmed by Logan's kiss. They were alone now...the barriers between them down for the first time...and Scott was damned if anything was going to fuck that up.
Logan's fingers found their way to his waist and yanked, pulling the sturdy armored mesh of his pants apart with sheer, brute force. Scott gasped as the two fragments of his pants fell to the side, freeing his stiff, swollen cock to lift and bob in the air. God-DAMN, he's strong, the leader thought. I keep forgetting how much power he actually has.
The feel of Logan's arms around him, knowing that strength, caused Scott to break into a sweat, but he felt Logan lap it up as soon as it started to bead on his skin. Their two naked bodies mashed together, Logan's stocky, hairy musculature pressing and rubbing against Scott's lean, smooth frame, and Scott gasped at the feel of the coarse fur and skin. Looking down, he saw their hard-ons mash together. Logan's was thick and stout, like the man himself, but to call it 'short' would have been a severe disservice. Not that he himself had anything to be ashamed of...his own manhood was a rising pillar of flesh, already leaking a steady stream of precum from his insane attraction to the gorgeous, rebellious man kissing him.
God...I can't get enough of him! The taste, the feel, the sounds of the man kissing him made Scott ravenous in a way he'd never been before. Dropping to his knees, he buried his face in Logan's genitals for a moment, nuzzling and licking the shaft and balls with moans of appreciation.
"Summers...dammit...don't you fuckin' tease me..."
Scott chuckled to himself as he heard the frustration in the man's voice. Years of infuriation and insubordination suddenly felt vindicated by this one moment where he got to irritate big, bad Logan for a change. But this wasn't about revenge. This was about pleasure, and showing respect and admiration for the man who had shown him there was more to life than the chain of command.
Scott opened his mouth and took Logan inside, tasting the salty head of his cock as he went down. He looked up at the wild, primal god standing over him, eyes closing in pleasure, and almost came right there. He felt Logan's fingers entwine in his hair and stay there, not gripping, not forcing or controlling him...just squeezing gently to encourage him. His confidence bolstered by this, Scott started to bob his head back and forth, feeling Logan's meat piston in and out of his mouth as he worked his tongue around.
"Unngh! Fuck, Slim...where the hell'd you get so good at this?"
Scott didn't answer...not only was his mouth full, but it was a chapter in his life he didn't like to revisit. But Logan wasn't like that string of callous, apathetic men in the years before Xavier's. He drove Scott insane with lust.
Logan pistoned slowly in and out of Scott's mouth, sounds of appreciation flowing from his throat. If he were honest with himself, he'd wanted to do this since Day One...to take the stiff, uptight leader and make him bring the barriers down, level the playing field between leader and team member by making him his sexual equal..
Now that he was on the same level, Logan could see past the title...see that there was a guy under the visor and the harshness and the 'big tough alpha' persona he projected, someone who only did all of that and pissed Logan off because he thought he was doing the right thing.
It's the dream. He sees Chuck's dream, an' he wants it t'be real. I admire that.
Whaddaya know, Slim's fuckin' hot after all.
When he pulled out of Scott's mouth with a pop, Scott let out a moan of disappointment, but that was quickly stifled with a hot, sloppy kiss as Logan hauled him to his feet.
"Chill, Summers. We're just gettin' started...you were doin' awesome. I just want some, too."
He sank to his knees and swallowed Scott whole, much to the taller man's surprise. The shock of it sent him reeling, and he couldn't take his eyes off the unutterably sexy sight of this human beast, this fierce, fiery man, on his knees in front of him, blowing him...
Because he wants to. He'd never do it if he didn't want to. And I swear to God, I love that about him.
Indeed, Logan was growling in pleasure, jerking himself off while he sucked Scott, and the vibrations travelling through Scott's dick almost made him blow right there.
"Logan, God, it's too much...I can't...I don't wanna..."
Logan pulled off...just long enough to grin defiantly at him. "Oh, you're gonna. An' this is just the first time."
When he dove back onto Scott's prick, the taller man sqeezed his eyes shut, trying his best to hold back...but he was no match for the years of experience and pure, raw drive of his lover, and the dam inside him broke in a surge of pleasure. With a cry halfway between a moan and a shout, Scott gripped Logan's hair and pumped madly into his mouth, his cock swelling and shooting harder than he had done in a long time. For a moment, he felt like his soul was going to shoot through his dick, but Logan's hands gripped him, steadied him, kneaded his muscular ass, and Scott regained his balance as he sat down. His heart raced, his skin flushed, sweat gleamed on his body as Logan licked off the last of his load and trailed kisses up his body, still rock hard. "Need a minute?" he asked, both gentleness and challenge in his voice as he smirked to his partner.
Scott looked up at Logan, his nethers tingling already. How the hell does he do that?! "I...I think I'd better...but..." he looked longingly at Logan's own raging hard-on, and then his eyes got purposeful. "...I can still handle you."
"Ya think so? OK, Slim...let's see what'cha got." With a smirk, Logan laid Scott full-length across the bench, straddling his face as he pushed his cock slowly past the leader's lips, his hands supporting Scott's head as he started pistoning in and out all over again, feeling Scott's tongue writhe over his shaft...now that the immediate edge was gone, Scott could do what he was good at, what he'd been famous for in the time between one hellish orphanage after another and a better life with the X-Men. Only now, he wanted to do it, wanted to make Logan feel as mind-blowingly good as he did. He's earned all the pleasure I can give him, and then some.
Logan's moans echoed in Scott's ears, seeming to travel straight to his cock and bring it back to life. His hands felt up the stocky, hirsuite body, gliding over the rough fur and loving the electric charge it sent through his skin. Every time he touched a new place on Logan's body, the smaller man seemed to lurch, pushing forward into his mouth and back into Scott's touch. Those lurches and thrusts were like booster shots for Scott's ego...this was Logan, untamed and untamable, and he was doing this to him!
"Guh! Dammit...Slim, I ain't...too far off..."
Scott moaned in encouragement....a moan that travelled through Logan's prick and seemed to vibrate his balls in the sac. That was all she wrote, as the wild man started bucking uncontrollably, pumping in and out of Scott's mouth with grunts and growls of primal, feral pleasure as his seed burst down the taller man's throat. For his part, Scott drank it down greedily, his throat and jaw muscles working to coax every last drop out of Logan's stiff cock.
Still hard as steel, Scott noticed as he pulled off, even after that load.
"Healin' factor," Logan said, panting for breath. "Takes a helluva lot ta make it go down once it's gone up." His dark eyes seemed to bore into Scott, burning to the core of his being and lighting the fires of his lust all over again. "Ya still want it?"
"Are you kidding? That's the hottest thing I've ever heard."
Even as it came out of Scott's mouth, he realized it was true. He'd spent his whole life repressing himself, bottling things up...even around Jean he only felt like he could let go so much, though he never let it on. He was good at never letting on.
But not anymore. Now Logan would take everything he'd bottled up, and give it all back. And Logan knew it, too. His smile was wolfish, hungry...he was looking forward to this as much as Scott was.
"Good answer, Scotty. Hope ya don't plan on sleepin' t'night...I sure's hell don't."
Initially, there was going to be one final chapter to the story. "Ideal Brought To Life" was going to be one big sex-fest, and that was it. But when I got to the smut, I came down with a writer's block the size of the Hoover Dam.
TheMadSlasher, again, was an enormous help to me. In fact, from this point onwards, you might be able to catch his influence in quite a bit of the series.
~*~
The locker room doors slammed shut with a click as Scott fumbled desperately for the lock, his lips and tongue completely overwhelmed by Logan's kiss. They were alone now...the barriers between them down for the first time...and Scott was damned if anything was going to fuck that up.
Logan's fingers found their way to his waist and yanked, pulling the sturdy armored mesh of his pants apart with sheer, brute force. Scott gasped as the two fragments of his pants fell to the side, freeing his stiff, swollen cock to lift and bob in the air. God-DAMN, he's strong, the leader thought. I keep forgetting how much power he actually has.
The feel of Logan's arms around him, knowing that strength, caused Scott to break into a sweat, but he felt Logan lap it up as soon as it started to bead on his skin. Their two naked bodies mashed together, Logan's stocky, hairy musculature pressing and rubbing against Scott's lean, smooth frame, and Scott gasped at the feel of the coarse fur and skin. Looking down, he saw their hard-ons mash together. Logan's was thick and stout, like the man himself, but to call it 'short' would have been a severe disservice. Not that he himself had anything to be ashamed of...his own manhood was a rising pillar of flesh, already leaking a steady stream of precum from his insane attraction to the gorgeous, rebellious man kissing him.
God...I can't get enough of him! The taste, the feel, the sounds of the man kissing him made Scott ravenous in a way he'd never been before. Dropping to his knees, he buried his face in Logan's genitals for a moment, nuzzling and licking the shaft and balls with moans of appreciation.
"Summers...dammit...don't you fuckin' tease me..."
Scott chuckled to himself as he heard the frustration in the man's voice. Years of infuriation and insubordination suddenly felt vindicated by this one moment where he got to irritate big, bad Logan for a change. But this wasn't about revenge. This was about pleasure, and showing respect and admiration for the man who had shown him there was more to life than the chain of command.
Scott opened his mouth and took Logan inside, tasting the salty head of his cock as he went down. He looked up at the wild, primal god standing over him, eyes closing in pleasure, and almost came right there. He felt Logan's fingers entwine in his hair and stay there, not gripping, not forcing or controlling him...just squeezing gently to encourage him. His confidence bolstered by this, Scott started to bob his head back and forth, feeling Logan's meat piston in and out of his mouth as he worked his tongue around.
"Unngh! Fuck, Slim...where the hell'd you get so good at this?"
Scott didn't answer...not only was his mouth full, but it was a chapter in his life he didn't like to revisit. But Logan wasn't like that string of callous, apathetic men in the years before Xavier's. He drove Scott insane with lust.
Logan pistoned slowly in and out of Scott's mouth, sounds of appreciation flowing from his throat. If he were honest with himself, he'd wanted to do this since Day One...to take the stiff, uptight leader and make him bring the barriers down, level the playing field between leader and team member by making him his sexual equal..
Now that he was on the same level, Logan could see past the title...see that there was a guy under the visor and the harshness and the 'big tough alpha' persona he projected, someone who only did all of that and pissed Logan off because he thought he was doing the right thing.
It's the dream. He sees Chuck's dream, an' he wants it t'be real. I admire that.
Whaddaya know, Slim's fuckin' hot after all.
When he pulled out of Scott's mouth with a pop, Scott let out a moan of disappointment, but that was quickly stifled with a hot, sloppy kiss as Logan hauled him to his feet.
"Chill, Summers. We're just gettin' started...you were doin' awesome. I just want some, too."
He sank to his knees and swallowed Scott whole, much to the taller man's surprise. The shock of it sent him reeling, and he couldn't take his eyes off the unutterably sexy sight of this human beast, this fierce, fiery man, on his knees in front of him, blowing him...
Because he wants to. He'd never do it if he didn't want to. And I swear to God, I love that about him.
Indeed, Logan was growling in pleasure, jerking himself off while he sucked Scott, and the vibrations travelling through Scott's dick almost made him blow right there.
"Logan, God, it's too much...I can't...I don't wanna..."
Logan pulled off...just long enough to grin defiantly at him. "Oh, you're gonna. An' this is just the first time."
When he dove back onto Scott's prick, the taller man sqeezed his eyes shut, trying his best to hold back...but he was no match for the years of experience and pure, raw drive of his lover, and the dam inside him broke in a surge of pleasure. With a cry halfway between a moan and a shout, Scott gripped Logan's hair and pumped madly into his mouth, his cock swelling and shooting harder than he had done in a long time. For a moment, he felt like his soul was going to shoot through his dick, but Logan's hands gripped him, steadied him, kneaded his muscular ass, and Scott regained his balance as he sat down. His heart raced, his skin flushed, sweat gleamed on his body as Logan licked off the last of his load and trailed kisses up his body, still rock hard. "Need a minute?" he asked, both gentleness and challenge in his voice as he smirked to his partner.
Scott looked up at Logan, his nethers tingling already. How the hell does he do that?! "I...I think I'd better...but..." he looked longingly at Logan's own raging hard-on, and then his eyes got purposeful. "...I can still handle you."
"Ya think so? OK, Slim...let's see what'cha got." With a smirk, Logan laid Scott full-length across the bench, straddling his face as he pushed his cock slowly past the leader's lips, his hands supporting Scott's head as he started pistoning in and out all over again, feeling Scott's tongue writhe over his shaft...now that the immediate edge was gone, Scott could do what he was good at, what he'd been famous for in the time between one hellish orphanage after another and a better life with the X-Men. Only now, he wanted to do it, wanted to make Logan feel as mind-blowingly good as he did. He's earned all the pleasure I can give him, and then some.
Logan's moans echoed in Scott's ears, seeming to travel straight to his cock and bring it back to life. His hands felt up the stocky, hirsuite body, gliding over the rough fur and loving the electric charge it sent through his skin. Every time he touched a new place on Logan's body, the smaller man seemed to lurch, pushing forward into his mouth and back into Scott's touch. Those lurches and thrusts were like booster shots for Scott's ego...this was Logan, untamed and untamable, and he was doing this to him!
"Guh! Dammit...Slim, I ain't...too far off..."
Scott moaned in encouragement....a moan that travelled through Logan's prick and seemed to vibrate his balls in the sac. That was all she wrote, as the wild man started bucking uncontrollably, pumping in and out of Scott's mouth with grunts and growls of primal, feral pleasure as his seed burst down the taller man's throat. For his part, Scott drank it down greedily, his throat and jaw muscles working to coax every last drop out of Logan's stiff cock.
Still hard as steel, Scott noticed as he pulled off, even after that load.
"Healin' factor," Logan said, panting for breath. "Takes a helluva lot ta make it go down once it's gone up." His dark eyes seemed to bore into Scott, burning to the core of his being and lighting the fires of his lust all over again. "Ya still want it?"
"Are you kidding? That's the hottest thing I've ever heard."
Even as it came out of Scott's mouth, he realized it was true. He'd spent his whole life repressing himself, bottling things up...even around Jean he only felt like he could let go so much, though he never let it on. He was good at never letting on.
But not anymore. Now Logan would take everything he'd bottled up, and give it all back. And Logan knew it, too. His smile was wolfish, hungry...he was looking forward to this as much as Scott was.
"Good answer, Scotty. Hope ya don't plan on sleepin' t'night...I sure's hell don't."
SCOGAN, Part 2: A Facade Stripped Away
Part 2 of SCOGAN. I should add it was the entire 5-part series that took 11 months, not each individual part.
This was the point when I originally intended to start having them have sex, but then I realized (again, with MadSlasher's help) that Scott and Logan have way too much history to just blithely hop into the sack together.
So I wrote this chapter as a justification...Slasher and I coined it a "Heart-To-Heargument." Basically, how do you reconcile hating someone and wanting to fuck them senseless at the same time?
~*~
Logan had no sooner turned on the hot water for his shower than a scent assailed his nostrils. Summers. Great. Fucking spectacular. I'd just gotten myself calmed down, too.
But something was different about Scott's scent this time...he didn't give off the usual hot smell of anger or the cold sterility of command. No, what Logan smelled this time was...
I don't fuckin' believe this.
"You're kidding me. Fucking kidding me."
He turned to face the man leaning against the partition between showers and locker room. Scott stood there in the pants of his costume, his shirt mysteriously absent. His tanned, toned chest was sprinkled with a light dusting of auburn hair...it looked almost naked next to the forest of black hair on Logan's torso. He wore no outward expression, there was no physical sign of it...but lust and pheromones exuded from him in stronger waves than Logan had ever smelled.
"Summers, yer a fuckin' dick, y'know that?!"
Their gazes locked, the Canadian's eyes a baleful, frigid ice blue. Under any other circumstance...with anyone, anyone else on the team...Logan would have been flattered, might even have reciprocated. But not him. Not now.
"You're going to have to be a little more clear. How exactly am I a dick?" Scott stayed calm, his voice neutral and level, but Logan could feel his eyes boring into him as if the shades weren't there at all.
"You're shittin' me! First ya chew me out fer something I didn't ask fer help with, an' now yer in here smellin' like a closet case in a queer bar."
Scott didn't look away. His face flushed slightly under the shades, but his gaze and tone stayed cool, level.
"I saw your fight. It...it was..." The taller man swallowed, trying to force the words out.
Now impatient as well as irritated, Logan cut him off. "You were spyin' on me, saw me get my suit blasted off, and figured out you liked whatcha saw. Ain't that special."
His tone, his posture, his glare...all the signs made it perfectly, cuttingly clear that he did not find it special. But Scott didn't back down. He must have been humiliated, torn apart inside by the implicit rejection, but Logan couldn't drive him away.
Can't the asshole take a hint? the feral thought, even as he felt the room get just a little bit warmer.
"What the fuck d'you want, Summers?! No, don't answer that, I know what the fuck you want. What I don't get iswhy you fuckin' want it from the team fuck-up. Go pound yer goddamn wife through the mattress...or if yer thinkin' ya want a taste of cock, go give the Cajun a buzz. He'll fuck anythin' that breathes, long as it..."
"I don't want Gambit, and I don't want Jean. Not right now." Scott's voice cut through Logan's ranting like a blade of ice. More out of shock than anything else,
Logan's mouth snapped shut. Taking advantage of his silence, Scott kept talking. "Look, Logan...I saw what you were up against. I realized that I see it every day, every hour even. That battle, back in the Danger Room...it never ends, does it? You're always on the edge, always fighting that thing inside you down, just to get through the day."
"Terrific. Yer comin' on ta me with a head-shrinkin' session. No thanks, One-Eye. I get my fill o'those with Charley, and I ain't fuckin' him either."
Turning on his heel, Logan stormed for the door, still naked and seemingly completely oblivious to the fact. For a minute, Scott thought Logan would head all the way out and be on his motorcycle before he even realized he wasn't wearing anything.
"Wait...please."
Something in his voice made Logan stop dead. He turned back. Scott realized it, too...in all the time they'd worked together, all the time they'd known each other, he'd never once simply asked anything of his teammate. Politeness seemed wasted on Wolverine, so Cyclops had never bothered. Maybe I should start.
Not wanting to waste this opportunity, Scott started again. "Look, Logan...we don't get along. I call you on a lot of things because I have to. That doesn't mean I enjoy it. It's my job to keep the team together and functioning...not to mention alive. What you did...taking off to fight a hopeless battle, alone, without leaving a clue where you're going...we only came after you because we were worried about you. That's what a team does, what friends do...watch each other's backs. And your back needed watching."
The shorter man let out a long, slow breath. As much as he didn't want to hear this, he knew Scott was right. Ororo, Kitty, Hank, Kurt, Remy...he'd put all of them in danger. And for what? Another glimpse of his past, another piece to a puzzle he might never fully put together?
"...Sorry. I'm sorry. I fucked up. That whatcha wanna hear, Slim?" He was still snarling, but his eyes had gone back to their usual deep brown color. Scott loved Logan's eyes when they were that color.
He didn't say that out loud, though. What he did say was, "Thank you."
After a moment, he took a deep breath. "Look...the truth is, I hate the job. Or that part of it anyway. I hate being the disapproving boss, the oppressive leader who crushes free will under my boot heel. Your independence, your refusal to be caged, your defiance...it's the most beautiful fucking thing I've ever seen and just makes me want to scream, 'take me now you magnificent fucking bastard!'"
Logan smirked at the awkwardness of Scott's statement, but he could smell that the man wasn't lying. He was attracted to all the things that drove him crazy.
The man's a complete fucking masochist...No. He gets off on what he can't have.
Logan looked at Scott, seeing the shades that hid the man's eyes. That had to hide them. Complete control. That was what Scott had to have, every second of every day. And the Canadian realized that he wasn't that different from his boss after all.
What?! Fuck, I gotta wash my brain out with bleach now...
"Every time I have to call you on it...keep you from doing something I know the Professor wouldn't like, or shut you down for the good of the team...it hurts, you know that? I want to keep them safe...I have to watch out for them...but it still hurts like a fucking bitch."
Scott's eyes were on him, soul bared. Logan shifted uncomfortably under the gaze...he'd never heard the other man say anything like this...hell, he'd never known the stiff, stern leader had this side to him. The words that came next were stilted...almost forced...but Logan made himself say them anyway.
"...Yer a damn good leader. Only one I met so far I didn't wanna pop a claw through. You fight good when yer in a pinch...hell, you fight yer own battles an' don't stand onna sidelines while we do yer work for ya. Ya may make me wanna take off more'n I wanna stay, but'cha don't force me t'stick around either."
It was the truth. Every word of it. The feral, insubordinate rebel felt respect for the stern, uncompromising leader, and now he'd gone and said it. Logan searched Scott's face for triumph, smugness, any excuse to take it all back and go back to being the gruff loner.
Instead, all he heard was, "Thank you, Logan. That means...a lot."
No triumph. No vindictiveness. He wasn't smug or self-satisfied. All Logan saw...all he smelled...was Scott. His face wasn't being rubbed in his admission...he hadn't lost an ounce of masculinity or self-sovereignty. Scott just listened, and acknowledged, and showed gratitude for Logan's respect.
Just like I always wanted. He takes my respect an' gives it right back ta me. More'n that...
The sharp scent of Scott's arousal was still in the air, and Logan blinked, remembering one point that was never actually addressed.
"Why, Slim? What makes ya so hot fer me? You got the whole team at'cher beck an' call, an' every girl on it willin' t'give it up fer you with the snap of a finger."
"But you aren't," Scott said, "and that's what I like about you. To Cyclops, leader of the X-Men, you're a fucking headache waiting to happen."
Logan smirked at this, and shrugged. "I do my level best."
Scott continued as if he hadn't heard him. "But to me...to Scott...you're a goddamn ideal brought to life. You don't let anything control you... not me, not it...and that's beautiful. I want that. I want you. Not to control you or put down that incredible force inside you...but to share it with you, as an equal. More than that...I'm sick and tired of fighting with you when all I can think about is how goddamn much I want you to fuck me."
Logan's ears pricked up. He'd finally admitted it. Given voice to the hormones that were making the feral lightheaded with their thickness. Looking at him, he could see that a massive weight had lifted off Scott's shoulders from that admission. Now he looked like a completely different person...still wanting, still impassioned, but more free about it, less afraid to speak his own mind.
Now, he looked like someone Logan could lust after. The Canadian smiled. Words had served their purpose and were no longer needed. Still naked, he crossed the room and scooped Scott up into his arms, grasping the back of his neck and bending him down for a fierce, passionate kiss, one the team leader returned with gusto, moaning into Logan's mouth as his hands were suddenly everywhere on the compact, hirsuite body.
No more barriers. No more arguments. No Wolverine, no Cyclops. It was going to just be them tonight. Just Scott and Logan.
He was going to enjoy this.
~TBC~
This was the point when I originally intended to start having them have sex, but then I realized (again, with MadSlasher's help) that Scott and Logan have way too much history to just blithely hop into the sack together.
So I wrote this chapter as a justification...Slasher and I coined it a "Heart-To-Heargument." Basically, how do you reconcile hating someone and wanting to fuck them senseless at the same time?
~*~
Logan had no sooner turned on the hot water for his shower than a scent assailed his nostrils. Summers. Great. Fucking spectacular. I'd just gotten myself calmed down, too.
But something was different about Scott's scent this time...he didn't give off the usual hot smell of anger or the cold sterility of command. No, what Logan smelled this time was...
I don't fuckin' believe this.
"You're kidding me. Fucking kidding me."
He turned to face the man leaning against the partition between showers and locker room. Scott stood there in the pants of his costume, his shirt mysteriously absent. His tanned, toned chest was sprinkled with a light dusting of auburn hair...it looked almost naked next to the forest of black hair on Logan's torso. He wore no outward expression, there was no physical sign of it...but lust and pheromones exuded from him in stronger waves than Logan had ever smelled.
"Summers, yer a fuckin' dick, y'know that?!"
Their gazes locked, the Canadian's eyes a baleful, frigid ice blue. Under any other circumstance...with anyone, anyone else on the team...Logan would have been flattered, might even have reciprocated. But not him. Not now.
"You're going to have to be a little more clear. How exactly am I a dick?" Scott stayed calm, his voice neutral and level, but Logan could feel his eyes boring into him as if the shades weren't there at all.
"You're shittin' me! First ya chew me out fer something I didn't ask fer help with, an' now yer in here smellin' like a closet case in a queer bar."
Scott didn't look away. His face flushed slightly under the shades, but his gaze and tone stayed cool, level.
"I saw your fight. It...it was..." The taller man swallowed, trying to force the words out.
Now impatient as well as irritated, Logan cut him off. "You were spyin' on me, saw me get my suit blasted off, and figured out you liked whatcha saw. Ain't that special."
His tone, his posture, his glare...all the signs made it perfectly, cuttingly clear that he did not find it special. But Scott didn't back down. He must have been humiliated, torn apart inside by the implicit rejection, but Logan couldn't drive him away.
Can't the asshole take a hint? the feral thought, even as he felt the room get just a little bit warmer.
"What the fuck d'you want, Summers?! No, don't answer that, I know what the fuck you want. What I don't get iswhy you fuckin' want it from the team fuck-up. Go pound yer goddamn wife through the mattress...or if yer thinkin' ya want a taste of cock, go give the Cajun a buzz. He'll fuck anythin' that breathes, long as it..."
"I don't want Gambit, and I don't want Jean. Not right now." Scott's voice cut through Logan's ranting like a blade of ice. More out of shock than anything else,
Logan's mouth snapped shut. Taking advantage of his silence, Scott kept talking. "Look, Logan...I saw what you were up against. I realized that I see it every day, every hour even. That battle, back in the Danger Room...it never ends, does it? You're always on the edge, always fighting that thing inside you down, just to get through the day."
"Terrific. Yer comin' on ta me with a head-shrinkin' session. No thanks, One-Eye. I get my fill o'those with Charley, and I ain't fuckin' him either."
Turning on his heel, Logan stormed for the door, still naked and seemingly completely oblivious to the fact. For a minute, Scott thought Logan would head all the way out and be on his motorcycle before he even realized he wasn't wearing anything.
"Wait...please."
Something in his voice made Logan stop dead. He turned back. Scott realized it, too...in all the time they'd worked together, all the time they'd known each other, he'd never once simply asked anything of his teammate. Politeness seemed wasted on Wolverine, so Cyclops had never bothered. Maybe I should start.
Not wanting to waste this opportunity, Scott started again. "Look, Logan...we don't get along. I call you on a lot of things because I have to. That doesn't mean I enjoy it. It's my job to keep the team together and functioning...not to mention alive. What you did...taking off to fight a hopeless battle, alone, without leaving a clue where you're going...we only came after you because we were worried about you. That's what a team does, what friends do...watch each other's backs. And your back needed watching."
The shorter man let out a long, slow breath. As much as he didn't want to hear this, he knew Scott was right. Ororo, Kitty, Hank, Kurt, Remy...he'd put all of them in danger. And for what? Another glimpse of his past, another piece to a puzzle he might never fully put together?
"...Sorry. I'm sorry. I fucked up. That whatcha wanna hear, Slim?" He was still snarling, but his eyes had gone back to their usual deep brown color. Scott loved Logan's eyes when they were that color.
He didn't say that out loud, though. What he did say was, "Thank you."
After a moment, he took a deep breath. "Look...the truth is, I hate the job. Or that part of it anyway. I hate being the disapproving boss, the oppressive leader who crushes free will under my boot heel. Your independence, your refusal to be caged, your defiance...it's the most beautiful fucking thing I've ever seen and just makes me want to scream, 'take me now you magnificent fucking bastard!'"
Logan smirked at the awkwardness of Scott's statement, but he could smell that the man wasn't lying. He was attracted to all the things that drove him crazy.
The man's a complete fucking masochist...No. He gets off on what he can't have.
Logan looked at Scott, seeing the shades that hid the man's eyes. That had to hide them. Complete control. That was what Scott had to have, every second of every day. And the Canadian realized that he wasn't that different from his boss after all.
What?! Fuck, I gotta wash my brain out with bleach now...
"Every time I have to call you on it...keep you from doing something I know the Professor wouldn't like, or shut you down for the good of the team...it hurts, you know that? I want to keep them safe...I have to watch out for them...but it still hurts like a fucking bitch."
Scott's eyes were on him, soul bared. Logan shifted uncomfortably under the gaze...he'd never heard the other man say anything like this...hell, he'd never known the stiff, stern leader had this side to him. The words that came next were stilted...almost forced...but Logan made himself say them anyway.
"...Yer a damn good leader. Only one I met so far I didn't wanna pop a claw through. You fight good when yer in a pinch...hell, you fight yer own battles an' don't stand onna sidelines while we do yer work for ya. Ya may make me wanna take off more'n I wanna stay, but'cha don't force me t'stick around either."
It was the truth. Every word of it. The feral, insubordinate rebel felt respect for the stern, uncompromising leader, and now he'd gone and said it. Logan searched Scott's face for triumph, smugness, any excuse to take it all back and go back to being the gruff loner.
Instead, all he heard was, "Thank you, Logan. That means...a lot."
No triumph. No vindictiveness. He wasn't smug or self-satisfied. All Logan saw...all he smelled...was Scott. His face wasn't being rubbed in his admission...he hadn't lost an ounce of masculinity or self-sovereignty. Scott just listened, and acknowledged, and showed gratitude for Logan's respect.
Just like I always wanted. He takes my respect an' gives it right back ta me. More'n that...
The sharp scent of Scott's arousal was still in the air, and Logan blinked, remembering one point that was never actually addressed.
"Why, Slim? What makes ya so hot fer me? You got the whole team at'cher beck an' call, an' every girl on it willin' t'give it up fer you with the snap of a finger."
"But you aren't," Scott said, "and that's what I like about you. To Cyclops, leader of the X-Men, you're a fucking headache waiting to happen."
Logan smirked at this, and shrugged. "I do my level best."
Scott continued as if he hadn't heard him. "But to me...to Scott...you're a goddamn ideal brought to life. You don't let anything control you... not me, not it...and that's beautiful. I want that. I want you. Not to control you or put down that incredible force inside you...but to share it with you, as an equal. More than that...I'm sick and tired of fighting with you when all I can think about is how goddamn much I want you to fuck me."
Logan's ears pricked up. He'd finally admitted it. Given voice to the hormones that were making the feral lightheaded with their thickness. Looking at him, he could see that a massive weight had lifted off Scott's shoulders from that admission. Now he looked like a completely different person...still wanting, still impassioned, but more free about it, less afraid to speak his own mind.
Now, he looked like someone Logan could lust after. The Canadian smiled. Words had served their purpose and were no longer needed. Still naked, he crossed the room and scooped Scott up into his arms, grasping the back of his neck and bending him down for a fierce, passionate kiss, one the team leader returned with gusto, moaning into Logan's mouth as his hands were suddenly everywhere on the compact, hirsuite body.
No more barriers. No more arguments. No Wolverine, no Cyclops. It was going to just be them tonight. Just Scott and Logan.
He was going to enjoy this.
~TBC~
SCOGAN, Part 1: A Headache Waiting To Happen
We're down to the 11th hour on Y!Gallery, and still no word from our friendly neighborhood staff at the time of this writing. In the event the unfortunate does happen and the place closes, I'm posting up what might possibly be two of the longest single stories I've ever written.
First comes my five-part Scogan story, which started with "A Headache Waiting To Happen." This fic took me 11 months to write...admittedly, most of that was spent procrastinating, but my good friend TheMadSlasher was always happy to keep me on task and make sure I didn't abandon the project. (Thank you!!!)
The first two chapters are character-building, and the last three are smut. Enjoy!
~*~
"OK, people, clear out. The man needs his rest."
The X-Men trooped out of the infirmary, one by one, leaving Cyclops alone with a bedridden, but oddly peaceful Wolverine. The smaller man stared after his companions with an unreadable expression, and Scott figured it out almost instantly. The Cerebro files had told him everything Xavier knew...about labs, immersion tanks, isolation, the whole shebang.
The Professor would say he's figuring out what it means to have friends...he'd say he's learning to be part of the team.
A team he endangered through his reckless, careless behavior. Again.
Part of Scott just wanted to file out with the rest of the team, let Logan heal and just not worry about the whole thing. But the Leader wouldn't let him. The Leader stood there, glaring coldly at Logan through his visor.
"All better now?" Cyclops asked, his voice harsh and uncompromising.
Logan's eyes met his own, going from brown to blue with frosty resentment and defiance. "Yup. Hank says a couple days an' I'll be good ta go."
"Not surprising," Scott said, ticking off points on his fingers. "Healing factor, unbreakable bones, years of field experience, stupidly good luck...wish the whole team had that."
He looked the Canadian squarely in the eye when he said this last. Logan leaned back, face set in stone. "Ya tryin' t'say somethin', One-Eye?"
"A lot of people risked their lives to save you today, Logan. Good people. Irreplaceable people. The X-Men aren't the military...we can't just hold a recruitment drive when we lose someone. And we can't spare the manpower to rush off to the Yukon or the Rockies every time you come up against something you can't handle."
Logan sat bolt upright, then clutched his side in a sudden flash of pain. "I never asked fer help from you guys. I never wanted it. It was my mission, my bad guy, my demons t'face. Me alone."
"You 'alone' would have gotten yourself killed!" Scott snapped. "As long as you're on this team, you have a duty to the rest of us..."
"FUCK you, asshole!" Logan got all the way out of bed now, wincing slightly. He stormed out the door, shouldering Scott roughly aside as he passed him. Only when he was out in the hall did he turn to face Cyclops again, eyes smoldering with raw, hot fury. "I never asked fer yer fuckin' help, an' I ain't got no 'duty' t'NOBODY!"
Then he was down the hall and in the elevator, going down. Scott started after him in disbelief and rage, clenching his fists as he tried to calm down.
He doesn't get it. He doesn't want to. All he hears out of my mouth is, 'I'm the boss, deal with it.' It doesn't even occur to him to think there might be reasons behind the orders I give...all he sees are chances to say 'fuck you' to any and all authority.
Scott felt himself torn two ways about that. Cyclops was infuriated...he needed Logan's cooperation for the team to cohere the way it had to to get things done. But still, there was a part of him...just a small part...
Fuck me, am I actually jealous of that?!
Letting out a grunt of exasperation, Cyclops stormed to his room. He needed a shower, a change of uniform, and a Danger Room workout. And something else, that he didn't want to think about right now...
~An Hour Later~
Washed and changed, his new costume looking like it had come straight out of the dry cleaners, Cyclops marched to the Danger Room with the intent of running a full-range exercise in fine control in combat situations...
...Only to find the door sealed in front of him, with the words SESSION IN PROGRESS flashing by in marquee.
Who the hell? I scheduled this time slot for my session in advance!
...Wait. Scratch that. I know exactly who.
Heading up to the next floor, Scott unlocked the door to the control room, where he saw exactly what he was expecting.
Logan was there, in full costume and mask, his face grim and snarling as he shredded drone after holographic drone. Some bore faces he recognized...Magneto, Sabretooth, himself....others were complete enigmas, phantoms of Wolverine's past that he'd neglected to mention.
Scott was about to buzz him on the intercom, cuss him out for the second time in as many hours for not considering his teammates...but then he saw something that stopped him cold.
All his other enemies lay in heaps of circuitry, fading out as the Room disassembled them at the molecular level, to recycle the raw materials for future sessions...and Logan was left with only one enemy. A slavering, hunched figure, dressed identical to himself, but more ragged, his clothing tattered and shredded, his face set in a permanent rictus of a snarl.
Scott knew exactly what the enemy was. It was the Wolverine...the worst traits of Logan's primal self, all of his animalistic rage and snarling savagery rolled up into a single nightmarish package. Bone claws erupted from between its knuckles in fountains of blood, and it lunged at Logan with a roar that chilled Scott's blood.
There was no humanity in the creature at all. Logan, by contrast, was calm and poised, his face set in a dark and brooding scowl. It was clear that he wanted to let loose...to leap and meet the charge all teeth and claws and fury...but he didn't. He waited.
And when the Wolverine had nearly reached him, he calmly, smoothly, gripped it by the wrists and somersaulted backwards, giving it a kick to the midsection that sent it flying across the room. The Wolverine slammed into the wall of the Danger Room, then shook its head, got back to its feet, and charged at Logan again.
And again.
And a fourth time.
Scott watched this display with ever-increasing unease. It doesn't quit, doesn't let up. I don't think it knows how to. But Logan...my God...
Logan stood exactly where he had been. His costume was shredded, his mask gone. Cuts and bruises and scrapes were appearing and disappearing all over his body, but he wasn't moving. Every charge the Wolverine made, he took. Every single time, the animal ended up on the far side of the wall from him. He never flinched, never backed down, and never went after it. Scott was also surprised to notice that the more skin was exposed by the Wolverine's claws, the more eerily calm Logan got, like stripping away the uniform somehow took more of the animal out of him.
Scott didn't get it, but then there was a lot about Logan that he didn't get. And now, it seemed, there was a lot more about the other man he wished he'd gotten sooner.
As he watched the man withstand the assault of the animal time and again, Scott realized what he was seeing at last. This was Logan's life struggle encapsulated in a single battle. Standing up for himself, being true to who he was...him, not the Wolverine...and fighting for every ounce of self-sovereignty he could get.
That's why he's such a pain in the ass. He's been jerked around, controlled, memory-wiped...to the point that he's paranoid about any loss of control. Me, Weapon X, the Wolverine...it's all the same to him. And he doesn't stop fighting that, ever.
Part of him...the 'Cyclops' part...wasn't impressed. Logan needed to learn when an order was given for the good of the team and when not to take unnecessary risks. But Scott calmly told that part of him to shut the fuck up.
If he were honest with himself...brutally, painfully honest...he was jealous. Jealous, and admiring, and completely in awe. The independence, the inner strength, the total sense of self Logan displayed. More and more of his uniform, of the barrier between him and the world, was ripped away, but he stood his ground. He was almost naked now, his stout, muscular, hirsuite body completely exposed, but still he didn't flinch. Another grab, another flip, and yet another THUD as the Wolverine impacted against the wall.
Scott found himself breathless, shaky, and he didn't know why, as the Wolverine charged yet again. This time, something changed in Logan's stance. Maybe he saw a weakness, an opening he'd been waiting for. Maybe he'd just gotten tired of using the same tactic so often. Either way, when the Wolverine charged this time, Logan jumped straight up, higher than Scott had thought he was able to with the adamantium in his skeleton. The timing was perfect, the positioning impeccable...he landed on the Wolverine's back just as its claws slashed across the spot where he had been standing. In a smooth, fluid motion, the man had his wrists crossed under the animal's throat, and Scott heard the distinctive steel SNIKT of his own claws flashing free, glinting in the Danger Room light as they came together just under the Wolverine's Adam's apple.
The two figures, man and monster, stayed locked like that for a while, as if posing for a statue: the triumph of man over his bestial nature. Except for one difference...where the Wolverine had been beaten without getting a scratch on it, Logan was completely naked, his unifom in tatters on the floor around them. Seeing him like that...nude, proud, strong, and still utterly human...Scott felt his mouth go dry. Swallowing hard, he adjusted the crotch of his own uniform...when had it gotten so tight?
As he watched the naked X-Man head for the showers, Scott keyed a control almost unconsciously, uploading the holographic recordings of the entire fight. Waiting until he saw the soundproof door close, the field leader tabbed one more keystroke, and holograms of Logan and the Wolverine popped back up.
In a stroke of what, to him, felt like foolhardy courage, Scott stripped the pants of his costume down his athletically muscular legs as he watched the fight replay itself. Understanding what he knew now, the fight was a thing of beauty, Logan's independence and refusal to back down more arousing to him than the hottest porn flick...although the exposure of that beautiful, masculine body, and the visible comfort nudity brought him, didn't hurt at all. Watching him stand his ground, refuse to let anything cow or faze him...seeing the poetry in motion in his body as he conquered his enemy again and again by using its own force, its own aggression against it...Scott's fist closed around his stiff cock almost involuntarily, his gaze never leaving the man in the center of the Danger Room.
When the holographic Logan pinned the Wolverine a second time, Scott shuddered and gasped as his orgasm hit him with the force of a brick wall, as his cock jerked and spasmed and shot its load all over his uniform.
Once he caught his breath, and cleaned himself up as best he could, he got up and made the decision. He had to talk to Logan, or try at least. After what he'd seen, what he'd learned...
He deserves to know he's not alone. He has to know he's got friends, support...even from me.
And more, if he wants it.
~TBC...~
First comes my five-part Scogan story, which started with "A Headache Waiting To Happen." This fic took me 11 months to write...admittedly, most of that was spent procrastinating, but my good friend TheMadSlasher was always happy to keep me on task and make sure I didn't abandon the project. (Thank you!!!)
The first two chapters are character-building, and the last three are smut. Enjoy!
~*~
"OK, people, clear out. The man needs his rest."
The X-Men trooped out of the infirmary, one by one, leaving Cyclops alone with a bedridden, but oddly peaceful Wolverine. The smaller man stared after his companions with an unreadable expression, and Scott figured it out almost instantly. The Cerebro files had told him everything Xavier knew...about labs, immersion tanks, isolation, the whole shebang.
The Professor would say he's figuring out what it means to have friends...he'd say he's learning to be part of the team.
A team he endangered through his reckless, careless behavior. Again.
Part of Scott just wanted to file out with the rest of the team, let Logan heal and just not worry about the whole thing. But the Leader wouldn't let him. The Leader stood there, glaring coldly at Logan through his visor.
"All better now?" Cyclops asked, his voice harsh and uncompromising.
Logan's eyes met his own, going from brown to blue with frosty resentment and defiance. "Yup. Hank says a couple days an' I'll be good ta go."
"Not surprising," Scott said, ticking off points on his fingers. "Healing factor, unbreakable bones, years of field experience, stupidly good luck...wish the whole team had that."
He looked the Canadian squarely in the eye when he said this last. Logan leaned back, face set in stone. "Ya tryin' t'say somethin', One-Eye?"
"A lot of people risked their lives to save you today, Logan. Good people. Irreplaceable people. The X-Men aren't the military...we can't just hold a recruitment drive when we lose someone. And we can't spare the manpower to rush off to the Yukon or the Rockies every time you come up against something you can't handle."
Logan sat bolt upright, then clutched his side in a sudden flash of pain. "I never asked fer help from you guys. I never wanted it. It was my mission, my bad guy, my demons t'face. Me alone."
"You 'alone' would have gotten yourself killed!" Scott snapped. "As long as you're on this team, you have a duty to the rest of us..."
"FUCK you, asshole!" Logan got all the way out of bed now, wincing slightly. He stormed out the door, shouldering Scott roughly aside as he passed him. Only when he was out in the hall did he turn to face Cyclops again, eyes smoldering with raw, hot fury. "I never asked fer yer fuckin' help, an' I ain't got no 'duty' t'NOBODY!"
Then he was down the hall and in the elevator, going down. Scott started after him in disbelief and rage, clenching his fists as he tried to calm down.
He doesn't get it. He doesn't want to. All he hears out of my mouth is, 'I'm the boss, deal with it.' It doesn't even occur to him to think there might be reasons behind the orders I give...all he sees are chances to say 'fuck you' to any and all authority.
Scott felt himself torn two ways about that. Cyclops was infuriated...he needed Logan's cooperation for the team to cohere the way it had to to get things done. But still, there was a part of him...just a small part...
Fuck me, am I actually jealous of that?!
Letting out a grunt of exasperation, Cyclops stormed to his room. He needed a shower, a change of uniform, and a Danger Room workout. And something else, that he didn't want to think about right now...
~An Hour Later~
Washed and changed, his new costume looking like it had come straight out of the dry cleaners, Cyclops marched to the Danger Room with the intent of running a full-range exercise in fine control in combat situations...
...Only to find the door sealed in front of him, with the words SESSION IN PROGRESS flashing by in marquee.
Who the hell? I scheduled this time slot for my session in advance!
...Wait. Scratch that. I know exactly who.
Heading up to the next floor, Scott unlocked the door to the control room, where he saw exactly what he was expecting.
Logan was there, in full costume and mask, his face grim and snarling as he shredded drone after holographic drone. Some bore faces he recognized...Magneto, Sabretooth, himself....others were complete enigmas, phantoms of Wolverine's past that he'd neglected to mention.
Scott was about to buzz him on the intercom, cuss him out for the second time in as many hours for not considering his teammates...but then he saw something that stopped him cold.
All his other enemies lay in heaps of circuitry, fading out as the Room disassembled them at the molecular level, to recycle the raw materials for future sessions...and Logan was left with only one enemy. A slavering, hunched figure, dressed identical to himself, but more ragged, his clothing tattered and shredded, his face set in a permanent rictus of a snarl.
Scott knew exactly what the enemy was. It was the Wolverine...the worst traits of Logan's primal self, all of his animalistic rage and snarling savagery rolled up into a single nightmarish package. Bone claws erupted from between its knuckles in fountains of blood, and it lunged at Logan with a roar that chilled Scott's blood.
There was no humanity in the creature at all. Logan, by contrast, was calm and poised, his face set in a dark and brooding scowl. It was clear that he wanted to let loose...to leap and meet the charge all teeth and claws and fury...but he didn't. He waited.
And when the Wolverine had nearly reached him, he calmly, smoothly, gripped it by the wrists and somersaulted backwards, giving it a kick to the midsection that sent it flying across the room. The Wolverine slammed into the wall of the Danger Room, then shook its head, got back to its feet, and charged at Logan again.
And again.
And a fourth time.
Scott watched this display with ever-increasing unease. It doesn't quit, doesn't let up. I don't think it knows how to. But Logan...my God...
Logan stood exactly where he had been. His costume was shredded, his mask gone. Cuts and bruises and scrapes were appearing and disappearing all over his body, but he wasn't moving. Every charge the Wolverine made, he took. Every single time, the animal ended up on the far side of the wall from him. He never flinched, never backed down, and never went after it. Scott was also surprised to notice that the more skin was exposed by the Wolverine's claws, the more eerily calm Logan got, like stripping away the uniform somehow took more of the animal out of him.
Scott didn't get it, but then there was a lot about Logan that he didn't get. And now, it seemed, there was a lot more about the other man he wished he'd gotten sooner.
As he watched the man withstand the assault of the animal time and again, Scott realized what he was seeing at last. This was Logan's life struggle encapsulated in a single battle. Standing up for himself, being true to who he was...him, not the Wolverine...and fighting for every ounce of self-sovereignty he could get.
That's why he's such a pain in the ass. He's been jerked around, controlled, memory-wiped...to the point that he's paranoid about any loss of control. Me, Weapon X, the Wolverine...it's all the same to him. And he doesn't stop fighting that, ever.
Part of him...the 'Cyclops' part...wasn't impressed. Logan needed to learn when an order was given for the good of the team and when not to take unnecessary risks. But Scott calmly told that part of him to shut the fuck up.
If he were honest with himself...brutally, painfully honest...he was jealous. Jealous, and admiring, and completely in awe. The independence, the inner strength, the total sense of self Logan displayed. More and more of his uniform, of the barrier between him and the world, was ripped away, but he stood his ground. He was almost naked now, his stout, muscular, hirsuite body completely exposed, but still he didn't flinch. Another grab, another flip, and yet another THUD as the Wolverine impacted against the wall.
Scott found himself breathless, shaky, and he didn't know why, as the Wolverine charged yet again. This time, something changed in Logan's stance. Maybe he saw a weakness, an opening he'd been waiting for. Maybe he'd just gotten tired of using the same tactic so often. Either way, when the Wolverine charged this time, Logan jumped straight up, higher than Scott had thought he was able to with the adamantium in his skeleton. The timing was perfect, the positioning impeccable...he landed on the Wolverine's back just as its claws slashed across the spot where he had been standing. In a smooth, fluid motion, the man had his wrists crossed under the animal's throat, and Scott heard the distinctive steel SNIKT of his own claws flashing free, glinting in the Danger Room light as they came together just under the Wolverine's Adam's apple.
The two figures, man and monster, stayed locked like that for a while, as if posing for a statue: the triumph of man over his bestial nature. Except for one difference...where the Wolverine had been beaten without getting a scratch on it, Logan was completely naked, his unifom in tatters on the floor around them. Seeing him like that...nude, proud, strong, and still utterly human...Scott felt his mouth go dry. Swallowing hard, he adjusted the crotch of his own uniform...when had it gotten so tight?
As he watched the naked X-Man head for the showers, Scott keyed a control almost unconsciously, uploading the holographic recordings of the entire fight. Waiting until he saw the soundproof door close, the field leader tabbed one more keystroke, and holograms of Logan and the Wolverine popped back up.
In a stroke of what, to him, felt like foolhardy courage, Scott stripped the pants of his costume down his athletically muscular legs as he watched the fight replay itself. Understanding what he knew now, the fight was a thing of beauty, Logan's independence and refusal to back down more arousing to him than the hottest porn flick...although the exposure of that beautiful, masculine body, and the visible comfort nudity brought him, didn't hurt at all. Watching him stand his ground, refuse to let anything cow or faze him...seeing the poetry in motion in his body as he conquered his enemy again and again by using its own force, its own aggression against it...Scott's fist closed around his stiff cock almost involuntarily, his gaze never leaving the man in the center of the Danger Room.
When the holographic Logan pinned the Wolverine a second time, Scott shuddered and gasped as his orgasm hit him with the force of a brick wall, as his cock jerked and spasmed and shot its load all over his uniform.
Once he caught his breath, and cleaned himself up as best he could, he got up and made the decision. He had to talk to Logan, or try at least. After what he'd seen, what he'd learned...
He deserves to know he's not alone. He has to know he's got friends, support...even from me.
And more, if he wants it.
~TBC...~
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Jungle God
This is a little gem I discovered in the shrouded, misty past of my Y!Gallery. Truth be told, I'd forgotten I'd even written it until today.
For all that I completely perv out over Wolverine, Storm is my favorite X-Man. I love her regality, her strength, her compassion, and her powers. I've been through more ups-and-downs with her than anyone else on the team. So when it came to making her a guy, the writing just felt natural.
I'm thinking of writing a remake of this, with Logan instead of Ka-Zar, but still set in the same place. Thoughts? Comment here or on my Y!Gal page. :)
~*~
“Warning. Warning. Guidance System failure. Eject now.”
“Hold together for me…just a little longer…”
Raoro Munroe gritted his teeth as he struggled with the unresponsive controls of the minijet. The electrical systems sparked and sizzled as he fought for all he was worth, but the plane’s descent would not be denied. Finally, with a growl of frustration, the X-Man punched the bright red “EJECT” button. The jet’s canopy blew off, carried away by winds strong and brittle enough to tear a human body apart, and then Raoro was launched into the bleak, cold Antarctic air.
For anyone else, this would have been only the beginning of the danger, but for Raoro, it was the light at the end of the tunnel. For long before he’d joined the X-Men, he had been worshipped as a benevolent Sky Father by tribes in his native Kenya, brother-consort to Mother Earth herself. Even though he was only called “Strong Wind-Rider” as a term of endearment now, he was still Storm, an X-Man, and master of weather.
The cold, while extremely unpleasant, did not freeze him, nor did the destructive force of the stratospheric wind harm him in any way. As soon as he’d fallen through a layer of clouds, to where the atmosphere was thick enough to be commanded, Storm gathered the winds about him and soared over the bleak Antarctic tundra, watching regretfully as a fireball blossomed in the distance where his jet had made its final, fatal crash.
Goddess, that will be difficult to explain. I shall never understand why Charles didn’t simply let me fly here on my own. Even back when he’d first joined the X-Men, Raoro had made trans-Atlantic flights in less than a day, with only a sharp hunger and fatigue bothering him on the other side. After years of training in the Danger Room and elsewhere, Storm was fairly confident that he could manage to fly all the way round the globe, if necessary, without needing to use one of Xavier’s machines. But in America, it seemed, everyone was in a hurry, and Raoro had to grudgingly admit that airplanes and jets were still faster than he was.
A massive ring of mountains in the distance, measuring over fifty miles in diameter, caught Raoro’s attention. Deep in the valley of those mountains was his objective, shrouded in unusually thick clouds.
The Savage Land, Storm thought, his body suddenly rife with anticipation. As dangerous as the jungle was, especially one filled with prehistoric animals, every time he’d been there, the “weather-warlock” had always felt more at peace and free in the sheltered, tropical valley than anywhere else in the world. Even if he was on a mission…his crashed jet was only further proof of how serious the situation was…Raoro already looked forward to being in the Savage Land. It would be something like going home…or back to what his home should have been, before despots and petty dictators ran roughshod over them and destroyed the tribes that worshipped him.
Breaching the clouds inside the valley, Raoro looked around in astonishment, as he always did whenever he first entered this deadly paradise. The vista alone was breathtaking…miles of verdant jungle canopy, throbbing with the essence of life itself, nearly untouched by man or mutant, free from the concerns of the world outside. There was no M-Day here, no bloodless extermination of mutants. There were no laws or bills denying people the basic right to live just because of how they were born. And even though Storm had a mission here, he felt as though he could leave his cares and worries completely in the dust.
Once he landed at the foot of the mountains, just at the edge of the vast jungle, Raoro breathed deeply of the humid Savage Land air. It smelled of nature, of new-grown leaves and long-lost flowers, of rich, fertile soil and hot, life-giving rain. But there was something missing. Storm thought for a moment, and then smiled. He knew what it was.
It had been said of Storm’s powers that he was immune to temperature changes. That was close, but not perfectly accurate. Raoro’s body was surrounded by a field of perfect temperature, one that he could control or eliminate altogether if he wanted to. With the field up, as it had been outside the valley, he could stay comfortable no matter how hot or cold this surroundings got; he could survive in an open volcano or frozen in a glacier. But it came at a cost; his sense of the natural world around him was impaired when he was controlling his body temperature like that, like trying to hear through earmuffs. So whenever the temperature outside was comfortable (or at least bearable), Storm would lower the field, subjecting himself to the temperature of the rest of the world, and let himself feel in tune with the planet itself.
That was what he did now. With a sudden impact, like being covered with a thick, heavy quilt, the tropical heat and humidity slammed into Raoro, staggering him with its brutal intensity. He welcomed it, relished it, and spread his arms out for more.
Unfortunately, there was still something blocking his way. This time, it took only a second to realize what it was. With a wicked smile, Storm peeled his black-and-gold uniform off, hiding it as best he could in a nearby bush. Back in America, not only was personal modesty an alarmingly omnipresent concept, but the weather always seemed too cold for Raoro to let his guard down and disrobe as he could here. As much as he would have liked to raise his arms there and transform Salem Center into an equatorial paradise, Xavier frowned on any mutant, especially an X-Man, using their powers in such a way unless there was need, or on special occasions. And he certainly wouldn’t have let Raoro do it just to be free of those absurd, constricting scraps of fabric people made each other wear.
Now refreshingly naked, completely open to the elements physically and spiritually, he headed for a lake he often frequented and drank deep, pausing to look at himself in the mirror. A leanly muscular African man gazed back, with skin the color of milk chocolate and eyes so bright and blue they matched the sky itself. His hair tumbled in cascade of silver around his shoulders, having been allowed to grow out considerably after the embarrassing phase where he’d shaved himself completely bald except for a single forelock of white, as part of a rebellious stage in his own personal growth.
He knew he was attractive, and reveled in enjoying his own body, and the bodies of other men whom his appearance pleased. T’Challa was, of course, the first man who came to mind. But Forge had also been a longtime suitor of his, that brilliant, thoughtful Cheyenne man with the tormented past and unmatched candor. Though they had ended bitterly, Storm still remembered his time with the shaman as sweet. There had been brief, torrid affairs with Logan, Kurt, and Piotr, before Raoro had come across the disturbing concept of jealousy, and in Kurt’s case, religious turmoil. The thought that one man could belong solely to another, especially in acts so supremely joyful as making love, made Raoro squirm inwardly, and he bristled at the thought of being rejected by an entire religion simply because of whom you chose to love.
Even the memory was starting to make dark mists gather about the lake, and Raoro dove beneath the surface to cleanse his body and mind, lest he ruin the delicate balance of the Savage Land in a simple fit of bad memories. The warm water swirled about him, caressed him, pulled him gently in all the right places., and he felt himself hardening. Climbing back to the shore, he spread his arms and legs, gripping the sand as if it were a lover, and lay back, simply enjoying the way his large, powerful hardness thrust proudly skyward from its glistening nest of silver pubic hair.
It seemed Storm had only closed his eyes for a moment before he felt something warm and wet engulf his rampant member. Opening his eyes in surprise…he hadn’t even felt the air move…he relaxed when he saw Kevin Plunder, the Savage Land’s chosen protector, kneeling naked before his supine form, engulfing his black-skinned cock in that sensuous, talented mouth.
“Ka-Zar…” he whispered, his voice deep and rich with want. The English noble-turned-savage responded with a long, slow lick up the underside of his shaft and a mischievous smile as he reached up and gave a powerful squeeze to Storm’s chest, massaging the hard slabs of muscle as he turned his mouth to Raoro’s balls. His hand was busily working, sliding up and down his own shaft, making his balls jostle back and forth between his kneeling thighs, and Storm fund himself panting at the sight. Ka-Zar noticed this, and without a word positioned himself above Raoro’s lips, letting the African weather-god take his red length into his mouth and nurse on it for all he was worth.
The two men, African god and European beast, stayed locked in that wondrous position for what felt like hours, tasting each other’s most forbidden parts, sampling of all the joys one man can give another, before Ka-Zar broke the position and turned to face Raoro. “Please… beautiful, black thunder-god…it has been too long. I need you inside me.”
Storm nodded his assent, and stretched himself out on the soil as Ka-Zar straddled him, admiring the wild man’s muscular body and powerful tan thighs as he tossed his golden lion’s-mane and pushed Raoro’s member into his tight, welcoming body. Hs face contorted in the naked ecstasy of lust, and Storm started thrusting upwards, feeling the weight of Ka-Zar’s heavy balls on his stomach as he watched the jungle man’s cock begin to spurt its pre-ejaculate nectar over his chest. Using one hand to hold the hard, rounded globes of Ka-Zar’s buttocks, Storm used his free hand to smear the fluid over the jutting maleness in front of him, wishing to the Goddess that he were limber enough, as he had been in his adolescence, to ream the jungle lord and suck him at the same time.
Their moans echoed and resonated with each other, seeming to caress each other in the humid air as their bodies did on the ground, As their passion escalated and the heat of the jungle consumed their senses, man and mutant became as animals, mauling each other and thrusting against one another with a primal urgency and drive that stained their skin with blushes of exertion and contorted their faces with pure, raw passion and ecstasy.
Thunder clapped overhead as Storm tossed his argent hair out of his face, and the two were drenched in hot, tropical rain that steamed as it hit their naked bodies, heightening their passions further as they slid against each other in the storm, grasping every part of one another that they could reach.
Ka-Zar was the first to lose control. In a fit of passion, Raoro lunged forward and swallowed his member whole, while keeping his own maleness firmly lodged inside the jungle lord’s body. Being taken from both ends like that caused Ka-Zar’s body to spasm wildly, and with a howl born from the most primal origins of humanity itself, he spent himself, over and over again, into the weather-god’s hot, willing mouth.
Storm was now completely bombarded on all fronts with sensuality; the scent of Ka-Zar’s lust a spicy musk in his nostrils, the taste of his semen salty and bitter, but heady and addictive in his mouth. He looked up and watched Ka-Zar’s face contort in the throes of orgasm time and again, and heard his cries, moans, and sighs echoing in his ears. But the feelings…oh, Goddess, the feelings!…that rode roughshod over his skin were what drove him over the edge. His throbbing, steel-hard member completely engulfed by Ka-Zar’s heat, the jungle lord’s body pressed firmly against his own, slick with sweat and rainfall…and when Ka-Zar’s tightness clenched uncontrollably around him in a desperate expression of climax, Raoro was himself overcome by pleasure. Lightning streaked across the sky as he screamed in ecstasy, shooting deep into Ka-Zar’s bowels as the savage’s legs wrapped tightly around his own, their bodies trembling and gyrating uncontrollably as they coated each other, and the ground beneath them, in their own creamy essences.
Finally, after what felt like forever, the two relaxed into each other’s embrace, soaked in fluids. The skies cleared almost instantly, and Raoro looked up at Ka-Zar with a gentle smile. “It is good to see you again, my Jungle Lord. But what of Shanna?”
Ka-Zar met Storm’s gaze directly. “She is a wonderful woman and I am proud to be her husband. But some things must be shared between men…or between man and God.” Raoro felt the blush rise in his cheeks again, and he gave Ka-Zar a deep, powerful kiss, before the two of them dove into the lake together.
Raoro knew he still had a mission to accomplish…his jet had crashed for no apparent reason and he was, for all intents and purposes, stranded in the Savage Land. But constant danger was part of who he was, and he had learned to take respite whenever it came along…and treasure those moments when they came. Ka-Zar would help him uncover the threat, and stop it. And they would celebrate, as only those who are in touch with nature truly can. The X-Men would find him, and he would go back to his life as one of them. But for now…just for these few fleeting days…he was Storm of the Savage Land.
And it felt right.
~*~
For all that I completely perv out over Wolverine, Storm is my favorite X-Man. I love her regality, her strength, her compassion, and her powers. I've been through more ups-and-downs with her than anyone else on the team. So when it came to making her a guy, the writing just felt natural.
I'm thinking of writing a remake of this, with Logan instead of Ka-Zar, but still set in the same place. Thoughts? Comment here or on my Y!Gal page. :)
~*~
“Warning. Warning. Guidance System failure. Eject now.”
“Hold together for me…just a little longer…”
Raoro Munroe gritted his teeth as he struggled with the unresponsive controls of the minijet. The electrical systems sparked and sizzled as he fought for all he was worth, but the plane’s descent would not be denied. Finally, with a growl of frustration, the X-Man punched the bright red “EJECT” button. The jet’s canopy blew off, carried away by winds strong and brittle enough to tear a human body apart, and then Raoro was launched into the bleak, cold Antarctic air.
For anyone else, this would have been only the beginning of the danger, but for Raoro, it was the light at the end of the tunnel. For long before he’d joined the X-Men, he had been worshipped as a benevolent Sky Father by tribes in his native Kenya, brother-consort to Mother Earth herself. Even though he was only called “Strong Wind-Rider” as a term of endearment now, he was still Storm, an X-Man, and master of weather.
The cold, while extremely unpleasant, did not freeze him, nor did the destructive force of the stratospheric wind harm him in any way. As soon as he’d fallen through a layer of clouds, to where the atmosphere was thick enough to be commanded, Storm gathered the winds about him and soared over the bleak Antarctic tundra, watching regretfully as a fireball blossomed in the distance where his jet had made its final, fatal crash.
Goddess, that will be difficult to explain. I shall never understand why Charles didn’t simply let me fly here on my own. Even back when he’d first joined the X-Men, Raoro had made trans-Atlantic flights in less than a day, with only a sharp hunger and fatigue bothering him on the other side. After years of training in the Danger Room and elsewhere, Storm was fairly confident that he could manage to fly all the way round the globe, if necessary, without needing to use one of Xavier’s machines. But in America, it seemed, everyone was in a hurry, and Raoro had to grudgingly admit that airplanes and jets were still faster than he was.
A massive ring of mountains in the distance, measuring over fifty miles in diameter, caught Raoro’s attention. Deep in the valley of those mountains was his objective, shrouded in unusually thick clouds.
The Savage Land, Storm thought, his body suddenly rife with anticipation. As dangerous as the jungle was, especially one filled with prehistoric animals, every time he’d been there, the “weather-warlock” had always felt more at peace and free in the sheltered, tropical valley than anywhere else in the world. Even if he was on a mission…his crashed jet was only further proof of how serious the situation was…Raoro already looked forward to being in the Savage Land. It would be something like going home…or back to what his home should have been, before despots and petty dictators ran roughshod over them and destroyed the tribes that worshipped him.
Breaching the clouds inside the valley, Raoro looked around in astonishment, as he always did whenever he first entered this deadly paradise. The vista alone was breathtaking…miles of verdant jungle canopy, throbbing with the essence of life itself, nearly untouched by man or mutant, free from the concerns of the world outside. There was no M-Day here, no bloodless extermination of mutants. There were no laws or bills denying people the basic right to live just because of how they were born. And even though Storm had a mission here, he felt as though he could leave his cares and worries completely in the dust.
Once he landed at the foot of the mountains, just at the edge of the vast jungle, Raoro breathed deeply of the humid Savage Land air. It smelled of nature, of new-grown leaves and long-lost flowers, of rich, fertile soil and hot, life-giving rain. But there was something missing. Storm thought for a moment, and then smiled. He knew what it was.
It had been said of Storm’s powers that he was immune to temperature changes. That was close, but not perfectly accurate. Raoro’s body was surrounded by a field of perfect temperature, one that he could control or eliminate altogether if he wanted to. With the field up, as it had been outside the valley, he could stay comfortable no matter how hot or cold this surroundings got; he could survive in an open volcano or frozen in a glacier. But it came at a cost; his sense of the natural world around him was impaired when he was controlling his body temperature like that, like trying to hear through earmuffs. So whenever the temperature outside was comfortable (or at least bearable), Storm would lower the field, subjecting himself to the temperature of the rest of the world, and let himself feel in tune with the planet itself.
That was what he did now. With a sudden impact, like being covered with a thick, heavy quilt, the tropical heat and humidity slammed into Raoro, staggering him with its brutal intensity. He welcomed it, relished it, and spread his arms out for more.
Unfortunately, there was still something blocking his way. This time, it took only a second to realize what it was. With a wicked smile, Storm peeled his black-and-gold uniform off, hiding it as best he could in a nearby bush. Back in America, not only was personal modesty an alarmingly omnipresent concept, but the weather always seemed too cold for Raoro to let his guard down and disrobe as he could here. As much as he would have liked to raise his arms there and transform Salem Center into an equatorial paradise, Xavier frowned on any mutant, especially an X-Man, using their powers in such a way unless there was need, or on special occasions. And he certainly wouldn’t have let Raoro do it just to be free of those absurd, constricting scraps of fabric people made each other wear.
Now refreshingly naked, completely open to the elements physically and spiritually, he headed for a lake he often frequented and drank deep, pausing to look at himself in the mirror. A leanly muscular African man gazed back, with skin the color of milk chocolate and eyes so bright and blue they matched the sky itself. His hair tumbled in cascade of silver around his shoulders, having been allowed to grow out considerably after the embarrassing phase where he’d shaved himself completely bald except for a single forelock of white, as part of a rebellious stage in his own personal growth.
He knew he was attractive, and reveled in enjoying his own body, and the bodies of other men whom his appearance pleased. T’Challa was, of course, the first man who came to mind. But Forge had also been a longtime suitor of his, that brilliant, thoughtful Cheyenne man with the tormented past and unmatched candor. Though they had ended bitterly, Storm still remembered his time with the shaman as sweet. There had been brief, torrid affairs with Logan, Kurt, and Piotr, before Raoro had come across the disturbing concept of jealousy, and in Kurt’s case, religious turmoil. The thought that one man could belong solely to another, especially in acts so supremely joyful as making love, made Raoro squirm inwardly, and he bristled at the thought of being rejected by an entire religion simply because of whom you chose to love.
Even the memory was starting to make dark mists gather about the lake, and Raoro dove beneath the surface to cleanse his body and mind, lest he ruin the delicate balance of the Savage Land in a simple fit of bad memories. The warm water swirled about him, caressed him, pulled him gently in all the right places., and he felt himself hardening. Climbing back to the shore, he spread his arms and legs, gripping the sand as if it were a lover, and lay back, simply enjoying the way his large, powerful hardness thrust proudly skyward from its glistening nest of silver pubic hair.
It seemed Storm had only closed his eyes for a moment before he felt something warm and wet engulf his rampant member. Opening his eyes in surprise…he hadn’t even felt the air move…he relaxed when he saw Kevin Plunder, the Savage Land’s chosen protector, kneeling naked before his supine form, engulfing his black-skinned cock in that sensuous, talented mouth.
“Ka-Zar…” he whispered, his voice deep and rich with want. The English noble-turned-savage responded with a long, slow lick up the underside of his shaft and a mischievous smile as he reached up and gave a powerful squeeze to Storm’s chest, massaging the hard slabs of muscle as he turned his mouth to Raoro’s balls. His hand was busily working, sliding up and down his own shaft, making his balls jostle back and forth between his kneeling thighs, and Storm fund himself panting at the sight. Ka-Zar noticed this, and without a word positioned himself above Raoro’s lips, letting the African weather-god take his red length into his mouth and nurse on it for all he was worth.
The two men, African god and European beast, stayed locked in that wondrous position for what felt like hours, tasting each other’s most forbidden parts, sampling of all the joys one man can give another, before Ka-Zar broke the position and turned to face Raoro. “Please… beautiful, black thunder-god…it has been too long. I need you inside me.”
Storm nodded his assent, and stretched himself out on the soil as Ka-Zar straddled him, admiring the wild man’s muscular body and powerful tan thighs as he tossed his golden lion’s-mane and pushed Raoro’s member into his tight, welcoming body. Hs face contorted in the naked ecstasy of lust, and Storm started thrusting upwards, feeling the weight of Ka-Zar’s heavy balls on his stomach as he watched the jungle man’s cock begin to spurt its pre-ejaculate nectar over his chest. Using one hand to hold the hard, rounded globes of Ka-Zar’s buttocks, Storm used his free hand to smear the fluid over the jutting maleness in front of him, wishing to the Goddess that he were limber enough, as he had been in his adolescence, to ream the jungle lord and suck him at the same time.
Their moans echoed and resonated with each other, seeming to caress each other in the humid air as their bodies did on the ground, As their passion escalated and the heat of the jungle consumed their senses, man and mutant became as animals, mauling each other and thrusting against one another with a primal urgency and drive that stained their skin with blushes of exertion and contorted their faces with pure, raw passion and ecstasy.
Thunder clapped overhead as Storm tossed his argent hair out of his face, and the two were drenched in hot, tropical rain that steamed as it hit their naked bodies, heightening their passions further as they slid against each other in the storm, grasping every part of one another that they could reach.
Ka-Zar was the first to lose control. In a fit of passion, Raoro lunged forward and swallowed his member whole, while keeping his own maleness firmly lodged inside the jungle lord’s body. Being taken from both ends like that caused Ka-Zar’s body to spasm wildly, and with a howl born from the most primal origins of humanity itself, he spent himself, over and over again, into the weather-god’s hot, willing mouth.
Storm was now completely bombarded on all fronts with sensuality; the scent of Ka-Zar’s lust a spicy musk in his nostrils, the taste of his semen salty and bitter, but heady and addictive in his mouth. He looked up and watched Ka-Zar’s face contort in the throes of orgasm time and again, and heard his cries, moans, and sighs echoing in his ears. But the feelings…oh, Goddess, the feelings!…that rode roughshod over his skin were what drove him over the edge. His throbbing, steel-hard member completely engulfed by Ka-Zar’s heat, the jungle lord’s body pressed firmly against his own, slick with sweat and rainfall…and when Ka-Zar’s tightness clenched uncontrollably around him in a desperate expression of climax, Raoro was himself overcome by pleasure. Lightning streaked across the sky as he screamed in ecstasy, shooting deep into Ka-Zar’s bowels as the savage’s legs wrapped tightly around his own, their bodies trembling and gyrating uncontrollably as they coated each other, and the ground beneath them, in their own creamy essences.
Finally, after what felt like forever, the two relaxed into each other’s embrace, soaked in fluids. The skies cleared almost instantly, and Raoro looked up at Ka-Zar with a gentle smile. “It is good to see you again, my Jungle Lord. But what of Shanna?”
Ka-Zar met Storm’s gaze directly. “She is a wonderful woman and I am proud to be her husband. But some things must be shared between men…or between man and God.” Raoro felt the blush rise in his cheeks again, and he gave Ka-Zar a deep, powerful kiss, before the two of them dove into the lake together.
Raoro knew he still had a mission to accomplish…his jet had crashed for no apparent reason and he was, for all intents and purposes, stranded in the Savage Land. But constant danger was part of who he was, and he had learned to take respite whenever it came along…and treasure those moments when they came. Ka-Zar would help him uncover the threat, and stop it. And they would celebrate, as only those who are in touch with nature truly can. The X-Men would find him, and he would go back to his life as one of them. But for now…just for these few fleeting days…he was Storm of the Savage Land.
And it felt right.
~*~
Wolverine Likes Watching Teammates Sweat
Another day, another Wolverine porn fic. Or so I thought when I first sat down to write this. Turns out, the story contained so many of Logan's thoughts, I figured it might as well be written entirely in his voice.
I think the key word I was going for here was "depraved." Granted, most of my fics are depraved in some point or other, but I just wanted to write some pure, utter filth.
~*~
I fuckin' love bein' supervisor on Danger Room sessions. It's almost as much fun as gettin' to shred stuff in it.
Surprised ya, didn't I? Most people think I'm only inta scrappin'. All-fight, all-the-time. But that ain't me, any more than Frost sits in her 'bu-dwaah' an' drinks champagne all day, or Summers gets all his jollies outta bossin' us around. OK, maybe he does, but that ain't th' point! Point is, we're all more than we seem ta be onna surface.
An' besides bein' a born scrapper, I'm one horny fucker most'a th' time. So, give a guy like me th' job a'watchin' a team like this, an' you bet'cher ass I'm gonna love it.
Take today, f'r instance. it's a straight up, four-on-four team brawl. Only rule is, like always, don't hurt nobody serious-like. The holograms whipped up some big-ass alien moonscape or whatever, but that ain't important.
What is important is the lineup. Blue team is Scotty, Hank, Alex, an' Drake...Cyclops, Beast, Havok, an' Iceman, if ya wanna keep track. Nate, the Russkie, the Elf, an' the Cajun...Cable, Colossus, Nightcrawler, an' Gambit...are Gold team, or as I like ta call it, "Sexy Accents Central." 'Cept fer Cable, every one'a them's got a voice makes my skin crawl. In th' good way, if ya know what I mean.
Ah, hell with it. There ain't a guy down there whose bones I wouldn't jump, given half a shot.
I signal th' start a'the session, an' they're all in action. Cyke an' Havok fire off shots at Colossus at th' same time, figurin' him fer th' biggest threat. Since Cable's the only psychic down there, I figure they might be right...even though that whole techno-virus or whatever is gone from his system, he don't like usin' his powers 'less he's gotta...or when he's in bed.
My mind starts wanderin'...the good part about bein' supervisor. I c'n picture the Summers Brothers under the mistletoe, all naked an' sweaty from a roarin' fire, makin' out an' rubbin' up against each other while Cable's on his knees, servicin' his Dad an' Uncle Alex with that hot mouth. He ain't much fer facial expressions, but he reminds me of that Nine Days song from a few years back...I absolutely love him when he smiles. An' when he smirks, it goes right ta my loins. Guy's one sexy silver daddy, an' it's like he don't even know it. Too obsessed with th' flaws, I guess.
Back in th'real world, Colossus ain't even slowin' down as he marches up ta th' Summerses. His uniform's torched from th' waist up, an' his metal bod is built. Lookin' at him like this is like starin' at a piece of fine art...but when his shirt's off an' there's skin underneath it, that's when I start feelin' all lightheaded. Th' kid may be an artist...damn good one, too...but he's hot enough ta be a fuckin' professional model. I've lost count'a th' times I've wanted ta push him onto his back on a locker room bench, climb on top'a him, an' just sit my ass down on that hard Siberian hot rod. I love a big hard cock inside me just as much as I love givin' it ta someone else good an' hard, an' with Petey I definitely wanna go both ways. Wouldn't be able ta call him Petey Pureheart after that, that's fer damn sure...though Petey Pound-Me-Real-Good has a nice ring to it, too.
Speakin' a goin' both ways, Bobby an' the Elf are keepin' pace with each other nicely. Th' kid's playin' snowball-tag while the Elf teleports, that sexy German laugh a' his echoing in my ears like a silk curtain brushin' over my skin. Drake and I never got on that well...too much alike. Back before I signed on, he was pretty much me, arguin' with One-Eye every chance he got. He turned that anger on Petey, Kurt, an' me when we joined...the original X-Men were the only X-Men, ta him, an' we were the intruders messin' with th' natural order. Can't say I appreciated that, but I understand. Over th' years he's mellowed some, but he never really grew all th' way up, an' 'Crawler's been helpin' with that every chance he gets. Wouldn't surprise me ta walk in on 'em some day, fuckin' on the War Room table, Bobby thrustin' an' groanin' on top while Kurt tailfucks him from below...Damn, it's gettin' hot in here.
No one can see me in th' control booth from behind th' holograms...They ain't gonna care if I give "li'l Logan" a little air.
That's better. Now, where was I?
Hot damn. Th' Cajun an' Hank are makin' like it's the fuckin' Olympics, bouncin' around each other like jackrabbits on speed. Hank's claws are tearin' up LeBeau's coat, so he tosses it aside...doesn't need th'drag...showin' off that lean, wiry bod in th'skintight armor. An' that ass...I used ta think Betsy had every guy on th'team beat in the ass department, but one look at Gumbo from behind, without the trench gettin' in the way, an' all I can think of is how much I wanna kiss those perfect cheeks, an' shove my tongue all the way in between 'em, lickin' his sweet spot till he cries out some mangled French obscenity an' creams me good.
I'd be doin' Hank a disservice if I didn't mention his fine, beefy ass...kinda wish all th' guys on th'team dressed like him, in nothin' but skin-tight Speedos. I love a big guy with a heart, an' they don't get any bigger, or more big-hearted, than the Doc. His fur's the same shade'a dark, dark blue as the Elf's, an' I wonder what it'd look like if they got t'gether in a dark room. Would McCoy's eyes glow like 'Crawler's as he sucked th'German's dick? Would I even be able ta make out Kurt's body writhin' under Hank's as the Beast locked him in a hot, sexy 69? An' when they fucked, whose voice would send me over the edge without touchin' myself faster?
My fist is wrapped around my meat, an' I'm beatin' off while I watch these hot guys pretend ta kick the crap out of each other. I wish I could say a word an' get 'em all as revved-up as me, watch the uniforms fly off an' get eight naked, sweaty mutant men all rubbin' up against each other. As it is, th' only person down there who could even guess what I'm thinkin' about is Cable, an' he's busy backin' up a half-naked Russkie. His big-ass guns fire stun beams outta both barrels, an' Scotty an' Alex dodge like one being, their instincts honed an' trained ta work in perfect tandem even though they ain't even been on the same team all that long at a time. My brain goes back inta Happy Incest Land, an' I'm in a three-way with the boys, Alex fuckin' me from above while I plow Scooter missionary-style. I wonder if their mouths would taste alike if I kissed 'em while fuckin', one after the other...even though Scotty's the older brother by a good couple years, they act like twins more often than not. That'd be one helluva check off my personal Bucket List, bein' in th'middle a'that hot-ass sandwich. Throw Nathan in fer good measure...could always use an extra cock, mouth, ass, or pair a'balls. Woof.
When I cum, it sneaks up on me...somewhere between fuckin' the Summers boys, havin' a threesome with Blue an' Bobby, or bein' gangbanged by Petey, LeBeau, an' 'Crawler, my whole body spasms, an' I gotta bite my lip ta keep from screamin' out loud as I buck my hips like crazy, fuckin' my fist like there's no tomorrow as my cock swells up an' shoots load after load all over the control console. My whole body arches an' writhes, an' I'm caught in the grip a'the best damn orgasm I've had since servin' with Steve Rogers in the Deuce (a story fer another time.)
I cum fer a good 30 seconds before I come down, an' come back t'myself. Thank fuck Charley had th'good sense ta get it waterproofed when he upgraded...don't need ta make the Room go haywire just 'cause I wanna get my rocks off. As it is, the whole thing's covered in my jizz, an' I'm gonna have a helluva time cleanin' it up before one side or the other wins.
I look out the window ta make sure no one figured out what I was doin'. Nope...they're all involved, havin' the time a'their lives. Even Slim's grinnin'. Lookin' sexy when ya smile must be in th'Summers genome somewhere, along with overly complicatin' yer life by makin' bonehead decisions. Oh well.
I grab a rag from th'supply closet nearby an' start moppin' up. Suddenly, by mistake, I press down too hard while wipin' up a keyboard, an' an army of Sentinels materializes in th'Danger Room.
Oops. Better find a cover fer this. Thinkin' fast, I tab the mic.
"New plan, folks! Yer all on th'same team again, an' everyone's goin' inta recycling!"
They spring into it like th'pros I know they are. Ta be honest, I like watchin' 'em fight as a team way more than I like seein' 'em fight each other. Reminds me a'what makes th' X-Men so different from any other outfit I ever belonged to. That, an' watchin' 'em fight t'protect each other gives off some real nice Theban Band vibes.
Maybe I won't put my pants on just yet.
~FIN~
~*~
I think the key word I was going for here was "depraved." Granted, most of my fics are depraved in some point or other, but I just wanted to write some pure, utter filth.
~*~
I fuckin' love bein' supervisor on Danger Room sessions. It's almost as much fun as gettin' to shred stuff in it.
Surprised ya, didn't I? Most people think I'm only inta scrappin'. All-fight, all-the-time. But that ain't me, any more than Frost sits in her 'bu-dwaah' an' drinks champagne all day, or Summers gets all his jollies outta bossin' us around. OK, maybe he does, but that ain't th' point! Point is, we're all more than we seem ta be onna surface.
An' besides bein' a born scrapper, I'm one horny fucker most'a th' time. So, give a guy like me th' job a'watchin' a team like this, an' you bet'cher ass I'm gonna love it.
Take today, f'r instance. it's a straight up, four-on-four team brawl. Only rule is, like always, don't hurt nobody serious-like. The holograms whipped up some big-ass alien moonscape or whatever, but that ain't important.
What is important is the lineup. Blue team is Scotty, Hank, Alex, an' Drake...Cyclops, Beast, Havok, an' Iceman, if ya wanna keep track. Nate, the Russkie, the Elf, an' the Cajun...Cable, Colossus, Nightcrawler, an' Gambit...are Gold team, or as I like ta call it, "Sexy Accents Central." 'Cept fer Cable, every one'a them's got a voice makes my skin crawl. In th' good way, if ya know what I mean.
Ah, hell with it. There ain't a guy down there whose bones I wouldn't jump, given half a shot.
I signal th' start a'the session, an' they're all in action. Cyke an' Havok fire off shots at Colossus at th' same time, figurin' him fer th' biggest threat. Since Cable's the only psychic down there, I figure they might be right...even though that whole techno-virus or whatever is gone from his system, he don't like usin' his powers 'less he's gotta...or when he's in bed.
My mind starts wanderin'...the good part about bein' supervisor. I c'n picture the Summers Brothers under the mistletoe, all naked an' sweaty from a roarin' fire, makin' out an' rubbin' up against each other while Cable's on his knees, servicin' his Dad an' Uncle Alex with that hot mouth. He ain't much fer facial expressions, but he reminds me of that Nine Days song from a few years back...I absolutely love him when he smiles. An' when he smirks, it goes right ta my loins. Guy's one sexy silver daddy, an' it's like he don't even know it. Too obsessed with th' flaws, I guess.
Back in th'real world, Colossus ain't even slowin' down as he marches up ta th' Summerses. His uniform's torched from th' waist up, an' his metal bod is built. Lookin' at him like this is like starin' at a piece of fine art...but when his shirt's off an' there's skin underneath it, that's when I start feelin' all lightheaded. Th' kid may be an artist...damn good one, too...but he's hot enough ta be a fuckin' professional model. I've lost count'a th' times I've wanted ta push him onto his back on a locker room bench, climb on top'a him, an' just sit my ass down on that hard Siberian hot rod. I love a big hard cock inside me just as much as I love givin' it ta someone else good an' hard, an' with Petey I definitely wanna go both ways. Wouldn't be able ta call him Petey Pureheart after that, that's fer damn sure...though Petey Pound-Me-Real-Good has a nice ring to it, too.
Speakin' a goin' both ways, Bobby an' the Elf are keepin' pace with each other nicely. Th' kid's playin' snowball-tag while the Elf teleports, that sexy German laugh a' his echoing in my ears like a silk curtain brushin' over my skin. Drake and I never got on that well...too much alike. Back before I signed on, he was pretty much me, arguin' with One-Eye every chance he got. He turned that anger on Petey, Kurt, an' me when we joined...the original X-Men were the only X-Men, ta him, an' we were the intruders messin' with th' natural order. Can't say I appreciated that, but I understand. Over th' years he's mellowed some, but he never really grew all th' way up, an' 'Crawler's been helpin' with that every chance he gets. Wouldn't surprise me ta walk in on 'em some day, fuckin' on the War Room table, Bobby thrustin' an' groanin' on top while Kurt tailfucks him from below...Damn, it's gettin' hot in here.
No one can see me in th' control booth from behind th' holograms...They ain't gonna care if I give "li'l Logan" a little air.
That's better. Now, where was I?
Hot damn. Th' Cajun an' Hank are makin' like it's the fuckin' Olympics, bouncin' around each other like jackrabbits on speed. Hank's claws are tearin' up LeBeau's coat, so he tosses it aside...doesn't need th'drag...showin' off that lean, wiry bod in th'skintight armor. An' that ass...I used ta think Betsy had every guy on th'team beat in the ass department, but one look at Gumbo from behind, without the trench gettin' in the way, an' all I can think of is how much I wanna kiss those perfect cheeks, an' shove my tongue all the way in between 'em, lickin' his sweet spot till he cries out some mangled French obscenity an' creams me good.
I'd be doin' Hank a disservice if I didn't mention his fine, beefy ass...kinda wish all th' guys on th'team dressed like him, in nothin' but skin-tight Speedos. I love a big guy with a heart, an' they don't get any bigger, or more big-hearted, than the Doc. His fur's the same shade'a dark, dark blue as the Elf's, an' I wonder what it'd look like if they got t'gether in a dark room. Would McCoy's eyes glow like 'Crawler's as he sucked th'German's dick? Would I even be able ta make out Kurt's body writhin' under Hank's as the Beast locked him in a hot, sexy 69? An' when they fucked, whose voice would send me over the edge without touchin' myself faster?
My fist is wrapped around my meat, an' I'm beatin' off while I watch these hot guys pretend ta kick the crap out of each other. I wish I could say a word an' get 'em all as revved-up as me, watch the uniforms fly off an' get eight naked, sweaty mutant men all rubbin' up against each other. As it is, th' only person down there who could even guess what I'm thinkin' about is Cable, an' he's busy backin' up a half-naked Russkie. His big-ass guns fire stun beams outta both barrels, an' Scotty an' Alex dodge like one being, their instincts honed an' trained ta work in perfect tandem even though they ain't even been on the same team all that long at a time. My brain goes back inta Happy Incest Land, an' I'm in a three-way with the boys, Alex fuckin' me from above while I plow Scooter missionary-style. I wonder if their mouths would taste alike if I kissed 'em while fuckin', one after the other...even though Scotty's the older brother by a good couple years, they act like twins more often than not. That'd be one helluva check off my personal Bucket List, bein' in th'middle a'that hot-ass sandwich. Throw Nathan in fer good measure...could always use an extra cock, mouth, ass, or pair a'balls. Woof.
When I cum, it sneaks up on me...somewhere between fuckin' the Summers boys, havin' a threesome with Blue an' Bobby, or bein' gangbanged by Petey, LeBeau, an' 'Crawler, my whole body spasms, an' I gotta bite my lip ta keep from screamin' out loud as I buck my hips like crazy, fuckin' my fist like there's no tomorrow as my cock swells up an' shoots load after load all over the control console. My whole body arches an' writhes, an' I'm caught in the grip a'the best damn orgasm I've had since servin' with Steve Rogers in the Deuce (a story fer another time.)
I cum fer a good 30 seconds before I come down, an' come back t'myself. Thank fuck Charley had th'good sense ta get it waterproofed when he upgraded...don't need ta make the Room go haywire just 'cause I wanna get my rocks off. As it is, the whole thing's covered in my jizz, an' I'm gonna have a helluva time cleanin' it up before one side or the other wins.
I look out the window ta make sure no one figured out what I was doin'. Nope...they're all involved, havin' the time a'their lives. Even Slim's grinnin'. Lookin' sexy when ya smile must be in th'Summers genome somewhere, along with overly complicatin' yer life by makin' bonehead decisions. Oh well.
I grab a rag from th'supply closet nearby an' start moppin' up. Suddenly, by mistake, I press down too hard while wipin' up a keyboard, an' an army of Sentinels materializes in th'Danger Room.
Oops. Better find a cover fer this. Thinkin' fast, I tab the mic.
"New plan, folks! Yer all on th'same team again, an' everyone's goin' inta recycling!"
They spring into it like th'pros I know they are. Ta be honest, I like watchin' 'em fight as a team way more than I like seein' 'em fight each other. Reminds me a'what makes th' X-Men so different from any other outfit I ever belonged to. That, an' watchin' 'em fight t'protect each other gives off some real nice Theban Band vibes.
Maybe I won't put my pants on just yet.
~FIN~
~*~
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Y!Gallery
So, most of you following me already know that my work is primarily found and stored on Y!Gallery. And anyone who goes there knows that the place is in danger of being shut down.
As the illustrious staff puts it:
~*~
y!Gallery has been being run for some time now without anyone actually in charge of the maintenance and upkeep of our server. In order to keep the site online and operational, we are in urgent need of at least one qualified system administrator that understands Debian Linux and md softraid and would be willing to monitor the server and address problems as they occur.
The site runs on a stack of lighttpd, PHP, and MySQL, and the chat service runs on jabberd14, but these are mostly stable at this point and do not really need much attention paid to them, so if you do not have much/any experience with these things, it does not really matter.
If we do not find a qualified system administrator capable of ensuring our server stays online and operational, y!Gallery will be forced to end operations and shut down on 14 February. If you are able to fill this role, please contact me privately via PM as soon as possible.
Thanks for your attention.
~*~
So there you have it.
In the unlikely event anyone pays attention to my blog and can help the site that's been so supportive to me, please e-mail themdolphins@gmail.com.
Over the next week, I'll be looking through my archives here and on Y!Gal and posting the stories here that I see fit to print. If you have any requests for stories of mine you'd like to see copied over (that have not already been), please don't hesitate to leave a comment. :)
I'm not jumping ship. I want to make that very clear. I love Y!Gallery and am sticking with it to the bitter end. But it would be stupid to blindly wait until February 13, then run around like a headless chicken trying to put together all my assembled works in time for The Big Collapse.
If you can help, you have my sincerest gratitude. Hell, if you cared enough to put up with this non-fic post up to this point, I'm grateful. :)
That's pretty much all. Thanks for your time.
As the illustrious staff puts it:
~*~
y!Gallery has been being run for some time now without anyone actually in charge of the maintenance and upkeep of our server. In order to keep the site online and operational, we are in urgent need of at least one qualified system administrator that understands Debian Linux and md softraid and would be willing to monitor the server and address problems as they occur.
The site runs on a stack of lighttpd, PHP, and MySQL, and the chat service runs on jabberd14, but these are mostly stable at this point and do not really need much attention paid to them, so if you do not have much/any experience with these things, it does not really matter.
If we do not find a qualified system administrator capable of ensuring our server stays online and operational, y!Gallery will be forced to end operations and shut down on 14 February. If you are able to fill this role, please contact me privately via PM as soon as possible.
Thanks for your attention.
~*~
So there you have it.
In the unlikely event anyone pays attention to my blog and can help the site that's been so supportive to me, please e-mail themdolphins@gmail.com.
Over the next week, I'll be looking through my archives here and on Y!Gal and posting the stories here that I see fit to print. If you have any requests for stories of mine you'd like to see copied over (that have not already been), please don't hesitate to leave a comment. :)
I'm not jumping ship. I want to make that very clear. I love Y!Gallery and am sticking with it to the bitter end. But it would be stupid to blindly wait until February 13, then run around like a headless chicken trying to put together all my assembled works in time for The Big Collapse.
If you can help, you have my sincerest gratitude. Hell, if you cared enough to put up with this non-fic post up to this point, I'm grateful. :)
That's pretty much all. Thanks for your time.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
The Form In The Fire
My first attempt to write a fic in first-person. I tried to leave the descriptions of the main character vague enough that anyone can see themselves in his place, but this is a little bit of a self-insert in terms of his sex partners.
Tell me what you think!
~*~
I had gone through all the rituals, performed every move correctly, worn the appropriate garments. I'd checked and double-checked my pronunciation of every syllable in the spell, and now I was about to reap my reward.
The sigil of white sand poured on the carpet glowed, blazing with power as incense filled the air. Dragon's blood, sandalwood, myrrh...thick, woody, musty scents, the type to leave your senses reeling and your head spinning from their sheet, raw density. The smoke formed patterns in the air above the circle, and I knew I'd done everything right. The candles burned in circles, almost creating a fire hazard in the confines of my bedrooom...I didn't care. They kept me warm.
I'd been pursuing the secrets to this ritual like a man possessed, and now it was mine. As I watched, the sand caught fire, intense orange flames that gave off light and warmth, but didn't burn or generate smoke, and a vaguely humanoid shape appeared in the midst of the pattern.
It spoke in a language I didn't understand, alternating between rough Germanic syllables and softer, Romanesque consonants almost by whim. But I understood it...part of the terms of the spell...and the voice itself seemed to vibrate straight through me, made me long to tear off the robes I'd put on for the ceremony. As it was supposed to.
"You know why you've been summoned, spirit. I'm calling upon you to do what you do best."
Its gaze...or what I assumed to be its gaze...bored into me, and it nodded, speaking a short phrase in that hard-and-soft language that translated into acquiescence. Suddenly I felt myself slip into a dream-like state, and the visions began...
...I was back in high school, in the school locker room, a place I'd refused to go except for PE classes. No athlete was I, nor any sort of physical prize. I was changing out of my gym clothes when he came in. The captain of the wrestling team. The picture of muscular, late-adolescent perfection. A younh man of Irish features and complexion, his hair short and bleached blonde and the beginnings of a goatee on his face, I wanted him as much as I disliked him...we had nothing in common, rarely spoke. But he stripped in front of me without a single word, and we both grew older with every article of clothing he removed, until I was again my present age and he, a year my senior was extrapolated to what my fantasies decreed he must look like today. Now nearly nude, he sat on the bench and gestured to the red Speedos he wore as underwear, and the bulging package inside. I understood, and rejoiced...there would be no need for pretense, no false attempts friendship here, but neither would I be bullied as I had always feared but had never come to pass. We were two men, alone and horny, and would do what two men were meant to do in such a situation.
I pushed him gently onto his back on the bench, taking my time to feel those marvelous, steely pectorals under my hands, then grabbed the waistband of that accursed, tempting underwear and skinned it off his muscular, pale legs, spreading them apart before I dove for my prize between them...not his impressive cock or luscious, laden balls, but the dark pink rosebud of his perfect, tantalizing ass. Those blue eyes slid closed as he let out a deep moan, his kissable lips curving into one of those lazy, self-satisfied smiles, and he thrust his hips back and forth in time with my greedily fucking tongue, jerking his cock as he did so. My cock hardened without the slightest touch from me as I buried my tongue in him again and again, my hands everywhere on his dense, Apollonian physique...he was a wrestler, not a bodybuilder, and had the requisite muscles of one.
I flipped him over and lay atop him, my cock hard as a rock as it slid between those big, muscular cheeks. I thrust into the saliva-soaked crack of his ass, never penetrating...I had no desire to actually fuck him...but sliding back and forth inside the crevice as I totally possessed his bulky frame with my own. He sucked my proffered fingers, moaning in appreciation for the sensations I was offering him, and I licked all over that muscled back as my hips became a gyrating blur of rising desperation. Finally, he let loose with a muffled scream of pleasure around my fingers as his cum soaked his chest, belly, and the bench beneath us, his rump cheeks clenching tightly around me as I kissed, licked, and bit the thick cords of muscle at the nape of his neck. I was about to blow my own load between those perfect globes...
...When the scene changed. I was no longer alone, nor naked. Now I was in the middle of a screaming crowd, the scene awash in hormones as excitement surged through the air like arc lightning.
Onstage was another man of my dreams...one of my favorite singers from my youth, during the Latin craze people tried so hard to forget. His perfect, bronzed skin gleamed in the stage lights, and fathomless dark eyes seemed to watch me, and me alone, throughout his performance...when he wasn't closing them, lost to the passion of his slow, throbbing ballads or sweaty, sensationalist dance numbers. Every move of his leather-clad ass was the picture of sensuality, the bulge in the front of his pants seeming to grow more pronounced every time my wandering eye caught it. His voice surged through me, deafening me to the roar of the crowds as it sent my cock surging to life again. His performance ended with a particularly saucy number, and it was all I could do not to drop trow and beat off to him right there, right then...and then my hand closed around the Backstage Pass hanging around my neck.
It wasn't long before I was in his dressing room, and those lips that sang of undying love and wild abandon were locked to mine. My idol peeled off his shirt to reveal the most perfect chest in existence, and I was overjoyed to find out that in my dream, his nipples were particularly sensitive. So I spent minutes hearing him moan and gasp aloud as I worked them, with lips and teeth and tongue. When I peeled those leather pants off, his maleness popped up as if it were spring-loaded, not the biggest I'd ever seen, but the perfect size for me to ride as he sat in the chair of his dressing room mirror, the angle magically perfect for us both to watch his lubed cock slide in and out of me as I rode it, our moans of pleasure and lust mingling together more perfectly to my ears than any duet he could ever sing. He wrapped his arms around my chest and fucked me uninhibitedly, his voice whispering filthy, wonderful litanies of praise to me in English and Spanish, until I heard him let out a noise between a scream and a grunt as he unloaded volley after volley of his seed into me, our lips and tongues meeting sloppily as his balls dumped every last drop of seed he had into my hungry, willing ass...
...And I was in the middle of a clearing in the woods, watching my father play with rockets. Except...he wasn't my father. He was more like a mix of every father figure I'd ever had in my life, with traits from every one merged into a single picture of paternal perfection. His fiery red hair gleamed in the sunlight, his massive frame bent over as he studied the machines with an intensely scrutinous gaze. He smiled at me with genuine warmth and camaraderie as he invited me to try launching one, and laughed in real triumph and pride as my rocket launched into the air behind his. Impulsively, I kissed him, and he returned the affection, suddenly a much younger man...a man of my own age. No talks were had of incest, of wrongdoing or secrecy...this was the most natural thing in the world, kissing the man who meant the world to me, who had cared for me my whole life, in his own way. This "Dream-Father" whispered things no father of mine would say as he shed his clothes, revealing a solid, stocky, massive body, a form out of heroic fantasy. Surely no man I had ever known possessed such a build, but I was past caring, simply embracing it and revelling in it as I took his tool, the member that had made me, into my hands and mouth. We lay naked on the grass together, under the sun's rays, and locked in a 69, he the ultimate father, I the lustful, degenerate son. Both of us incredibly, marvelously equal at that perfect moment in time.
His mouth did things to me no straight man's ever could, and I had flashes in my mind...fantasies of his illicit activities with other men, brought to life around us in a tableau of 3-dimensional porn. In them, he fucked and was fucked, sucked and was sucked, insistent on being reciprocal in all his dealings, a man of morals even as he flagrantly flouted the rules of monogamy with man after man. I could only hope to one day be as accomplished in the arts of male love as he.
We flipped around and embraced, hot and sweaty and needful, chest to chest, cock to cock, and writhed in each other's arms, our skin and body hair grinding against each other. He said my name roughly, hoarsely, and exclaimed his impending orgasm...and I held on to him for dear life, wrapping arms and legs around him as my dream father's seed splashed every inch of me...
I was back in the room, shuddering and panting, the ache of lust strong between my legs. My robe had fallen from my shoulders and I was nude, the featureless form in the fire staring at me with what I could only describe as satisfaction. It controlled my visions, pulling them from my deepest, darkest desires, and I was just along for the ride. I knew that this was just a breather...it knew how to wring every drop of pleasure from its "clients" before finally letting them have their release, and when it was done with me, I would have enough sexual fantasies and delicious, salacious memories to last the rest of my life.
And then it would be my invoked friend's turn to demand a boon of its own...
Tell me what you think!
~*~
I had gone through all the rituals, performed every move correctly, worn the appropriate garments. I'd checked and double-checked my pronunciation of every syllable in the spell, and now I was about to reap my reward.
The sigil of white sand poured on the carpet glowed, blazing with power as incense filled the air. Dragon's blood, sandalwood, myrrh...thick, woody, musty scents, the type to leave your senses reeling and your head spinning from their sheet, raw density. The smoke formed patterns in the air above the circle, and I knew I'd done everything right. The candles burned in circles, almost creating a fire hazard in the confines of my bedrooom...I didn't care. They kept me warm.
I'd been pursuing the secrets to this ritual like a man possessed, and now it was mine. As I watched, the sand caught fire, intense orange flames that gave off light and warmth, but didn't burn or generate smoke, and a vaguely humanoid shape appeared in the midst of the pattern.
It spoke in a language I didn't understand, alternating between rough Germanic syllables and softer, Romanesque consonants almost by whim. But I understood it...part of the terms of the spell...and the voice itself seemed to vibrate straight through me, made me long to tear off the robes I'd put on for the ceremony. As it was supposed to.
"You know why you've been summoned, spirit. I'm calling upon you to do what you do best."
Its gaze...or what I assumed to be its gaze...bored into me, and it nodded, speaking a short phrase in that hard-and-soft language that translated into acquiescence. Suddenly I felt myself slip into a dream-like state, and the visions began...
...I was back in high school, in the school locker room, a place I'd refused to go except for PE classes. No athlete was I, nor any sort of physical prize. I was changing out of my gym clothes when he came in. The captain of the wrestling team. The picture of muscular, late-adolescent perfection. A younh man of Irish features and complexion, his hair short and bleached blonde and the beginnings of a goatee on his face, I wanted him as much as I disliked him...we had nothing in common, rarely spoke. But he stripped in front of me without a single word, and we both grew older with every article of clothing he removed, until I was again my present age and he, a year my senior was extrapolated to what my fantasies decreed he must look like today. Now nearly nude, he sat on the bench and gestured to the red Speedos he wore as underwear, and the bulging package inside. I understood, and rejoiced...there would be no need for pretense, no false attempts friendship here, but neither would I be bullied as I had always feared but had never come to pass. We were two men, alone and horny, and would do what two men were meant to do in such a situation.
I pushed him gently onto his back on the bench, taking my time to feel those marvelous, steely pectorals under my hands, then grabbed the waistband of that accursed, tempting underwear and skinned it off his muscular, pale legs, spreading them apart before I dove for my prize between them...not his impressive cock or luscious, laden balls, but the dark pink rosebud of his perfect, tantalizing ass. Those blue eyes slid closed as he let out a deep moan, his kissable lips curving into one of those lazy, self-satisfied smiles, and he thrust his hips back and forth in time with my greedily fucking tongue, jerking his cock as he did so. My cock hardened without the slightest touch from me as I buried my tongue in him again and again, my hands everywhere on his dense, Apollonian physique...he was a wrestler, not a bodybuilder, and had the requisite muscles of one.
I flipped him over and lay atop him, my cock hard as a rock as it slid between those big, muscular cheeks. I thrust into the saliva-soaked crack of his ass, never penetrating...I had no desire to actually fuck him...but sliding back and forth inside the crevice as I totally possessed his bulky frame with my own. He sucked my proffered fingers, moaning in appreciation for the sensations I was offering him, and I licked all over that muscled back as my hips became a gyrating blur of rising desperation. Finally, he let loose with a muffled scream of pleasure around my fingers as his cum soaked his chest, belly, and the bench beneath us, his rump cheeks clenching tightly around me as I kissed, licked, and bit the thick cords of muscle at the nape of his neck. I was about to blow my own load between those perfect globes...
...When the scene changed. I was no longer alone, nor naked. Now I was in the middle of a screaming crowd, the scene awash in hormones as excitement surged through the air like arc lightning.
Onstage was another man of my dreams...one of my favorite singers from my youth, during the Latin craze people tried so hard to forget. His perfect, bronzed skin gleamed in the stage lights, and fathomless dark eyes seemed to watch me, and me alone, throughout his performance...when he wasn't closing them, lost to the passion of his slow, throbbing ballads or sweaty, sensationalist dance numbers. Every move of his leather-clad ass was the picture of sensuality, the bulge in the front of his pants seeming to grow more pronounced every time my wandering eye caught it. His voice surged through me, deafening me to the roar of the crowds as it sent my cock surging to life again. His performance ended with a particularly saucy number, and it was all I could do not to drop trow and beat off to him right there, right then...and then my hand closed around the Backstage Pass hanging around my neck.
It wasn't long before I was in his dressing room, and those lips that sang of undying love and wild abandon were locked to mine. My idol peeled off his shirt to reveal the most perfect chest in existence, and I was overjoyed to find out that in my dream, his nipples were particularly sensitive. So I spent minutes hearing him moan and gasp aloud as I worked them, with lips and teeth and tongue. When I peeled those leather pants off, his maleness popped up as if it were spring-loaded, not the biggest I'd ever seen, but the perfect size for me to ride as he sat in the chair of his dressing room mirror, the angle magically perfect for us both to watch his lubed cock slide in and out of me as I rode it, our moans of pleasure and lust mingling together more perfectly to my ears than any duet he could ever sing. He wrapped his arms around my chest and fucked me uninhibitedly, his voice whispering filthy, wonderful litanies of praise to me in English and Spanish, until I heard him let out a noise between a scream and a grunt as he unloaded volley after volley of his seed into me, our lips and tongues meeting sloppily as his balls dumped every last drop of seed he had into my hungry, willing ass...
...And I was in the middle of a clearing in the woods, watching my father play with rockets. Except...he wasn't my father. He was more like a mix of every father figure I'd ever had in my life, with traits from every one merged into a single picture of paternal perfection. His fiery red hair gleamed in the sunlight, his massive frame bent over as he studied the machines with an intensely scrutinous gaze. He smiled at me with genuine warmth and camaraderie as he invited me to try launching one, and laughed in real triumph and pride as my rocket launched into the air behind his. Impulsively, I kissed him, and he returned the affection, suddenly a much younger man...a man of my own age. No talks were had of incest, of wrongdoing or secrecy...this was the most natural thing in the world, kissing the man who meant the world to me, who had cared for me my whole life, in his own way. This "Dream-Father" whispered things no father of mine would say as he shed his clothes, revealing a solid, stocky, massive body, a form out of heroic fantasy. Surely no man I had ever known possessed such a build, but I was past caring, simply embracing it and revelling in it as I took his tool, the member that had made me, into my hands and mouth. We lay naked on the grass together, under the sun's rays, and locked in a 69, he the ultimate father, I the lustful, degenerate son. Both of us incredibly, marvelously equal at that perfect moment in time.
His mouth did things to me no straight man's ever could, and I had flashes in my mind...fantasies of his illicit activities with other men, brought to life around us in a tableau of 3-dimensional porn. In them, he fucked and was fucked, sucked and was sucked, insistent on being reciprocal in all his dealings, a man of morals even as he flagrantly flouted the rules of monogamy with man after man. I could only hope to one day be as accomplished in the arts of male love as he.
We flipped around and embraced, hot and sweaty and needful, chest to chest, cock to cock, and writhed in each other's arms, our skin and body hair grinding against each other. He said my name roughly, hoarsely, and exclaimed his impending orgasm...and I held on to him for dear life, wrapping arms and legs around him as my dream father's seed splashed every inch of me...
I was back in the room, shuddering and panting, the ache of lust strong between my legs. My robe had fallen from my shoulders and I was nude, the featureless form in the fire staring at me with what I could only describe as satisfaction. It controlled my visions, pulling them from my deepest, darkest desires, and I was just along for the ride. I knew that this was just a breather...it knew how to wring every drop of pleasure from its "clients" before finally letting them have their release, and when it was done with me, I would have enough sexual fantasies and delicious, salacious memories to last the rest of my life.
And then it would be my invoked friend's turn to demand a boon of its own...
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
New Look, Same Filthy Content!
Hey all,
You may have noticed a few changes. :)
Basically, I redesigned the blog using some preset filters and a couple of personal tweaks. I'm much happier with the overall look of the thing now, though I may tweak things a touch more in the future.
Does it rock? Does it suck? Tell me what you think! ^_^
You may have noticed a few changes. :)
Basically, I redesigned the blog using some preset filters and a couple of personal tweaks. I'm much happier with the overall look of the thing now, though I may tweak things a touch more in the future.
Does it rock? Does it suck? Tell me what you think! ^_^
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Birthday Present from TheMadSlasher
I bet you guys thought I forgot about you. ^_^
Well, I'm back with more offerings! This one was a birthday present from my good friend TheMadSlasher, following up on a Logan/Snake crossover fic he wrote. Under the circumstances of that fic, which can be found on his Y!Gallery, he doesn't think the two of them would get along too well if they actually met.
However, not only does he like the idea of them together under different circumstances, but he describes this present to me as "a wish fulfillment piece that ignores perfect internal logic for the sake of porn." Good thing, too, because this is SCORCHING.
Enjoy!
~*~
Curt's Birthday Present
"Not An Animal, Reprise"
The Mercenary sat in the bar. His eyes glanced around the room, as they always did whenever he wasn't in HQ. He was clad in a pair of black jeans and a tight red shirt.
On the other side of the room, a short, black-haired man recognized his scent. The short man immediately smirked. Ever since he heard about Philanthropy on the news he'd been tracking the soldier... the man that held him in a basement for a week. The man that was everything Weapon X would've wanted.
Dave began lifting the large glass to his lips. He quickly set it down when he saw the familiar face slide into the seat next to him. His eyes instantly narrowed as he scanned the stocky man for any weapons.
"Not armed. Not here fer a fight," Logan quickly replied. "Saw yer charity in tha papers."
The gravelly rasp took him back all those years; he suddenly felt the same cold sink into his bones as he watched the muscled feral struggle like an animal. And he's so much more human than I ever was. He didn't say a single word; his fingers gripped the glass with enough force that his knuckles were bone-white.
Logan placed his hand out with an open palm. His fingers were not rigid. "Ya know... what yer doin' now... its whatcha always wanted ta do."
Dave knew exactly what Logan was referring to. What Fox did. What I was too weak to do. The mercenary took a breath.
Logan felt his heart rate increase as he looked at the handsome face before him, yer livin' yer own life now... ya broke tha leash they put on ya... and that's so fuckin' hot.
Dave knew Logan's extended hand was not merely an offer of forgiveness. The gravitas of the feral's words, the dignity of the wildman's posture, those cobalt eyes boring into his own with the same determination he saw in the eyes of Hal and Fox. Even the gravelly voice of the feral had the same tone Naomi used when she said one must not be chained to fate.
He took a breath and extended his own hand.
Logan wanted to cheer, but he smiled warmly as he felt the soldier's battle-roughenned hand grasp his own and shake firmly. The mercenary's grip on his own was strong and trustworthy.
"Ya don't have ta if ya don't wanna.... but wanna come back ta my place fer some fun?"
[Thirty Minutes Later...]
The feral was straddling the soldier's waist; his knees ground into the sheets as he felt Snake's length slide up and down between his butt cheeks. His face was a lustful leer as he looked at the body below him; all sinews and flexible cords optimized for precision and speed. He licked his lips as he leant over and began to plant kisses down the Mercenary's torso. He left one on each scar; gonna be here a while.
The heat of the granite-hard, dark-haired muscle above him almost had him panting already; it pressed down on his body with significant weight. His hands clasped at the Canadian's waist; a droplet of his precum slid down his shaft as he thought about what was happenning next, wanna be inside him.
Logan lifted his head; his cobalt gaze locked itself onto the mercenary's forest green as he licked his lips;
"Ya ready fer it Dave? Wanna feel that hot cock o'yers buried inside me? Cause damn I want it too... I'm all lubed up and ready ta go handsome.."
The feral's mind was too clouded with lust for him to register that Snake said nothing; the man beneath him grunted and even purred at times but not a single word escaped those lips. Logan didn't care as he positioned his ass atop the Alaskan's length and slid his way down.
The feral made a growl that nearly became a roar as his tight ass descended further; his hole devoured the soldier's shaft in a smooth, slow motion steadied by Snake's hands around his waist.
Dave grit his teeth as his eyes rolled back in pleasure. His white-knuckled grip on the Canadian's hips remained steady as he tried to avoid letting a shout erupt from his lungs with each additional inch he was drawn into the wildman.
As Logan felt the hilt of Dave's cock pressing against his ass, he let his head tilt back and took a deep breath. Droplets of sweat fell down his torso and moved through the thick forest of hair atop the thick ropes of musculature that reinforced his stocky frame. The heat and pressure moving inside him only stoked the fire in his loins; his hand encircled his achingly rigid shaft and began to pump back and forth as his body began to move up and down.
"Fuckin' hell Dave... I fuckin' love this..." he growled, "yer cock feels so fuckin' good in me Dave"... his voice became rougher as his sliding up and down the Alaskan's shaft became faster, "I'm gonna cum soon stud... yer gettin' close ain'tcha? Wanna cum inside me don'tcha handsome?"
The mercenary responded by thrusting upwards into the amazingly tight and hot ass his hands were kneading; his heart rate surged with each motion into the hairy man above him. The knot in his gut only grew tigher with each depraved syllable the mutant uttered. But still over every guttral grunt he made, no words emerged from his mouth.
Finally the tension within both men reached the apex; Dave let out a drawn out, rough moan that interlaced with Logan's harsh, subterranean growl. The feral's load shot skyward and landed on his furred chest. The mercenary came inside Logan with several more upward thrusts; each one targeting the wildman's prostate with ruthless precision.
Snake felt the heat of Logan's body descend back onto his; the smoky whisper of the feral's voice massaged his ears;
"Ya feelin' good?"
"I'm good," he replied quickly in his own metallic rasp.
Least he didn't say "I'm fine", Logan thought with almost some regret. He recognized that controlled, military demeanor of absolute professionalism; that appearance of stability which was almost masochistic to imitate.. just like Scotty... he don't wanna relax..
And then an idea emerged in his mind. He smirked as he contemplated it.
"I know whatcha need Dave... I gotta real treat fer ya... yer gonna love it..."
[Two Minutes Later...]
Dave lay back in the sling; the angle made his legs naturally drift back and the firm, muscled globes of his ass spread. His eyes shot straight towards the Canadian; the pupils diluted as his heart raced.
"Relax, stud..." Logan playfully snarled from a table across the room, "I ain't gonna tie ya up er anythin'... ain't gonna control ya.." fuck, that's tha last thing I wanna do... "yer a real reserved one Dave..." Logan began to turn around from the table; he carried something in his hand, "Im gonna make ya lose yer inhibitions..."
Dave saw the playful smirk on Logan's face; his pulse raced when he made out the form of the black rubber dildo in Logan's hand.. Part of him felt defenseless; the air caressing his asshole made him feel vulnerable. But as his grip on one of the sling's straps grew tighter he stabilized his breathing.. I trust him... he coulda killed me back in Alaska...
"Ya want that Dave? Wanna lemme drive ya completely wild?"
He remembered the sight of the feral racing through the snow after leaving his house, how the short Canadian looked so untamable... I wanna be that free...
"Bring it on," the Alaskan replied in a rasp free of any trace of uncertainty.
Logan grinned as he poured lube on his fingers. He let out a smoldering chuckle; not one of conquest but of anticipation... "god Dave... ya got tha sweetest ass.." he slipped a single finger into the taller man's asshole and heard the infiltrator purr back through gritted teeth, "yer gonna love this, I promise."
The mercenary's breathing grew more ragged as Logan slid a second finger into him. He didn't feel pain, just the familiar stretch that he needed to adjust to. As Logan spread those fingers within his hole, he let out more soft hisses and snarls. After he felt the tightness yield, he looked the shorter man in the eye with a smirk of his own.
"Alright... 'm ready..."
Logan grinned wolfishly as he held the dildo up. There was a pump-like bulb at the base.
"Inflatable... starts out small and can get as big as ya want it."
Dave let out his own chuckle; it sounded raspier and more on-edge than Logan's.
"Sounds fun. Do it."
Without any hesitation he quickly slid the lube-slicked toy and lightly pressed it against Snake's entrance.
A sonorous but quiet moan spilled from Dave's lips as his ass yielded to the slow intrusion of the black rubber dildo; his iron-hard length throbbed in time with his heartbeat. He felt the toy move deeper and deeper within him; it ground against spots he thought only Hal knew about. The moment the base of the toy touched his butt he sharply drew breath. His grip on the sling was ruthlessly tight.
"How does it feel, Dave? C'mon, yer so sexy and strong and free now... ya deserve ta feel good... tell me..." Lemme hear ya... drop tha fuckin' stoic crap and say it... His fingers slowly squeezed the bulb and gradually the toy began to expand slightly inside the mercenary's ass.
A long, teeth-clenched, hissing moan erupted from the infiltrator's lungs as he felt the black rubber length fill him more completely; the familiar pressure in his loins only grew in response. His cheeks were flushed as he panted for more breath. And still words failed him, even as he felt the dildo begin to slide in and out of his asshole. He could only groan in response, but no longer was the sound attenuated.
Logan smirked with an inward smile at each unrestrained moan that came from the scar-covered, lithe mercenary. His sensitive ears still felt that aggressive rasp that lay on the edge of every sound the man made. His own fist moved up and down his again-rigid manhood as he slowly pumped the toy again.
The growl-laced roar that emerged from the Alaskan's mouth foreshadowed the drops of precum that dripped down his steel-hard shaft. The depth and the stretch of the toy inside him, the rough voice and soothing body heat of the man moving the toy in and out of him, the constant invitation to rip away all the protocol and decorum the military drilled into him... it was all too much. His resolve finally broke.
"Logan... fuck I'm gonna... gonna.." he couldn't string any more words together.
The Canadian didn't care; his eyes roamed over the sinewy chest that glittered with sweat, the delicious globes of muscle and the toy moving in and out of the tight entrance between them, and the ever-so-slight crumble of the mercenary's quiet, reserved demeanour. Only a bit... but its progress... "Yeah Dave... yer gonna cum, just like ya did when ya fucked my ass, yer gonna blow a huge load from me fuckin' yer sweet butt with this toy... and ya fuckin' love it dontcha?" He didn't need an answer.
One final strangled cry was wrenched from the infiltrator's lungs as he shot jets of seed over his own chest. Each successive blast from his cock was accompanied by a nearly angry grunt as beads of sweat trickled down from his face and along his corded, flexible torso.
Logan quickly followed; his own fist tightened around his thick shaft as his essence erupted from his body and landed on Snake. He barely took time to finish coming before he quickly withdrew the sex toy from Dave's ass and got his tongue working on those limber muscles. The cocktail of sweat and seed was lapped up off the scarred body of the mercenary; Logan's moans of relish combined with Dave's slow breaths in a call-and-response that punctuated the afterglow.
"Damn," the Alaskan said with a visible smirk on his face. "Was good."
"Still is," Logan replied as he looked up at Dave's face. Every trace was cleaned off of Dave's torso, "yer real tasty too..."
Dave only chuckled in reply as he sat up and slid out of the sling. "You wanna... do this again sometime?" Can I take some photos for Hal? he thought mischievously.
"Anytime, Dave."
The End
Well, I'm back with more offerings! This one was a birthday present from my good friend TheMadSlasher, following up on a Logan/Snake crossover fic he wrote. Under the circumstances of that fic, which can be found on his Y!Gallery, he doesn't think the two of them would get along too well if they actually met.
However, not only does he like the idea of them together under different circumstances, but he describes this present to me as "a wish fulfillment piece that ignores perfect internal logic for the sake of porn." Good thing, too, because this is SCORCHING.
Enjoy!
~*~
Curt's Birthday Present
"Not An Animal, Reprise"
The Mercenary sat in the bar. His eyes glanced around the room, as they always did whenever he wasn't in HQ. He was clad in a pair of black jeans and a tight red shirt.
On the other side of the room, a short, black-haired man recognized his scent. The short man immediately smirked. Ever since he heard about Philanthropy on the news he'd been tracking the soldier... the man that held him in a basement for a week. The man that was everything Weapon X would've wanted.
Dave began lifting the large glass to his lips. He quickly set it down when he saw the familiar face slide into the seat next to him. His eyes instantly narrowed as he scanned the stocky man for any weapons.
"Not armed. Not here fer a fight," Logan quickly replied. "Saw yer charity in tha papers."
The gravelly rasp took him back all those years; he suddenly felt the same cold sink into his bones as he watched the muscled feral struggle like an animal. And he's so much more human than I ever was. He didn't say a single word; his fingers gripped the glass with enough force that his knuckles were bone-white.
Logan placed his hand out with an open palm. His fingers were not rigid. "Ya know... what yer doin' now... its whatcha always wanted ta do."
Dave knew exactly what Logan was referring to. What Fox did. What I was too weak to do. The mercenary took a breath.
Logan felt his heart rate increase as he looked at the handsome face before him, yer livin' yer own life now... ya broke tha leash they put on ya... and that's so fuckin' hot.
Dave knew Logan's extended hand was not merely an offer of forgiveness. The gravitas of the feral's words, the dignity of the wildman's posture, those cobalt eyes boring into his own with the same determination he saw in the eyes of Hal and Fox. Even the gravelly voice of the feral had the same tone Naomi used when she said one must not be chained to fate.
He took a breath and extended his own hand.
Logan wanted to cheer, but he smiled warmly as he felt the soldier's battle-roughenned hand grasp his own and shake firmly. The mercenary's grip on his own was strong and trustworthy.
"Ya don't have ta if ya don't wanna.... but wanna come back ta my place fer some fun?"
[Thirty Minutes Later...]
The feral was straddling the soldier's waist; his knees ground into the sheets as he felt Snake's length slide up and down between his butt cheeks. His face was a lustful leer as he looked at the body below him; all sinews and flexible cords optimized for precision and speed. He licked his lips as he leant over and began to plant kisses down the Mercenary's torso. He left one on each scar; gonna be here a while.
The heat of the granite-hard, dark-haired muscle above him almost had him panting already; it pressed down on his body with significant weight. His hands clasped at the Canadian's waist; a droplet of his precum slid down his shaft as he thought about what was happenning next, wanna be inside him.
Logan lifted his head; his cobalt gaze locked itself onto the mercenary's forest green as he licked his lips;
"Ya ready fer it Dave? Wanna feel that hot cock o'yers buried inside me? Cause damn I want it too... I'm all lubed up and ready ta go handsome.."
The feral's mind was too clouded with lust for him to register that Snake said nothing; the man beneath him grunted and even purred at times but not a single word escaped those lips. Logan didn't care as he positioned his ass atop the Alaskan's length and slid his way down.
The feral made a growl that nearly became a roar as his tight ass descended further; his hole devoured the soldier's shaft in a smooth, slow motion steadied by Snake's hands around his waist.
Dave grit his teeth as his eyes rolled back in pleasure. His white-knuckled grip on the Canadian's hips remained steady as he tried to avoid letting a shout erupt from his lungs with each additional inch he was drawn into the wildman.
As Logan felt the hilt of Dave's cock pressing against his ass, he let his head tilt back and took a deep breath. Droplets of sweat fell down his torso and moved through the thick forest of hair atop the thick ropes of musculature that reinforced his stocky frame. The heat and pressure moving inside him only stoked the fire in his loins; his hand encircled his achingly rigid shaft and began to pump back and forth as his body began to move up and down.
"Fuckin' hell Dave... I fuckin' love this..." he growled, "yer cock feels so fuckin' good in me Dave"... his voice became rougher as his sliding up and down the Alaskan's shaft became faster, "I'm gonna cum soon stud... yer gettin' close ain'tcha? Wanna cum inside me don'tcha handsome?"
The mercenary responded by thrusting upwards into the amazingly tight and hot ass his hands were kneading; his heart rate surged with each motion into the hairy man above him. The knot in his gut only grew tigher with each depraved syllable the mutant uttered. But still over every guttral grunt he made, no words emerged from his mouth.
Finally the tension within both men reached the apex; Dave let out a drawn out, rough moan that interlaced with Logan's harsh, subterranean growl. The feral's load shot skyward and landed on his furred chest. The mercenary came inside Logan with several more upward thrusts; each one targeting the wildman's prostate with ruthless precision.
Snake felt the heat of Logan's body descend back onto his; the smoky whisper of the feral's voice massaged his ears;
"Ya feelin' good?"
"I'm good," he replied quickly in his own metallic rasp.
Least he didn't say "I'm fine", Logan thought with almost some regret. He recognized that controlled, military demeanor of absolute professionalism; that appearance of stability which was almost masochistic to imitate.. just like Scotty... he don't wanna relax..
And then an idea emerged in his mind. He smirked as he contemplated it.
"I know whatcha need Dave... I gotta real treat fer ya... yer gonna love it..."
[Two Minutes Later...]
Dave lay back in the sling; the angle made his legs naturally drift back and the firm, muscled globes of his ass spread. His eyes shot straight towards the Canadian; the pupils diluted as his heart raced.
"Relax, stud..." Logan playfully snarled from a table across the room, "I ain't gonna tie ya up er anythin'... ain't gonna control ya.." fuck, that's tha last thing I wanna do... "yer a real reserved one Dave..." Logan began to turn around from the table; he carried something in his hand, "Im gonna make ya lose yer inhibitions..."
Dave saw the playful smirk on Logan's face; his pulse raced when he made out the form of the black rubber dildo in Logan's hand.. Part of him felt defenseless; the air caressing his asshole made him feel vulnerable. But as his grip on one of the sling's straps grew tighter he stabilized his breathing.. I trust him... he coulda killed me back in Alaska...
"Ya want that Dave? Wanna lemme drive ya completely wild?"
He remembered the sight of the feral racing through the snow after leaving his house, how the short Canadian looked so untamable... I wanna be that free...
"Bring it on," the Alaskan replied in a rasp free of any trace of uncertainty.
Logan grinned as he poured lube on his fingers. He let out a smoldering chuckle; not one of conquest but of anticipation... "god Dave... ya got tha sweetest ass.." he slipped a single finger into the taller man's asshole and heard the infiltrator purr back through gritted teeth, "yer gonna love this, I promise."
The mercenary's breathing grew more ragged as Logan slid a second finger into him. He didn't feel pain, just the familiar stretch that he needed to adjust to. As Logan spread those fingers within his hole, he let out more soft hisses and snarls. After he felt the tightness yield, he looked the shorter man in the eye with a smirk of his own.
"Alright... 'm ready..."
Logan grinned wolfishly as he held the dildo up. There was a pump-like bulb at the base.
"Inflatable... starts out small and can get as big as ya want it."
Dave let out his own chuckle; it sounded raspier and more on-edge than Logan's.
"Sounds fun. Do it."
Without any hesitation he quickly slid the lube-slicked toy and lightly pressed it against Snake's entrance.
A sonorous but quiet moan spilled from Dave's lips as his ass yielded to the slow intrusion of the black rubber dildo; his iron-hard length throbbed in time with his heartbeat. He felt the toy move deeper and deeper within him; it ground against spots he thought only Hal knew about. The moment the base of the toy touched his butt he sharply drew breath. His grip on the sling was ruthlessly tight.
"How does it feel, Dave? C'mon, yer so sexy and strong and free now... ya deserve ta feel good... tell me..." Lemme hear ya... drop tha fuckin' stoic crap and say it... His fingers slowly squeezed the bulb and gradually the toy began to expand slightly inside the mercenary's ass.
A long, teeth-clenched, hissing moan erupted from the infiltrator's lungs as he felt the black rubber length fill him more completely; the familiar pressure in his loins only grew in response. His cheeks were flushed as he panted for more breath. And still words failed him, even as he felt the dildo begin to slide in and out of his asshole. He could only groan in response, but no longer was the sound attenuated.
Logan smirked with an inward smile at each unrestrained moan that came from the scar-covered, lithe mercenary. His sensitive ears still felt that aggressive rasp that lay on the edge of every sound the man made. His own fist moved up and down his again-rigid manhood as he slowly pumped the toy again.
The growl-laced roar that emerged from the Alaskan's mouth foreshadowed the drops of precum that dripped down his steel-hard shaft. The depth and the stretch of the toy inside him, the rough voice and soothing body heat of the man moving the toy in and out of him, the constant invitation to rip away all the protocol and decorum the military drilled into him... it was all too much. His resolve finally broke.
"Logan... fuck I'm gonna... gonna.." he couldn't string any more words together.
The Canadian didn't care; his eyes roamed over the sinewy chest that glittered with sweat, the delicious globes of muscle and the toy moving in and out of the tight entrance between them, and the ever-so-slight crumble of the mercenary's quiet, reserved demeanour. Only a bit... but its progress... "Yeah Dave... yer gonna cum, just like ya did when ya fucked my ass, yer gonna blow a huge load from me fuckin' yer sweet butt with this toy... and ya fuckin' love it dontcha?" He didn't need an answer.
One final strangled cry was wrenched from the infiltrator's lungs as he shot jets of seed over his own chest. Each successive blast from his cock was accompanied by a nearly angry grunt as beads of sweat trickled down from his face and along his corded, flexible torso.
Logan quickly followed; his own fist tightened around his thick shaft as his essence erupted from his body and landed on Snake. He barely took time to finish coming before he quickly withdrew the sex toy from Dave's ass and got his tongue working on those limber muscles. The cocktail of sweat and seed was lapped up off the scarred body of the mercenary; Logan's moans of relish combined with Dave's slow breaths in a call-and-response that punctuated the afterglow.
"Damn," the Alaskan said with a visible smirk on his face. "Was good."
"Still is," Logan replied as he looked up at Dave's face. Every trace was cleaned off of Dave's torso, "yer real tasty too..."
Dave only chuckled in reply as he sat up and slid out of the sling. "You wanna... do this again sometime?" Can I take some photos for Hal? he thought mischievously.
"Anytime, Dave."
The End
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