Power Play
Fandom: X-Men the Movie
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Logan/Scott
Feedback: Let me know if it sucks and I promise not to waste more internet space with my ramblings. :)
Summary: Logan's POV about a recurring encounter with Scott.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, but damn, they're fun to play with.
He's leaning over again.
This has become a regular scene. Scott and I sit together on the couch, so I can watch TV while he reads, well, whatever it is that he reads.
And he leans.
I always watch some inane program, late at night, which I never actually pay attention to, and at some point Scott will wander into the room with a book. I'll continue to stare at the screen, but all my other senses monitor him; his breathing, the movements of his fingers as they turn the pages, the soft little grunts when he finds something interesting.
But this is my favorite part. He'll hunch forward a little when he's found something real good. The pages will stop turning as he re-reads the words. Then, slowly, he'll start to lean towards me. He wants to share what great snippet of information he's found, but I could care less about whatever he's going to tell me.
I wait until his shoulder is almost touching my arm till I turn my eyes to him. Not my head, just my eyes. And his gaze will flash up at mine to see if he's got my attention.
My chest tightens as his face moves quickly back down to the page and the nearly imperceptible smile crosses his face. I see it. He knows what he's doing.
His finger moves silently down the page he's now holding a few inches above my lap. Instead of listening to him, I watch his mouth move and think about the hands inches away from my legs. His mouth is perfect. When he's in the field, it's strong and powerful. Now, it's soft. Even the color of his lips is softer.
His hair is close to my face, and I breathe in. He doesn't use any fancy shampoos, no smell of apples or strawberries or crap like that, so it's just clean Scott.
The line of his shoulders is strong, but still have a boyish tilt to them that he usually tries to hide in his stance. Not now, though, right now he wants me to see it. That's why he leans in front of me. If I was a terrible man, I could reach forward and kill him before he could make a move. He knows I would never hurt him. But he also knows I could.
My eyes move down his shoulders to his bicep. That's one of my favorite parts. You can always tell a man's true strength from his arms. He's wearing a dark gray t-shirt that fit's him perfectly. It's flattering, to say the least. The muscles in his arm are just the slightest bit tense from holding the book in front of me, which make me glad for the t-shirt, because I can see every bit of tautness.
I wonder how it would feel if I was provoking that tautness. I smile. I don't need to wonder, I know how it feels. And I know how he loves it.
I keep watching his arm as he shifts the book in his fingers, increasing the blood supply to some of them as he continues to talk softly.
I reach up and wrap my fingers around his bicep. Finally, he pauses.
"Logan, are you listening to me?" He's good at pretending to be serious.
"No."
I reach forward and toss the book on the table in front of us.
"Logan," he says with a huff.
"What?" I give him a serious look, not an innocent one. Certainly not an innocent one.
"I was trying to tell you something important." Sure he was, that's why he moved his hand, down from where he had been holding the book, to my leg, just below my crotch.
I can be a nice guy if I want to, but that's not what he wants from me, and that's not what I want to give him either.
"No. It wasn't important." It's my turn to lean. I crowd his space till he starts to lean backwards. The moment he moves I grab his wrist from my lap and turn him hard to face me. The other arm finally comes into view and I grab that one, too, pushing backwards till he's lying flat on the couch.
Leaning over him, I give him the growling smile that lets him know I'm winning. He loves it, but pretends to hate it.
"Logan," sternly this time, but still softly, "let go."
I grunt, "No."
His hands struggle under mine as I keep them pinned above his head. I've got one knee pressed in between Scott's hip and the back of the couch and the other foot braced on the floor. He continues to test how hard I can hold him. Which is silly, I think, he could struggle all out from the beginning and I would still hold him strong. But he wants to make sure I won't let go. Because he wants to struggle.
When I watch him out on a mission, I can see he loves being in charge. He loves giving orders and being responsible for everyone's well being. He loves being the surrogate father and the boss and the superhero all at the same time. But sometimes, and I think I understand this, sometimes he wants to feel something that he wasn't directly responsible for causing. He wants someone else to give him orders. He wants to not be in control.
I can give that to him. And I like having him under my control. This strong and beautiful thing under me, wanting me, and wanting me to want him.
He's still moving, breathing hard now ö seemingly from desperation but in reality from eroticism. I move both his wrists into one hand and use the other to reach under his shirt.
Scott is very tactile.
I barely run my fingers along the exposed area between his pants and shirt and he sucks in a breath. Oddly enough, through this scenario of strength and power, I always take this moment to be gentle. It drives him nuts. And it makes me harder listening to him.
I brush my fingertips along his ribs and up the middle of his chest. Reaching his collarbone, I circle back around his nipple and he arches up, wanting me to move inward. But I torment him and his arms pull harder under my grip.
"Asshole." He tries so hard to look mean.
I bare my teeth and twist his nipple, and feel a spasm of pleasure run through me when he lets out a strangled cry that ends in a groan. I pull his shirt up to his armpits and lean forward. I trace with my tongue the same movements I just made with my fingers, ending at the same place but using my mouth, gentler this time. I pull up on his nipple with my teeth and lave it back and forth with my tongue. His hips are moving on the couch, but I can tell he's getting frustrated from the lack of friction since I'm still hovered above him.
I settle my hips down on him, hard, so he can't move.
"Logan," frustrated.
I don't answer, but let go of his arms long enough to yank his shirt all the way off. His arms get to my shirt before I grab them again, one in each hand and pull them inches away. Instead of moving them back to the couch I move them down, to my crotch.
He gasps and my chest rumbles as I rub myself on his hands.
"Logan," this one breathy.
"Don't move," I say. Standing up, away from the couch, I take off my jeans and boxers. I unbutton my shirt but leave it on. He's following my orders, not moving on the couch, except his chest moving deeply as he breathes. And he watches me. Watches my hands as they move on me and remove my clothing.
"Take off your pants." And he does. I cross my arms and watch, which he enjoys but makes him a little nervous as well. He takes off his shorts, too, wanting to please me.
I look at him, stretched out. His body is long and powerful, and he's mine right now. His muscles are straining under an invisible force, under my gaze. I take a step forward.
"Touch yourself." He looks more nervous, but reaches down and grabs himself. I can tell he's closed his eyes behind his dark glasses as he starts moving his fist slowly.
"Open your eyes." By this time, I've knelt down next to his face, and I rub back his hair from his forehead as he touches himself. It's such a turn on, to watch the way he pleasures himself. To watch the way he touches himself in that intimately personal way. He must feel very exposed.
Leaning down, I kiss him. His mouth is hot from his excitement, and so soft. I press my tongue into his mouth and he eagerly sucks on it.
Lifting up, I move my hips forward and turn his head towards me. He knows what to do. Opening his mouth, I feel his hot wetness envelop me. I groan loudly, which pleases him ö pleasing me, that is. Watching him stroke himself as he sucks me is almost too much. His tongue moves up and down, and it feels so good. I could do this forever.
Well, probably not forever.
After he's gotten me good and wet all over I pull away and enjoy the soft sound he makes as I stand up.
"Grab the armrest." He stares at me for a second before removing his hand from his length, slightly wet from the small drops he's rubbed on himself, and, reaching up, grabs onto the armrest behind his head.
I kneel down between his legs and lift his thighs onto mine. We could probably do this an easier way, but I want to watch his face. And I can keep him pinned better this way, legs up in the air, back forced into the cushions, arms over his head.
His breath hitches when I move forward and my tip presses against him. To relax him, I take his balls in one hand, rolling them around. When he sighs, I start to push in.
His fingers tighten around the armrest and his chest puffs up off the couch. He starts making these really soft, high pitched sounds when he breathes out, and it almost makes me come right then. Reaching forward, I tug on his nipple and shove the rest of the way in as he gasps.
It's so good it makes the blood in my legs tingle. I look out in front of me and can hardly believe this beautiful body is laid out before me. He looks delicate, and I should be gentle so as not to break him.
No. He looks powerful, and I want to be rough - to try and break him.
A feral growl rumbles through my chest and he looks down at me, grabbing the armrest tighter. He knows what I'm thinking, and he's preparing for it.
I pull out and slam into him, just once. Scott opens his mouth to the ceiling but no sound comes out this time.
And I do it again, and again. And he's so, so warm, and this is so right. My left hand makes patterns on his chest, stopping sometimes to grab a nipple, while my right closes around his cock, still wet from his precum, and fists him steadily up and down. But I can't think too much longer, it's too much sensation and Scott is making sounds again but they don't even sound like him, and I can feel the sweat running down my stomach and onto my legs and it only makes me thrust harder and harder and finally I'm coming and I can't think, but I can feel my hand wet as Scott releases with a howl and the creak of the couch as it bends forward under his pull. I slow down and try to breathe. Funny how he wants so desperate for me to be in control of this and how right now I feel anything but.
He lets go of the couch and reaches forward for me. Slowly, achingly, I pull out of him and stretch myself over him, head to toe. He wants me to hold him now, not in the cuddly way, but in the protective way. He wants this one time to not look out for himself, and I enjoy having him hold onto me as well. There's something to be said for two men being together like this. Seems to me this is the most manly one can be; holding, grasping with strength and power, choosing to use it or choosing not to use it.
I love this because I choose to use it, and revel in having him in my power.
He loves this because he chooses not to use it, and becomes more powerful by knowing that if he could survive with me at his most vulnerable point, then outside of this moment the world is his. Even during this moment, the world is his.
And we both know it.
The End