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joelsgoldrush · 6 months ago

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“give me the first taste” | 10k

logan howlett x f!reader

part 2 of “GUILTY PLEASURE”

"Your hungry flirt borders intrusion / And I'm building memories on things we have not said / Full is not heavy as empty, not nearly, my love / Give me the first taste / Let it begin, heaven cannot wait forever / Darling, just start start the chase, I'll let you win." The First Taste by Fiona Apple

SUMMARY: From the moment you first laid eyes on Logan, you knew he was a tough nut to crack. But if there’s one thing you love, it’s a challenge. As your relationship grows, you’re determined to show him that, in this universe, he can also be loved.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. angst. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. age-gap (reader is 25). once again wade saves the day. domestic!logan. soft dom!logan. logan calls reader “kid”. they watch (500) days of summer. oral sex (f and m receiving). fingering. thigh riding. thumb sucking. throat fucking. multiple orgasms. unprotected p in v. creampie (i would say i’m sorry but i’d be lying)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: jeez. hi guys!!! hope you’re doing alright. this is the 2nd part to “guilty pleasure.” writing for these two has been a total rollercoaster, but god was it worth it. as i always tell you, english isn’t my first language, so if you come across any mistake and you feel like letting me know, there’s no problem. thank you so much for all the support you’ve been giving my posts. i’m happy strangers out there take the time to read my silly stories :)

A girl and a mutant walk into an apartment…

Actually, you’re still trying to come up with the rest of the joke. But one thing’s true: Logan’s about to set foot in your place.

You curse under your breath, putting both your hands to work as you struggle to open the door. “Fucking swollen wood. I hate humidity,” you mutter, glancing back at Logan, who frowns as you keep trying different maneuvers to get the door to function properly.

It’s a shitty situation overall. And having that gorgeous man practically glued to your back isn’t helping in any way. You can tell he wants to give you a hand, but you’re not having it—women in STEM or something of the sort.

“May I—” he starts, though you cut him off before he can finish.

“I’ve got this. Just need to—” you say, ramming your shoulder into the door with enough force to make it finally give away. Almost stumbling over the carpet but managing to catch yourself, you sigh in relief. Meanwhile, Logan stands still, scrutinizing you until you gesture for him to enter. “Welcome to the smallest apartment in New York City. It's nothing fancy, but it’s got everything you need for a comfortable stay on a budget. Make yourself at home!”

Logan narrows his eyes, the tiniest smirk playing on his lips before stepping inside. Each of his movements seems to be premeditated as he tosses his jacket onto the couch, surveying the room. A portrait of when you were a kid, probably six or seven years old, catches his attention. He tilts his head, picking up the picture to examine it more closely, and then flashes you a lopsided grin. “How cute.”

“Well, I’ve changed a lot,” you take the picture from his hands, returning it to the shelf where he had gotten it from.

“Well,” he echoes, mocking your tone, “your beauty certainly hasn’t.”

His eyes bore into you as you meet his gaze. What amazes you most is that he’s being completely honest. In a heartbeat, you look away, wondering what’s gotten into you. Usually, you’re not this awkward—you’ve learned how to take compliments over the years, knowing how to smile just right, to flutter your eyelashes. To blush and giggle in command. Those were the tools that helped you to survive countless first dates—your dearest aces up your sleeve.

There’s no use denying that they remained just that: first, failed dates. You hope you never have to go back to dating apps after this.

“Are you hungry? ‘Cause I’m starving,” you say, trying to walk away from him, although he’s faster, catching your hand in his.

“Hey,” he urges you to make eye contact with him, his voice perplexingly soft. “Is everything okay?”

You nod so vigorously that you nearly strain your neck. “I’m fine, I swear. I just never get past this point.”

Inching closer, he presses his lips together for a split second, his brows furrowing in confusion. “You lost me there.”

“Guys who come into my apartment don’t tend to call back,” you admit, a flush creeping up your face, cheeks getting hotter. “I happen to believe it’s a curse, though I’ve kissed, like, a hundred toads so far and it still won’t break.”

“So y’think you’re gonna scare me off,” he raises an eyebrow, grinning. His rough fingers become gentle as they tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s sweet. Should be the other way around.”

Wow. You two are a match made in heaven.

As you detach yourself from his embrace and head to the kitchen, you decide to look for something edible in the fridge, finding different trays of food from days ago, none of which look appetizing or suitable for feeding the Tin Woodman standing behind you.

All of a sudden, the unmistakable metallic sound of Logan’s claws unsheathing rings in your ears, forcing you to spin around. The image that unfolds before you is peculiar, to say the least: he’s cornering your cat against the door.

Why is he about to fight a cat?

“Please don’t kill him?” you take a step in his direction and scoop the little ball of white fur into your arms. Logan stares at both of you, eyes squinted and brows knitted. “I’m sure he’s the cutest feline you’ve ever seen. Have mercy on him.”

“I didn’t know you had a cat.”

“Earnest wasn’t aware of your existence either,” you reply, scratching along the animal’s back. He purrs beside your neck, his yellowish eyes never leaving Logan’s. “Earnest, this is Logan. He has claws just like you.”

“Don’t you dare compare me to that,” Logan warns you, retracting his claws with a sigh. You can’t help but wonder if he ever feels tranquil, at peace. “Y’know, you’ve doomed him to bad fortune with that name. Is he at least toilet trained?”

“Are you hating on The Importance of Being Earnest?” you ask, expecting a retort, though apparently the play’s title doesn’t ring a bell for him. “Oscar Wilde?”

“Who do you think you’re talkin’ to, kid?”

Now’s your time to roll your eyes, setting the cat down and letting it run away. He likes to hide in the bathroom—don’t ask why, because not even you know the answer to that. You flick your gaze up back to Logan, placing your hands on your hips. “See, you gave him trust issues.”

“He’ll survive. Don’t they have seven lives?”

This is the perfect conversation to have with someone who just ate you out thirty minutes ago: how many lives do cats have. Jesus.

At some point, Logan flops onto the couch, stretching out. You shudder as you hear him crack his neck, the popping sound getting on your nerves. He pats the empty side of the sofa, spreading his thighs until he’s almost taking up all the space. “Come here.”

Putting aside all your thoughts, you accept the invitation. You sit down, motionless, and his arm grazes the cushion behind your head, pulling you closer to him. You rest your cheek on his chest, letting out a deep sigh, one that you’ve been holding in since you got to the apartment. Is it possible that he knows you craved this? This proximity, this kind of affection. To be held—it’s been your only wish for months. He drums his fingers on your shoulder blades, then starts rubbing your back ever so lightly.

Far from dozing off, you feel alive.

It’s hard not to lose track of time and space when you find yourself immersed in the warmth he offers, and that’s when you realize how deeply you’re falling for this man. “Logan?” the mere thought of asking him what’s been on your mind terrifies you. The last thing you want is to ruin things—or whatever it is that you have. He hums, a low, heavy sound in his throat, indicating you to continue. “I have a question.”

“Ask away.”

You lift your face from his chest and look him in the eye. The city’s still alive outside, with music and chatter sneaking in through the window. Everything seems to be perfect, and you wish you could stay like this—just staring at him as if he were a painting in a museum, and you the critic who can’t stop writing articles about its beauty.

Okay, that was… weirdly specific.

Logan tries to hide his smile as you peck his lips repeatedly. For a moment, you almost forget what you were going to ask him in the first place. But then he’s ready to listen, and you a wave of nausea washes over you.

“I know that we came here to… engage in adult practices.”

“Fucking, you mean.”

“I didn’t want to be that straightforward, but yeah,” you say, shaking your head as to rearrange your thoughts. “Would you mind if we stayed like this?” to emphasize your point, you kick your shoes off and put your legs on top of his lap. He observes the whole sequence without daring to utter a word. “Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to try that too. I truly do. But… right now, all I want is to cuddle,” he’s still silent, making you even more nervous. “I’m sorry. Is that okay with you?”

His whole body engulfs yours, your cheek coming to rest once again in its original position. You can feel the rhythmic beating of his heart, each breath he takes, the air he exhales dampening your nape. Logan peppers your neck with chaste kisses before pressing his lips to your temple. His voice comes out strained, partially muffled by your hair. “Who do you take me for, huh?” he’s right there, beside your ear, fucking everywhere. There isn’t a single centimeter of your exposed skin that he isn’t touching, marking as his. You don’t give him an answer, in part because you’re unsure of what to say. He takes your silence as a cue to keep talking. “Let me take you to bed.”

“I can walk on my own.”

“I know,” he mutters, standing up with you in his arms, one arm beneath your knees and the other one under your shoulders. Logan’s not used to being this cautious, this patient with someone he’s known for less than two weeks. You see it in his eyes when he lets his guard down—something that has cracked, a shell that’s been broken.

As he places you gently on top of the covers, he lingers for a moment, crouching beside the bed and searching for your lowered gaze. His fingers are warm as he tilts your chin up. “I didn’t come here just to have sex with you. That was a possibility, of course—but it’s not the main reason why I’m here,” he rasps, words accompanied by the light brush of his lips against yours for a quick, brief kiss. “I care about you. A lot. I’m fine with whatever we do as long as I get to be close to you,” he grabs your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He then goes back to his usual bossy self, his demeanor changing. “And I don’t want to hear you apologizing for not wanting to have sex ever again. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now you’re making jokes?”

“I can’t have serious conversations,” you confess, observing the look of pure confusion on his face. “It’s true. I once spoke at a funeral and they cut me off forty seconds into my speech.”

Logan laughs at your sudden confession, his eyes crinkling at the edges. Rising to his feet, he begins to unbutton his flannel, pausing after the first few buttons are undone, waiting for your approval. “Do you want me to stay tonight?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is what I want.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

His words don’t hide any real threat—that you know.

You stifle your laughter, shedding your clothes. Instead of going to the bathroom to change, you toss your work clothes carelessly to the floor, opting for an old pair of pajamas that are the complete opposite of sexy. They surely have seen better days.

Logan’s eyes trail over you, taking his time to analyze the faded lettering on your wrinkled shirt. “Keep calm and eat pizza?” he reads aloud.

“Hey. I bought it when I was seventeen.”

“You could use a new wardrobe.”

“Well, what about you?” you tease, toying with his belt. “You’re gonna sleep like this in my bed?”

“Can’t wait for me to get my shirt off, huh?” he grins, that all-too-familiar smile on his lips.

You play along, folding your arms over your chest. “You think so highly of yourself.”

Without breaking eye contact, Logan unbuckles his jeans, letting them pool around his ankles. He then shrugs off his flannel, leaving him in just his briefs and vest. You scan his body, and the room suddenly feels a hundred degrees hotter, the air between you thickening. Logan notices your reaction, chuckling. “Don’t get too excited. This is all you’re getting today.”

“I think I’ve already heard that before.”

“Kid.”

You raise your hands in surrender, showing him your palms and mouthing ’sorry’. Approaching your bed, you pull back the covers and slip into it. When you see Logan still standing there, you frown. “Where are your manners? Come here. I’m very impatient.”

He grumbles something under his breath, but he doesn’t make you wait long. He proceeds to get under the sheets beside you, occupying that side of the bed that’s always been empty. As you both settle in, facing each other, you can’t help but giggle, your contagious laugh getting to him. “What now?”

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper, tracing the bridge of his nose with your index finger, a featherlight touch that has him closing his eyes. In the soft glow of the night, with the city’s distant sounds filtering in, he looks breathtaking. “I mean it.”

“Do you have an off switch?”

“I’m… not sure. Let’s find out tomorrow.”

“You need to sleep,” he pulls you onto his chest with firm but gentle hands. He intertwines his legs with yours, holding you close.

“Wait. I have a game to play.”

“It’s late.”

“Please?”

He sighs. “Okay.”

“We have to make confessions until we fall asleep.”

“You just want to talk—that doesn’t even qualify as a game.”

“It does in this universe,” you reply, feeling his chest rumble with a chuckle as you settle more comfortably against him. “I’ll start: remember the first night you came to the bar?” he hums in acknowledgment. “It wasn’t Burger Night. We don’t serve food. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

He kisses the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “I knew. You don’t have a kitchen down there, baby,” he falls silent, taking his time to come up with a confession of his own. “I have a fear of flying.”

“Really? You, of all people?”

“I wasn’t expecting to be judged.”

“Oh, don’t be such a crybaby,” you tease, burying your face further into the crook of his shoulder, inhaling his scent. He shivers slightly where your nose touches his skin. “I like you. It’s kind of scary, and I’m sure saying something like this probably goes against the rules of dating 101, but I do. I feel safe with you, like—like this is where I’m supposed to be.”

Almost as if the pieces of the puzzle finally fit together, you think to yourself, though the words stay unspoken.

You’ve come to learn that Logan’s not a man of many words—he’s more of the “show, don’t tell” kind of guy. So when he makes you lift your face, you’re not surprised by the way he kisses you: hungrily. Passionately, like a starved man at an all-you-can-eat buffet. A soft whimper gets lost somewhere in your throat as his tongue makes its way into your mouth, languidly stroking yours.

“We didn’t brush our teeth,” you whisper against his lips, laughing when he groans in exasperation.

“You love having the final say, don’t you?”

“I’m being serious, Logan. Cavities are a real issue for me.”

“You can always get new teeth.”

“But my morning breath—”

“It’ll stink anyway, and so will mine,” he responds, taking a deep breath and clearing his throat once he settles into his ideal sleep position. “Good night.”

“Night,” you murmur, nuzzling your cheek against his neck. Despite your efforts to ignore it, being cradled like this feels incredible. You can’t believe you went twenty-five years without it.

Just as you’re about to drift off, curiosity strikes. “Can you get tattoos?”

“Bub, I was actually falling asleep.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry,” you mumble, feeling a bit sheepish.

More silence.

“Logan?”

“Hmm?”

“What was the Great Depression like?”

“Fuck me,” he mutters, his voice gruff as he shifts lightly. “It was fine. Now go to sleep.”

And you do, but not for long. An abrupt coldness wakes you up, eyes wide open, feeling disoriented. It’s still pitch black outside, far quieter than when you first fell asleep. The clock on your nightstand reads it’s 3:17 am, though it feels like you’ve only been in bed for five minutes.

Then you see him—he’s twitching in his sleep on the far side of the bed, his painful grunts reaching your ears. Most of what he says is unintelligible, but there’s one word he keeps repeating over and over again without fail: “No.”

You don’t usually have nightmares. What’s the best way to wake someone from one? You’re still thinking when he starts mumbling again, his voice thick with distress, and now he’s throwing his arms in the air as if he were fighting off something—or someone—in his dreams.

Pressing your hands to his cheeks, you attempt to hold his face steady. He clenches his fists, his breath quickening the more he battles whatever’s haunting him. “Logan,” you whisper at first, subtly shaking his shoulders, but his eyebrows stay furrowed, deep in his nightmare. This time, you tighten your grip, fully sitting on top of him. “Logan. Logan! Wake up!”

Without warning, you’re on your back, pinned against the mattress. Logan’s straddling your hips, caging you in with his body, the weight of his adamantium skeleton pressing down. Your hands are trapped beneath his, and you watch as he clenches his jaw, teeth bared in a way that looks painful. His eyes are so dark and wild you barely recognize him, prominent veins throbbing in his neck with each labored breath he takes.

“Logan,” your own voice sounds unnatural, forced, as you do your best to bring him back to reality. “It’s me. You’re alright.”

That seems to get through him. Logan stares at you in disbelief, his eyes softening as they take in your terrified expression. He abruptly pulls away, retreating to the nearest wall. He’s gasping for air, slamming his eyes shut, his legs trembling. The only sound you can hear is his rapid breathing. You get up from the bed, taking a step in his direction, but you don’t manage to go any further since he stops you with a shout.

“Stay right there!” he’s growling, pointing his finger at you. “I’m serious. Don’t come any closer.”

“Logan…”

“Please, no!” his voice increases in pitch, not being able to meet your eyes. “Please. Just stay there.”

You comply, not wanting to upset him any further. Sitting back on your knees, you try to appear calm. A man so strong, capable of things you can’t even understand. A weapon turned against himself now stands before you, pushing you away as if his presence were poisonous. He slumps to the floor, the fabric of his vest soaked with sweat.

Once he’s fully conscious, you cautiously crawl toward him, watching his every move. On a random day, this might have been funny for both of you, but right now, there’s no room for laughter. Logan shakes his head, his shoulders tensing when you reach out to hug him, wrapping your arms around his broad frame. It takes him a couple of minutes, but eventually, his body sags against yours. For a while, neither of you speaks. You just thread your fingers through his hair, hoping the closeness will help soothe him. “Feeling better?” you whisper in the shell of his ear, and he pulls back to look you in the eye. You caress his cheek, his stubble rough against your skin. “Welcome back.”

“I’m sorry,” it’s the first thing he says, covering your hand with his. One by one, he kisses your knuckles, still shaking his head. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“You had a nightmare—it’s not like you could control it.”

“But I could’ve hurt you,” he says, lowering his gaze to your wrists, where his fingerprints have left their mark. “God. I’m so sorry. I have to go.”

“Wait!” you grab his arm, your mouth setting in a hard line, stopping him from leaving. “Don’t run away from me, not now. Don’t push me away, Logan.”

“I could’ve done something much worse.”

“But you didn’t. It was a nightmare, baby. You didn’t know,” you kiss his forehead, hoping to talk some sense into him. “Please, stay. Let’s try to get some more sleep.”

“What if—”

You hold his face close to yours, your noses brushing. “You won’t hurt me.”

This time, he lets you keep him close, the roles now reversed. You can see him fighting his exhaustion, not wanting to fall asleep. But the more you play with his hair, the harder it is for him to stay awake.

“I’m alright,” he says, seemingly reading your mind. It’s hard to tell whether he’s reassuring you or himself.

“I know,” you knead his shoulder, aiming to ease the tension knotted there. “You better sleep, or I might start rambling again.”

A faint, tired hum escapes him, at long last allowing his eyes to close. “I like hearing you talk,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your collarbone, drifting off soon after that.

You continue to hug him, feeling the weight of his body gradually relax against yours as his breathing evens out. The room is quiet, but your mind is far from it: a tornado of emotions swirls within you—concern, relief, love, and something else you can’t quite decipher. It isn’t until sleep finally claims you too that your brain stops going a hundred kilometers an hour.

The most surreal Sunday night of your whole life.

“So… when will you let me see Lolo again?”

Wade’s question makes you stop mid-pour, flicking your eyes between the drink and him. A few seats away, you hand a glass to Adam. Returning to where Wade’s currently sitting, you dry your hands on your apron. “Why are you even here?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, and he gives half a shrug. “Last time I checked, I wasn’t holding him against his will.”

“He’s been crashing at your place almost every night. You have your own methods, woman,” he raises one finger, then quickly adds another, pointing at your shirt. “Two methods, in fact.”

At that, you laugh mirthlessly, shaking your head with a grin. “I’m surprised anyone would willingly date you.”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he retorts, taking a tentative sip of his beer and leaning back in his chair.

You glance at him while you wipe down the bar, looking for something to occupy your hands. “He’s not my boyfriend—yet.”

Wade mimics a punch in his chest, just where his heart’s supposed to be, though you’re starting to question whether he has one. His lips form a small, exaggerated pout. “That must hurt, doll. You got yourself into a situationship with a goddamn fossil. Good luck getting out of that.”

“It’s not that bad,” you say, rolling your eyes. “We’re cool this way. There’s absolutely no need for a title.”

“Okay, let’s rehearse that one more time because you look like you’re about to cry,” he lifts an eyebrow, drawing nearer. “You want the title, right?”

“I don’t.”

He props his chin on his hand, laughing at you. “Yes, you do. You can’t fool me.”

“I said I don’t.”

“I said I don’t,” he mocks you, kicking his legs and puckering his lips.

You can’t help but throw the towel down on the counter with irritation, giving in. “Okay! Of course, I want the fucking title.”

“There she is!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up in a triumphant gesture. “Glad we’re speaking the truth now,” he tilts his head to the side, noticing your sudden silence. “Hey, drop the long face. I’m sure he’s been thinking about it. In order to understand Logan, I usually compare him to elders over ninety.”

“Why would you do that?” you ask, your tone a mix of mild annoyance and curiosity.

“Just think about it! Senior citizens didn’t date for too long in the past. They’d go straight from strangers to lovers. Take my grandparents, for example: in the span of one year, they met at a party, then got married, and had five kids. Do you really want to have a litter of Logan’s grumpy, hairy puppies?”

“Wade, that’s not even possible.”

“The point is,” he continues, finishing his beer and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Logan’s rusty in this area, alright? I’d bet a thousand dollars he probably dated Cleopatra.”

“How did you pass History in high school?”

“I never graduated, but keep that between us,” he lifts his shoulders, shrugging. He spins the empty bottle, contemplating his next words. “You should tell him how you feel and what you want. That’s what works best for Vanessa and me. It’s easier that way—you can’t expect him to just guess.”

You wrap your arms around yourself. “I just wish he’d realize it on his own.”

“Well, sometimes you need to give the other person a bit of guidance. I’m just laying out the basics of a relationship here. Did your parents hate each other or something?”

The irony of it all. “They got divorced when I was little.”

“Oh, god,” Wade sighs, rubbing his temples before glancing at you. “Let me get this straight: Mommy and Daddy weren’t exactly the poster children for love. And you also happen to be a bartender. Anything else, honey? Please tell me you’re at least getting laid, because otherwise, I’m going to feel tremendously sorry for you and your mental health.”

Just then, you hear your name being called. Smiling at Wade, you mumble: “Saved by the bell.” Once you’re back from taking some orders, Wade jumps to his feet, coming around the counter to hug you.

“Dude, what’s the matter with you?” you ask, loosely returning the hug.

“You’re a fucking survivor,” he whispers in your ear, genuinely sounding concerned. “I don’t know how you do it—you seem so put together. I would’ve lost it by now. A life without sex sounds awful.”

“Jesus, Wade! Get off!” you stretch your arm to punch him in the back, earning a groan from him. “Back to your seat, gentleman. I certainly don’t need your pity.”

“I’m a certified sexologist. Your secret’s safe with me,” he declares with a smirk, gesturing to his empty beer. “But first, I’m gonna need more of this tasty apple juice.”

“I hope you’ve got some cash on you,” you say, getting him another beer. “Why do I get the feeling Logan would kill us if he knew we’re talking about this?”

“Isn’t that what makes it even better?”

Swaying on your feet, you scrunch your nose, momentarily lost in thought. “He won’t let me touch him. I don’t know if it’s me that does something wrong. We do have our… moments, but he takes care of himself. And usually in the bathroom.”

Wade goes white in front of you. “How long has this been going on?”

“Over a month.”

“Oh. That’s bad, like, really bad.”

“Thanks! I’ll be sleeping on the highway tonight. You can always join me.”

“Doll, it’s nothing that can’t be fixed, alright?” he waves his hand dismissively, then sets his palms flat on the counter. “I know I’m starting to sound like a broken record, but talking to him is your best bet. This isn’t something you can just brush under the carpet. You’re like a goddamn radio—put it to good use.”

Just as you’re about to reply, you spot Logan entering the bar. You raise a hand in greeting, waving at him. He meets your gaze and smiles briefly, and so your eyes drift to Wade’s, shooting him a warning look. “If you keep this to yourself, I won’t charge you for today,” you mutter through gritted teeth, to which he answers by pretending to zip his mouth closed.

Logan takes a seat next to him, ignoring his presence. Instead, he focuses entirely on you. “Hey, kid.”

“Hey, homey.”

“Hiya, Wade,” Wade greets himself with a mock cheer, patting his own back, which makes you laugh. He turns to Logan and his whole face lights up. “I’m afraid to tell you I can’t sleep when you’re not around.”

Logan rolls his eyes. “Get your shit together.”

“You’re the worst roommate ever! Can’t believe you got yourself a girl and completely forgot about your bro,” Wade murmurs under his breath, just as his phone rings. “Thank God. I’ve got to go. My love nugget’s calling,” he announces, heading for the door. Before leaving, Wade blows the two of you a kiss. “I hate you both, but I also love you. Peace out, my friends!”

Logan and you exchange glances. “He’s a funny guy, isn’t he?”

“You could say that,” he replies, leaning in to kiss you on the lips. Logan intends to deepen the kiss, but you pull away after a couple of seconds. He frowns, clearly confused. “That’s how you greet me?”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a giggle. “My tip jar is practically empty, and I hate to say it, but it’s your fault.”

“Do you want me to say I’m sorry?”

“Oh, no.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m not,” he plants a quick kiss on your cheek, making you smile. “You have classes tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, at 9 am,” you almost grunt, not feeling too enthusiastic about it. “I’m gonna need your help. I can’t sleep through my alarm, okay? The professor said tomorrow’s class is an important one. Midterms are right around the corner, and I can’t take the liberty of failing them.”

“That won’t happen,” he assures you, and you believe him. “I can be of help, don’t worry. You won’t oversleep.”

Oh, Logan. Sweet, lying Logan.

Turns out you ended up oversleeping. Twenty-five years on this earth, and you still haven’t learned not to trust a man, even if his puppy-dog eyes silently beg you to do otherwise. The thing is—you love them. You love men. And you’re especially fond of the one currently sleeping in your bed.

The first rays of sunshine hit your face, waking you up. You attempt to raise a hand to shield your eyes, but moving any limbs feels like a Herculean task. A warm body is pressed against your back, one veiny arm draped over your stomach. Logan remains fast asleep behind you, his steady breathing succeeding in making you feel at ease. You reach back, running your fingers through his messy hair, and he grumbles in his sleep, instinctively pulling you closer.

What a nice, domestic morning. Yep, you’re getting used to this. And nope, you don’t regret it, not even in the slightest bit.

Though there must be a mistake, because you’re preeeeetty sure you had something important to do.

Oh. You have classes. Had—past tense.

You reach for your nightstand, blindly groping for your phone. The charger is lying on the floor, the plastic of it all damaged. Perhaps Earnest had chewed on it while you were sleeping? You gently pry Logan’s arm off you, sitting up, and your bleary eyes land on something barely peeking out from under the bed.

It’s your fucking phone. The screen is completely shattered, with three distinct holes in the middle of it. Three holes, how strange! You can’t help but wonder who might have left them. Clutching your pillow, you whack Logan in the face with it. “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!”

He groans, trying to take the pillow away from you. “What the fuck is wrong with you, kid?”

“I wish I had a UNO reverse card because I should be the one asking you that!” you jab your finger into his chest, showing him the ruined phone. “You broke my fucking phone!”

“What?” he asks, voice laden with sleep, still disoriented. He holds the phone, carefully scrutinizing it. “I think I don’t know how to hit the snooze button.”

“No shit, Sherlock. I believe you’ve made that very clear,” you huff, tossing the phone aside as you flop back onto the mattress. The clock on your nightstand says 11:05 am, and you cover your face with your hands, taking a deep breath. “Next time, when it goes off, just wake me up and I’ll do it.”

Logan settles beside you, resting his head on his forearm as he watches you. “I’m sorry, bub. I’ll get you a new one.”

“It’s fine,” you murmur, sighing. This is your free ticket to be a menace. “I should’ve known dinosaurs and phones would never get along. My bad, pal.”

You don’t even get to see his reaction because he starts tickling you, the room filling with your laughter. Squealing, you try to wriggle away, but his fingers dig into your ribs, expertly finding your most ticklish spots. Your giggles escalate into breathless laughter, your eyes squeezed shut as you desperately attempt to push him away. He’s relentless, chuckling when his own laughter bubbles up.

“L-logan, stop!” you gasp between fits of laughter, aiming to grasp his hands.

“We dinosaurs love tickling people. Sorry, sweetheart,” he manhandles you until you’re perched on his lap, fisting the fabric of your (his) shirt. Leaning forward, he captures your mouth in a heated kiss. “I’m sorry about the phone,” he slurs the words against your cheek, his lips trailing down to your neck. You tell him that it’s okay, trying to find a comfortable position on top of him, and that’s when his thigh presses against your core, your eyes widening at the unexpected sensation. Logan’s no fool, noticing the way your breath hitches. “What’s wrong, baby? You woke up needy?”

“No, I just—” you trail off as he does it again, his strong thigh coming in contact with your clothed cunt. You search for leverage by placing your hands on his shoulders, glancing at him. “Logan.”

“I’m all ears,” he rests his back against the headboard, the tent in his boxers impossible to ignore. “You want to get off on my thigh,” he states with certainty. It’s not a question—it’s a full-on statement. He knows what you want, what you crave. “Come on then. Grind against it.”

You do as he says, not caring to think twice. You start moving, rubbing your wet pussy against his muscular thigh. The friction sends jolts of pleasure through you, and soon, you’re whimpering his name, your hands trailing down his abs. Why hadn’t you tried this before? It feels fucking amazing.

From his position, Logan stares at you, his lips slightly parted, eyes clouded with lust. Your arousal drenches your panties, soaking through them, the fabric clinging to his coarse leg hair. He glances down at the mess you’re making, his grin widening as he takes in the sight. “Goddamn, woman. I’m gonna make you clean it off, I swear to God.”

“Need your help,” you whisper, lowering your head, the heat in your cheeks intensifying. The coil tightening inside you is almost unbearable. A kiss is what you lean in for, desperate for more, though Logan appears to have other plans. He fists your hair, pulling at your nape and yanking your head back. The roughness of the movement pulls a moan from your lips, your mouth parched like a desert.

“Eyes up here, okay? You look at me when I make you come,” his raspy voice makes you feel tingly, each word sending shivers down your spine. His hands fiercely grab the flesh of your hips, guiding you, helping you grind harder against his thigh. You think you’re on the verge of drooling when you catch the way his abdomen flexes, working to push you toward that long-awaited release. “That’s it, there you go,” he rasps, relishing the sounds he’s eliciting from you, each of your gasps feeding his desire.

Time slows as the warmth in your belly finally erupts, your eyes fighting to stay open through the aftershocks of your orgasm. No actual words leave your mouth, just a string of whines and moans, some carrying Logan’s name. He swallows every single sound you make, everything you give him, grunting as your legs tremble and shake atop him.

He lets you collapse onto your back, your breathing gradually evening out. “I think I saw fireworks behind my lids,” you confess, your mouth dry, expecting Logan to flop onto the mattress beside you. But he doesn’t. Through your blurry vision, you contemplate as he positions himself between your parted legs, getting dangerously close to your cunt. “Logan, what are you— Oh, fuck,” you moan mid-sentence when you feel him pulling your panties aside to lick a slow strip through your folds, collecting your arousal. He points his tongue, dipping it into your entrance, and you wince, squirming. “Santa Claus, is that you?”

Logan grins against you, closing his mouth around clit for a moment. He then shifts until he’s eye-to-eye with you, two of his fingers sliding into you in one smooth motion. “Give me another one,” he murmurs, his other hand slipping under your shirt to play with your nipples, pinching them.

You never imagined two fingers could bring such intense pleasure. You just lie there, taking it like a good girl, as Logan sometimes call you. “Please, I need you,” you cry out, your fingernails scraping against his torso.

“I know, darlin’. I’m right here,” he rasps against your temple, moving his fingers in and out of you with more enthusiasm. But what he doesn’t understand is that you need all of him. Your hands itch to touch him, to feel the weight of his cock. The corners of his mouth turn up as he watches you struggle to find words. “Wish you could see yourself like this. Such a pretty girl, so gorgeous like this,” his fingers keep grazing that bundle of joy deep inside you, and he goes in for a kiss, the sour taste of your slick invading your taste buds. “Tightest pussy I’ve ever had. Need to stretch you real good before fucking you with my cock.”

Bingo! That last sentence does it for you, and you come for the second time in the morning, your cunt clenching and spasming around his fingers. You hide your face in his neck, mouthing at his Adam’s apple. He hasn’t trimmed his beard in days, and it shows because you can now feel a burning sensation on the soft skin of your inner thighs.

“You’re allowed to break all my phones from now on,” you suggest, only to hear Logan’s laughter in your ear. He snakes a hand through your hair, shoving it back away from your face. You feel him kiss your sweaty forehead, and as you press yourself closer to his body, something hard nudges your hipbone.

Absentmindedly, you trace the waistband of his boxers with your index finger, your eyes snapping to his face. Logan freezes on the spot, and it’s almost as if he’s stopped breathing. Without a word, he rises from the bed, his movements sudden and almost mechanical. You watch him, puzzled, as he heads toward the bathroom, the intimacy of just moments ago being abruptly replaced by a dreadful silence.

“Logan, is everything okay? Do you need something?” you ask and he pauses at the bathroom door, his back to you. For a brief second, you think he might actually open up, but when he turns around, his expression is neutral, masking whatever thoughts are running through his mind. At last, he flashes you a quick smile.

“I’m fine,” he says, his tone gentle but distant. “Just gonna take a shower. Then we can have breakfast together, right?”

You nod, his words easing the growing sense of frustration gnawing at you. He disappears into the bathroom, and the sound of running water soon follows. You sink back into the bed, staring up at the ceiling. You take your pillow and bury your face in it, letting out a muffled groan. There’s something he isn't telling you, something hidden deep beneath his usual gruff exterior. Although you try to piece together the fragments of his behavior, they don’t quite fit.

The minutes drag on, and the sound of the shower becomes a distant, constant background noise. You close your eyes, visualizing your happy place, but your thoughts keep spiraling. All you can do is wait—wait for him to come back and act as if nothing had happened.

Logan’s right there, just a few feet away—yet in moments like these, he feels miles apart. It’s one of those days in which, no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to bridge that distance.

It had all started with you asking Logan “Have you ever watched (500) Days of Summer?”

Of course, he had refused to watch the movie at first, and of course, you had threatened him with phoning Wade to let him know that Logan wanted to have a sleepover. That had done the trick.

You had asked for a day off at the bar, and surprisingly, your boss hadn’t objected. That turn of events led to this moment: sprawled out on the couch with Logan, the two of you watching the final minutes of your favorite film. Logan takes a long drag of his cigar, eyes trained intently on the screen. He’s only wearing sweatpants, which had caused your attention to drift from the plot a few times. The fact that you managed to sit through the entire movie without needing to pause it makes you feel particularly invincible.

Hey.

You again.

Yeah. I, uh, was just wondering if maybe after this, if, um, you— you want to get some coffee or something.

Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sort of supposed to meet someone after this.

Okay.

“That poor fella,” Logan murmurs, taking a slow sip of his beer. You look up at him from where your head rests on his lap, a contented smile playing on your lips. His fingers absently stroke your hair.

“Just wait,” you say, pointing to the screen of your laptop.

Sure.

What’s that?

Why not?

Okay. Well, then I’ll just, uh— I’ll wait for you.

We— we’ll figure it out.

We’ll figure it out.

“They’ll figure it out!” you exclaim, but Logan quickly shushes you, his attention unwavering.

My name’s Tom.

Nice to meet you. I’m Autumn.

When the movie comes to an end, you’re met with Joseph Gordon-Levitt breaking the fourth wall, staring straight at the audience as if he knows he’s about to get himself into a mess with another girl named after a season. You sit up, your eyes eagerly searching for Logan’s. “So? Did you like it? I’ve watched it seven times now. Can’t understand how it gets better each time.”

Logan closes his mouth around his cigar, inhaling deeply before answering. “Yeah, it was pretty good,” he says, his hand finding your cheek, thumb brushing softly against your skin. “Summer’s a bitch, though.”

“I respectfully disagree,” you tell him, grabbing his beer and giving it a try, only to grimace at the taste. Shuddering, you set it back down. “Why don’t you like her character?”

“Well, for starters, she did Tom dirty. Played with him like he was a damn rag doll.”

You raise an eyebrow, hugging a cushion closer to your chest as you lean back into the couch. “He knew from the beginning she didn’t want to be his girlfriend. Summer was clear—Tom just though he was smart enough to change her mind.”

“They acted like boyfriend and girlfriend the whole movie,” he scorns, placing his cigar down into the ashtray with a bit more force than necessary.

Is your first argument going to be over a movie? Exciting.

“Logan, they weren’t even official.”

“But she made it seem like they were,” he insists, the frustration in his voice growing.

“They were in a situationship—the perfect example, really. That’s not the same as being a couple.”

His gaze dips to the floor, brows knitted in a deep frown. “I think you’re relying on the technicality that they never used those titles. I mean, they did everything together. Isn’t that what normal couples do?”

Lord have mercy.

“Logan, who am I to you?” you inquire, crossing your arms over your chest.

He hesitates, narrowing his eyes, the question clearly catching him off guard. “You are—what? I don’t understand. Is this some kind of mind game you’re playing?”

“It’s actually very simple: if someone were to ask you about me, what would you say? Am I a friend? A bartender?” you inch forward, holding your breath, your tone faltering slightly. Meanwhile, Logan’s hands tighten into fists at his sides. “A fling? Your girlfriend? You complain so much about Summer, yet you can’t even name what we have.”

The living room falls into a heavy silence. Logan blinks slowly, his forehead creasing as he processes your words. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because these are the kinds of conversations we need to have. I understand you don’t want to have them, but I do.”

“Fine. Then tell me what it is that you want,” he asks, his mouth snapping shut when he sees you snorting in response.

“I don’t— I don’t know! To know how you feel, if possible?” you stand up from the couch, taking the cushion with you. You grind your jaw, gnawing on your bottom lip. “Why is it that every time I try to touch you, you push me away?”

He scrunches up his face, mirroring your movements and rising from his seat. “Bub, can we please talk about this tomorrow—”

“No! You don’t get to make all the choices, that’s not fair. Deciphering you isn’t easy, Logan. I’m not asking you to tell me everything you’ve been through. I just wish I could know how you feel about me. I can’t stand in front of you and pretend I don’t mind where this is going, because I’m more than sure I’m falling in love with you. “

“You can’t. You shouldn’t,” he says, his expression hardening. He turns his back to you, running his hands over his face in frustration before heading to the kitchen.

“Well, what were you expecting?” you follow him into the kitchen, finding Earnest on top of the fridge, beholding the scene with a curious gaze. “You basically moved in here, gave me a free trial of what life with you might be like, and now you have the audacity to appear surprised when I tell you I’ve caught feelings?” salty tears start rolling down your cheeks, and you spread your arms wide in exasperation. “Oh, but you’re right. How could I’ve been this stupid, to fall for the damned Wolverine!” you laugh bitterly, expecting him to break eye contact, but he doesn’t. “You think you’re so bad, so broken. Guess what: you’re not, because I love you, and I couldn’t care less about your past. You may think you’re unlovable, but you’re not, you hear me?”

For a heartbeat, the world seems to pause. And so he says:

“You are the most exasperating person I know.”

“Wow. Thank you so much!” you retort, your voice dripping with sarcasm. You run a hand through your hair, infuriated. “That makes me feel better!”

“Let me do the talking now,” he says, taking long strides toward you, and the proximity makes you lower your head. “You’re not getting the final say today. Just because I’m not over-sharing my feelings all the time doesn’t mean I don’t have them! In fact, I do. I may not express them openly, but they exist. And I wish you could see inside my head! You’d be delighted at how much time I spend thinking about you,” you cackle at his words, rolling your eyes. His fingers grip your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “There hasn’t been a single moment since the day we met that I have stopped wanting you. Your voice is like a goddamn radio that, no matter what I do, I can’t turn off. It’s like I’m infected by you, and I hate it!” his eyes burn with a mix of anger and affectionpur, his pursed lips softening as he continues. “No good ever comes from caring this much about someone. So excuse me for being scared of ruining the only good thing that’s happened to me in years!”

You hit him with the cushion—not with enough force to make him hurt, but enough to make a point.

“Drop it, kid.”

“I’m—” you hit him again, “not—” and again, “stupid. I know what I’m getting myself into,” as you attempt to raise the cushion once more, Logan takes it from your hands, throwing it on the counter. Your shoulders sag, trying to find the strength to keep going. “And I know for a fact,” you add, glancing at his conflicted eyes, “that the easiest thing for me would be to walk away from you, but I can’t. It’s too fucking late.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do! These are my feelings, okay? Mine, not yours. You don’t have the right to decide who I love and who I don’t.”

Logan’s eyes squint, scanning your face. “You’re… obnoxious.”

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”

“And I—I love you,” he confesses, his nostrils flaring with emotion. Opening your mouth to say something, you close it moments later, your gaze locked on his. “You could take what you said, pretend as if I didn’t exist, and I wouldn’t say a thing, y’understand? I would move cities if you asked me, because I love you that fucking much, and I want you to be happy.”

You reach for his hand, briefly intertwining your fingers with his. Looking at him through your eyelashes, you rub your fingers over his stubble. “And what if my happiness comes from being with you?”

Logan lets out a harsh breath, his arm curling around your waist, pressing his chest to yours. “I can’t promise I’ll be the perfect boyfriend. I’ll probably makeplenty of mistakes.”

“Fine with me.”

“And you’ll be mad at me. A lot.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll make sure it’s mutual.”

Both of you laugh then, and you’re taken aback when he brushes his nose against your cheek, silently seeking permission to kiss you. His lips move hungrily against yours, trailing his hands down your spine, pulling you closer. He breaks the kiss and laughs at your eagerness when you chase after his mouth. You end up perched on his lap as he settles into one of your kitchen chairs. Logan stares into your eyes, his gaze drifting lower. “I won’t push you away this time. Not anymore.”

That’s your cue to finally do what you’ve been yearning for weeks. You fall to your knees in front of him, shaky fingers that graze the hairs on his happy trail. The bulge in his sweatpants is close to your face, and your mouth waters at the thought of having him between your lips. “Can I?” you ask, your voice a touch higher.

He draws a long breath, tilting his head slightly. “You may, baby.”

You pull at his sweatpants and boxers, sliding them down his legs just enough to free his hard cock. As you take a look at it, you find yourself at a loss for words, the sight overwhelming. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the first taste of his precum as you envelop his head between your lips, that musky scent of his hitting you.

A whimper escapes you, and Logan hisses when you run your tongue along the slit, his hands gripping the back of your neck tightly. “Fuck, darlin’. Thought about your mouth so many times, but never imagined it’d feel this good,” he cants his hips up, causing your movements to stutter. “You can take a bit more, can’t you?” his question ends with a guttural grunt, his fingers tightening on your hair. “Gotta show me how much you want this.”

Logan takes all that you give him. You lower your head further, taking in another inch of him. Sex’s supposed to feel good, but this? It feels even greater. And he’s not even inside you yet, you hear a voice murmur in your head. The hand on your nape encourages you to move faster, and you sneak a hand between your bodies, grasping him by the base. You swallow around him, eyes fluttering open when he tugs sharply at your hair..

“Thaaaat’s it, honey. Just like that, want you to choke on it,” he grumbles, running his mouth just the way you like. The tip of his cock nudges the back of your throat and tears fill your eyes. You pull away to catch your breath, still stroking him as you regain composure. Logan’s gaze is intense, and he stares into your soul, his chest heaving. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Dick got your tongue?”

You’ll definitely get back to that joke later.

“Will you—can you—”

“Come on, beautiful. I don’t have all day.”

God, you love it when he’s mean.

“Fuck my throat,” you plead, your voice barely above a whisper.

A smile dangles on the corner of his lips. “We both know you can be nicer.”

The fucker makes your pulse race. “Can you fuck my throat?” you ask again, more insistently. “Please.”

He guides himself into your mouth, smirking as he watches how your eyes roll back in pleasure. “How polite of you to say please. Some good manners you’ve got.”

You whimper around him, your body responding to the rhythm he sets, fully immersed in the intensity of the moment. And for a while, you drift away, losing your sanity with each thrust of his hips, every tug at your hair. It’s almost impossible not to compare him to your past hookups. You try to recall at least a single instance when another man made you feel this way, but no memory surfaces.

Time seems to stretch and warp. You don’t really know when it happens—he pulls you off his cock, cradling your face, examining you. “You fucking love that, don’t you?” he asks with that sweet, syrupy voice, brushing away your tears. There’s no room left for embarrassment, so you nod, closing your mouth around his thumb. Defeated, Logan shakes his head, pressing his finger against your tongue. “I was planning on coming on your mouth, but I think I’ve got a better idea.”

In the blink of an eye, you’re in your bedroom. Not even a metaphor—he picks you up and basically runs to your room, closing the door behind him. You prop yourself on your forearms, trying to process what’s about to happen. Logan, already naked, climbs onto the bed after you, He kisses you slowly, tracing the curves of your body. “You still want this?”

“I do. I’m just… nervous, that’s all,” you admit, flashing him a quick smile. “It’s been two years of celibacy for me. Will it fit?” you ask, glancing down at his cock, and Logan stares at you in confusion. “Also, how many girlfriends have you had? Just curious.”

“I don’t think this is the time for that conversation.”

“You’re right,” you agree, lying back on the mattress, bracing yourself for what’s to come. “Were they pretty?”

“Bub.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up,” he replies with a smirk. “Focus on me, okay?”

Despite your tries to crack jokes at the worst possible moment, things escalate pretty quickly. Logan’s got three fingers inside you, pumping them in and out. He’s already made you come once with his mouth—to get you more relaxed, he had said. Wanting sounds slip past your lips as he doesn’t miss the chance to hit that spot that makes you squeeze your legs together. The tip of his nose drags long lines up and down the skin of your neck, mouthing at your jaw.

“I’m ready,” you mumble after some minutes, reaching for his cock and stroking him. “Let’s break the bed.”

“You’re lucky you’re this cute,” he says, catching your lips in a kiss. “Condom?”

“Negative, Sergeant.”

“You don’t have any?”

You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek. “I don’t want you to use one.”

The way his gaze darkens doesn’t go unnoticed by you. His hand guides your face toward his cock. “Get me wet,” he commands, and you oblige, sucking him into your mouth. You hum around him, unable to contain yourself, and you hear Logan chuckling above you. “Can’t believe this is what it takes for you to shut up. Gotta keep your mouth full all the time.”

Once he’s satisfied with the way you’ve slicked him, he positions himself over you, caging you between his arms. Logan pins you down with his body, his hot breath mingling with yours. When you stare into his eyes, all you see is pure love, and your heart swells with affection. “Will you fuck the bad jokes out of me?”

Logan laughs, rubbing his length along your folds, grazing your clit for a fleeting second. “I sure as hell will,” he assures you, lining himself up with your wet entrance. He looks into your eyes for approval. “Ready?”

“I was born rea— Fuck!” you nearly scream as his head breaches you, your eyes squeezing shut. Turns out his fingers weren’t enough. “Fucking mutant dick.”

“You’ll love it, believe me,” he husks next to your ear. His arms shake where they rest on each side of your head, seemingly as affected as you are. Logan pulls out, and then fucks into you with a little more force. “How are you still so tight? You’re killin’ me here.”

“I’ve got no idea, but you feel—amazing,” you gasp, latching onto his back, holding him close to you. His thrusts gain strength, and suddenly he’s bottoming inside you. “Oh, god. I can feel you in my stomach.”

“I know, baby, I know. Can feel it too,” he curls one of his hands around your throat, keeping you in place. From his position, he can watch the way your face contorts in pleasure. Lowering his head to envelop one of your nipples between his lips, he sucks hard. “You were desperate enough to get on your knees in the damn kitchen. You’ll be good now too, am I right?”

“Yes. Yes. I can be good,” you pant, eyes wide and pleading. “Anything you want. Just don’t stop.”

“I’m not stoppin’, princess. Don’t worry,” his mouth curves into a wicked grin as he drives into you again, this time even deeper. His hand on your throat tightens slightly, just enough to make you feel the pressure, grounding you in the moment. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs against your chest, his voice laden with need.

Each thrust has you gasping, your body arching off the bed to meet his. Logan’s grip on your neck loosens as his hand slides down to grasp your hip. He squeezes your tender flesh, pulling you harder against him, as if he can’t get close enough. The bed creaks under the intensity, but you barely notice, too far lost in the rhythm of his movements.

“You’re perfect, all I’ve ever wanted,” he slips his free hand between your bodies to find your clit, and the moment his fingers make contact with it, you can’t help but whine. “So fuckin’ perfect,” you hear him repeat, more to himself than to you, his voice stranded as he tries to hold himself back, letting you chase your own release first.

The pressure inside you builds up, tightening with every skilled flick of his fingers. You’re sure you must look like a mess, sweaty and sticky, though the way he looks at you makes you forget everything else. “Logan, I’m—” you croak, the wind being knocked out of your lungs with each relentless thrust. “I think I’m gonna come.”

He picks up speed, snapping his hips faster. “I’ve got you, let go for me. I’ll take care of you, baby, I swear,” his pace becomes erratic, digging his fingers into the softness of your thighs as the headboard keeps slamming against the wall. Your body obeys him, a shuddering release tearing through you, moaning Logan’s name and gripping him like a vice. “That’s it, fuck, that’s it,” he doesn’t stop, driving you through your orgasm. His eyes snap to your face, contemplating how wrecked you look. “Tell me where—please, sweetheart.”

“Inside.”

“What?”

“I said inside. Come inside me, Logan.”

He’s not strong enough to deny you such a thing. Logan buries himself to the hilt, groaning your name as his cock twitches and paints your walls with his thick seed. Beside your head, his claws unsheate, tearing into the pillow. He ruts against you, his body trembling and writhing against yours, already apologizing for the pillow incident while pressing his forehead to your shoulder. “Sorry, I’m sorry. That hasn’t happened in a while.”

When Logan collapses beside you, he pulls you into his arms, kissing you eagerly. You return the kiss, wincing as you feel a bit of his cum slip out of you, rolling down your thighs. He stares at your glistening cunt without an ounce of remorse, and you close your legs. “That’s private.”

“It wasn’t very private a minute ago.”

“Logan?”

“Tell me, bub.”

“Knock, knock.”

He must truly love you, because he plays along: “Who’s there?”

“Ice cream.”

“Ice cream who?”

“Ice cream for you all night long.”

“Guess I didn’t succeed in fuckin’ the bad jokes out of you,” he teases softly, letting his head fall back on the bed. “But it’s fine. I’ll just have to keep tryin’.”

This is the story of how you end up dating a man who’s two hundred years old. But it’s also the story of how that same man learns to let his guard down and open his heart. So, remember this, kids: the sky’s the limit, especially when it comes to love—and yes, even when it involves dating mutants.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

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wearysparrows · 2 months ago

Text

of the Innocence of Beasts

ao3/masterlist

Summary: At your request, your dragon takes you to fish, and indulge in the hot springs of the nearby volcano. You enjoy each other.

cw: dragon Sylus, fluff, cuddling and snuggling, fishing (minor animal death mention), hot springs, oil massage, everything is very touchy feely, implied AFAB reader but no pronoun usage, some mature and suggestive themes, not beta read. 5K

Life with your dragon brought both new complexities and new simplicities.

Gone were the days of languishing in the insipid whiteness of the Inner Sanctum, being fed tales upon tales of the nature of beasts. Each lie you had been fed was dashed and replaced with the firm grip of reality, burnished by dragon’s fire. You wanted for nothing material – even the barest mention of it caused it to appear before you. You lacked not in your quest to slake your thirst for vengeance, as this too was facilitated by the claws of your dragon. Foes were felled, loot was plundered. Yet, still you desired for something more. An experience beyond taking or receiving. The draw of things you had yet to see with your own eyes outside of the pages of books.

“Sylus,” you called to your dragon.

His answer was a questioning hum, which rattled out of his chest like it was crawling from his ribs as it did so. The reply came from directly above your head, as you were nestled in between his legs, lounging together amongst the glittering riches you had mutually accumulated. The low lights of the candles bounced off of the cave walls, and the piles of gold cast imaginary creatures as their shadows. They writhed slowly. Sylus was playing with your forearm in his palms – pressing down on the point on your inner wrist that made your fingers reflexively curl inward. Pressing and releasing. This had been occupying him for some time. You steeled yourself a bit, preparing to present him with your request. It was different from any of the things you had asked of him before, and your heart fluttered with trepidation in your chest.

“I heard talk in the city of a place to catch fish at the base of the volcano. Hot springs further up, too.”

Sylus paused his amusements with your hands, and tucked his face a little closer into the crook of your shoulder. His voice was muffled for his lips on your skin.

“I can bring anything you desire, here. You desire these..fish? These waters? Surely there are delicacies that would please you more in Tarus city. What uniqueness is there in their properties?”

His tail lashed back and forth, as it often did when he was conflicted about something. It sent innocent invaluable baubles scattering across the floor.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at how he had perceived the request. You did not doubt he had a way to bring the springs to you – or the fish, for that matter. It was difficult to fathom things yet unseen. You turned in his grip, now kneeling between his thighs, facing him. He was looking at you levelly, awaiting your answer. His pupils were slits in a sea of crimson.

“It is not a desire for ownership, nor a particular uniqueness of property. I simply wish to enjoy these things with you. It’s a popular destination for those who are courting…”

You found yourself trailing off. Despite your obvious closeness, putting an outward name to your relationship with Sylus still didn’t come as naturally as you would have liked. You weren’t entirely certain that there was a word that could quantify the sharing of a soul between a mortal and a dragon. Not in your language, anyway. Perhaps your dragon had one that your tongue was unable to pronounce. His eyes searched yours for a moment, and you saw the rapid dilation and contraction of his pupils. The thrashing of his tail ceased for a moment, then resumed. A crease formed between his eyebrows.

“You wish to be courted as a mortal man would?”

You placed your hands upon his broad shoulders. Soothing. His skin radiated an inhuman heat, almost too hot to the touch. You felt the places where scale shifted into skin, hardening and softening. At times, you could nearly forget the sword your heart brandished towards the end of his own. Flesh was just flesh, nothing more, nothing less.

“Your thoughts go further than my words. I only want for time we have yet to spend with one another.”

This seemed to calm him, for he relaxed back into your touch. You could see the way he took in your scent with the soft flares of his nostrils, gauging your emotional state.

“You could stand to be greedier for things other than lower creatures and ancient reservoirs.”

Despite his words, your request would be fulfilled. The two of you procured supplies from the city below, and you packed them neatly into a bag that was securely fastened at your waist, along with a small fishing spear across your hip. Both were paid for by Sylus with a much too heavy bag of gold slung haphazardly into the shopkeeper's waiting palm.

After you were satisfied, Sylus swept you easily into his arms and took to the skies. You clung there to his neck, and worried not that he would loosen his hold. Never once was it not steady and sure, strong and unwavering. You, who had been born to slay dragons, were cradled in the dragon’s grip, now. The rush of his wings beat the air into submission around you, and the beating of your heart matched the steadiness of his own.

As you looked down upon Philos, the black hulk of a great volcano began to rise before you, circled on all sides by swathes of dark trees. There was a clear line of demarcation where the vegetation could come no closer to the mountain, lest the heat burn it away. Here was where Sylus deposited you delicately to your feet, his wings disappearing into effervescent mist behind him. Your lungs had grown more used to the rapid changes in air pressure, and you took less and less time to recover from these frequent flights. You took a great inhale of breath. The air was alive with sound around you. Creatures that had long adapted to this inhospitable environment made their presences known. There was the scent of the greenness of the untapped earth, mixed with the burden of fire; the scent of transmutation.

There was a trail here, too, though surely not well used. Lava rocks, cooled eons before your lifetime, crunched under your boots. It was small and meandering, and you were guided by little else besides this and Sylus’s directional instinct. The two of you walked in comfortable silence until you came upon what you were looking for.

A deep pool, perhaps no greater than the span of your dragon’s wings across. It was surrounded on all sides by great dark rocks, cradled it into the womb of the volcano with an overhang above. Hardly any of the midday light could reach into its depths, and you wondered for a moment if there was any life here all. It was deeply still. But there – the bright flash of a fish, cast starkly against the strange darkness of the waters. You did not have a name for it. In the Sanctuary, there was no need for knowledge such as this. Your ears caught the sound of the spines on Sylus’s back expanding and contracting in interest, a sort of quiet creak of flesh and scales. He turned to you.

“You will hunt with that?”

He motioned to your spear with a clawed finger, sounding a little incredulous. The spear was little and lithe – fitting perfectly in your hand. It was hewn from a lightweight wood, native to the area. You pointed its tip at his throat playfully, and he made no move to stop you. The corners of his lips twitched upwards. You couldn’t help but admire him, eyes roving all over the sharp contours of his face to the tips of his spiraling horns. His gaze invited you to press the tip against his skin.

“Unlike you, I wasn’t born with tools for hunting.”

“You shouldn’t be shy when using me, then.”

You dropped the spear from his neck, unsure of how to fully respond to his request for use, and offered him a smile instead. He still thought of things in a transactional manner, no matter how often you tried to tell him otherwise. You saw his eyes rove from your own to your nose, then your mouth. Your neck. You turned from him.

Your mind was brought back to the pool. You shed your outer clothes, leaving only your undergarments. You could feel Sylus’s gaze still on you, unabashed with its interest. He was without shame as he watched, and he reflected your actions, shedding himself of his own overgarments. You waded into the darkness of the pool before you, and the lava rocks at its bottom pricked your feet with the finest of pains. The water was pleasantly lukewarm. Sylus followed after, and the two of you stood in the thigh-deepness of the water. You felt some trepidation at the darkness underneath your feet, but it was quelled with the quiet assuredness of Sylus’s presence. The fish scattered quickly at your approach, and you were both still as death, awaiting their return. You were nearly frightened out of your skin by the touch of something at the small of your back – but it was just the tail of Sylus, reaching out for physical connection. You saw him then, eyes trained on the water. A hunter in wait. A beast of the air you had brought into the opposing domain.

Gradually, there was a return of the school of fish, and you were given a better view of the creatures. They were strange, with large empty eyes and orangey bodies, accentuated by a row of spines along their backs. Protuberances came from around their mouths, with which they must have used to feel the world around them. You held your spear still above the water, operating on instinct rather than any formal training. You wavered. While the fish swam lazily around your legs, you were unsure of the precise moment to act. You could feel the quiet slip of their scales against your bare skin.

Just as you had made the decision to strike, Sylus moved a moment earlier. A clawed hand shot down and into the water, trapping the slick body of a fish in its vice-like grip. He held it up in front of you expectantly, and it wriggled desperately. You resisted the urge to turn away from its plight. You had seen your dragon eviscerate the bodies of men – but somehow, this image was more distressing. You reached out to him, and then dropped your hand. The eyes of the fish weren’t as empty as you had thought. The orange of its body stood starkly in contrast to the blackness of your dragon’s claws.

“Don’t make it suffer, Sylus.”

Sylus blinked, and looked from you to the fish and back. He raised a silver eyebrow. His grip on the fish tightened, and its struggle doubled, gasping.

“Why so? I have seen you make men suffer for much less than the crime of being more miniscule of spirit than yourself.”

“These creatures are not like men. They are free from sin.”

Sylus watched the fish for a moment longer as you spoke. He put two of his claws through the gills of the fish and bent them. There was a quiet snap, and the fish was still. Sylus removed his fingers, and rested his gaze on the limp body in his hand.

“If sin is the necessary precursor for suffering, then you and I are far beyond recompense.”

The crawl of midday passed, and you cut your spear into the water with varying degrees of success. The tool took some getting used to, and it slipped from your hands into the water more than once. Sylus’s tail retrieved it for you. It was not your intention to take every fish from this place – but just enough for a meal between you. When your arm was exhausted, you waded from the dark water, and your dragon followed after you.

The fish were consumed with fervor over a fire that Sylus had started with a snap of his fingers. You had half expected to breathe it out from his mouth, and still weren’t wholly convinced he couldn’t if he tried. You tried not to press him with silly notions, though, lest he chide you about the nature of dragons. He sat next to you with the cooked fish in hand, and tore at it with the sharpness of his canines. You watched, chewing your own fish thoughtfully. It wasn’t a taste that was particularly strong, and lacked seasoning of any sort. But after a day of physical exertion, the combination of fat and protein had its own unique draw.

“How is the taste?” You pointed to this fish in his claws.

Sylus paused. He cocked his head at you.

“What does it matter?”

His frankness made you laugh, which caused him to look a bit sheepish in response. His tail smacked the ground, kicking up a small cloud of dust.

“Isn’t that the whole reason we came? To experience something new. Whether you like or dislike it matters not – just that you tasted it.”

Sylus took another bite, this time smaller. You could practically see the gears in his head turning. He was quiet for a long moment.

“It’s…not particularly good.”

Peals of laughter erupted from your chest at his words, and its contagion made a grin spread across your dragon's face. The movement revealed his canines from his lips, meant for tearing flesh from bone, now smiling at you instead. You sidled closer to him on the ground, learning your shoulder against his. The two of you finished the mediocre fish before moving on to your next destination.

The trek up the volcano was not an easy one. Between the heat that radiated through earth through the bottoms of your boots and your tiredness from wading in the water, you were covered in a thick sheen of sweat by the time you reached your goal. Your clothes stuck to you uncomfortably, and you were greatly looking forward to peeling them off and cleansing yourself in the waters.

Finally, gratefully, just as your legs felt as if they were about to give up their uses beneath you – the pools appeared in your vision. As you drew closer, you could see them in the fullness of their glory. They were an opaque sort of robin’s egg blue, the bottoms of which you could not see. Some were wide as the wingspan of three men, and some no wider than the width of your own body. Adjacent to them was what appeared to be humble lodgings – though no one went in or out. It was a stone A frame, supported on the bottoms by rows of short stilts, as if to lift it away from the heat of the volcano. The only semblance of a door was a cloth split down the middle, buffeted gently by the breeze coming off of the mountain. On it was a symbol you didn’t recognize.

“No one’s here.” You mused, surprised at the lack of people. You had expected there to be others, based on the discussion you had overheard in town. You took another glance around, but still saw no one. Even any animal life that could exist here was quiet. Only the scent of ash hung on the air.

“I dislike crowds.”

It was all Sylus offered in response before taking you by the hand insistently, towards the springs.You allowed yourself to be swept along with him, admiring the way his spine curved into the strength of his tail as you watched his back. He brought you to the edge of one pool, and you needn’t be told what to do. You were more than ready to be out of the soiled clothes.

Sylus watched openly as you again peeled your overgarments from your skin. You cast them aside, thankful to be rid of their now overbearing presence. Sylus stalked towards you as you began to remove your undergarments. He bent at the waist, and hooked a claw under your brasserie. You expected him to lift it away, he instead inhaled deeply, pressing his face there. His tongue lapped at the sweat that had gathered underneath the swell of your breasts. Up his tongue went until it met your clavicle, dipping to the central fissure where sweat had pooled there, too. A breathless, nervous laugh escaped you. Despite the time you had spent together, you still hadn’t quite gotten used to his disregard for mortal conventions for intimacy. He stood to his full height, licking his lips with the taste of you. Your skin burned where his saliva had been left behind, and your stomach warmed with need for him.

“I am still a man, you know.” His voice was accentuated with the click of a purr he produced when he was pleased.

So he said, but you saw in his face the egoless love that only animals were capable of – free from a shadow. The chemical release of testosterone into his bloodstream, the desire to possess and be possessed by another. He who would consume all of you without judgement, without preconceived notion. There was no strangeness in it, for it was his nature.

Sylus shed his own garments without a further word, and you did the same with what was left of your own. You took a moment to admire the nakedness of your lover as he stood before you – young and strong. A King of Beasts who should have inherited Philos. Dusk was beginning to lay gently over the mountain, and the black of his scales rippled like oil in the firelight of the setting sun. Lost in your admirations, you were suddenly hoisted to your feet over his shoulder before you could comprehend his approach. Your feet kicked at nothing, and you grappled at the spines on his back, attempting to force him to let you out of his grip.

“Sylus!”

A chuckle was the only response from your dragon, and he carted you to the awaiting pools of nearly too-hot water. You felt frightened for just a moment that he was planning to throw you in – but he did no such thing. Instead, he went in first, and you were deposited gently in the water when he had deemed it acceptable for your entrance. The water was a purifying, blisteringly warm temperature. The day’s sweat and grime began to immediately slough away for the sheer heat of it. The pool nearly came up to cover your shoulders, but Sylus stood with the upper portion of his chest out of the water because of his height. He was not to let you far from him – his arms kept you pressed against him. His body was nearly as hot as the water you were submerged in. He looked down into your face. Eyes the color of saffron stalks searched your own.

“Does this please you, my beloved?” His voice was nearly lost on the steam rising around you, despite the relative silence.

You fanned your hands on his chest, petting him here and there. Across the broadness of his clavicle, up the powerful tendons of his neck. He lifted his chin to grant you better access to your whims. You saw his pulse throbbing underneath the delicate skin.

“You make known to me pleasures that I could not have previously even fathomed.”

It was the truth – there was no world where you did not know Sylus that you would know things such as this. The coldness of the stone arches were wiped from your mind underneath the heat of his touch. Only Sylus remained, now. He framed the world in his image.

Sylus gripped you then, hoisting you up to lean against his chest. One hand supported your back at your shoulder blades, the other held you behind your knees. You flailed for a moment in surprise, but he kept his grip firm, chuckling.

“Cease your struggling. It will be even more enjoyable like this.”

You forced your body to relax in his grip. Between his support of your weight and your buoyancy in the water, it was practically like being weightless. You put your head back in the water, and your hair pooled around you in little tendrils. Your dragon peered down at you, clearly pleased with your relinquishing of control to him. His support was unwavering underneath you.

“There, see?”

He waded around the pool with you in his arms, and the gentle drag of the water pulled you in and out of a meditative state. The two of you washed, then, hardly parting from each other as you did so. Sylus’s tail stayed wrapped around your ankle as you scrubbed the last of the grime from yourself vigorously. He insisted on having you help him with his spines.

The two of you lounged inside, having dried off what you could of the springs. Your body was heavy with the time you had spent in the water. The lodgings were simple but accommodating – tapestries lined the walls, and a mix of exotic carpets and pillows were strewn about for resting on. A hearth dominated the room’s center. Its smoke exited through a hole in the roof into the cooling air of the night. You produced the bag you had brought with your supplies. Sylus was eyeing it curiously. He tried to pry it open with a claw, but you swatted him away. He huffed out a dissatisfied growl.

“Your actions are too slow.”

You couldn't help the smile that spread over your face at his impatience. He already knew what was in the bag – he had purchased the contents with his own gold, for you. Still, his eagerness was clear in his hurriedness.

“Patience is also a form of action, no?”

You produced a bottle of oil from the pack. It reflected a pale green shadow onto the stone floor in the light of the hearth.

“Patience is for men. I have no need for such things. I have been patient enough.”

Images of Sylus bound to the rocks crossed through your mind, a sword through his chest. A being born in the likeness of men, only to be slaughtered by them.

“I seem to recall you referring to yourself as a man, just today.”

Sylus’s tail curled around your waist, and dragged you closer to his side. You clenched the bottle of oil tightly in your hands so as not to drop it. Sylus seemed to relax, then, and offered you a smirk.You sat side by side with him, now. The carpets underneath you were plush and gave way easily to your movements.

“The sharpness of your tongue never dulls.”

You nudged his arm with your own, feeling your cheeks warm pleasantly at his compliment. The back and forth with Sylus was as natural as the draw of air into your lungs. You were as two children who had never seen the outside, suddenly freed to play in the endless garden. You chased each other, catching, rolling down the hill, laughing, merging. You him and he you – you caught yourself in your own arms. His arms. Yours.

“Sylus, take out your wings.”

Sylus looked taken aback for a moment. You raised the oil bottle at him. Understanding unclouded his features, and you saw him unfurl them. It was as if they came from nowhere and everywhere all at once – ripping out from the curvature of his back in a blackened-red mist that carried the scent of ash and florals. He kept them outstretched just enough, a clear invitation for you to do as you wished. You marveled at them for a moment – and recalled the pain he underwent at their birth. You remembered it as your own. You let the memory pass over and through you, focusing on the now.

You coated your hands with the oil. It was pleasantly scented, infused with myrrh and rosemary. Sylus had paid a pretty penny for it, though he had batted not an eye.

Reaching for the outermost portion of his wing, you palmed the oil into it, starting just at the top where the bony frame met the membrane. Down you went in circular motions, rubbing the oil into the outer segment. Sylus said nothing, but the appendage shuddered and stilled periodically underneath your touch. As you moved inwards to the middle segment, you marveled at the thinness of the skin that stretched over his appendages. It was so thin that you could see the myriad of blood vessels that supplied the life there, running like so many rivers under his skin. It was pliant and delicate under your touch. You massaged up, down, pinching the membrane between your fingers gently with each downward motion. Sylus was making low noises of pleasure in his throat, and his tail had curled around you as you sat, its squeeze on you gradually tightening as you moved closer to the place where his wing sprouted from his back. As you neared its base, you had to reach around his side to rub at the place where it terminated against his skin, disappearing into the musculature there.

Sylus, who had been still up until now save for his shuddering and the movements of his tail, reached out. Your legs, which were crossed beneath you, felt the grip of his claws on your thigh. His grip only tightened as you worked, massaging the muscles where wings sprouted. A low hiss escaped from his open teeth as you touched somewhere that must have been particularly sensitive, and suddenly you were sitting astride his lap instead of next to him, moved by two impossibly strong arms. He reclined back on the cushions behind him. Your hands hung awkwardly in the air, still covered in the oil.

“I haven’t even gotten your other wing yet. And the oil–”

Sylus didn’t let you finish.

“Forget the other wing. Focus on me instead.”

Sylus took you by the wrists, and put your hands on his chest. You could feel the quickened pace of his heart, there. You couldn’t help the exhale of a laugh that escaped you at his words. As if his wings weren’t a part of him! They disappeared behind him as if they had never been. His impatience was always there, even now, when you were relaxing together. The oil from your hands was spreading out into translucent rivulets on his skin. You gave his pectoral muscles and experimental squeeze, looking into his face as you did so. There was the twitch in the muscle of his jaw, the dilation of his pupils. His claws crept back and forth between massaging the bottoms of your feet and your thighs, both steadying you and pressing you harder against him.

You rubbed circles with your thumbs into his diaphragm, marvelling at how large his lungs must be inside of him. You took a peek at his face.

You could see the sweat gathered on his brow, his silvery hair stuck to it just there. You wiped at it with the back of your hand that wasn’t covered in the oil, and lifted it to your lips to give it an experimental taste. It was the masculine, heady, salt of the earth taste of Sylus.

Sylus’s grip on your thighs increased exponentially. His claws were pleasant little pinpricks of pain on your bare skin. You could feel the hard line of his arousal underneath you.

“Sylus.” You soothed, trying to calm him.

He licked his lips at the call of his name.

“You claim you do not tease..”

His claws gripped your wrists again, and forced them flat against his abdomen. His voice had gone low. Dangerous.

“Yet you taste me,”

A movement of your hands downward,

“Call me by the name you’ve given me,”

Your hands could be pushed no further, and your palms rested on his lower stomach, now. You could feel the line of soft white hair that disappeared under what little clothing he wore under your palms.

“And touch me just so…”

He trailed off, as if he couldn’t find the necessary words for your touch. Instead, the ruby of his eyes bored into yours with an iron-hot intensity. He released his grip on your wrists, and instead settled on clutching you about your waist. You saw the increase of his breath, the heave in his chest. You massaged little circles into his obliques placatingly.

“Did you not ask for my touch?”

Now you were teasing.

You felt his response before it ever came to your ears. The two of you were one, after all. It was as if there had never been a time where you had not known him as you knew yourself. Words were merely an accessory, an added enjoyment to the depth of your connection. Your soul heard his before either of your minds caught up.

“I did. And I’ll have more of it.”

Sylus sat up then, and crashed his mouth into yours. There was a clacking of teeth at the depth of his insistence, and it was less of a kiss and more of him licking at the inside of your mouth, as if he couldn’t get deep enough inside of you. You tried to pull away for breath, but Sylus reversed your positions, pinning you down onto the cushions and rugs below. The residual oil on his chest dripped from him onto you. You knew the thin nightclothes you wore would have been ruined under his claws, anyway. It mattered not. You laughed breathlessly, and wiped the last of the oil on his forehead with your thumb, anointing it. Sylus pressed his forehead to yours.

His dominant presence on top of you commanded your attention to him. He pushed the heat of his body onto yours, into yours. The coolness of your body was a salve to his own burning. His mouth would hardly leave your own that night, if only to be on your flesh. When he finally let you free from your mergings, you passed nearly instantly into a dreamless sleep between the mutual nakedness shared between you.

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