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It was 3 AM in Citrusville, Florida; last call in the small town’s seediest bar. Logan threw back his mouthful of cheap whisky and began shouldering his way past drunk patrons and stern bouncers. He ignored their slurred calls and heavy hands slapping down on his arms and back as he moved directly towards the back of the establishment.
An employee stood in the center of the rickety steel fighting cage, throwing sawdust on dark smears of blood. A few of the stains were from Logan himself, but the vast majority were from the three other mutant combatants he had defeated earlier that night. He had earned a considerable amount of money, but the non-stop supply of free drinks being shoved before him after the fights suggested that he had earned a few other people considerably more.
He didn’t look back or say anything, even as the man stood up from the bag of sawdust to wave and wish him a good night. The heavy metal back door of the bar swung open with an effortless push, and Logan stepped into the alley.
Torrential rain poured down on him, and Logan stood a moment as it beat off his leather jacket and cowboy hat. He took a deep breath through his nostrils, letting the smell of fresh rain overtake the bar’s lingering scent of blood, sweat, booze, and vomit. Finally, he fished the keys to his truck out of his pocket, hiked up the collar of his jacket, and walked out of the pitch-dark alley and into the dimly-lit street.
His beat-up truck was the only vehicle left in the small parking lot, well outside the flickering circle of light cast by a single street lamp. The door creaked loudly as he opened it, and he attempted to start the engine, growling to himself as it struggled to turn over. He’d be lucky to get a few hundred more miles out of it. Once the ailing vehicle finally started, he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. If he was smart, he’d sell the truck for whatever he could get for it, and buy another before he hit the road again; otherwise he’d find himself hitchhiking or train-hopping before too long. He unfolded his wallet and peered inside— the leather slots for IDs, credit cards, and pictures were empty, but the main compartment held so much cash it could barely close. He thumbed over the bills, making rough mental calculations as the rain splattered loudly on his windshield and the truck’s engine rumbled. Time to cash out and move on.
The dull sound of tapping on the passenger-side window startled Logan far more than it should have— in an instant, his wallet fell into his lap and three adamantium claws emerged from his knuckles with a loud ‘SNIKT’. More than anything, he was startled that he was startled. With his enhanced hearing and sense of smell, almost no one could sneak up on him. But now, he turned to find an imperceptibly dark figure standing outside his truck, holding its arms up for protection against his claws. Logan’s eyes darted over the shadowed form as he searched for a glint of metal or the sound of a gun cocking. He withdrew his claws with a huff once it was clear he wasn’t being attacked or robbed. No sooner had the blades disappeared as the figure tapped on his window again, three times softly. Logan almost laughed. Against his better judgement, he reached over to wind the window down.
“Sorry to scare you,” the figure spoke stiffly in practised, accented words. Logan immediately placed the young, male speaker as German, likely Bavarian. That was unexpected, he thought, but not nearly as unexpected as when the young man ducked down to peer into the truck, and the scant light from the distant street lamp flashed bright yellow across his eyes like a cat’s.
“What do ya want?” Logan asked gruffly. He raised the brim of his hat to try and get a better look. The pale yellow glow never left the strange visitor’s eyes, even while the rest of his face was obscured by shadow. Logan glanced down, his interest only multiplying when he saw six thick fingers, rather than ten, gripping the edge of the partially-rolled-down window. He reached up to flick on the dome light, and the guy recoiled from the sudden brightness more than he had from Logan’s claws.
“Damn,” Logan muttered under his breath before he could stop himself. The person outside his truck was like nothing he had ever seen. The large, pupil-less eyes and midnight-blue skin was reminiscent of nightmares and horror movies, but there was a delicate, vulnerable quality to his features that made it impossible to be afraid. That, and he looked like a drowned rat.
“Did you want some company?” Logan furrowed his brow at the question, which was as plainly and professionally delivered as the stranger’s previous words. He tilted his head and blinked, waiting for Logan’s answer even as rain pounded down on him. Tendrils of black hair were plastered to his face, water dripped off his odd hands and into the truck, and Logan could hear the sound of teeth chattering together as he shivered.
Logan let out a sigh and turned back towards the steering wheel. “Get in the truck.”
“Oh? Ja, okay. Danke!” The odd young man quickly pulled open the door and climbed into the passenger seat. “I am Kurt.”
“Oh yeah?” Logan replied gruffly, and tucked his wallet into his back pocket. “How much?”
“Oh? Um… twenty-five.” Kurt sounded unsure, and clutched his weird hands together in his lap.
Logan just gave an affirmative grunt, and looked his guest over in more detail. He hadn’t made a habit of hiring professionals, but he occasionally made an exception under the right circumstances. He had yet to determine if these were the right circumstances. “How old are you?”
Kurt bit his lip and narrowed his eyes at the question. “How…? Hmmm…” He tugged at the hem of his worn, soaked t-shirt. He did not dress or carry himself like any hustler Logan had ever met. “Achtzehn?”
Logan nodded slowly. He knew enough German from his time as a soldier to translate. “Eighteen?”
“Ja, that is correct.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s true!” Kurt dug into his pants pocket, and before Logan could argue, a West German passport was proudly presented to him. “See for yourself!”
The grainy black-and-white photo was little more than a shadow with eyes, but a quick glance verified that he was eighteen. Barely. Logan plucked the passport from Kurt’s fingers under the guise of inspecting it in more detail. When Kurt reached for it back, Logan pulled it just out of his grasp. “It’s really stupid to just walk around with your passport on you.”
Kurt shifted nervously and gave an annoyed huff. “Ja, I know. I just don’t have a safer place to keep it.”
“I bet you keep all your cash on you, too,” Logan continued, jerking the passport away again as Kurt grabbed for it a second time. “Might as well just wear a big sign that says, ‘Stab me and steal my shit.’”
There was a dark flash in the corner of Logan’s eye, and he felt the passport get flicked out of his hand. “I can look after myself,” Kurt replied, and quickly shoved his recovered passport back into his pocket. Logan gawked at the long, slim spaded tail, which Kurt discreetly returned to its position between his leg and the truck door.
“Huh.” Logan slumped back into his seat, resting one hand on the steering wheel while rubbing his stubbled jaw with the other. “Right.”
He gave himself a moment to take it all in, raking his eyes over Kurt’s bizarre, unearthly features. Round, golden eyes looked back at him expectantly, completely undisturbed by the prying stare. His little stunt with the passport didn’t seem to sour Kurt on his proposition. A bead of water dripped from Kurt’s rain-drenched hair and onto his cheek, diffusing away as another fell from his chin and onto his lap. It was then that Logan realized that Kurt’s skin was actually covered with a fine layer of indigo fur. When would he get another opportunity like this one?
“Twenty-five, you said?”
“Ja.”
“Sounds good to me.”
Logan threw the truck into gear and peeled out of the parking lot.
“So…”
They rolled to a stop at a deserted intersection. Logan leaned back in his seat, resting his wrist over the top of his steering wheel as they waited for the light to change.
“So?”
“So you’re from out of town…”
“Mein Herr, you are very observant.”
“And you’re hooking outside the shittiest bar on the Eastern Seaboard…”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Like hell it ain’t,” Logan scoffed dismissively. “And on top of that, you look like you climbed outta some cheap drive-in flick.”
“If you say so.”
“So what’s your deal?” Logan looked at Kurt pointedly, just as the light changed and he began driving again. “How do you end up here?”
“I escaped from a circus.”
“C’mon, bub. Stop tryin’ to bullshit me.”
“I’m not going to lie to you,” Kurt assured, and seemed hurt by the insinuation that he would. “I came here to work as an acrobat. It was a trap. I was held against my will for five months, and I escaped earlier this week.”
Logan scoffed and pushed his hat up with his thumb. “And you immediately start turning tricks?”
“I just need enough money to buy either a plane ticket or passage on a cargo ship, something like that,” Kurt was quick to answer. He shrank down, hunching over and wringing his hands. “I… I know that I look very strange. But I also have other skills. I can…I don’t know how to say it… I think of where I want to go, and then I am there. Or at least I should be able to. The people who trapped me, also drugged me. Whatever they used has not worn off yet. They made it so I am stuck here. I just need to get home.”
“There’s gotta be an easier way to make a couple hundred bucks.”
“I applied to work at a movie theatre but they said they were not hiring.” Logan narrowed his eyes, unsure whether Kurt was being sarcastic or not.
Kurt noticed Logan’s sidelong glance. He sat back, stretching out as much as the passenger seat would allow. “I’m already a natural performer.” He laid his arm across the back of the seats and let his tail sway back into Logan’s view. “Many people are interested in something unusual.” The tip of Kurt’s tail ran lightly along Logan’s leather jacket from elbow to cuff, and then along his thumb to where it gripped the steering wheel. Logan was surprised to find that the appendage was soft and warm, rather than hard like he had assumed. “Yourself included, I expect.”
Logan eyed the tail as it slipped out of his view again. He swallowed dryly. “Dangerous assumption.”
Kurt cocked an eyebrow. “If I was a typical man, with ten fingers and beige skin, I would still be standing in the parking spot in the rain. I know this is true.”
“Hmm. Fair enough.” Logan managed to set his eyes back on the road ahead, flicking on his indicator and turning up a side street. “I got another question for you, then.”
“Sure.”
“Why me?”
Kurt smiled slightly and shrugged. “You looked lonely.”
Logan scoffed and shook his head. “I’m sure the fat wad of cash I just won made me look all that much lonelier.”
Kurt just shrugged again. “Maybe, but you should know that the other fighters had friends with them, even if just to carry them out. You arrived alone, and you left alone.”
“Yeah, well, that’s just how I roll.”
“Maybe not all the time, though, ja?”
“Heh. Maybe not.” One final turn and the truck pulled into the parking space closest to the shitty motel room that Logan had been living in for the past two months. “Here we are. Home sweet home.”
“C’mon! Goddamn it!” Logan muttered angry as he aggressively jiggled the keys into his motel room’s rickety lock. Finally, the door swung open and Logan stepped inside, now fumbling for the light switch.
Even in the dark, Kurt curiously surveyed his surroundings; the bed’s distractingly ugly floral comforter, the worn-out stained green carpet, the yellow-beige wood panelling. Logan had previously found a small mushroom growing in the corner, and he was sure that the tub had not been cleaned since the Eisenhower administration, but it was cheap and the owner minded his own business.
By the time Logan turned on the room’s single flickering bulb, he had already concluded that Kurt didn’t actually need it to see. He needed it, though, to get his first real, good look at his strange visitor.
The young man standing in his room was as alien as he had ever seen. The long, slender tail emerged from a hole stitched under the waistband of his ragged jeans. His similarly threadbare t-shirt may have fit when he got it, but now it hung off his shoulders, with the harsh light casting severe shadows over the hollows of his collar bones. His body gave a mixed impression of longstanding deprivation and youthful ungainliness— Logan couldn’t help but think that if someone took care of him, he’d probably be beautiful.
“C’mere,” Logan breathed, harsh and low, into Kurt’s neck. He wrapped both arms around Kurt’s torso, splaying his fingers across his chest and pulling up his shirt to expose his stomach. Someone without Logan’s enhanced senses wouldn’t have been able to feel Kurt tense under his touch, only for a split second. They also wouldn’t have been able to smell the faintest whiff of brimstone, underneath the smell of wet fur. “You’re wet.”
“That couldn’t be avoided,” Kurt quickly explained. He wrapped his arms around himself and the chattering of his teeth could be heard in his voice.
“Yeah, no shit,” Logan shrugged, glancing towards the room’s only window, with rain still pounding heavily down. “Why don’t you hang your clothes up on the shower pole, let them dry for a bit?”
“Ja, that’s probably a good idea.”
Kurt disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door softly behind him. Logan toed off his boots and sat on the edge of his bed. He listened to the sounds of Kurt unbuckling his belt and fussing with his clothes. He also listened as Kurt’s heart raced faster and faster, until the bathroom door finally opened again.
“That’s better.”
Kurt, now naked except for a towel wrapped around his waist, took a few tentative steps forward. Logan dragged his eyes hungrily up and down Kurt’s lithe body— everywhere he looked, there was something unusual. Delicately pointed ear tips poked out through tangled, wavy midnight-black hair. A defined ridge of short, dense fur ran down from the center of his chest, and small whorls could be seen on his shoulders, elbows, and the crest of his hips. Large two-toed feet, attached to slender ankles, padded soundlessly across the carpet. Logan huffed softly to himself, now that the mystery of how Kurt was able to sneak up on him was solved.
“C’mon, now,” Logan said as he eagerly shucked off his jacket and threw it aside, “I won’t bite.”
Before the coat even touched the floor, Kurt had already recoiled with a gasp. “Gott! You, ah, um… verletzt? You need help?”
“I, what? Hurt?” Logan scowled, baffled by Kurt’s reaction, until he looked down at the tank top he had on under his jacket. The same one he had fought in. “What? This?” He tugged at the tank, poking his fingers through dark red stains over shredded cotton. “This is nothing. Most of this isn’t even mine.”
“Should you perhaps go to a hospital, just in case?” Kurt followed anxiously. He alternated between reaching gingerly towards Logan’s torso and clutching his hands in front of his mouth.
“Fuck no.” Logan pulled the tank top off and wadded it up, dropping it on the bedspread next to him. He gestured towards his hairy chest, blood-smeared but otherwise unmarred. “That’d be a waste of time.”
Kurt seemed to relax, only slightly. “You’re sure that you’re alright?”
Logan let out a frustrated huff and crossed his arms. “Nah, I’m actually bleeding out internally, but I wanna get my cock sucked before I go get the surgery I need.”
Kurt’s large golden eyes simply blinked in response.
“That was a joke.” Kurt just blinked again. Logan sighed and uncrossed his arms. “Here. Look—” He laid his forearm over his knee and extended one claw on the opposite hand. Without even a wince, he dragged the sharp metal claw over his skin, opening an inch-long wound that poured fresh blood for a little more than a second before seamlessly mending itself closed.
“Oh!” Kurt gasped in awe. “Unglaublich!”
It was at that moment that Logan saw Kurt for what he was— a lost kid, in completely over his head. A lamb wandering through a forest full of wolves. Logan knew this because he was one of them.
Logan managed to wipe away the thin stream of blood from his arm with the remnants of his tank top before it dripped onto his jeans or the carpet. Still entranced, Kurt knelt down to take a closer look at the now-flawless skin of Logan’s forearm, softly touching the area with one of his strange, thick fingers.
“Good enough for ya?” Logan asked, watching Kurt with an amused snort. Kurt just glanced up, meeting his eyes with a sincere smile. In a flash, Logan grabbed Kurt’s wrist, holding it tight. He could feel the delicate bones and tendons twitching in his grip, as Kurt attempted to test Logan’s hold without looking like he was struggling. He forced a nervous laugh, all the while his tail lashed wildly across the worn carpet, and almost seemed relieved when Logan pulled him forward, pressing his hand into his denim-clad groin. “You done this before?”
“Ja, a few times.”
Logan almost made a crack about a couple of passenger-seat handjobs not really counting as experience, but the feeling of Kurt rubbing along his hardening bulge took all his focus. He let go of Kurt and leaned back, inhaling slowly as three strong fingers stroked him through his clothes.
“Fuck…” he groaned, spreading his legs wide to give Kurt more room. Impatiently, he unbuttoned his jeans and tugged on the zipper. His cock sprang rock-hard from his fly; he was never much for underwear. Kurt’s eyes widened in surprise, but he was not nearly as surprised as Logan was by the slim tail snaking around his shaft, coiling and uncoiling with experimental strokes. Speechless, Logan fell back onto his elbow and watched Kurt edge closer as the tail kept stroking. A low growl escaped him and he thumbed the rim of his hat up, noticing a bright white flash when Kurt licked his lips.
“You watch those fangs, now.”
Kurt’s annoyed huff felt ticklish on Logan’s exposed skin. “I know what I’m doing.”
“You—” Logan began, but was interrupted by Kurt’s lips sliding over the head of his cock, and not stopping until they reached the sinuous loop of tail around the base. His tongue followed, hot and wet, moving constantly as he pulled back. He looked up through messy curls, holding eye contact as he sank back down again.
“God damn,” Logan groaned. His head tipped back, and he made no attempt to stop his hat from falling off and rolling off the bed. The kid wasn’t lying when he said he was a performer. “Yes, you do.”
Kurt’s broad, unique hands braced against Logan’s thighs as his head began to bob eagerly. Logan stared up at the mottled ceiling, listening to their breathing paired with the obscene sounds of Kurt’s mouth on his dick and basking in how good it felt to be touched by someone who wasn’t trying to kill him. He gathered up a fistful of Kurt’s shaggy hair and clenched it tight, forcing him to slow down. “That’s it…” He set a new pace; steady and deep. Kurt’s nails dug into his legs for a moment, and then relaxed as he adjusted. “Don’t gotta rush things…”
Kurt could only respond with a small moan, which felt as good to Logan’s ears as it did vibrating against his sensitised flesh. His hips bucked of their own accord, his restraint dissipated by the second. That tail, now slick with saliva, tightened and slid over the shaft of his cock like nothing he’d ever felt before. Finally, the tension within him was more than he could take. He drove himself to Kurt’s throat, uttering a guttural, “Fuck!” as he came. Kurt tensed, his tongue flexing as Logan’s cock jerked. His tail whipped wildly and he balled one hand into a fist to beat against Logan’s thigh until Logan finally got the hint and let go of his hair. He pulled away sputtering but otherwise none the worse for wear.
“Fuck, kid…” Logan sat up and rubbed his stubbled jawline as he tried to catch his breath. “You are wasted on these hicks.”
Kurt still knelt on the floor, wiping his mouth and trying to smooth down his hair. He didn’t look up, and just nodded and shrugged in response.
After a moment, Logan sighed and zipped his pants back up. “You really gotta find another way to make some cash, though.”
Kurt cast him an incredulous glance and suppressed a laugh. “You mean I should definitely quit, now that we’re finished?”
“You keep this up, you’ll get eaten alive.”
Kurt sighed and crossed his arms. “Let me guess— You’re going to tell me there are some real weirdos out there, and that not everyone is as nice as you.”
“I’m not nice.”
“What are you, then? The Big Bad Wolf?”
“Close, but not quite.”
Kurt gave him another brief, analytical look before standing and brushing off his knees. Logan heard his teeth chattering again, as his damp fur invited a chill.
“I’m serious,” Logan grabbed his wrist again, although gentler than before. “Do something else. Lie, cheat, steal… Knick a couple gold chains or watches from these drunk assholes and pawn them. They won’t even miss them.”
“I’m not going to steal.” Kurt’s response was tinged with disgust. He pulled his wrist free of Logan’s grasp. “It’s not other people’s fault I got into trouble. Certainly there are some bad people out there, but most of them are decent.”
“Only took one of ‘em to put you in a cage,” Logan slid towards the head of the bed, and pulled a cigar out of a pack on the bedside table. He took a beat-up metal lighter from the base of the lamp and lit it, puffing a few times before tossing the lighter back down. He took a long drag, blowing the smoke out his nose. “But at least those steel bars kept the real freaks out.”
“I appreciate your concern,” Kurt replied stiffly, “but since we’re done, I’d like to just get my money and leave.”
“We’re not done.” Logan chewed the end of his cigar and reached into his back pocket. He pulled out his wallet and plucked a couple of bills from it, folded them together and set them on the bedside table. He shoved the wallet back in his pocket, took a few quick puffs off his cigar and set it on an amber glass ashtray. “I’m paying for the full hour.”
Logan searched Kurt’s face for some kind of reaction, but all he noted was a spike in heart rate. “Alright, then,” he said flatly, and seemed to await further instruction.
Logan just jerked his head towards the bed. He watched Kurt climb onto the mattress as he reached over to flick ashes from his cigar before returning it to his mouth. “Now, let’s get a look at you,” he said, almost as though he was talking to himself. Once Kurt knelt in the middle of the bed, Logan reached out and snatched the towel away, leaving him suddenly nude.
“God damn,” Logan grumbled under his breath, as he ran both hands greedily over Kurt’s lithe body. The still-damp fur was like rich velvet, softening the hard, flat planes of his chest and stomach. Kurt braced his odd hands on Logan’s broad shoulders, kneading the dense muscle in an imitation of affection, even as Logan roughly groped his groin.
“I know you’re scared of me…” Logan’s voice was a low rumble, inches from Kurt’s pointed ear. “I can smell it on you. Even in the parking lot. But you still got in the truck, still let me drive you to the middle of fucking nowhere…” He cupped Kurt’s cock and balls in his hand, and squeezed until Kurt’s breath hitched. “Stupid.”
Kurt shut his eyes and his fangs flashed with a slight wince. “What do you want?”
“Does it matter?” Logan threw Kurt’s slight body down to the mattress. “You can’t do anything.” He pressed his heavy palm between Kurt’s shoulder blades, dragging it down his spine. The valleys between each rib were painfully evident, and the fur appeared to have been worn off the bumps of each vertebrae and the edges of his hip bones. “You’re starved. You’re weak. You ignore your instincts until you’re in over your head.”
“Bitte,” Kurt’s voice was husky under the weight of Logan holding him down. “I’ll do anything, just—”
The bed creaked loudly as Logan climbed onto it, never moving his hand from Kurt’s back. He kneed Kurt’s legs apart while reaching over him to rummage through the drawer of the bedside table. By touch alone he found the tube of petroleum jelly between the spare packs of cigars and the Gideon Bible.
“You were saying?” Logan uncapped the tube with his teeth and squeezed a glob of thick jelly onto his fingers, all while leaning his forearm down across Kurt’s back. He didn’t actually think Kurt would risk an escape attempt, but he was trying to make a point.
“I’ll do anything,” Kurt repeated, his voice now frantic and thin. His tail writhed desperately, and wound tightly around the arm that held him down.
Logan grasped the base of the tail and yanked it up sharply. “Yeah, you will.”
Kurt yelped, and twisted around with a panicked glare, just as two thick fingers were shoved into him. He turned away, gasping into the musty bedding and squeezing his eyes shut, as though he could hide from his own reality.
“Fuck,” Logan groaned, despite himself, as he watched his fingers disappear again and again into the young man’s hot, tight body. “Christ, you really are new at this, aren’t you?”
Kurt’s muffled whine would have been unheard by someone without Logan’s enhanced senses. Tense and stock-still, he clutched at the blanket above his head as he kept his face hidden. His oddly-dexterous toes were balled up almost like a fist. Logan wondered how many things the kid had survived by simply enduring them. He wondered if there was a limit to how much he could take.
“You think you can give people what they want, and they’ll be satisfied?” Logan wrestled frantically with the fly of his jeans with one hand. The tail that had been wrapped around his arm unfurled and thrashed around, clearly acting out thoughts that its owner was trying to hide. He swore under his breath and grabbed it, pulling it aside so he could pin it under his knee. “These folks only want what they can take.”
His cock was rapidly stiffening as he finally managed to yank his pants out of the way. He slicked it up with the remnants of the petroleum jelly, stroking it slowly and deliberately as he loomed over Kurt’s prone body. His heavy hand gripped Kurt’s shoulder, bracing him against the mattress, so he could sink fully into him with one motion.
The sound Kurt made when Logan began to fuck him in earnest would be seared forever in his mind. Raw gasps, a muted hiss, would be lost in the din of worn-out bed springs for most men, but not for him. He moved greedily, burying his cock deep and fast; Kurt may have been intimidated by him, but his body was so pliant and yielding. Logan’s past partners often had to ask him to slow down or go easy, but not Kurt. Despite Logan’s best efforts, he took it all.
Wrapping an arm around Kurt’s chest, Logan pulled him closer, breathing in the faint sulphurous scent that lingered in his hair. His lips grazed the pointed tip of Kurt’s ear as he rasped, “This pretty pelt of yours is gonna end up in front of some prick’s fireplace by the end of the month.”
Again, if his words had any effect on Kurt, it certainly didn’t show. He flexed his fingers into the longer fur on Kurt’s chest, rubbing up against the grain until he found Kurt’s slender, delicate throat laid across the palm of his hand. His fingers closed loosely around the kid’s neck, feeling the flutter of his pulse and loving how the reverberation of each ragged breath was timed with the snap of his hips.
He needs to learn, Logan thought, and his mouth twisted into a snarl. He grabbed a fistful of Kurt’s hair and pulled his head back and to the side. Kurt winced and hissed, casting back a wide-eyed, suspicious look. He scrambled to get a grip on Logan’s arm, but then froze as he felt the knuckles of Logan’s other hand press against his Adam’s apple, and heard the metallic ‘snikt’ of adamantium claws sliding out on either side of his throat.
It thrilled Logan more than he could have imagined to see Kurt’s neck slotted tightly between his two outer claws; velvety indigo fuzz pressed against gleaming metal blades, the frantic pulse against the sides each claw vibrating up his adamantium-coated bones…the unspoken threat of the still-sheathed middle claw.
Even better was how Kurt had completely stopped. He didn’t move or make any sound at all, even as Logan began to pound him into the mattress.
“Twenty-five dollars for an hour?” he goaded, unsure whether he’d even be heard over the sound of bed springs. “How much is your fucking life worth, misfit?”
Those huge yellow eyes fixed on Logan’s face, even as he remained as silent and still as a statue. Logan pulled his hair back harder, hearing strands rip. He felt triumphant, accomplished, and powerful in a way that beating three men senseless in a fighting ring couldn’t compare to. Kurt’s body tightened around him, eliciting a long, raw groan from the depths of his chest. He couldn’t get deep enough in that searing heat, nothing could satisfy, and then it’s too much and he shouts with the intensity of it, his cock spasms with his orgasm and through the aftershocks. Without thinking, his claws extended another inch or two alongside Kurt’s neck. It was only after Logan collapsed on top of him in the aftermath that he made mental note that the middle claw was still fully sheathed and not embedded in Kurt’s throat.
“Weg—” Kurt croaked, just barely, underneath Logan’s dead weight. “Weg von mir.”
It was only then that Logan withdrew the claws and rolled over, laying on his back and raking a hand through his hair as he caught his breath. Kurt gave a huge, ragged gasp, followed by a long series of racking coughs. He carefully pushed himself off the bed, sucking air and coughing more softly as he brought himself onto his knees and crawled to the edge of the mattress. He didn’t look back at Logan, but did grab the cash off the bedside table as he stepped onto the floor and stumbled into the nearby bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
It occurred to Logan only then that Kurt had been holding his breath out of fear of his claws. Also, Logan’s dense frame and metal bones made for an oppressive weight on someone already weakened by hunger and abuse. He listened to the sound of the bathroom sink faucet running at maximum volume, which only partially obscured the much-quieter wheezing and labored breaths.
The wave of post-coital clarity brought an intense guilt. He didn’t pretend to be a good or simple man, but he would normally never lash out at someone as vulnerable as Kurt. He thought he had wanted to teach the kid a lesson, to try and keep him safe in a world of people who would hurt him. He wondered now if maybe there was something about Kurt’s innocence or his gentle and trusting nature that set him off, made him resentful and angry. How dare Kurt be the way that he is, while existing in the same world Logan did? He sat up on the edge of the bed and fixed his pants back up, now wishing he could do something to make things right.
There was a metallic squeaking noise as the tap was turned off, and seconds later, Kurt exited the bathroom. He was struggling to pull his still-wet t-shirt over his head, and was quickly walking to the door.
“Wait,” Logan said, and Kurt stopped dead in his tracks. “Did you want to stay here tonight? Sleep somewhere warm and dry?” He shrugged awkwardly and rubbed his palms on his knees. “Get something to eat in the morning?”
“No, that’s fine,” Kurt replied hastily, rapidly shaking his head. “I have a place I can sleep.”
“Yeah, but is it outside?”
Kurt just blinked a few times and said nothing.
“Can I at least drop you off somewhere? It’s pouring rain out.”
“Nein, that’s fine.”
“You don’t know where you are.”
“That’s fine.”
Logan let out a long sigh and looked at Kurt regretfully. The cold, wet youth was shivering again, holding himself in a stiff, nervous stance and looking back and forth between Logan and the door. His tail hung nearly motionless, except that the tip gave an agitated twitch every few seconds.
“So, you don’t want me to know where you’ve been staying. That’s fine. I get it,” Logan began, taking care to keep his voice as calm as he could manage. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and pulled a few more bills from it, and held them out towards Kurt. “Why don’t you take this, then? Get yourself something to eat? Maybe bribe your way onto a cargo plane or something?”
Kurt remained where he stood, his fingers moving just barely towards the cash as he seemed to debate whether moving closer to Logan was worth the risk.
Logan waited, arm still extended, as seconds ticked by. Finally, he sucked his teeth and slumped. “How about we try this instead?” he said, and then stood up, placed the money on the bedside table just like he had earlier, and walked into the bathroom. He closed the door behind him, and was not surprised to hear a flurry of movement. When he opened the door a minute later, Kurt and the cash were long gone.
Standing in the foyer of a mansion in Westchester, New York, Logan sees someone he hadn’t thought about since that night in Citrusville, two years ago. He’d been busy jobbing for the Canadian government, jumped into a new gig with some bald mind-reading weirdo, and bam! There he is.
Frankly, he was most surprised to see that Kurt had managed to escape Florida at all. By the looks of it, he had made it back home and sorted himself out, at least until recently. He seemed taller, his frame had filled out with lean muscle, his hair and fur looked healthy, and he was wearing a well-fitted circus uniform. Most of all, he apparently regained the abilities he had lost, which had trapped him in Florida in the first place. Baldy described him as a ‘line-of-sight teleporter,’ which certainly sounded like a skill that would have come in handy a couple of years ago.
When Kurt saw him, his eyes widened and he quickly looked away, perhaps hoping that Logan didn’t recognize him. As if it were possible for someone to not recognize him. Logan considered just playing along, but by the time Chuck finished talking about whatever it was he was talking about, Logan had already sidled up to Kurt, crossed his arms, and eyed him up.
“Hallo?” Kurt said warily. He stood very straight with his hands clasped behind his back and his tail swaying slowly at his heels.
“Looks like you made it back to Germany in one piece,” Logan observed.
Kurt nodded once. “Ja, I did. I…” He glanced around and lowered his voice. “I took your advice about the cargo plane.”
Logan scratched his stubbled chin thoughtfully. “Found someone who’d take a bribe?”
“Ja. Well, that wasn’t all he wanted,” Kurt looked away with a shrug. “But long story short, I was back in Munich within a few days.”
Logan nodded approvingly. He gave Kurt a quick pat on the back. “That’s good. You, ah, you look good.”
Kurt just shrugged again, staring at his own white-booted feet. “Danke.”
“Hey, you wanna get outta here, maybe grab a drink or something?”
Kurt stiffened, his tail stilled. “Is that the price of your silence?”
“What?” Logan’s brow furrowed, and it took him a moment to understand. “No! Shit. Nothing like that. Fuck.” He stared into Kurt’s face, waiting until their eyes met. “I ain’t gonna tell them shit, least of all about you.”
“Danke.”
Kurt was looking away again, his discomfort with the situation obvious. Logan sighed and pulled off his cowl, holding it in both hands.
“Look, I…I’m not proud of how I acted back then,” he said plainly.
“It’s fine,” Kurt replied immediately, and gave his head a nearly-imperceptible shake.
“I wasn’t really in a great place. I’m normally not like that,” Logan continued, and turned his cowl over and over again in his hand.
“Me neither,” Kurt followed. To Logan’s surprise, he actually seemed to relax a little.
“Yeah, no kidding. I mean, hell…” Logan jerked his head towards the other young mutants mingling in the room. “I’m sure every single one of these people has a past, if you know what I mean.”
Kurt took a moment to observe the other people he had just been introduced to. The hulking Russian youth, the gorgeous African goddess, the Irish former cop, to name a few… “Hmm. You’re probably not wrong,” he admitted with a small shrug.
Logan gave a slight, smug smile, and pulled a cigar from a pocket in his uniform. “So…Nightcrawler, was it?”
Kurt nodded and laughed softly. “Ja, an old circus name. And Wolverine?”
Logan took the unlit cigar from his mouth. “Who fucking knows, bub? I can’t remember. Maybe from the army or something?”
Kurt’s brow raised in a mix of interest and concern. “It’s not just because you’re short, hairy, and mean?”
Logan snorted and shook his head, placing the cigar back between his teeth. He reached for his lighter, just to notice the disapproving look that Charles shot him. He rolled his eyes and removed the cigar from his mouth yet again, and nudged Kurt’s ribs with his elbow. “Hey, you wanna ditch this party and see if there’s any decent beer in this town?”
Kurt bit his lip, his tail curling and uncurling as he looked around the room in consideration. Finally, he gave an easy shrug and smiled. “That sounds like fun. Let’s go!”