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kathierif_ficTitle: The First Cut Is The Deepest
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kathierif_fic
Fandom: X-Men (movieverse)
Pairing: if you squint: Logan/Remy/Scott
Rating: FRT-13
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit.
Warnings: sharp blades.
Word Count: 1273
Summary: After an accident, Logan disappears and it’s up to Remy and Scott to make clear that it wasn’t Logan’s fault.
Author’s Notes: Written for![[community profile]](https://s.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
kink_bingo, prompt blades. set in movie-verse, somewhat AU, after the first movie and therefore after Origins. Title stolen from a song.
It took them almost three weeks to hunt him down, and they only succeeded with the help of the Professor, and some of Remy's contact the thief never admitted he had until they needed them.
"Typical Logan," Remy grumbled and pulled his trench coat closer around his body, to ward off the chill in the air. "What now?"
Scott glanced around the clearing. "Now we wait," he decided. "Make yourself useful."
Remy glared at him, but he followed Scott's orders and started to pick up dry wood for a fire, resisting the urge to mutter curses under his breath the entire time.
"You sure he'll come back?" he finally asked, when he had collected enough twigs and dry firewood to last them through the night.
Scott grimaced as he straightened and lifted a hand to his chest. "I hope," he replied honestly.
Remy snorted and pulled a deck of cards out of his pocket. "Come on, sit down before you fall over," he said while rolling his eyes exasperatedly. He waited until Scott had followed his suggestion before asking, "Just out of morbid curiosity, how do you plan on convincing him that it wasn't his fault and that he should come back?"
Scott shrugged again. "I don't know yet," he admitted. "We'll see when he turns up."
Remy just sighed and started to shuffle his cards. It would probably be a very long day.
~*+*~
Night fell, and Scott and Remy huddled together close to the fire for warmth when suddenly, the hair at the back of Scott’s neck stood in warning. He swallowed against the sudden tightness in his throat.
“Logan?”
A quick glance down confirmed that Remy had two cards in between middle- and forefinger, ready to throw them, but like Scott, he remained frozen to the spot, like a spooked animal caught between the instincts of flight or fight.
Something behind them moved, and Scott heard the familiar sound of someone sniffing the air loudly. Despite himself, he felt worry rushing through him, and he bit his tongue sharply. If the Wolverine had gone feral, they both were in danger, and it would be only his fault.
Wolverine could smell the fear, he told himself firmly and attempted to tone it down, and this was not the kind of message Scott had wanted to send to him.
“What are you doing here?” Logan asked harshly.
Remy tilted his head back and gave Logan a smile. “Looking for you, Cher,” he drawled. “Scotty here was worried about you.”
Logan snorted dismissively, but he didn’t run away, Scott realized, relief filling him. Instead, he crouched down on the other side of their small fire.
His jeans were ripped at the knee, his hair was tangled and unkempt. He looked wilder than he had in a long time, but when Remy scooted closer and leaned against his side, Logan wrapped his arm around him and pulled him close, reacting instinctively to the empath’s need for closeness.
It was, Scott thought determinedly, time for him to follow his own instincts instead of just thinking about Logan following his.
“Logan,” he said, “it wasn’t your fault.”
Logan growled at him. “It was,” he hissed.
Scott rolled his eyes behind his glasses and stood. Both Logan and Remy looked up at him expectantly, but Scott didn’t say anything as he kneeled down next to Logan and gripped his wrist in an iron grip.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he repeated firmly. “Get that through your stubborn thick skull!”
Logan remained silent.
“Show me,” Scott said, his voice soft, but firm. It was his Cyclops-voice, a tone that demanded to be obeyed. He found that he’d had a lot of success with it when dealing with the kids, too. “Show them to me!”
Logan hissed his disagreement, but Scott’s grip on his wrist only tightened.
“Show. Me,” he ground out, and slowly, torturously slow, the claws emerged from Logan’s knuckles.
Scott waited until the three adamantium-covered bone claws were fully extended and Logan’s eyes were focused on him before reaching out and tracing his fingertips slowly over Logan’s knuckles, and along the sharp edge of one claw. The back of the claw, he knew, was less dangerous than the tip or the bottom, where they were sharp like razors.
The metal was warm from Logan’s body heat, and Scott didn’t know if Logan even felt his touch. Logan’s eyes were glued to Scott’s fingertips against his claws, his breathing was quick and shallow. He was frozen to the spot and didn’t dare moving a single muscle, out of fear of hurting Scott and nicking him, or, in the worst, case, cutting off his finger.
Scott grinned briefly and carefully moved his fingertips over the broad side of the claw, caressing it gently.
“Scott…” Logan finally growled, but he didn’t away from the touch.
“Show me too,” Remy murmured and took Logan’s other hand. “Let me see…please, Logan.”
Logan whimpered, but when Remy pressed a kiss to his knuckles and then pulled slightly back in expectation, he unsheathed the claws on that hand, as well.
Remy made a small sound at the back of his throat. He tangled his slender fingers with Logan’s and bent down, to let his lips copy the path Scott had let his fingertips take. His hair fell into his face and obscured what he was doing from their view, but Logan’s nose flared and he began to tremble.
Scott squeezed his wrist reassuringly before tracing his fingertip over the pointy end of each claw, claws that had killed countless times in Logan’s long life. He didn’t look away from those claws and Logan’s tense knuckles, whitened in the man’s attempt to stay absolutely still, until Logan gasped again.
Scott’s lips twitched into a quick grin that disappeared after just a moment, and he turned to look at Remy, who had his lips wrapped around the tip of one claw. One hasty move – one move at all – from Logan would leave Remy with severe injuries, and all three of them knew it. Scott just prayed that no deer would interrupt them now – he didn’t even want to think about the consequences their actions could have.
Logan’s pulse raced under Scott’s fingertips, and he moved his grip, to cradle the other man’s broad hand in his.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he said again. He didn’t remember how often he’d done that since Logan had accidentally skewered him with those deadly claws of his, after Remy had managed to surprise both of them, but he’d never had the feeling that Logan understood and accepted that it had been an accident and that they didn’t hate him or blamed him for what had happened.
Not until now.
He brushed his fingertips along Logan’s claws one last time before pulling back. Thin red lines criss-crossed his fingertips where he’d pressed them against the blades, blood welling up in them and burning faintly, but Scott didn’t pay attention to the minor discomfort.
Logan sniffed – without a doubt, he’d picked up on the smell of blood – and carefully retracted his claws again. They disappeared with a familiar sound from view, and seconds later, Scott found himself wrapped in muscular arms and pulled close to Logan’s chest, his head almost banging against Remy’s.
His body protested against getting manhandled like that; wounds that barely had had the chance to heal sending sharp edges of pain though his entire body, but Scott found that he didn’t care.
All he cared about were Logan and Remy and the fact that he had both of them with him.
He could deal with everything else later.
~end.
Author:
kathierif_ficFandom: X-Men (movieverse)
Pairing: if you squint: Logan/Remy/Scott
Rating: FRT-13
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit.
Warnings: sharp blades.
Word Count: 1273
Summary: After an accident, Logan disappears and it’s up to Remy and Scott to make clear that it wasn’t Logan’s fault.
Author’s Notes: Written for
kink_bingo, prompt blades. set in movie-verse, somewhat AU, after the first movie and therefore after Origins. Title stolen from a song.It took them almost three weeks to hunt him down, and they only succeeded with the help of the Professor, and some of Remy's contact the thief never admitted he had until they needed them.
"Typical Logan," Remy grumbled and pulled his trench coat closer around his body, to ward off the chill in the air. "What now?"
Scott glanced around the clearing. "Now we wait," he decided. "Make yourself useful."
Remy glared at him, but he followed Scott's orders and started to pick up dry wood for a fire, resisting the urge to mutter curses under his breath the entire time.
"You sure he'll come back?" he finally asked, when he had collected enough twigs and dry firewood to last them through the night.
Scott grimaced as he straightened and lifted a hand to his chest. "I hope," he replied honestly.
Remy snorted and pulled a deck of cards out of his pocket. "Come on, sit down before you fall over," he said while rolling his eyes exasperatedly. He waited until Scott had followed his suggestion before asking, "Just out of morbid curiosity, how do you plan on convincing him that it wasn't his fault and that he should come back?"
Scott shrugged again. "I don't know yet," he admitted. "We'll see when he turns up."
Remy just sighed and started to shuffle his cards. It would probably be a very long day.
Night fell, and Scott and Remy huddled together close to the fire for warmth when suddenly, the hair at the back of Scott’s neck stood in warning. He swallowed against the sudden tightness in his throat.
“Logan?”
A quick glance down confirmed that Remy had two cards in between middle- and forefinger, ready to throw them, but like Scott, he remained frozen to the spot, like a spooked animal caught between the instincts of flight or fight.
Something behind them moved, and Scott heard the familiar sound of someone sniffing the air loudly. Despite himself, he felt worry rushing through him, and he bit his tongue sharply. If the Wolverine had gone feral, they both were in danger, and it would be only his fault.
Wolverine could smell the fear, he told himself firmly and attempted to tone it down, and this was not the kind of message Scott had wanted to send to him.
“What are you doing here?” Logan asked harshly.
Remy tilted his head back and gave Logan a smile. “Looking for you, Cher,” he drawled. “Scotty here was worried about you.”
Logan snorted dismissively, but he didn’t run away, Scott realized, relief filling him. Instead, he crouched down on the other side of their small fire.
His jeans were ripped at the knee, his hair was tangled and unkempt. He looked wilder than he had in a long time, but when Remy scooted closer and leaned against his side, Logan wrapped his arm around him and pulled him close, reacting instinctively to the empath’s need for closeness.
It was, Scott thought determinedly, time for him to follow his own instincts instead of just thinking about Logan following his.
“Logan,” he said, “it wasn’t your fault.”
Logan growled at him. “It was,” he hissed.
Scott rolled his eyes behind his glasses and stood. Both Logan and Remy looked up at him expectantly, but Scott didn’t say anything as he kneeled down next to Logan and gripped his wrist in an iron grip.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he repeated firmly. “Get that through your stubborn thick skull!”
Logan remained silent.
“Show me,” Scott said, his voice soft, but firm. It was his Cyclops-voice, a tone that demanded to be obeyed. He found that he’d had a lot of success with it when dealing with the kids, too. “Show them to me!”
Logan hissed his disagreement, but Scott’s grip on his wrist only tightened.
“Show. Me,” he ground out, and slowly, torturously slow, the claws emerged from Logan’s knuckles.
Scott waited until the three adamantium-covered bone claws were fully extended and Logan’s eyes were focused on him before reaching out and tracing his fingertips slowly over Logan’s knuckles, and along the sharp edge of one claw. The back of the claw, he knew, was less dangerous than the tip or the bottom, where they were sharp like razors.
The metal was warm from Logan’s body heat, and Scott didn’t know if Logan even felt his touch. Logan’s eyes were glued to Scott’s fingertips against his claws, his breathing was quick and shallow. He was frozen to the spot and didn’t dare moving a single muscle, out of fear of hurting Scott and nicking him, or, in the worst, case, cutting off his finger.
Scott grinned briefly and carefully moved his fingertips over the broad side of the claw, caressing it gently.
“Scott…” Logan finally growled, but he didn’t away from the touch.
“Show me too,” Remy murmured and took Logan’s other hand. “Let me see…please, Logan.”
Logan whimpered, but when Remy pressed a kiss to his knuckles and then pulled slightly back in expectation, he unsheathed the claws on that hand, as well.
Remy made a small sound at the back of his throat. He tangled his slender fingers with Logan’s and bent down, to let his lips copy the path Scott had let his fingertips take. His hair fell into his face and obscured what he was doing from their view, but Logan’s nose flared and he began to tremble.
Scott squeezed his wrist reassuringly before tracing his fingertip over the pointy end of each claw, claws that had killed countless times in Logan’s long life. He didn’t look away from those claws and Logan’s tense knuckles, whitened in the man’s attempt to stay absolutely still, until Logan gasped again.
Scott’s lips twitched into a quick grin that disappeared after just a moment, and he turned to look at Remy, who had his lips wrapped around the tip of one claw. One hasty move – one move at all – from Logan would leave Remy with severe injuries, and all three of them knew it. Scott just prayed that no deer would interrupt them now – he didn’t even want to think about the consequences their actions could have.
Logan’s pulse raced under Scott’s fingertips, and he moved his grip, to cradle the other man’s broad hand in his.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he said again. He didn’t remember how often he’d done that since Logan had accidentally skewered him with those deadly claws of his, after Remy had managed to surprise both of them, but he’d never had the feeling that Logan understood and accepted that it had been an accident and that they didn’t hate him or blamed him for what had happened.
Not until now.
He brushed his fingertips along Logan’s claws one last time before pulling back. Thin red lines criss-crossed his fingertips where he’d pressed them against the blades, blood welling up in them and burning faintly, but Scott didn’t pay attention to the minor discomfort.
Logan sniffed – without a doubt, he’d picked up on the smell of blood – and carefully retracted his claws again. They disappeared with a familiar sound from view, and seconds later, Scott found himself wrapped in muscular arms and pulled close to Logan’s chest, his head almost banging against Remy’s.
His body protested against getting manhandled like that; wounds that barely had had the chance to heal sending sharp edges of pain though his entire body, but Scott found that he didn’t care.
All he cared about were Logan and Remy and the fact that he had both of them with him.
He could deal with everything else later.
~end.