I Know What You Are
by
Mo


Disclaimer: The X-Men belong to Marvel. The movie belongs to Fox.

Feedback: All feedback is welcome. Please be gentle - it's my first time.

Archiving and forwarding: Certainly, just ask. Alternate file formats available upon request.

Scenario: The movie universe. I have included some elements from the books that didn't show up in the movie (e.g. the Danger Room), but only if, imo, they fit in with the movieverse.

This is the first of four series based upon the movie. A literature guide for the first two series ("I Know What You Are" and "We're Not What You Think") is available at the end of "We're Not What You Think". It contains spoilers, so read the stories first.

---

The Infirmary

Logan was, by nature, solitary. Under ordinary circumstances he didn't talk much, often went weeks without saying a sentence longer than "Give me a beer." He moved from place to place, with no physical contact with other humans save for fighting and fucking. In both cases it was contact with someone he didn't know and would never see again.

He didn't find it easy, at first, to be living at Xavier's. It was noisy and crowded and everything seemed to be done in groups. And it was full of these fresh-faced young kids, brimming with hope and possibility (but suddenly remembering appointments in the opposite direction whenever Logan approached). He certainly never expected he'd spend this much time in a school, or any other institution. He had had enough of the institutional life in the army. And he'd had more than enough of young people full of ideals, thinking they were learning how to defend themselves, ith no sense they were soon going to die in pain and in dirt. Oh, that wasn't how Cyclops and the rest of those geeks saw their students, Logan knew. But, then again, Summers was looking at the world through rose-colored glasses. Logan tended to think that the metal guy with the number on his arm was right on this one - there was a war coming. And Logan had seen enough of war. His "battle plan" was simple - he would find as safe a place to hide as he could and wait this one out.

In the meantime, he was here for a while. He had been in a coma for several weeks after touching Marie at the end of his one and only mission as an X-Man. It was worth it - saved the kid's life - but he was terribly out-of-shape from just lying there in the infirmary. He needed to be in fighting trim before he headed out. And he wanted a better idea of where he was going. The Professor had given him some leads on places to go to find out who had turned him into what he was today. He was determined to follow up on those leads. The conviction that he would, eventually, kill the people who had experimented on him was one of the few things that made his life worth living. Ororo had offered to do some further research on the places Xavier had mentioned, so Logan could go there armed with knowledge. She seemed to think he was just seeking his roots - sort of a mutant variation of those people who get all excited about tracking down their family trees. He didn't disabuse her of the notion - better her in the library than him.

And once Logan worked out a routine, he found life at the school wasn't that bad. Logan was indeed solitary but he was also by nature nocturnal. He found that sleeping much of the day and roaming at night kept him by himself a lot. It also meant that there was no competition for the parts of the school he wanted to himself - the Danger Room, the jogging track, the gym, the pool. Besides, he'd much rather eat by raiding the kitchen, or going into town for a burger and a beer than sit at a table in the crowded dining hall. He felt better sleeping during the day, not worrying about scaring the students if he had another one of his nightmares. He locked his room door whenever he was in there, not willing to take any chances after what had happened with Marie. He knew, though, that they were all too scared to go near his room, anyway.

So he had settled in and adjusted fairly well. Pausing for a cigar and a beer after demolishing robots in the Danger Room one night, Logan reflected happily that he seemed to be getting back to full strength. It shouldn't be long before he'd be heading out.

His thoughts were interrupted by the faint sounds of someone approaching. Strange for anyone but him to be coming to the Danger Room in the middle of the night. Not necessarily bad, but strange and worthy of caution. The lights were already off and he quietly moved to the entrance, claws extended, ready to take whoever entered by surprise. The door opened and Logan jumped the intruder from behind, which is how he found himself on the floor of the Danger Room lying on top of the field leader of the X-Men.

Scott was breathing hard. It took him a minute to realize what had happened. He had walked into the Danger Room and suddenly he was laying prone, with Logan on top of him, claws extended. It was sudden and frightening and the most unsettling part about it was that he wasn't sure he wanted him to get off. Not that he was willing to let that show or even dwell on the idea. "For Chrissakes, Logan, get off of me!" he yelled. "What do you think you're doing?"

***

I got up, claws still out, looking down at him on the floor. "You come into the Danger Room, Cyclops, you should at least be prepared for a little danger," I said.

"Are you authorized to use the Danger Room at night?" Summers shot back, reaching for his glasses as he stood up.

I was quicker than him, pushing him into the wall, one arm across his chest. I retracted the claws on my other hand and grabbed him by the chin. "Keep your hands away from the glasses, Summers. So, using the Danger Room without being 'authorized' is a capital crime around here?"

He didn't move. I could feel his pulse racing. I had him pinned and there was no way he could get away. I pressed against him, not letting him raise his arms to take those glasses off and kill me with a glance. Could he, would he kill me if I let his arms go? Maybe. Maybe those optic blasts would be fast enough and lethal enough that the healing factor wouldn't matter at all. Where were you, Cyclops, when I was trying to kill myself daily? That's when it would have been nice to know that yes, looks can kill. Well, right now I wasn't going to let you. Maybe someday if the desperate feeling came back in full force. Right now I was busy holding you still, looking at you, feeling you scared, but oh so hard against my thigh. And wasn't that a surprise? All that hostility aimed at me since the day I'd first seen you, when I wouldn't touch you, wouldn't shake your hand. So, is this what was fueling it?

I rubbed him a little with my thigh, just to make him squirm. He tried not to react but I heard a sharp intake of breath. Then he composed himself and said, quietly, "I wasn't going to hurt you, Logan. I was reaching for my glasses to get them on securely. You knocked them askew when you jumped on me. My eyes have been closed since you first jumped me. Look for yourself - you won't see the red glow. Now will you let me go?"

I released him and he straightened his glasses. He may have smiled - so hard to tell what those slight upturns of the mouth mean without eyes for punctuation. "I don't kill people," he said. "I've spent most of my life trying my damnedest not to kill people. I'm not making an exception for you, even if you infuriate me."

Thought he was going to get away with that. "Is that what I do to you, Summers?" I said, eyes on his crotch. "I don't think so." He turned bright red. I just waited a minute, enjoying his discomfort. "So, do you always get hard when a man touches you, or just when it's me?" He started to protest but I stopped him quickly. "Look, Summers, I'm not prejudiced. Sex is sex and I've done without for too long, anyway. You like dick? Fine with me. Eat me."

***

So I did. And looking back I can't say I know why I just went ahead and sucked him off. When he touched me, held me down like that, I wanted to think I was just generally aroused with fear and with anger. Wanted him to think that, too, but he didn't fall for it. And when he talked about doing without for too long it just echoed and echoed in my head. I also had done without what I needed for too long.

Too long. Much too long and too much time and energy spent on not counting the time. On forgetting. On pretending to forget. Feeling always that I had to just keep my mind away from there. Telling myself again and again "That way madness lies. Let me shun that". And driving myself half-mad with the shunning. I said nothing. Got down on my knees in front of him. He stood there with that superior smirk on his face, and unzipped his pants. I took out his cock and held on, licking up and down the shaft, feeling him grow hard as I touched and kissed. He ran his fingers through my hair and seemed almost gentle. Then he wasn't gentle any more. He was pulling my hair, commanding me to suck it in a strange voice that sounded not quite human. I took him into my mouth, wondering if he would kill me when he was done with me- I didn't think so, but I wasn't sure. Would he let me just leave, afterwards, not knowing if I would tell anybody that he made me - let me - do this?

The thoughts came and went and I was back to thinking "too long". And then not even thinking that, lost in the moment and the rhythm and the sounds and the feelings. It felt good. Really good. I concentrated on what I was doing and on how it felt. Tried not to think about what it meant or where this was going. I knew what to do, and I knew how to make it last a long time. So I did, not knowing when or if it would happen again. Finally, consumed and exhausted, hoping the taste and the feel of Logan's cock in my mouth was forever imprinted on my brain, I finished him off, looking up to watch his face as he came. His whole face lost some of its feral quality, relaxed for a few seconds there. He looked almost vulnerable. Then he smiled, watching me swallow his cum.

I sat back on my heels a minute, looking at him. "Thanks, Summers," he said, still smiling. I stood up and started to leave. "Oh and Summers," he added, "I do kill people. But I'm willing to make an exception for you, even though you infuriate me."



The Pool

He came back for more the next night. It was different that time - no fighting, no talking. I couldn't tell what he was thinking. It felt good but I wanted more. Wanted to touch him, to kiss him, to hold him, to bite him, to use my claws on him, but I didn't do any of that. When he stood up afterwards I could see he was hard, ready, but not for me. He left quickly again, and I sat there on the floor of the Danger Room for a long time, thinking of him and Jean in their room three floors up. Cursing them both.

He was back again the night after that. And a lot more nights after that. It became almost a routine. He'd show up, having said God knows what to Jean, and I'd tell him to blow me or give me a hand job, or both. Usually I made him take his clothes off first; I liked looking at him. When he was done he'd dress and leave. Sometimes he'd say good-bye, sometimes he'd go without a word. Going back to her, hard-on showing through his jeans.

But some nights he stayed a while. I told him I'd teach him some stuff, things he could use on his missions. He didn't want to know anything lethal -said again he didn't want to kill anyone - so I taught him some self-defense techniques he hadn't heard of. It was kind of fun. He approached it with the control and concentration he put into everything, trying again and again, not stopping until he had mastered the technique. It didn't matter how many times he ended up on his ass trying.

And sometimes we did other things - jogged around the track together, worked out in the gym, or took off all of our clothes and swam in the school pool. We were at the pool one night and I was sitting on the side, having told him I'd count laps for him. But I'd sort of lost track just watching that long, lovely body sliding through the water. I figured I'd distract him so he wouldn't realize I'd let down my side. So, I told him to get out of the pool and blow me. He did and then I was hard again so I put his hand on me. He stroked me, gentle then rough, brought me off again.

"How come you get hard again right away, Logan?" he asked me. "I've never known anyone who could, again and again like that."

"I don't know. I think it's part of the mutation. Maybe related to the healing factor. As long as I can remember I've been like that."

" 'Vanishingly short refractory period', Jean would call that," he said with a smile.

"Does she really talk like that?" Summers nodded solemnly. "Well, better you than me, bub," I said and we both laughed. "About your doctor girlfriend, why does she want to see me tomorrow? Do you know?"

"She's working on a long term project, cataloguing mutation varieties. She's supposed to examine you and interview you about all your mutant powers. I know she was going to do it earlier but then, after the problem with Rogue, she wanted to wait until you had your strength back. So I would guess that's what it's about." He looked like he was about to say something else but didn't.

"Well, that's okay I guess. I don't much like dealing with doctors but your Jeannie's so pretty I'm willing to make an exception. I'll have to remember to mention the 'vanishingly short refractory period' when she interviews me. Women like that, whether they use big words or not."

Now Summers had to say something. "Logan, please," he said, so intense, his hand on mine. "Don't tell her anything about this. Don't let her know. You're leaving soon - it doesn't matter to you. But this is my home; Jean's my lover; she'll be my wife, eventually. I swear I'll do whatever you tell me to, but don't ruin my life."

"How come she doesn't know already?" I asked him. "Doesn't she read minds?"

"Well, I mostly try not to think about things I don't want her to know," he said. "And when I can't," - he was blushing now, turning away from me -"I stay away from her."

"Is that how it's always been? She never knew you liked guys?"

"Well, she wasn't always telepathic. When we were first here she was just telekinetic. It's in the last few years that she started showing some telepathic ability and Charles has been working with her on developing it. But I haven't - it's been years - I never..." His voice trailed off. Then he said it again, "Please, Logan. Don't say anything to her."

I didn't answer except to say, "Over here, Summers. I want some more."

He came over, smiling nervously, saying "You're insatiable."

"Yeah, sometimes."

"Well, I'm indefatigable," he replied, "so we're a good match."

"I'll look it up later. Right now I want you to put your tongue right here" - pointing at the center of my neck - "and work your way down. Slowly. Yeah, that's right. Make me feel really good, Cyclops, and maybe I'll be motivated to keep your little secret."

He did. His tongue felt amazing on my neck, my chest. Those long elegant fingers roamed over my body, too, finding places and feelings I'd almost forgotten. By the time he was sucking me again, I felt like I was going to explode. He kept me right on the edge, though, wouldn't let me come yet. I was willing to let him drive, wasn't sure I wanted to come, anyway. It was too good like this, almost but not quite there. So I stroked his cheeks a little, ran my fingers through his soft hair. Told him he was good, told him he was brave, told him he was strong. It was almost perfection and I felt like I could go on forever like that. Then, without warning, I couldn't take it any more. Told him to suck harder and faster. Shoved it down his throat when I came. After I was done he rubbed his neck, hurting but not saying anything.

I lay back on the floor by the pool. He sat next to me for a few minutes and then got on top of me. It felt glorious to have the whole length of him stretched over me, holding my cock, whispering poetry in my ear. I held his ass in my hands, then spread the cheeks and slid a finger inside. What would it be like to bury myself deep inside you, Scott Summers? I thought. Just for a little while. I worried about the time I was losing, knew I should have headed out days ago. I realized with a sad certainty that it was going to be hard to leave this place. I couldn't remember anywhere that had been hard to leave before. It occurred to me that, maybe, that was the saddest part of all.

Summers was still lying on me, still stroking me with those expert hands, still talking softly in my ear. "Please, Logan," he was saying now. "I do everything you tell me to. You know I do. I try so hard to make you happy. Please don't hurt me. Don't tell Jean about this. Please be kind."

I didn't answer right away. Just let him keep doing what he was doing. I thought about him, thought about leaving, thought about kindness. Years from now, Summers, when you talk about this - and you will- will you be kind? Will you say that there was a time when someone needed you so much, to keep his demons at bay? Or will you say that a clawed maniac made you suck his dick, night after night? Because both of those are true, my beautiful friend, but only one is kind.

But I didn't say any of that. Just told him to rub harder. He repositioned slightly, so my cock was right between those strong swimmer's thighs. And flexed and rubbed against me, using his hands at the base and his thighs on the head. My finger was still inside him and when he made me come, it shot onto his ass and my hand. "I'm not a kind person," I said to him, finally. "You know that by now, don't you, Cyclops?"

"I think you can be, Logan. I think sometimes you're kind to me. And sometimes, when you aren't, I think you wish you were."

I wasn't sure what I'd say to Dr. Grey the next day. I figured I'd see how I felt.



The Infirmary

Logan showed up in the infirmary at the appointed time. Jean greeted him and they went into her office. Logan listened while Jean explained her project. She asked if she could examine him, do a few tests, and ask him some questions.

"No injections, okay?" he said. "I don't like injections."

"Yeah, I remember. That's how we met, isn't it? I tried to give you an injection."

"I'm really sorry about that. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"It's okay. We've been through a lot since then. So, can I examine you?" she asked.

"Oh, you can do anything you want to me, Jean," Logan replied with a flirtatious look.

"Except injections," they both said together and then laughed.

They spent the next hour on the examination and tests. She measured his claws, had him extend them all at once, one at a time, and pretty much every combination. Hesitated about the healing factor, saying she didn't want to hurt him. But he told her it really was just injections he minded and she cut him on the arm and watched it heal. Took x-rays of his adamantium-lined skeleton. Tested his vision and hearing. Did a bunch of other tests he didn't understand.

And then she interviewed him at length about the mutation gifts and how he used them. She was particularly interested in his heightened senses and asked lots of questions about how his hearing, sight, and smell differed from that of normal people.

"So, if your eyes were closed, Logan, could you identify who's in the room just by smell?"

"Yeah, sure," he replied. "Everybody smells different. That's how I could always tell if it was Mystique when you and the others couldn't - she can change her shape but not her smell."

He paused again and thought a little more about it. "And it's not just that I can identify individuals. I can tell something about them. Not what they're thinking - I can't read minds like you can. But I know if someone's scared. Or angry. Or horny," he added with a significant glance towards her. "And have I mentioned I like the way you smell, Dr. Grey?"

"Logan, please -" she started. "I'm really uncomfortable with how you are always coming on to me. I've felt this way for some time. I don't know if you are just flirting or you're really interested. But if you mean it, I need you to know - it's just not going to happen. I'm with Scott and I love him. I'm sorry if I've given you the wrong impression - I've certainly tried not to. I do want to be your friend. But it's just never going to be anything more than that. What Scott and I have isn't something I'm willing to risk - "

"Jean, really, you don't need to say -" he began, reaching out to touch her hand. Suddenly the office just faded away and he was somewhere else. He felt totally different - like he had been transformed but he didn't know how or in what way. He looked and saw he was in a bedroom he couldn't remember ever being in. Scott Summers was sitting on the edge of the bed and Logan found himself looking up at him, kneeling on the floor. And he had the head of Scott's cock in his mouth and was licking and sucking on it, working the shaft with his hands, moving up and down a little with his mouth. And he could hear Summers saying, oh so gently, "Yes, hon, that's right. That feels good. Real good. Can you take more in now?".

Logan pulled his hand back and the whole scene faded and he was sitting in Jean's office again. "What the hell was that?" he asked, moving farther from Jean.

"Oh God! I'm so sorry, Logan," she replied. "I really, really didn't mean to do that."

"What just happened to me?" he asked again.

"It's called telepathic projection. I was, well, remembering something and it was a vivid memory and you touched me then and...sometimes it just happens like that. Believe me, it's not something I wanted you to see. Or experience. I'm sure Scott would die if he knew you did."

"Okay, I get the message" he said, with a slightly sardonic grin. "And it's nice to know why suddenly I had long red hair and boobs, not to mention not having other parts I'm kind of attached to. So, that was you on the floor there, not me. And Scott Summers is the mutant equivalent of Prince Charming and your love is undying and you suck his dick every night. Fine. I think I'd rather not be inside your brain from now on, though, Jean. I hope you don't mind. I'm still willing to consider being in other parts of your body, though, if you ever get bored with that guy."

And, with that, he got up and left her office. But he stopped in the hall for a minute, remembering Jean's memory, savoring it, wishing it had been his own after all.

Scott Summers stopped by Jean's office to pick her up for lunch. Logan was leaving as he approached and Scott almost ran in the other direction, but decided he was being silly. "Hi, Logan," he said quietly.

"Hello, Summers," Logan replied. "Come to see your girlfriend? Well, it might not be the best time. Maybe she's not so interested in being with you, right now. Maybe she just got some shocking news." His tone was teasing and Scott couldn't tell if Logan meant what he was saying. Then he got the serious, commanding look on his face and said, right in Scott's ear, "I'll be in the Danger Room tonight. You, too." He took Scott's hand and put it on his crotch. Scott could feel him getting hard at his touch. "See you later," he said, and he was gone.

Scott entered Jean's office with trepidation. She was just sitting there, seemingly lost in thought. He called her name twice before she noticed he was there.

"Oh, Scott. I'm sorry. I didn't see you. We need to talk. About Logan."

"What about Logan?"

"About you and Logan. And about us."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Scott said anxiously. She reached out to touch his hand but he pulled back.

"Scott, sweetheart, " she said, plaintively. "We can't just keep pretending nothing is going on."

"What did he say to you?" Scott's voice was rising.

"It's not any one thing he said. Or that you said, for that matter. " she replied. "It's the whole atmosphere between the two of you, the way you are angry with him all the time. He's having an effect on you. He's having an effect on us."

"He's an arrogant bastard and he has absolutely no respect for me. And he thinks he can just take whatever he wants. Yes, that has an effect on me. I'm surprised it doesn't bother you," he said, trying to turn the conversation back to Jean.

"Scott," she said, eyes full of love. "He doesn't mean anything by it when he flirts with me. It's just his way. You know, I don't even think he's that interested in me. I think he just acts like that because he knows it gets to you. And, for what it's worth, I told him just now that nothing is ever going to happen between him and me, that I'm committed to you. To us."

"Well, it does get to me. Do you think I like the idea of you alone with him, examining him, and him trying to get into your pants the whole time?" He tried to sound belligerent, tried to put his jealous lover's face back on. But, truly he was relieved to know that, rather than tell her the truth, Logan had come on to Jean.

"I just think it's silly, darling, for you to get so bent out of shape about it. You know I love you. Why do you care what he says or does? I'm never going to be anything but his friend."

"You can't be his friend, Jean. He's not capable of friendship. He's a murderer. He's a fucking maniac!"

"Scott, please," she said. "You're upset."

"I don't need you to tell me I'm upset, Jean. I know when I'm upset. Have I ever told you how annoying that is? I really don't need a constant telepathy demo. 'Scott, you're upset.' 'Scott, you're jealous.' 'Scott, you're anxious.' I know what's going on in my own damn brain."

"I don't think that's fair at all," she said, starting to cry. "I'm not doing anything like that. I'm trying to talk to you. I'm trying to figure out what's going on with us. And I don't know what's going on in your brain. You're shutting me out. Shutting me out of everything. We haven't had sex in weeks. Why? Why won't you let me touch you?" Scott didn't answer. She continued, "I think it's because of Logan. Your jealousy is getting in the way. It's like he's a presence between us, stopping us from having any kind of normal relationship. And I don't know what to do about it."

"Just stay away from him! You've done the interview, the exam. You don't need to spend any more time with him, Jean. He's not what you think he is. He's not some sort of misunderstood, tortured soul. He's cold and he's cruel. He'll destroy you if you try to get close to him. He'll destroy us. You think I'm jealous, but that's not it - I'm terrified. You don't know what he's capable of. He could spoil everything we've worked our whole lives to build."

Now Jean was really crying. Scott put his arms around her, saying, "I'm sorry, hon. I know it's no picnic living with me lately. Things will be fine when he's gone, really. It'll be the way it used to be. But, please, stay away from him. Or at least don't be alone with him. And I don't want him knowing anything about you and me, okay?"

***

I felt like a heel afterwards, knowing I had betrayed him when he had, after all, kept faith with me. He hadn't told Jean anything, hadn't jeopardized my position. So there was something so do-it-to-Julia about my warning Jean about him, describing him as dangerous and insane. Still, all I had said about him was true and just because he hadn't betrayed me this time didn't mean he wouldn't next time. I couldn't take the chance any more. I resolved right there and then not to meet him in the Danger Room that night, or ever again.



The Classroom

It's a tough class to teach. All girls and all interested in me for reasons unconnected with my knowledge of Victorian poetry. Which sounds conceited, and I'm sorry, but I don't think it is, really. They are constantly trying to get my attention, jockeying for position in the class, staying after to ask an important question that seems suddenly to not be so important or even remembered when the others have left. It's enough to make me glad when a mission takes me away from school on a Wednesday. I may be risking my life saving an ungrateful humanity, but at least I'm not dying of embarrassment while a bunch of teenage girls fight over me. Well, that's what it feels like. And, even if I didn't trust my own perceptions, Jean had told me when she saw the roster that this would be a tough class since it was full of girls with crushes on me. I have often had reason to regret having a telepathic lover but it's a good thing sometimes, particularly when I'm not sure if I'm imagining something like this. Anyway, Jean assured me that I'd get through the semester and probably even manage to teach them something about poetry. And joked that I wouldn't have a chance to get fired if I laid a hand on any of them because she'd kill me first.

Okay, so she was a little far from the mark. But that was at the beginning of the term, before this whole thing with Logan started. And, really, I think at that time I too would have thought I was in more danger of being caught in a compromising position with Kitty or Jubilee than with a man. I had become so practiced at forgetting that I almost believed that this had always been my life, almost purged my memory of the time before Charles found me and brought me here. And even of those first few years I was at the school - before Jean loved me, before I thought I had a chance at a normal life. Or at least as normal a life as a brain-damaged mutant can hope for.

And it still shocks me how close I came to losing all that. I truly love Jean. She's everything I want in a woman. I want to spend my life with her. I love my work, both as teacher and as field leader. I consider myself so blessed to have found a home here, a community, a place where I really belong and where I can make a contribution to society. And I've always been someone who could keep himself in check. I needed to be - you can't go for months without opening your eyes unless you have a lot of self-control. So I couldn't understand how I could have lost that control over someone who didn't even like me and sometimes seemed barely human, to boot. Lost my control and almost jeopardized everything I care about in life for the taste and the feel of him, for his smile when I pleased him.

But I was starting to feel like I was back on track. I hadn't sought Logan out in the Danger Room for several nights now. I knew he was right down the hall from Jean and me, but I walked the other way, never went by his room. His door was always closed, anyway, and he never hung out in the teachers lounge or had meals in the dining hall. I managed to keep my mind off of him most of my waking hours and if I was less successful when dreaming, well, I was willing to cut my unconscious mind some slack. And I knew he'd be leaving soon and figured after that even my subconscious would calm down. I could go back to making love with Jean, I could go back to practicing in the Danger Room, I could go back to concentrating on teaching and on the team. I could go back to living my life.

So, there I was, teaching "The Ballad of Reading Gaol." It's a poem I have always loved, even though I know it's considered too sentimental for modern tastes. And maybe I like it in part because that line about killing with a bitter look hits home to me for all the times I've tried not to. Or maybe it's the image of poor, doomed Oscar writing it in his prison cell that reminds me that yes, self-control is important. I'm getting a few dreamy looks from the kids in front of me and I can't say the topic has their whole attention but basically the class is going well. I had "Each man kills the thing he loves but each man does not die" up on the board and we were discussing that line and its function in the poem. And I was struck, as I am so often, by just how much life experience these kids bring to the table by the time they come here. Many of them have been kicked out of their homes and lost their families; all of them have experienced great loss and rejection; all of them have struggled with learning to control their powers or accepting that they can't. And they could talk about that line, with its themes of destruction and callousness and the universality of human cruelty and it meant something very real to them. The discussion was going well and I was feeling pretty pleased with myself when Logan opened the door and walked into the classroom.

He didn't say a word, just took a seat in the empty back row and looked straight at me. The girls in the class turned around when he walked in, and gave him that frightened look that most of the students had for him. All except Marie, who waved and smiled. He smiled back at her. She thought he was there to see her, I'm sure. I hoped he was there to see her. I said, "Can I help you, Logan?" and he said "No, I'll wait. Carry on."

The girls all looked to the front again and I tried to go back to leading the discussion, becoming more and more nervous as he fixed that stare on me. And then he wasn't just staring. He raised his hand and folded it into a loose fist, as if he were holding something in it. Then he brought it close to his mouth. Stuck out his tongue and licked his lips. And proceeded to mime licking and sucking an invisible cock, staring fixedly at me all the while. I was flat out terrified. Anyone seeing him would know exactly what he was getting at. What if one of the girls turned around? What if someone walked by the classroom? I looked at him, willing him to stop, but he just kept on with his act. And scared as I was I was also starting to feel hot, remembering sucking him, remembering touching him, seeing his face and those powerful hands and remembering how he held my head and stroked my cheeks and told me he liked it.

The rest of the class was a blur. For once it ended without any of the girls trying to stay after to talk to me. They all dashed out as quickly as they could, all except Marie who stayed and tried to get Logan to come for a walk with her. He joked with her a little, chatted with her, but then turned her down, saying he had "something important to say to the teacher." She left, but not before extracting a promise from him to have lunch with her the next day.

And then we were there alone in the classroom. I didn't know what to say or do. "Where you been, Cyclops?" he asked. "I was starting to think you might be off on some super-secret mission." And then, taking one finger and drawing it slowly across my mouth, he gave me a mocking smile and said "I missed you."

"I've been busy, Logan," I said, anxiously, glad for once that no one could see my eyes.

"Busy with Jean? Is the good doctor keeping you real busy, Summers?" he asked, again with that teasing look. Did he know that I hadn't made love to Jean since the first time with him in the Danger Room? I was scared to touch her, scared to let her touch me, worried that as soon as I got aroused I would think of Logan and she'd know. I cursed myself for ever having gone to the Danger Room at night in the first place and for going back again and again. I cursed Jean for developing telepathy, cursed Logan for using me and scaring me and reminding me of things I'd tried so hard to forget.

"Let's leave Jean out of this," I said, steadying myself. "Look, Logan, this whole thing was a big mistake. I'm sorry, but I just can't any more. I think it's best we just go back to avoiding each other until you're done here."

"I'm not done with you," he said, with a quiet urgency that frightened me. He looked ferocious, animal-like. He put his hand on my shoulder and held me still, the metal inside gripping me, holding me. I couldn't go anywhere, even if I wanted to. And then his whole aspect just changed and it was like he turned into someone else. He smiled at me, not that mocking smile but a genuine one - the way he was smiling at Rogue when she was trying to get him to go for a walk, a smile for a friend. "Come on, Cyclops," he said, unzipping his fly. "Make me feel good."

All my resolve just melted away and all I wanted to do was please him. I started to get down on my knees but he stopped me and said "Close your eyes, now. I want to see your face," and I shut my eyes and he took my glasses off. And he just held my head in his hands for a moment and then he gently pushed me down. And I asked for the glasses back but he said "After".

Well, I'd certainly done this by feel before. It felt strange, though, reminding me of all the times and all the men before I had ever known about ruby quartz glasses or Charles or Jean or even known that there were other mutants in the world. After he came he pulled me to a standing position and pressed the glasses back into my hand. But I didn't put them on, kept my eyes shut and reached out with my other hand and pulled his head towards me. And then I kissed him, pushing my tongue in his mouth so he could taste himself on me. At first I thought he would push me away but he didn't. He put his arms around me and kissed me back, and I was the one to pull away first. I put my glasses back on and looked at him. He looked happy, at peace, pleased with me. Then his face changed again and that animal look was back and he said "Don't make me come looking for you again". And with that he zipped his pants up, turned and walked out of the classroom.



Back to the Danger Room

Scott fell to his knees and reached for Logan's fly. Logan grabbed him by the wrist and stopped him. "Not yet, Summers, " he said, smiling. "We're going to do something else first." Scott looked up at him warily. He watched as Logan, standing there, still smiling, extended one claw - the middle one on his right hand. He held Scott's head still with his left hand, gripping Scott's chin. It hurt. It hurt a lot - it felt like he was being held in a vice. Then, with Scott's head immobile, Logan started using the claw on him. Not cutting, not stabbing, not hurting him at all with it. Just touching Scott's face and head - running the claw through his hair, along his jaw line, across his forehead. And then, with a terrifying gentleness, back and forth across his mouth.

"Lick it, Summers," he said in a tone that left no room for argument. Scott tentatively opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, sliding it across the length of the cold metal. "Careful, now. The edges are sharp." Scott kept licking slowly, carefully, trying not to shake. After a while Logan pulled the claw away and then moved his hand back, repositioning it so the tip was pointing right at the center of the kneeling man's mouth. "Open your mouth, Summers. Suck it in," he said, quietly, determinedly.

Now Scott couldn't help shaking. His whole body was trembling uncontrollably and he was trying to shrink back, still held immobile by that powerful hand.

"No, Logan. Please."

"I'm not going to hurt you, Cyclops. You don't have to take it all the way in. I don't even know if you can. Just suck it in a little way. Careful now. That's it. You've got it now. A little further."

The shaking stopped. Scott concentrated on what he was doing. The metal warmed in his mouth and he managed to relax his throat and bit by bit the claw went further in. He silently prayed - to God or to the man in front of him, he wasn't sure which - "Don't let it slice me, Don't let me die this way." And then, after what seemed like forever, Logan was saying "That's good, you did great. Just hold still and open your mouth wide and I'll take it out. Okay. Good. I'm ready now."

And he was. His cock was pushing against his pants and Scott unzipped him and started working him with his mouth and his hands. He was shaking a little again, but that subsided pretty quickly and he soon got into it. "What the hell am I doing? Why am I here?" passed through his mind along with the half-joking answer that sucking the cock of a clawed madman was a perfect activity for a place known as the Danger Room. And then he wasn't thinking about danger or the claws or what had happened to his previously controlled, well-ordered life. He was thinking of the feel of Logan's dick in his mouth, the taste of his precum, the sound of him breathing hard, the feel of Logan's powerful thighs - skin and hair and muscle and the unyielding metal underneath. And he wondered how he had managed so long without those tastes and sounds and feelings and dreaded the day when he'd have to do without again.

Logan didn't last long, coming hard and hot in Scott's mouth, When he was done he sat down on the floor. Scott hesitated, not knowing whether to stay or to leave. He sat down on the floor next to Logan, who seemed to not know or care he was there. They sat there side-by-side, backs against the wall, each lost in his own private thoughts. After a while, Scott took Logan's hand, a little surprised that the other man didn't stop him. He spread out Logan's fingers, looking intently at the places between the knuckles.

"Give up, Summers," he said. "There's nothing to see." But he didn't take his hand away.

"I thought there might be scars."

"I don't scar. "

"How do you make them come out?" Scott asked.

"I don't know. They just do. I mean, they're part of me. It's like asking how do you move your arm or open your mouth. When I want them to come out, they do. When I want to retract them, they go back in." Logan thought about it a little more and said, "Were you ever able to make the blasts come out when you want them to?"

"No." Scott looked down. "It happens whenever I open my eyes, whenever I see. Charles thinks it's because of brain damage from an accident I had when I was a child. It's like my power switch is permanently stuck at "on". Nothing can block it but the ruby quartz. I have the glasses for non-combat use. The visor I use on missions gives me more control because I can open it a little or a lot to control the intensity. But it's a prosthetic. It's not part of me."

"Where'd you get the glasses and the visor?"

"We made them here. In the lab. Once Charles figured out about ruby quartz the rest was just design and manufacture. I have a few pairs, just in case. And I have sleep goggles, too. I don't really need them, though. I can keep my eyes closed at night until I get my glasses on, even if I wake suddenly. But Jean feels safer if I wear the goggles at night."

"Well, you wouldn't want her feeling like she's taking her life in her hands every time she sleeps with you, would you?"

"No, of course not. I don't mind wearing them. It makes her feel more secure."

"Marie's power is stuck on "on", too, isn't it? Is that why she can't touch anyone without absorbing all that? Is that from brain damage, too?" Logan had that soft look he got whenever he talked about Rogue.

"I don't know. We don't really know yet what her problem is. Charles thinks, though, that there's nothing to do for her except help her get used to it." Scott paused again. Then, he asked Logan, "What does it feel like when the claws come out?"

"Take a steak knife and push it into the flesh of your hand and you'll get the general idea. 'Course you need 3 knives for the full effect," he added, cheerfully. "What about your blasts? What do they feel like?"

"Hot. And my head hurts." Emboldened by the tone of the conversation, Scott asked, "Can you feel with the claws? Could you feel it in my mouth?"

Logan didn't say anything for some time and Scott thought he may have gone too far. But then, after a long pause he did answer. "Well, not exactly. Not like I can feel it when you're sucking on my cock, or even on a finger. There aren't any nerves or anything. But your mouth is warm and the metal conducts. I feel the heat in my hand, and the pressure. I guess it's like if I licked your fingernail, you'd feel it in your hand."

"So, why did you want me to do it?"

"I don't know. Wanted to see what it would be like. Wanted to see if you would do it." He looked intently at Scott. "So, why did you?"

"I don't know. I guess because you told me to." Hearing that, Logan smiled again.

"That's what this is all about for you, isn't it? Me on my knees and you telling me what to do." Scott said it quickly, worrying again that he had gone too far, but Logan didn't seem angry with him.

"Well, one way or another that's part of it. Sure. For you as much as for me, I bet, whether you want to admit it or not. But it's not all, Summers. You give good head. Really good. When you're sucking me it feels like... well I don't know what it feels like, but it's really good. It's like you've got a gift for it or something."

"It's not a gift," Scott replied, turning to face Logan. "Just a learned skill.

"Practice makes perfect." he added with a wry smile. And then, turning his face away from Logan, added, "You could learn how, too. I could teach you."

"I don't do that."

"Why not?"

"I just don't."

Another long pause and then Scott, still holding Logan's hand, brought it to his own crotch. "Okay," he said. "So do me with your hand." Logan took his hand away and shook his head. "Save it for Jean," he said.

"Fuck, Logan, you think it doesn't count if you don't touch me?" Scott said, his voice rising now. "It's still me sucking you off. It's still a man turning you on. There are plenty of women here you could have but it's me you chose. And it's me you're looking at every chance you get, even if you won't touch me."

"I know what I'm looking at, Summers. I don't need you to tell me what turns me on. And I sure as hell don't need you telling me what to do."

"I'm sorry, Logan. It's just that I've known a lot of men like you." Scott's voice was soft.

Logan grabbed Scott's chin again with one hand and slipped the index finger of his other hand into the younger man's mouth. Scott sucked on the finger, ran his tongue over it. "I don't doubt for one minute you've known a lot of men, Cyclops," Logan said softly, "but you never knew anyone like me. There is nobody like me." And he pulled the finger out of Scott's mouth, released him and moved back a little.

Scott didn't say anything more, just unzipped his pants and pulled out his hard cock. He stroked himself, slowly then fast. And all the while he did he watched Logan's face, watched Logan's eyes watch him do it.

Scott closed his eyes while he came, the red glow behind the glasses fading. When he opened his eyes again, Logan was still looking at him intently. Scott took his hand, sticky with cum, and moved his fingers gently across Logan's mouth. "Attention must be paid," he said quietly. And then neither of them said anything else.



The Garden

I'm setting a table. I put out plates and napkins, glasses and cutlery. And everything's fine, except for the knives. I can't get the knives on the table. I keep picking up a knife to set it down next to a plate, but by the time my hand reaches the table, the knife has disappeared. I try again and again, getting more frustrated by the minute. Where are the knives going? I open my hands and look at them, trying to see some sign of the missing knives. I don't see the knives, but there are bleeding wounds in both of my hands. I realize that my hands can't hold onto the knives and it feels so important to get just one knife on that table. So I pick up another knife but I don't try to put it on the table with my bloody hand. Instead, I put it in my mouth and try to carry it to the table that way. But I trip and fall and I swallow the knife. The pain in my throat is excruciating and I know I am going to die now.

And then the whole scene disappears and I am lying prone. Something - or someone - is on top of me. I can't get up. And I can't see anything. I try to open my eyes but they are taped shut. There are bandages wrapped all around my head. "Just like the Invisible Man," says a voice that I know I should know but I can't place.

"That's me," I reply and suddenly I can stand up and I can feel Jean's hands on me and she's unwrapping the bandages, telling me again and again that everything will be fine. And then the bandages are off and she's telling me to open my eyes. I ask her to hand me my glasses but she says she wants to see my face and tells me again everything will be fine. So I open my eyes and I'm outside now. And I'm overwhelmed by the beauty of what I'm seeing: grass so green, sky so blue, autumn trees with leaves of flame and gold. Oh, colors! I'd forgotten all about colors.

And then there's a loud beeping sound and I wake up. I feel for my glasses, put them on and open my eyes. I look at the bedside clock, cursing under my breath when I realize that I have slept through 15 minutes of that damn alarm and I'm going to be late for class. I've had too many late nights recently. I had thought that a brief nap would help, carefully setting my alarm. It didn't occur to me that I could be tired enough to sleep through. I quickly run a comb through my hair and sprint off to my least favorite class.

I apologized to the class for being late and dived right into the material. We were doing "I Sing the Body Electric" and I was pleased that they all seemed to have read it before class, or at least in the few minutes they were waiting for me. It's a poem any teenager can relate to, I think, and perhaps these kids needed it more than most. One part of my brain was busy leading a discussion of the poem and on one level I was enjoying the class. With another part of my mind, I was thinking about my dream and about the contradictions and conflicts in my life of late. Another of Whitman's great lines jumped into my brain: "Do I contradict myself? Very well, I contradict myself. " Oh, to have his equanimity. Oh, to have his uncomplicated joy in his sexuality, for that matter.

In the middle of the class, the door opened. I had a bit of a scare, remembering the last time, but it was just Charles. He wheeled in, greeted the class, and told us to carry on. I was a little uncomfortable with the subject matter. A poem that celebrates physicality seemed an insensitive thing to talk about in front of one so limited in his physical abilities. But he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself and thanked both me and the kids for the interesting discussion once class was over.

After the kids had left, he looked pensive. "Last week Wilde. This week Whitman. Something on your mind, Scott? Why don't we go somewhere and talk?" he said.

I pushed his chair and we went out of the mansion and into the enclosed garden. "This was my favorite place on the whole estate when I was a child," he said.

"Is it hard for you, sometimes? I mean, it's a wonderful thing you did for them - for us - turning your family home into our school. But do you ever feel like you lost your home in the process?"

"Never. I like it better this way. It's more my home now that it belongs to you and the others, too." He paused a minute and looked around. "So, Scott, why are you thinking of leaving with Logan?"

I hadn't expected that. "Dammit, Charles," I said. "Can't you stay out of my brain? You've been better to me than any father could have been and you and Jean are the two people I love most in the world. But I swear I'll never get involved with another telepath, so long as I live."

He laughed. "I wasn't snooping. You were broadcasting. You know how it is. You think about something so intensely and I can't help hearing it. So I know you want to leave with Logan. If I were going to invade your privacy, I'd look into your mind to find out why. But I'm not - I'm asking you."

"I want him for the team," I said. "You should have seen him on the mission against Magneto. We couldn't have done it without him. He's got gifts like no one else. He has real combat experience. He's got a ferocity none of us can match. If he leaves by himself we'll never see him again. If I go with him, maybe I can convince him to come back with me."

"I thought you didn't like each other," Charles said, the ghost of a smile on his face.

"It's not like that any more," I told him. "I'm not angry with him. We're friends. Or at least I think we are. Sometimes it's hard to tell with him."

His smile widened. "I've had a friend or two like that myself."

"Magneto?" I asked.

He nodded. "My friendship with Erik Lehnsherr is probably the most troubling relationship in my life. There was a time when I stopped thinking of him as my friend, thought of him as a mortal enemy. But I've come to feel that that was too simplistic a view. Now I see that he is my friend and always will be. But I also know now that it is a friendship that has severe limits to it, and always will."

"Yes, I can see that, " I told him. "I've always thought a life sentence in federal prison would really impact a friendship."

"There are all kinds of prisons, Scott," he replied sadly.

"About Logan on the team," he went on, "It wouldn't work. You're right - Logan has powers none of our people have. He has experience we can use, skills we can use. But he's a loner. And he's just too volatile. He's not a team player. He doesn't have the discipline for it."

"You're wrong about him. I think he's the most disciplined person I've ever met. Do you know how he got us out, when we were locked up in the Statue? He put those claws of his right through his own arms. He feels pain the same as you and me, you know. Can you even imagine what that felt like? Logan's braver and stronger than I can ever hope to be."

"Scott," he said, looking at me fondly, warming my heart. "I don't doubt his courage or his strength. And you are a good friend to Logan to defend him like that, but that's not the kind of discipline I mean.

"I am so proud of you. I couldn't ask for a better field leader. You bring them back alive, again and again, against all odds. It's discipline that makes that happen. They all listen to you. They all trust you. They all want to obey you. Do you really think Logan can take orders from you?"

Logan walked into the garden right at that moment, greeting Charles and telling me he had been looking for me. I wondered how much he had heard of the conversation. With his heightened senses, I thought with embarrassment, he may well have heard it all.

Charles seemed unconcerned with the possibility that we had been overheard. He asked Logan how he was and thanked him for participating in Jean's project.

"I imagine you and Scott have things to talk about. Scott, I'll see you at dinner. Logan, we'd love to have your company, if you'd care to join us." He left.

Logan sat down on the bench and motioned with his head for me to come over to him I hesitated, worried that somebody else might come into the garden.

He noticed my apprehension. "Nobody's near here except the professor," he said, "and he's on his way back to the mansion. I'll know if anyone approaches. Heightened senses, remember? Of course, you have to trust me to tell you someone's coming in time for you to take my dick out of your mouth." He was laughing at me. Then he stopped laughing and growled, "Get over here."

I walked over to the bench and got on top of him. I straddled his legs, face-to-face, my hands on his shoulders. He unzipped his pants, took out his cock and wrapped my hand around it. "Make it big, Summers," he said. "I need this right now." His tone was gruff, but there was a layer of sadness underneath. Or maybe I just imagined that part.

I started stroking him to hardness, leaning down a little to kiss his neck and face while I did. Then I unzipped my own pants and pulled out my cock, hard already. Using both hands, I stroked us both, rubbing his cock against mine. He sighed, smiled, and told me that it felt good, that it felt like nothing else.

"You won't touch my cock with your hand, but this is okay?" I asked. "I hope that makes sense to you because I personally can't think of a schema that would encompass it."

He put his hand behind my head and kissed me, rough, long and deep. Then he said, in a voice of exquisite weariness, "There are things I can do and things I can't. You don't have to understand that. I don't understand it entirely, myself. But it's something we both have to live with. You just need to live with it for a little while longer, though."

I wanted to ask him to take me with him when he left, but I was scared to. Instead I said, still rubbing us together, "Logan, would you show me your claws?" I thought he might ask me why, but he didn't. He put one hand on my shoulder, holding me at arm's length with his powerful, metal-laced grip. I heard the SNIKT sound and saw the claws on his other hand extend, slicing through the flesh between his knuckles.

"On your knees. Suck me now," he said, watching me watch the claws. "I'll keep them out. You can look at them while you're doing me."

And I did, hot and excited and scared all at the same time. Jerked off watching them, too, after he came in my mouth.

"Sometimes," I said to him afterwards, "I think that's how I'll die, that you will use your claws on me when you're done with me."

"It won't happen," he replied. "I'll never hurt you with them. Protect you with them, if I need to, but they'll never cut you. I don't make a lot of promises, Summers, but I can promise you that."

I felt like I had to say it now or I'd lose my nerve forever. "Logan, take me with you when you go," I said, all in a rush. "I'll help you find your answers. I know things. I've been places. I wouldn't be a burden to you. I'd pull my weight."

He shook his head, an amused smile on his face. "I don't need a sidekick. Or a field leader. I travel alone. Thanks for the offer, anyway." And then his affect changed and he looked totally serious. "There is one thing that you can do for me. I made a promise to you; I need a promise from you."

"Just name it."

"I might have to come back here sometime. I might need your help. I don't usually ask people for help, but you have something I may well need, Cyclops."

I waited, ready to give him whatever he wanted or die trying.

"I want you to promise that, if I ask you to, you'll take off those glasses and look at me."

"No, Logan. Don't ask me that. I can't."

"You're the only one who can. I think it would work. I need to know it's an option," he said, hand gripping my arm, eyes locked on my face. "Maybe knowing I can I won't have to. You said you would do whatever I told you to. It's the last thing I'll ever tell you to do."

"I can't promise you that," I said again. "Why do you ask me for the one thing I can't give you? Look, I'll promise to think about it - that's the best I can do. If you ever truly feel you need to die, come back here to me. Tell me about it. Try to talk me into it; I'll try to talk you out of it. One of us will be stronger. One will prevail."

"If that's the best you've got, I'll take it," he said, smiling. "I think I know who's stronger."

"You make me crazy. Do you know that?" I asked. "I had a pretty nice life before you came along."

"I know that, Summers. You'll get your life back real soon, don't worry. But not right now," he added, grinning. "Do that thing where you rub us together. I like that. Make me come that way this time. Make us both come."

"I can't. Not yet, anyway. I don't have a vanishingly short refractory period."

"Well, do something now," he said, still smiling. "We can always do that again when you get your strength back."

"You're insatiable, " I told him.

"And you're...whatever you said you are."

"Indefatigable. I knew you wouldn't really look it up."

"You're a smart man, Cyclops. A good judge of character."

But I didn't feel like I had been acting very smart, lately.



Logan's Bedroom

I'm on the ground, face down. Every part of me hurts, more than I can remember ever hurting. Ever except the Dark Days. It feels just like the Dark Days but it doesn't smell like that. No hospital smell, no inside smells at all. Smells of snow and trees, some animals in the woods - a fox, a squirrel. Humans somewhere near here, too, but not many. A hawk circling overhead. And something else. Gasoline. Then a spark. The tiny beginning of a fire smell. I get up, forcing my body to rise, although that makes the searing pain increase when I thought it couldn't hurt any more.

I run towards the smell of fire. And Marie is there, in my camper, sitting there, crying. "Get out!" I yell, but she's stuck and she can't. I open the door to try to free her but she shrinks back as I approach, yelling "Don't touch me! Go away!" I look in her eyes and she looks back at me in terror. I extend my claws and her eyes glow red. I close my eyes so I don't have to see that and as I do I stab her in the heart. My eyes open as hers close and now I'm crying. I wipe the tears away with my hand and then I look at my hand and see that I am crying tears of blood.

I sit up in bed, breathing hard, heart beating fast. A voice says "You've been dreaming again, Logan," and I look up and the Professor is sitting there, just looking at me. I wonder how long he has been there. Could he see what I was dreaming? "Take me for a walk," he says and I push his chair as we go roaming, up and down the corridors. "I wanted it to be a different kind of school," he says to me, "a place they could feel safe. I never felt safe when I was their age. Did you ever feel safe, Logan?" I don't answer. "Grief teaches the steadiest minds to waver," he says in a tone of infinite sadness.

We keep going and soon we are at the infirmary and Jean is there, waiting. "Take off your clothes, Logan," she says and I smile. "I thought you'd never ask," I say but she doesn't smile back. I lie down. She straps me to the table and says "We're just going to take some pictures. We want to understand why you're the way you are, that's all." If I took naked pictures of you, Dr. Grey, would I understand why you are the way you are? I'm looking at her and she's radiantly beautiful. Her skin so smooth, her hair so red and soft. And then her brown eyes change and they are glowing red and I look down at myself because I know I'll die if I look at her. And there are lines drawn on my arms and legs, like there were before the surgery. And her voice changes. Now it's not hers. It's not the voice of anyone I've ever seen. It's the voice I have heard again and again and it is soft and deliberate and it sounds so kind. It has a slight accent but I can't place it and it says what it always says. "I'm very sorry that we cannot anesthetize you for this procedure. It's important that you be awake for it. I will give you an injection now that will keep you still." And then I can't move - not at all - and the pain starts and it's unbearable. I need to scream more than I ever needed anything but I can't and that terrible, soft voice is saying "I'm sorry, Logan," again and again and I just want to find the person who is saying that and kill him and then there's this banging sound and there is a different voice and it says "Logan! Logan, are you in there? Are you okay?"

I sit up and my eyes are open and I'm having trouble seeing anything. I don't get it - why can't I see? I reach to put my right hand to my eyes to see if something is covering them but my hand feels stuck. What's it stuck in? Then I realize that the claws are extended and they are buried to the hilt in something. In a mattress. I'm in bed. I retract the claws and my hand is free and I look around the room, starting to see it again, and now I know I'm sitting on my bed, in what has been my room for the last few weeks. And the rapping is someone knocking on my door and I say "Go away!" but he doesn't. My vision is clearing and there's a red glow through the key hole and the door opens and then Scott Summers comes in and stands there by the door, as far away from me as he can be and still be in my room.

"Logan, are you okay? You look like hell."

I steady myself because I don't want him to see how scared I was. "Summers. Didn't your mother ever teach you that a locked door means 'stay out', not 'blast it open'?"

He walks into the room, looking at me. I hold my hands up so he can see the claws are retracted and he comes a little closer. "Are you okay?" he says again.

"I'm fine," I tell him. "Just half asleep. What do you want?"

He looks a little sheepish. "Jean and 'Ro sent me," he says. "Dinner's in half an hour. They thought you might want to eat with us for a change, sit at the faculty table. And then I heard noises and got worried, so I wanted to make sure you were all right."

"I'm fine. And no, I don't want to eat with you, Cyclops. Mission accomplished. Go tell the women you made nice."

But he doesn't go, just looks around. At me, at the bed, at the room. I know I'm a mess. The bed's a mess. There are holes in the sheets and blankets, and holes in the mattress and a few in the wall near the bed, I see now, too. It's kind of dark, though, and I don't know if Summers can see the holes. He sees enough to get the general idea and says "Another one of your nightmares?"

"Got it in one," I reply. "Now you've done your good deed and satisfied your curiosity. You leaving?"

"I could stay for a while. We could talk or something."

"I'll go for 'or something'," I tell him. "Take your clothes off, Summers."

He stands there for a minute and then he takes them off, folding them neatly and then just standing there, looking strikingly beautiful and slightly hesitant. I tell him to get into bed and he does. I'm still trying to shake off the dream and I'm not quite myself yet. He puts his arms around me and we lie there together. He's stroking my back now, so gentle, and kissing and licking me on the neck and the cheek. It feels good, it feels warm, it starts to feel safe. "Have you ever felt safe, Logan?" the professor's voice echoes in my head and I can't tell if he's talking to me telepathically or if I'm just remembering the dream. And then Summers kisses me on my mouth, tongue probing. I put my arms around him and kiss him back, my tongue pushing into his mouth. He sucks on my tongue, licking it inside his mouth and scraping it a little with his teeth. It makes me think of the way he sucks my cock. I'm feeling better now, feeling fine, savoring the sensation of his whole body against mine, his mouth drinking me in.

And then the feeling goes from languid to urgent and I am kissing him harder, biting him a little, using every ounce of control I have to keep the claws inside, holding his ass with my hands and scratching him a little. He kisses me hungrily; he likes it like this. He's pushing into me, sucking hard on my tongue, his hands on my head, pulling my hair. He wants more; he wants me. So, I lean over to his ear and whisper, "I really want to fuck you. Okay?"

He laughs a little, repeating what I said. " 'Okay?' You're asking me? Why not 'Roll over, Summers, you are about to be fucked.' "

And then I'm laughing, too, saying, "I guess I'm getting soft."

"Not so far as I can tell," wrapping those long fingers around my hard-on, tugging on me a little, that delicious feeling as he rubs my cock against his. "And, yes, Logan, it's okay. It's more than okay."

"Roll over, Summers, you're about to be fucked."

He turns on his belly and he's lying there, stretched out on my bed, lying right on the spot with the three holes ripped into it. And I go to the night stand and get some lube and put it on me and then on him, caressing, opening him gently, getting him ready before I push inside. And then I'm in him and he's so tight and he's so good and I can feel the whole length of his lean and muscled body under me. I move slowly at first, trying to be gentle. I don't want to hurt him. Then he pushes back and he's up on all fours and making soft noises. We're rocking together and I'm moving in and out and I reach to grab his cock but before I can touch him he braces himself on one arm and uses the other hand to stroke himself. Seeing him do that makes me half-crazy and I want to fuck him harder and faster and I want that cock in my hand. So I hold his hand holding himself for a minute and we rub together while I'm fucking him. And then I say, "Put your hand back on the bed. I want you up on all fours again. It's a better angle for me."

He obeys me and now I'm fucking him hard and stroking his cock at the same time. And he's making these sounds that are sort of like a sigh and sort of like a moan and it's the best sound I ever heard. Then he sort of shudders and he comes, saying my name, and I try to catch as much of it as I can on my hand. And then I'm pushing into him as hard as I can, holding his hips to steady myself as I move in and out of him. Soon I'm coming, too, feeling it spurt deep inside him, saying "Scott" as the feeling spreads from my cock radiating out through my whole body.

I pull out of him and lie on my back. He turns on his back, too, and lies next to me, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. He's got the wet spot but he doesn't seem to mind and he lies there right next to me and I can feel him and smell him and hear his soft breathing. "Yes, Professor," I think, not knowing or caring whether he hears me. "Now I feel safe. Now I understand what that means." And I lie there thinking about safety and danger and then I'm not in bed any more. I'm floating in the school pool on my back and my arms are stretched way out to the sides. And the sun is shining and it feels good on my skin. And my claws are out.

I wake up with a start. I didn't know that I had drifted off again. I look at the clock - it's late. Dinner was over a long time ago. Scott is lying beside me and he is very still. So still and I'm scared, thinking of the dream in the pool. But I look at my hands and the claws aren't out and I look again at him and I can see he's unmarked and his chest is moving slightly and I realize he's just sleeping. I can't believe the risk I took, sleeping next to him like that. I look at the holes in the wall, in the sheet. Quickly, I extend the claws on my right hand and with all my strength I drive them into my left thigh. They come out the other side and make more holes in the bed. And the pain is sudden and strong and I welcome it. It reminds me of what I am and of what I can and can't do. I pull my claws back out, wipe the blood off on the sheet and my leg heals.

Scott is still asleep. I stretch, as if I just woke. "Hey, Cyclops," I say. "Your girlfriend is wondering where you are. Time to get dressed." He protests a little, and then sleepily puts his clothes on. I watch him, knowing that tomorrow I will be far away from here, knowing this is the last time, wondering whether he'd be sad or relieved if he knew that. The safe feeling is gone, so far gone it seems like a distant memory and not something that was so real a little while ago.

He walks out the door to his woman down the hall. And I sit there and start to cry and I don't look to see if they are tears of blood.



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