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bucketslutz · 8 months ago

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Don't Be Late, Chapter 6

(Professor!Logan Howlett x F!Student!Mutant!Reader)

Click here for chapter index.

Chapter Summary: The aftermath.

A/N: Hiiiii, im backkkkk!! sorry for the unintentional hiatus, this chapter took me ages to write. But i honestly feel really good about it! after i posted the last chapter, i was worried that i might've rushed the slow burn slightly, but i hope that this chapter puts things on the right path. enjoy!!!

Warnings: smut, 18+, MDNI, fingering, making out, grinding slightly, nightmares

Word Count: 6,844

Chapter 6

Eyes slowly blinking open, you register the faint sound of talking echoing throughout your house. You adjust to your surroundings, naked in your bed, claw marks in your mattress; the events of the night before come rushing back into your mind. Logan. The rain. Your powers—his powers. Oh god, what did you do? The bed’s cold. He must’ve already gone downstairs, his voice being the one you recognize carrying through the halls of your home. Is he embarrassed? Does he regret it? You can’t stew with these ideations all morning. Sitting up, you throw your feet off the side of the bed, slipping a robe on before descending down your stairs. You overhear the tail end of Logan’s conversation with someone you assume he’s talking on the phone with.

“I’m working on it—I gotta go,” he says quickly into the phone. You come upon his bare back as he stands in your kitchen, clad in nothing but his jeans from the night before. He turns around to face you, stuffing his phone in his pocket and offering you a tight-lipped smile. There’s an air of awkwardness hanging between you two, neither one sure of who should say something first. Should you go hug him? Give him a kiss good morning? Should you talk about it?

“Still dunno what you did with my underwear,” he remarks dryly, breaking the silence. An awkward chuckle escapes your throat. You could still cut through the tension with a butter knife. An idea crosses your mind, an attempt to relieve the pressure that’s built in the room.

“I-uh, wait just a second,” you hold up a finger, crossing to your fridge. You had honestly forgotten that you kinda disintegrated his boxers last night. Typically, you don’t find yourself in this kind of situation—having to find a way to reconstruct an object for someone after taking it apart. You fish through your fridge for one of your protein shakes, exhaling a satisfied hum once you set your sights on the chocolate drink. Holding up a finger to Logan yet again, you chug the shake swiftly while he looks at you incredulously.

“The hell are you—“ he starts, but he’s cut off when you manifest his boxers back on his body, Logan lowering the waistband of his pants to confirm that you did, in fact, do that.

“Sorry, powers use up a lot of calories,” you huff, panting from the drink you just downed in a few seconds.

“Oh.”

There’s more tension in the air. You wipe the chocolate off of your upper lip, wondering what he could possibly be thinking. He was so passionate last night, you would’ve never thought that he would say anything the way he did—never thought for even a second that he even felt that way about you. It was almost overwhelming, the rush of all of those feelings, the rain, the revelation of both his and your powers. Did you rush into this?

“Logan, I—“

“Look—“

You overlap with each other, letting the silence overcome you both again.

“Sorry, what were you saying?” you ask Logan, trying to hide away in an attempt to preserve your feelings.

“No, you can go,” Logan retreats as he crosses his arms over his bare chest. You smile nervously, unsure of how to word what you’re feeling.

“Um, well,” you start, “What I was going to say is: I think I need a little bit of space. I just—a lot happened. I don’t know if I was thinking properly. I just don’t know if we got caught up in the moment or—“ you shake your head, shutting your eyes tightly as you try to word this carefully. “Logan, what we did—what we’re doing, it’s serious. I don’t know if I’m ready for something like this, or if we should even be doing this.”

You can’t help the lump that forms in your throat, unsure if it’s from anxiety or from how painful it is to admit that to him. You just want your degree. This…thing you have with him could threaten that. He’s stoic, taking you in carefully. You start to speak again, wanting to clarify your words, but he finally talks.

“I was gonna say the same thing,” he replies simply, clearly not wanting to show any sign of emotion. That honestly makes you more nervous. Did you upset him? Is he disappointed?

“Logan—“

“I’ll, uh, get my things and head out,” he walks past you and starts towards the stairs, hesitating before ascending, “And don’t worry, we can just pretend like this never happened.”

You try to go after him, to clarify. It hurts you that he thinks you want to forget it. As much as a part of you would like to, you don’t think you can. But he’s already halfway up the stairs. You huff as you lean back against your kitchen counter, thoughts racing with a mixture of regret and excitement. How are the two of you supposed to just forget about this? Is forgetting this whole ordeal for the better? Logan’s rapid descent down the stairs pulls you from your thoughts, he slips his boots on as you cross over to him.

“Logan, I don’t think we can just forget this.”

“Not a matter of can or can’t, we have to,” he replies, rather curtly, picking up his leather jacket that was discarded on the floor during last night’s escapade.

“Can we at least talk about it?” you level, but he’s set on how he feels, it seems. This was a mistake.

“There’s nothing to talk about. You said it yourself, we got caught up in the moment. Sorry for comin’ here, won’t happen again.” And with that he breezes past you and out the door, not saying a word to you when he hops in his truck and drives away. You thought getting drinks with him was bad, but this might just be your worst nightmare.

…

You toss and turn in your bed, struggling to find comfort in your sheets with your mind racing the way that it is. What a braindead decision. Why did you do that? Why didn’t you consider the implications of him knowing everything about you? How are you supposed to look him in the eye on Monday? Groaning in frustration, you dig the heels of your palm in your eyes, trying to will the thoughts of regret away. There’s nothing you can do now. Your feelings for each other are out in the open. You can’t hide behind faux timidity, Logan will see right through it. All you can do is face the reality of the situation: you just fucked your history professor, who is a mutant like you, and dreams the same vivid sex fantasies you do. It’s bizarre to think of it that way, almost feels fake.

Eyes feel heavy, but you don’t dare shut them. You fear going to sleep now, worried that another dream might happen and the two of you will have to see each other after knowing what happened in your subconscious. Would your consciousness meet you there this time? Would you just be a puppet to whatever the dream wills to happen, or will you see him with lucidity? You don’t know. But you can’t fight sleep much longer.

Bright white light blinds you, its fluorescence humming from above. You’re barely conscious, weak, skin cold from the icy metal you lay upon. You don’t know where you are. You can barely move with the restraints at your wrists, ankles, waist, head. But even if you could get up, you feel faint. Like your body has been sucked of every nutrient save for the bare minimum you need to be alive. Men in surgical gear hover above you, goggle-shrouded eyes looming at you hungrily. You would panic but your body doesn’t have the energy to. Equipment comes to view in your peripheral—needles and tubes with strange liquids. Beeping and muffled talk of dissections and extractions is all you can hear, barely able to tell what they’re really saying.

“She might not survive the procedure, she’s barely hanging on as is,” one of them says, their tone hushed but stressed.

“He gave orders. Prep the IV,” another voice commands. Immediately following his direction, the sharp stab of a needle hits your skin. Then another. And another. Blood flowing out of you, liquids pumping into you, consciousness fading as the beeping grows louder and more incessant. You try to stay awake—fighting with all your might, but you can’t. The beeping has crescendoed with the accompaniment of flashing lights. You’re sure this is your mind’s way of coping with the loss of reality as you slowly slip away. Voices yell around you, crashing bodies, and the flying of blood splatter covers the ceiling you’ve been staring at. The room glows white and you’re sure this is it. But something blocks the light—a figure hovers above you. Ripping the needles from your arms and freeing you from the restraints, a voice soothes you. It reverberates around your skull, echoing and not registering as any kind of real dialogue. Then, arms cradle you and lift you up off of the table and suddenly you recognize the source of the voice.

“You’re gonna be okay, baby, I got you,” Logan reassures, the gravel in his voice bringing you back down to earth. Eyes blink up at him as he pulls you against his chest, carrying you away from the fluorescent room. There’s another voice—one you don’t recognize.

“Logan, we must get her medical attention. She’s dying,” the man says.

“We’re almost there, baby, just hang on,” Logan comforts you, trying his best not to jostle you as he practically runs through a white blur of a hallway. The scenery around you darkens, an engine hums in the distance. Nothing is legible to you through your delirium. The humming grows louder and louder until you’re carried up a ramp and placed gently onto the hard surface of a table. A hiss, some beeps and the room shakes. You can’t make sense of anything, your surroundings looking like a blur of grey and faint flashing lights.

“Hank, do something, damnit!” Logan shouts, gripping your hand tightly. You wish you could squeeze him back, but your body is too weak to do much of anything—sleep seeming like something that would feel so, so good right now.

“Her body has been deprived of the necessary nutrients her powers need in order to regenerate her strength, I can give her this to see if it will sustain her until—“

“Give her the damn shot!”

The light prick on your skin barely registers as you try your hardest to look at Logan’s face, but he’s so faint, nothing looks clear.

“Logan,” you rasp.

“You’re gonna be okay, baby, just look at me. You got this, just hang on.” He shakes you gently, trying to keep you conscious. But you just want to sleep, it’s all you can think about.

“I’m so tired,” you murmur, your lids heavy, your breathing slowing down. The thumping that used to be so loud in your chest feels lighter and lighter as you succumb to your sleep. Everything around you echoes, unable to register the yells and screams as you allow your body to fall asleep.

A gasp violently wakes you, like you almost fell off of something. Chest heaving, you sit up in bed, taking time to process what just happened. You barely remember this dream, just that Logan was there and you felt so weak and tired and scared. Falling back against your pillow, you try and will yourself back to sleep, already feeling the events of the dream fading away. But a harsh noise startles you awake, your heart rate skyrocketing from the shock. You jump at the sound of banging echoing from your door. Checking the clock, you wonder who would be here at this hour. You go to your bedroom window to peek out at your driveway for any indication of who might be bothering you. It’s dark, but you can make out the silhouette of a car parked in front of your house. Sighing in annoyance at the sight of what you recognize as Logan’s truck, you stomp down your stairs, wondering what the hell he could be doing here at this hour. Swinging the door open, you try to hide your surprise at the way he’s dressed. No shirt, just sweatpants. Like he just rolled out of bed and showed up. He almost looks relieved to see you. He doesn’t give you a second to question him before he speaks.

“Did you just have a dream?” he asks, his tone concerned and stressed, bare chest heaving. You’re too tired for this tonight, you just want him gone.

“What? Logan, go home,” you scoff, trying to shut the door but he stops you, imploring your name.

“Did you…have any dreams?” he repeats, slowing his words down carefully as he wills you to be honest with him. Judging from his disheveled appearance and worried tone, you’re assuming he just had the same dream you did. Did he come here to see if you were okay? To test your connection further and see if the dream meant something to you? You can’t push this relationship further past what it already is. It’s better for you and Logan that you forget about everything and try and move on.

“I didn’t have any dreams, goodnight, Logan,” you reply simply, shutting the door finally and locking it behind you before you head upstairs, going back to bed.

…

You’re not religious, but you’ve been praying—praying that this morning will not be the most awkward morning of your life and it will be just like any other day in Logan’s class, which really isn’t too normal at all. At least, not in comparison to the rest of the courses you’ve been taking, but you hope he doesn’t have any outbursts.

Your classmates, engaged in conversation around you, barely notice Logan walking in. But you do. He’s a few minutes later than usual, hair messy and eyes heavy as he sets his briefcase down. He’s flipping through the textbook, keeping his eyes low so he doesn’t make eye contact with you. A part of you wants him to—wants him to look at you. Does he still think about your night of passion? Does he have to try and stop himself from caving into self-pleasure, shoving every lasting thought of you down the drain? Does he have to fight the urge to stare at your tits or the way your ass looks in your jeans when you turn around to write on the board….

God, what has happened to you? You have sex with someone once and you can hardly control your thoughts. How can he have this effect on you? Clenching your thighs when he enters a room, heart racing at the sight of his biceps peeking out from under the sleeves of his T-shirt. You’re like a fangirl who can’t stop thinking about nothing but him—him, him, him. You might as well flutter your eyelashes and prop your chin on your hand if this is how you’re going to be.

Logan goes on and on about…Shit, what did he just say? C’mon, pay attention damnit. This man will not cause me my degree, you curse your thoughts and try to whip yourself into shape.

Shaking your head of the sexual ideals, you bring your focus to your note taking, attempting to forge a mental image of Logan being extremely unattractive. It works for the remainder of class, or at least until he hands you back your essay with the words My office. After class, scrawled at the top of the page. You glance upwards to meet his gaze, he holds eye contact for a beat before quickly turning away to pack up his things at the front of the room. Class is over, but you don’t dare to get up just yet, frozen in indecisiveness. Why does he want to see you? What reason does he have to see you? Is he just trying to come up with an excuse? The classroom’s empty now, leaving you with a decision: see Logan, or go home.

You honestly don’t really have much of a choice, as your body decides for your brain by carrying you to the door of his office. With hesitation, you knock, silently hoping that he forgot about what he wrote at the top of your essay.

“Come in,” he calls from behind the door, causing you to curse internally. Gingerly, you open the door inch by inch, peeking in briefly before stepping inside and closing the door behind you. He’s sat behind his desk, leaning back leisurely with his legs spread wide. You offer an awkward smile as you wipe your clammy hands on the fabric of your skirt, trying your best to hide your nerves.

“What’s up?” you ask, attempting a casual tone despite your nervousness in being here. Logan adjusts his position in his chair slightly, clearly stewing on something.

“So, your essay—I wanted to talk…well, I wanted to tell you,” he stammers, clearly struggling to form his thoughts. You try your best to listen patiently, but he continues to stumble through each word, “Look, there’s some things—there’s a thing, it’s extracurricular, I guess…”

“You brought me here to talk about a club?” you question, narrowing your eyes at him in slight disbelief.

“No, it’s not a club—well, it sorta is…look, I—“

“Logan,” you start, trying to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. You’re sure he just called you in because he won’t admit that he’s upset you rebuffed him. “I appreciate you thinking of me, but I’m not interested.”

You turn around in an attempt to leave, but Logan crosses to you in no time, spinning you around with a tight grip on your arm. The sudden movement makes you gasp lightly, a familiar twinge of arousal swirling within you at the harsh movement. He takes a deep breath, his mouth gaping like he’s trying to say something but can’t find the words. Something is distracting him, but you can hardly focus too—the way he looms over you and the smell of his tobacco filled musk being almost too much to bear. He stares at you for what feels like forever, a look of mild annoyance on his face which makes your brow furrow.

“What?” you ask incredulously, trying your best to hide how much he’s making your heart skip a beat and your thighs clench.

“Will you stop that,” he practically hisses.

“Stop what?”

“I can—Jesus, I can smell you.” He shakes you gently, pulling you slightly closer to him, like his body wants to kiss you but he’s trying his hardest to stop himself.

“Smell? What are you...” You trail off, your mind racing with possibilities. My perfume? My shampoo? What can he smell? And then it hits you. Can he smell when I’m turned on? Oh, god. You gulp, your throat suddenly extremely dry. How are you supposed to play this off? It’s almost like you’ve been backed into a corner, until your eyes flick downwards between the two of you, catching a glimpse of his own arousal pressed firmly against his jeans. Looking back up to him, you cock an eyebrow.

“Doesn’t seem to bother you,” you retort, narrowing your eyes slightly.

“You don’t exactly make it easy, princess,” he says, shifting his weight in discomfort.

“Make what easy?” you ask, doing your best to appear clueless to what he’s implying.

He inhales sharply before spinning you around so your ass is pinned to the edge of his desk, Logan’s body pressed into yours as he stops you from being able to move out from under him. The tip of his nose grazes against your own as his lips hover in a state of hesitance, contemplating a kiss.

“Logan,” you warn, voice hushed, “We can’t.”

“Why not?” He tries to catch your lips, but you pull back, not letting him make contact.

“Someone could walk in.”

“Could they?” he asks, dragging a hand up your side, letting your shirt hike up under the trail of his hand. Your breath hitches as his fingers graze along your skin, melting into his touch. He dips his face down to your ear, his beard prickling the soft skin of your cheek.

“What are you gonna do about that, princess?” he husks, tempting you with each rake of his words along the gravel of his vocal cords. His mouth glides along the side of your face, touch too ginger to be a kiss, but firm enough to feel each curve of his lips. He told you that you’re not making it easy, but god, it’s taking every ounce of self control in you to not just let him fuck you on the desk behind you.

But why not let him? You’ve already done it once, and who’s to say this won’t be the last time you do it? God, he’s making this so hard. The way his frame is pressed to yours, hands dragging up and down your body, his mouth so close to yours that if you so much as hiccup you’d surely lock lips. Maybe just a little kiss wouldn’t hurt, you think to yourself. With a raise of your hand and a flick of your wrist, the door is fused with the threshold, ensuring that no one can enter and catch you and Logan in the act. Hooking your arms around his neck, you finally pull his face into yours, affirming the connection that your mouths have been craving.

Groans escape Logan’s throat as he lifts you up slightly, setting you down on the desk. You wrap your legs around his torso, trying not to pay attention to the fact that you can feel the outline of his cock through your thin panties. Arching your back into him, your tongue tests the waters by dipping into his mouth gently.

The kiss is not pretty by any means, it’s wet and ravenous and messy, and so so good. It’s like you’re the first meal he’s had in ages; hungry yet savored. Tongues unabashedly become familiar with each other, no care with how far he thrusts it into your mouth and vice versa, just wanting to swallow and feel every last inch of you. Logan’s hands start wandering from your sides, sliding up your torso to grip your breasts possessively. You whimper in his mouth, frenzied in your desire to feel all of him. Hands wander again, settling at your waist to pull you closer to him before slipping under your skirt. A whimper leaves your mouth as he toys with the waistband of your panties, working his hand between your bodies so he can slide them to the side. Gasping into his mouth as he slides a finger through your lips, back arching into him.

You lose your focus on the kiss as he teases you, avoiding your aching core to make sure you’re nice and wet for him. His onslaught of your lips is still consistent, as if toying with your pussy is second nature to him. But he’s seemingly through with the teasing, as he slips one finger inside of you. You mewl into the kiss when he curls a digit, Logan takes that as permission to slip in another finger. You’re putty beneath him, barely able to reciprocate the kiss through whimpers and moans as he continues to pump in and out of you.

The sound of knocking outside causes both you and Logan to scramble. Hastily, pulling apart, straightening clothes, smoothing hair.

“Uh, be with ‘ya in just a minute,” Logan calls.

You hop off of his desk, bending down to collect your things, but Logan stops you with a grip on your arm.

“Logan, there’s someone—“ you whisper, your voice stressed.

“They can wait,” he husks, moving his hand from your arm to your jaw. Gripping your face, he brings his fingers from his free hand to your mouth, beckoning you to suck them clean. You’re not sure why, but you oblige, parting your lips to allow him access as you languidly suck your arousal from his fingers. He stares down at you with desire clearly painted on his face. He wants you, and he is not trying to hide it.

“Good girl,” he drawls with a tone dripping in velvet, causing you to swirl your tongue around each digit enthusiastically, savoring the taste of your own juices. The knocking continues, harmonizing with the voice of a young girl this time.

“Professor, I’m sorry, I just have a few questions about the homework.”

Logan pulls his fingers from your mouth, making you almost whine at the loss of fullness; a bitter taste remaining on your tongue. You clear your throat and grab your bag, smoothing your skirt and hair down as you silently hope you don’t look like you were just aggressively making out with your professor. Logan slips behind his desk, settling into his chair, unabashedly ogling your ass as you approach the door. You flash a flirty smile over your shoulder as you reach for the doorknob, almost falling over when the door doesn’t budge. You give it another good yank before remembering that you fused the door to the frame so no one would catch you and Logan in a compromising position.

You laugh awkwardly, catching Logan’s slightly bemused gaze as you lift your hand and restore the door back to its original state. Swinging it open, you offer a meek smile to the girl waiting patiently outside before quickly scurrying away. You can hear her still from the end of the hall.

“What’s with the door? I had a hard time getting it open,” she says.

“It’s broken.”

…

As you drive home from class, you can’t help but blush as you think back to your impromptu makeout session with Logan. The way he kissed you, touched you, grabbed you…No, you can’t. As much as you’d like to give in to these thoughts and feelings, you can’t allow this thing to become any bigger than it already is. It’s just a fling, a fleeting infatuation. You can’t let him distract you from your aspirations. There’s a whole path before you, laid out clearly. You know where you’re supposed to go. Sure, he may be like you, and he may understand you, but you have already accepted that the world isn’t ready to welcome mutants. If you let yourself have feelings for him, you would threaten the life you’ve worked so hard to maintain in secret. No one knows you, no one notices you, and that’s how you need it to be.

Besides, you like your quiet life. You like the winding drive to and from town. You like breathing the misty mountain air while you drink your morning coffee. You like the quiet that encompasses your little house. And nothing, surely no man, will take that tranquility from you.

Bedroom window cracked, you attempt to lull yourself to sleep with the sounds of the chirping crickets just outside your window. Though your eyes don’t feel quite as heavy as you’d like them to, you keep them shut. Hoping that your body will soon take over and succumb to the sleep you know you need to get.

Your vision around you is cloudy, unclear. There are no defining characteristics to your surroundings, just an expanse of darkness that envelops everything. You catch a light in the distance, the black slowly melting away as you approach it. When the darkness dissipates, the image is clearer. A hospital room. You almost don’t perceive who’s lying upon the bed, as the tubes and devices cover their face—your face— completely. You’re in the hospital? What hospital? This is unlike anything you’ve seen before, the equipment you’re hooked up to is far more advanced than what you know hospitals to have.

A blurry figure sits in a chair beside your bed, you cannot discern who it may be. The image clears further as the figure moves. It’s a man—it’s Logan. He looks…scared? Sad? Concerned? No, he looks distraught. He stares at you longingly, gripping your hand tightly. Another figure enters your line of sight. Unclear, but…blue? And furry? He’s broad, tall, and he wears a white lab coat, a pair of glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. His face grows more detailed, revealing an animal-like physique to you. The two men begin speaking to each other but you cannot quite understand what they’re saying; their words are muffled and echoey, like they’re underwater. The shroud of indiscernible dialogue slowly dissipates.

“Logan, I’m sorry, we’ve tried everything. Her life…it’s in her hands now,” the blue stranger says, offering a sympathetic hand on Logan’s shoulder.

“It’s not in her hands, damnit, it’s in yours!” he snaps, standing up to drill into him further. “If she dies, it’s on you, Hank…so help me, god, if she—if she dies, you better pray, Hank—you better pray she makes it.”

Hank doesn’t seem phased by his threat. His expression is sad, empathetic.

“I’m sorry, Lo—“

He’s cut off by a droning beep emanating from one of the machines. You’re flatlining. You’re watching yourself flatline.

“No…no, no, no, no,” Logan sputters, rushing to your side. “No, come on baby, don’t do this to me. I’m right here with you, wake up, baby.”

“Logan—“ Hank tries to intervene.

“Goddamnit! Wake up!” he cries now, practically cradling you as he holds you to his chest.

You can’t stand to see him like this, you’re here. You’re right in front of him. In an attempt to comfort him, you try and approach further, but something stops you. You can’t move. Like a magnet that’s faced its match, you’re incapable of making contact.

“I’m here. I’m right here!” you shout. But he doesn’t react. And neither does Hank. There’s nothing you can do. Logan is anguished over your lifeless body and you just have to watch him suffer. The force stops you from approaching him, yet you still try with all your strength. Fighting and straining against the impermeable energy, you scream more as you hope and pray that Logan might hear you. Just when you feel like he may be within reach, something drags you away as if you were a lure they were reeling back in on a fishing line. The strength in which it pulls you away knocks you completely off your feet and you lose all sense of your surroundings.

Falling. A gasp and a drop of your heart brings you back down to earth. That was the weirdest one yet. Despite the strange out of body experience, it felt so real. Like you could almost reach out and touch Logan if you tried hard enough, yet you couldn’t. A sense of dread and anxiety weights heavy on your heart. You don’t think you’ll be able to fall asleep, at least not for a while.

Pushing open the doors of your patio, you shiver as the cold, night air encompasses you. You wrap a blanket around you as you propel yourself to the roof. It’s nights like these where you find yourself extra grateful for the lack of light pollution here. The stars don’t dream, the ones above may already be burnt out, but they still shine even in their possible death.

Your attention is drawn to headlights at the top of your driveway, your eyes adjusting to recognize Logan’s truck pulling in. A part of you wants to be annoyed, but there’s another part of you that is still pretty shaken up from that dream and could use a comforting presence. And judging by his sudden appearance, he must’ve also had the same one. He steps out of his truck, a case of beer in his hand.

“Figured you could use one of these,” Logan calls from below, gesturing with the case of beer.

You exhale a light laugh, shaking your head at the absurdity of this situation. A wave of your hand and you project a set of crystalline, pink stairs for him to climb up. He hesitantly ascends, clearly weary of the sturdiness of the projection. He reaches the top, the steps dissipating behind him. A hand stretches out to you, offering you one of the beers, which you accept with a tight-lipped smile. He sinks down next to you, his beer bottle hissing open before he takes a generous swig. Twisting the cap off, you take a swig yourself, wincing at the bitter path it leaves down your throat. You’re quiet for a while, mostly because you’re unsure of what to say, but also in part because you like the quiet. Your gaze has been fixed on the freckled sky above, avoiding making eye contact with Logan. The impromptu kiss today might’ve left him wanting more, and you hope he didn’t just come here to pick up where you left off. But, then again, he had the same dream you did, where he seemed to be far more distraught than you were.

“You okay?” you ask quietly, turning your head to face him. His jaw tightens slightly before he turns to you and nods. Taking another sip of his beer, he looks lost in thought, leg propped up and arm rested atop his knee.

“Why do you think we keep having these dreams?” he asks lowly, finally turning to face you.

In all honesty, you don’t know. You’ve never experienced anything like this before. As far as you know, your powers don’t affect the subconscious, and while you don’t know much about what Logan can do, you doubt that his metal claws come with the power to manipulate dreams.

“I don’t know,” you offer, feeling a bit defeated by the fact that you have to keep dealing with this every night. You can’t remember the last time you had a full nights sleep that wasn’t interrupted with nightmares or sex dreams.

“Can your powers…you know, even do stuff like that?” he inquires, unsure of himself.

You shake your head, feeling certain that if you were capable of this kind of thing, it would’ve most likely already happened to you, before you ever even met him.

“No, I don’t think so,” you replied, before continuing, “And you? Can you…do stuff like that?”

You take another sip of your beer. Logan chuckles, seemingly amused at the thought.

“I don’t mean to disappoint, but these claws don’t got much to do with mysticism,” he teases, causing you to nod in understanding. “I know I didn’t explain much,” he continues, unsheathing his claws with a sharp ‘snikt,’ “But I wasn’t exactly born like this.”

“What do you mean?” you inquire, confused as to what he’s implying as you stare at the blades that protrude from his knuckles; they glisten in the moonlight.

“This metal…it ain’t just on the claws,” he remarks in a tone that you can only describe as pained as he begins to recount this to you. “Those dreams you—we have….that fear you felt in there, it was a reality for me.”

His jaw tenses as he sheathes his claws. You’re not sure what exactly he’s trying to say—or allude to, as he isn’t saying anything with clarity.

“What fear?” you coax, trying to get him to reveal more to you.

“The tests.” He’s quiet, taking a generous swig of his beer, easily downing a majority of the liquid that was left in the bottle.

“What tests? Who tested on you?” He doesn’t answer you, avoiding eye contact as you try to level with him. “Was it the government? The military?”

He stiffens, his body having a visceral reaction to those words. That realization makes your heart sink. What did he go through? Why did they test on him? What did they do to him? What did he mean when he said the metal wasn’t just on his claws? Your mind races with questions and concerns until you take note of his stiff posture and balled fists, his hand keeping a death grip on his beer bottle. You’ve never seen him look so tense before. This must be painful to recount—to have been treated inhumanely like a lab rat. You cannot imagine what he must be feeling. You place a gentle hand on his balled fist and feel as he relaxes under your touch. He turns his head to you with a softened expression.

“You don’t have to tell me anything else…I’m sorry,” you sympathized, running your thumb along his knuckles.

He shrugs, as if this was a casual retelling. A typical Monday night for Logan Howlett.

“Don’t stress about it, princess,” he husks, dipping his head down to your level. He lingers there for a moment, gaze flicking between your eyes and lips, clearly contemplating a kiss. You should protest, push him away, but his closeness is comforting. It’s warm. He attempts to lock his lips with yours, but you turn away, not allowing contact.

“I…I still think we shouldn’t…,” you murmur, keeping your head low and meekly looking up at him through your eyebrows. He nods in understanding, shifting away from you slightly. Despite your hesitance to kiss him again, you don’t want him to leave. His presence relaxes you, keeps you from spiraling. You move closer to him, gently linking your arm with his before leaning against his shoulder. The suddenness of your contact makes him flinch under you slightly. You feel a twinge of embarrassment when he removes his arm from the link you formed. But the feeling quickly dissipates when he wraps it around you to pull your frame further into his. A gentle kiss is placed on the top of your head, making your breath hitch. This is exactly what you needed tonight.

“Thank you—for coming here,” you mutter, nuzzling your head into his chest in an attempt to get comfortable. He shifts under you, perhaps in an attempt to get a look at your huddled figure.

“It’s nothing. People like us—we take care of each other,” he remarks, adjusting the blanket that’s fallen off your shoulder with the hand that is not wrapped around you. He fumbles with the beer bottle, struggling to get a grip on the blanket with the fingers he doesn’t need to use in order to support the glass.

“You done with that? I can take care of it for you,” you offer, gesturing to his beer bottle. He nods, offering it to you as he’s probably expecting you to just take it away from him. You take him by surprise, though, when you dissipate it with a wave of your hand, a trail of pink particles dissolving into the air. He looks at his hand incredulously, then at you, then back to his hand.

“Alright, I told you my shit, now tell me yours,” he insisted, a bemused but intrigued tone to his voice, causing you to laugh lightly.

“Okay, um, well…I don’t know everything about what I can do, but I do know atomic structures. If I can conceptualize something, I can conceptualize its atomic structure,” you begin, “So, take, for instance, this beer bottle,” you hold up the glass in your hand for emphasis, “When I look at it, I don’t just see the bottle. I see all of its particles and components and the atomic structures that make it up. So, since I’m done with it, I could just throw it away, but I’d honestly rather help the environment a little and convert it…” you trail off as you begin dissipating its particles, “…into energy. In this case, oxygen.”

Logan looks down at you with an amused expression, which makes you nervous. Did you say too much? Is he silently making fun of you?

“Sorry,” you concede sheepishly, suddenly feeling embarrassed about the way you admitted that to him.

“No, don’t be. That’s…Look, I’ve seen a lot in my time, but I’ve never seen anything like that—like you. Don’t be sorry,” he reassures, nudging you slightly with the arm that envelops you. You smile in relief and feel a twinge of pride. He’s right, it is pretty incredible. And it’s nothing to be sorry for.

“Thank you,” you murmur, looking up at him through heavy eyelids. Your exhaustion is beginning to rear its head at you the longer you sit in his arms. Settling against his chest, you pay attention to the steady thump of his heartbeat, the way his thumb runs circles along your upper arm, the warmness of his body on yours.

You’re not sure how soon after closing your eyes you fell asleep, finding yourself tangled in your bedsheets the following morning, Logan’s frame curled into yours.

...

A/N: AHHHHH!! i loved writing this one, i know i say that about every chapter but i mean it this time. no seriously this was fun to write. there's so much to this one and i feel like its jam packed with angst, exposition, a little sprinkle of smut, and a deepening of their connection. i do apologize for the sudden length between updates, i just started a new job and ive also been babysitting during the day so i got randomly busy all of a sudden!! i'm not giving up on this story and i still have SO SO SO MUCH PLANNED REST ASSURED. i love hearing peoples thoughts and theories, and i hope, as i said in the A/N at the top of this chapter, no one felt like the slow burn was too rushed. srsly theres still a LOT that has to happen before these two get together so the slow burn WILL be slow. a couple of people have asked about a chapter from logan's POV, and i will say that there will be maybe a couple more chapters until we get the one from his POV! so it'll happen!!! yay!! as always leave a like or a comment and also feel free to keep up with the story here on my ao3 as well!!

Taglist: @wolviesgirl @sanemis-piss @fictionalmen-dilflover @e-nonsense @bontensbabygirl @sseleniaa

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