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Logan throws his pack onto the floor by the bed. He stretches his arms over his head, groaning when he hears a loud pop. He’s more than a little sore and exhausted; he’d spent the day navigating a rocky, snowy forest, and a portion of that climbing a mountain for three hours before he realized that he didn’t need to.
Point is, he’s more than ready to knock back a few beers and go the fuck to sleep. The mattress in the room he’s renting isn’t all that comfortable, but it’s a mattress, and that’s all he can ask for right now. None of the leads Charles gave him have actually led anywhere so far; he’s giving it another week before he calls it quits and heads back to Westchester.
He sits down on the edge of the bed, and the springs scream under his weight. He’s unlacing his boots when his phone starts ringing.
His first reaction is to be annoyed, because as much as he loves them, he’s really not in the mood to soothe the worries of one of the kids right now. Or listen to the Professor try to give him some sage wisdom, for that matter.
His second reaction, upon pulling his phone from his pocket and seeing Scott’s name on the screen, is confusion. Summers doesn’t usually call him when he’s away, unless it’s an emergency. Even then, he usually just shoots him a text.
He presses the call button, anxiety starting to settle under his skin.
“Hey, Logan,” Scott says on the other end. His voice is a little hushed, which makes sense. It’s past bedtime at the mansion.
“Slim,” he greets. “Everything okay?”
Scott laughs softly, but quickly cuts himself off with a rough breath in. Logan’s worries only increase.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he promises. “Just, uh. Just — missed you, I guess.”
Logan grins. “Oh?” he says, putting the phone between his shoulder and ear so he can finish taking off his shoes.
He settles himself at the head of the bed, back against the wall. “Gettin’ lonely without me there to keep your bed warm, huh?”
He really is not expecting to hear a quiet, breathy moan crackle over the speaker. His eyes go wide, and heat begins to pool in his stomach.
“Yeah,” Scott says on an exhale. “I am.”
“Scott?”
“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Scott mumbles. “Did you know that?”
Logan’s mouth feels strangely dry. “Knew it was coming up. Is that why you called me?”
Scott hums. Logan’s pants suddenly feel tight, because he recognizes that sound. He closes his eyes and sees Scott underneath him, cheeks red, trying to be quiet as Logan jerks him off or sucks his dick or any of the other things they’ve done in the several months they’ve been sleeping together.
“One of the reasons,” Scott whispers. Logan shifts, trying to relieve some of the pressure in his groin.
He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t been missing Scott a bit. He misses everyone else too, as well as having a good bed and the guarantee of three hot meals a day, but he’s spent the better part of this mission thinking about his stupid face. He wants to say it’s just because he hasn’t gotten laid in almost a month, but he knows it’s more than that.
He tries to keep his voice even and firm. “You in bed?”
“Yeah,” Scott sighs.
“What’re you doing?”
Scott laughs again. “What do you think?”
Logan leans his head back and stifles a groan. He briefly wishes his mutation let him transport. He’d give just about anything to be where Scott is right now, to be able to see him touching himself as he listens to Logan’s voice.
He palms himself through his jeans, pressing down just enough to make the ache more tolerable.
“Well, I got an idea, but I can’t be too sure,” he answers, because he wants to hear Scott say it.
Scott lets out another moan. “Fuck, Logan,” he says, already sounding a little desperate. “You’ve been gone for so long.”
“Barely a month,” Logan reminds him gently.
“Feels like a lot longer. Just thinking about you now makes me — makes me hard.”
A quiet rush of breath punctuates Scott’s confession. Logan presses his palm down harder. His mouth is more or less watering at the thought that he’s having this kind of effect on Scott even from so many miles away. It’s gonna be a long time before he comes up for air when he gets back, that’s for sure.
“Yeah?” he asks. “Fuck. Thinkin’ about anything specific?”
Scott whines a little. Logan hears a faint, slick sound, and he hurriedly starts undoing his pants. No fucking way is he gonna cream in his jeans listening to Scott jerk off. He’ll come outside of them, like a man.
“I wanna suck you off when you get back,” Scott murmurs. Logan grips his cock in one hand and presses the phone closer to his ear with the other. He wants to hear every sound, every word, every tiny whimper and gasp Scott can give him.
“Fine by me,” Logan grits out, jaw clenched. Scott huffs like he’s trying to laugh.
“Want your — want you in my mouth again,” he says hurriedly, and Logan grins. This is a bold move on Scott’s part; he’s pretty shy in bed, even still, and he never seems to want to voice any kinds of fantasies or desires. Maybe the holiday has given him some courage.
Logan gives himself a few slow strokes, sliding his thumb through the precome already leaking out of him. It doesn’t take much to get him going, but this is a new record. He grunts, the sound muffled in his throat, and he hears Scott’s breath hitch.
“Are you —?” he asks, like it’s been punched out of him.
“You thought you were gonna be the only one having fun?” Logan purrs, and he can practically feel the way Scott shivers. “It’d be better with you here, though.”
Scott gulps. “You wish I was jerking you off instead?”
“Hm. Maybe. But I’d probably just fuck you. Make you come on my cock the way you like so much.”
“Logan,” Scott groans. “I wish I was there, too. So you could fuck me. I — I tried, but it wasn’t the same, it wasn’t — ”
“You tried?” Logan says, hand stilling. An image of Scott fucking himself on his own fingers while moaning his name flashes in front of his eyes, and all the air leaves his lungs in an instant. His throat feels tight.
“I told you, I’m losing my mind here by myself. I’m so used to you being here, but I didn’t think it would be this bad.”
“Miss you too, Scotty,” he coos.
Scott whines again and it’s like a jolt of electricity, sparks tingling up Logan’s spine. Scott is shy, sure, but if Logan does his job right, he gets real noisy. Logan has dedicated a lot of time to finding out what moves in what order make Scott the most vocal; his theory that being a little sweet is the trick is turning out to be true.
He squeezes the base of his cock and gets to work again. He focuses in on the way Scott is breathing, hard and fast, the little sounds escaping his throat that he’s clearly trying to swallow. Logan hadn’t thought that this thing between them would become a need, but it has. He feels an overwhelming desire to be with Scott right now, followed quickly by a deep ache in his chest at the realization that it’s simply not possible.
That doesn’t stop him from craving the feeling of his lips against Scott’s skin, the clean smell of him in his nose, the heaving of his chest beneath his. He twists his wrist around the head of his dick, giving Scott a quiet moan, which seems to feed the fire that must be burning inside him right now.
“I’ve always wanted to do this,” he admits, and Logan moans again, though this time it’s involuntary. “Make you listen to me. Or listen to you. Even before we started — if you knew how much I thought about you naked — ”
“Oh, do tell,” Logan purrs, even though it’s a cheesy line. But Scott has always liked a little cheese, and who is he to deny him?
“Fuck,” Scott gasps. “Your body is fucking ridiculous. And the way you just flaunt it — it’s obscene, Logan. Like you want people to look.”
“Only you,” Logan admits, hurried and nervous, but Scott just whimpers again. He’s definitely not in the headspace to notice the difference between sweet talk and brutal honesty. Logan will forgive himself.
Frustration makes his chest tight. His hand feels fine, but it’s like Scott is taunting him. Letting him know exactly what he could have had if he had stayed. He wonders briefly if he’ll even be able to come, because nothing could ever compare to what Scott is able to do to him. Nothing else will ever be enough.
“I was thinking about comin’ back early,” Logan growls. Scott lets out a shaky breath.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Was gonna give it another week.”
“Too long,” Scott complains, heady and high-pitched. Logan squeezes himself again. “Tomorrow.”
Logan laughs lightly, though it quickly turns into a groan. “Slim — ”
“Tomorrow. And I’ll let you do whatever you want to me. Fuck my face, make me come as many times as you want, anything. Logan, I need — ”
“Jesus, Scotty,” Logan exhales heavily.
“I’ll be so good for you,” Scott promises, and Logan would think he was trying to be sexy if he didn’t sound so desperate.
Yeah, scratch whatever bullshit he said earlier. He is definitely going to come.
“You already are,” Logan tells him, hips thrusting up, fucking into his hand the way he would fuck into Scott’s body. His fingers are slick and if he closes his eyes and tightens his grip enough, he can pretend that it is Scott’s body.
“I’ll be even better,” Scott says, sounding like he’s begging. “Just be back here tomorrow. And I’m yours.”
Logan sucks in a harsh breath through his teeth, something feral and ancient stirring inside of him. “Say that again,” he demands.
“I’m yours,” Scott repeats. The wet sound of his hand working over his cock increases in volume, getting faster as he gets closer to the edge. “I’m yours, Logan.”
Logan nearly drops the damn phone. He feels white-hot, filled with lightning, crackling and alive. He lets his head fill with thoughts of mine, mine, he’s all mine, and he can’t be sure that he isn’t saying it out loud. He can’t feel the bed underneath him anymore, can’t hear the mattress creak and groan. All that exists is the friction on his cock and the sound of Scott panting and moaning and whining in his ear. He’s almost there, just needs Scott to keep talking, to keep saying shit like that. He thinks of purple bruises littered on pale skin, teeth marks indented in soft flesh, and lets out a borderline inhuman noise.
“Are you gonna come?” Scott asks, voice full of unashamed awe. “Fuck. Let me hear you come, Logan, please, wanna hear it.”
“M’close, Scotty,” Logan rumbles.
Scott lets another strangled whine rip from his throat. “Wish I was there to take it. Down my throat, inside of me, whatever you wanna give me.”
Logan thinks about what it feels like to come inside of Scott, what it was like the first time, when Scott grabbed his wrist as he was reaching for a condom. The pretty pink blush that spread across his cheeks when he admitted, I — I want to feel it.
Has Scott ever understood what that means to him? How it tied them in an unbreakable way, at least from Logan’s point of view? How sometimes it’s all Logan can think about, being camped inside the tight heat of him and claiming him like that?
“Logan,” Scott says, and he is begging now.
“M’gonna come, tell me — just say — ”
“Whatever you want,” he sobs. His breath shudders, halts, and something twisted and broken echoes over the phone.
Logan comes with a muffled grunt, hips snapping upward, teeth gritting. He must say his name, because Scott lets out a deflating whimper, probably all over sensitive and twitchy after coming. Logan, once again, wishes he was there to see it.
“Fuck,” he mumbles, tipping his head back. The ceiling above him is fuzzy and unfocused.
He hears Scott swallow thickly. He’s probably embarrassed now. Logan preemptively rolls his eyes.
“Good?” Scott asks, his voice small. Logan huffs, then grins, because Scott can’t see him do it.
“You can’t be serious,” he drawls, knowing it’ll get Scott defensive and snippy.
“I was just — whatever,” he says, then adds, “I hate you.”
“Sure you do,” Logan teases. He sighs. “I’m even more fuckin’ exhausted now.”
“Long day?” Scott questions.
Logan hums. “You don’t wanna know.”
There’s a short pause before Scott quietly says, “I kind of do.”
Logan doesn’t think about the drying cum on his hand and stomach, doesn’t think about the sleep tugging at the corners of his mind. Because Scott — Scott wants to know how his day was. And that feels infinitely more important than anything else.
He spends the next several minutes recounting the events of the day, his trek up a goddamn mountain, the puddles he stepped in, the chicken fried steak he’s sure would have given him indigestion if that was a thing his body was capable of. His healing factor quickly wipes his mind of any long-lasting post-orgasm effects, but it can’t get rid of the swelling in his chest at the sound of Scott laughing at his boring stories.
“You have a good day?” he asks during a lull, because he’s out of funny shit to say and doesn’t want to talk about any of the decidedly non-funny shit that happened.
“Do you care?” Scott asks, odd and forced.
“Did I say that?” Logan snaps without thinking, and then immediately regrets it. Of course he fucking cares. It pisses him off that Scott even asked. But more than that, he suddenly feels heavy, Scott’s prolonged silence and labored breathing doing nothing to lighten the mood.
“Shit, I didn’t mean — I just — Scott, listen — ”
“I think Kitty and Rogue have been sneaking out of the house after curfew,” Scott says quietly, hesitant humor in his voice. Logan blinks, then laughs.
“Oh yeah?”
Scott launches into the tale of his mysteriously half-empty gas tank, the morning Rogue came to breakfast with mascara all over her face even though she had definitely not been wearing mascara the day before, and the incredibly disappointing essay Kitty had turned in last week. Logan listens, laughs and curses when it’s appropriate, and lets the knot in his stomach loosen.
He thinks that he likes listening to Scott’s voice, even over the phone. Feels like something he’d hate to be without. Whatever that means.
“I should go to sleep,” Logan murmurs around a yawn. “Got a helluva drive tomorrow.”
Scott makes a noise that’s more or less a squeak. “You don’t actually have to — ”
“Hey now, you promised.”
“I did not,” he protests.
“Sounded like a promise to me. Gonna be good for me, right?”
Scott huffs but Logan just knows that he’s blushing right now. He grins softly, shuffling his body further down the bed. He wipes his hand on the sheet and can’t be bothered to put more effort into getting cleaned up.
“You’re awful,” Scott says after another beat.
“Whatever you say,” Logan mumbles, eyes slipping shut. “G’night, Slim.”
“Goodnight,” Scott says softly. Logan goes to hang up before he hears him say, “Oh, Logan?”
“Yeah?”
“Happy Valentine’s Day.”
Logan smiles, his whole body blooming with warmth.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Scotty.”