#day 2 and i'm already late sorry y'all we're only human!!!

[domesticatedantelope]

adorn

Pairing: Logan x MC

Rating: Explicit | NSFW 18+

Word Count: 1500

Summary: The one where Mercy makes her love quite certain.

Kinktober Day 2: scars, body worship.

@brightpinkpeppercorn @choicesarehard @desiree-0816 @leelee10898 @client-327 @zaffrenotes @navigatorholmes @lovehugsandcandy @anxious-arliah @aworldoffandoms

Logan wears his scars like testimony.

Every misstep immortalized, penned into the splits between his knuckles, written in the jagged lines that carve across his ribs - harsh lessons he has learned the hard way, and even long after the bruises and the bleeding have healed over, all the scars remain.

Mercy makes certain that he wears her love as well.

Peach-colored kisses crown his neck and shoulders, monuments to her affection stained in fading lipstick down his skin. Her lips adorn his cheeks and both the edges of his smile, and when he reaches out to hold her face between his hands, she sets a kiss against each roughened palm. She lingers on the marks that span his knuckles as if she might somehow mend the damage there. She’s tended to a few of them herself, and she can still recall the rattle of adrenaline that trembled in her hands, his freshly bandaged fingers closing tenderly around her own.

Logan’s touch is just as gentle now as his thumb ghosts along her cheekbone, focus settling with obvious intention on her mouth. “Do I get to kiss you now?” 

She almost lets him, sorely tempted by the open promise in his eyes; she knows that look and all the blissful things he offers with it, how quickly she can fall apart when she allows him to distract her. “Baby, I’m just getting started.”

He hums and nuzzles teasing teeth at the base of her throat. Over the years, he’s grown proficient with the tender places in her body, and it doesn’t take him long to find a span of nerves that trigger shivers down her spine. 

That’s not playing fair.

“Behave yourself,” she chides him as the blush rises like clockwork in her cheeks.

Logan tilts a smirk at her. “I’m not so great at that.”

Her palm wanders and falls to rest over his heart, tracking the steady, rapid beat of it behind his ribs. “I think you’ll find a way to persevere.” 

He laughs then, but the sound breaks off into a groan when Mercy rocks her hips against him. Callused fingers sink a blazing journey down her waist, curling in just deep enough to feel the pressure of his grip. Logan holds her with the certainty of passing time; his hands will find her body just like days will turn to weeks, to months, to seasons.

While he feels out the fullness of her hips, she maps the places where her teeth have marked him, too: faint red shadows in the vague shape of her mouth, bitten into sunbronzed skin when she was lost to climax. 

(There was a time when she was horrified to find her own bite marks in bloom across his shoulders. He touches her like she is paradise made human, and she hurt him to the point of leaving bruises -

Baby, I’m so sorry.

But he laughed then, too. I’m not.)

She soothes them over all the same, planting soft apologies where she has been so careless. Her fingers drift the contours of his arms, travelling from faded love bites to a fissure of scar tissue that curves up his side, risen and pale against his skin. He fidgets restlessly among the bedsheets, watching her with rapt attention, following the slow progression of her touch. Something like hunger flickers in his gaze, teeth raking hard across his bottom lip.

She trails a path of lazy kisses down his ribs, and Logan shudders in response, sucking a breath in through his teeth. His muscles twitch beneath her fingers, tense with finely held restraint. He wants - oh, she can feel how badly - but he waits, impatient, groaning as she starts to trace the palm fronds inked in black across his hip. The mirror image of her tattoo claims him as her own, and when she splays her fingers out across those dark and branching lines, it feels like coming home again.

His scars are testimony, but he wears her love by choice.

The peach press of her lipstick, half-healed hickeys, black ink cast like shadows on his skin.

The soft look of relief that dawns across his features when she takes him finally in hand. 

“Ha - Mercy -” His head falls back, throat working as he drags in empty air. The first touch of her lips and tongue coax shivers through his body, and he clenches gentle fingers at her hair, surging with anticipation before jerking back against the sheets. “Fuck, that feels amazing.”

Emboldened, Mercy sinks between his knees to take him further. She feels him throb against her tongue, a strangled whine lodged in his throat, falling apart around the rough sound of her name. 

With shaking hands, he gathers up the dark waves of her hair, taking great care not to pull even as her tongue winds teasing pathways up the hard length of his cock. His eyes are transfixed on the sight of himself nudging past her lips, the slick wrap of her hand around the thickest part of him, every point where she attends to him with such tender devotion. 

“Mercy…” Logan groans, a husky rumble fraying at the timbre of his voice. The flush of effort heats him through, desperation clear across his face as he arches beneath her. “Perfect, perfect, please…!”

She takes her time releasing him, kneading with suction as she lifts away, her fingers curling tight around the very base. Her head swims at the way he fills her grip, and she aches to think of how he feels inside of her, that breathtaking fit when he sinks home. Her body sings for contact, slick with craving, and she succumbs at last to her temptation, falling against his chest to claim his mouth beneath her own. His arm tugs her in close, trapping her between his hold and racing heart, frantic with need.

Urgency roughens his kisses. He nips with teeth and licks over the sting, letting his mouth wander the soft arch of her throat, slipping her hair aside to mark her shoulders. She was right - he’s horribly distracting - but that singular, possessive drive reverberates with every crashing heartbeat in her chest: take him, make him yours.

Mercy wets her fingertips against her tongue, dropping them in spiral circles down his cock before she leads him gingerly between her thighs. The weight of him prods hot against the raw folds of her sex, and then - oh god - she’s sliding down around him, seething out a gasp as she takes more and more and more of him. Her mouth spills open, shaping soundless whimpers when their hips slot finally together. 

The first stretch always leaves her reeling, dizzied by the depth of their connection. Tears swim in her vision, laughter catching at the back of her throat, near delirious.

Sensing the tension in her body, Logan reaches up to steady her, soothing his fingers down the column of her spine. One broad hand settles at her hip, the other laced securely with her own as they begin to move together. She falls into a fitful rhythm, lifting, taking, every downswing dragging him against that dull, sweet ache inside of her, and she can only cling to him with frantic hands, dropping messy kisses to the scars across his knuckles. 

His eyes roam greedily over her body, deference of the devout in one soft, longing look. The fingers at her waist dig in just short of pain and drive her down around him, urging himself deeper with a suddenness that steals her breath. Strain begins to burn among the muscles in her thighs, but she persists, pleading his name as he takes rough hold of her hips and fucks up into her.

Parting her lips, she sucks two of his fingertips over her tongue, and Logan jerks beneath her, choking out the sliver of a curse.

“Fuck, fuck, Mercy - I’m close, baby.”

She curls her hand into his hair, tilting his head to bite a moan against his throat. “Please,” she begs him, and her voice breaks with another harsh swing of his hips. “Logan, please. Let me feel you.”

He tears a gasp in through his teeth, pinning her against him as he comes, tension bunching in the muscles of his hips. He fucks a few last frantic thrusts, and Mercy shudders at the feeling of him spilling deep inside of her, the urgent pressure of his touch, the sound of his breath wrecked and labored in the wake of coming.

Panting, she prods exhausted kisses at his jaw, humming when he turns to catch her mouth against his own. His hands have gentled on her skin, already tending to the indentations that his fingers left along her hips. She’s soft, and she marks easily, dark bruises blooming down her thighs, but she has never minded them.

She doesn’t mind the blush he summons when he settles eagerly between her legs, or the smile that she mirrors back when he grins down at her; the blossoms that his teeth will surely leave across her skin; the slick of him still warm between her thighs. 

Logan parts her legs and touches her with purpose, every loving stroke of lips and fingertips heavy with promise. From the slow and teasing pace his mouth sets down her body, she can tell he means to keep her here all night. 

And by the time he’s finished with her, she is certain she will wear his love as well.