334 Words: Logan/Peter Rasputin [Ultimate X-Men]
UST.
PG.
Set during UXM #15, when Peter and Logan are going out together at night and righting wrongs.
The fight happens fast once Logan and Peter get inside the warehouse. The guys go down easy, but not too easy. An old-fashioned fist fight, no powers. No claws, no metal. The punches hurt, but Peter likes the sound of flesh hitting flesh. Likes the raw thud and grunt.
Likes the way Logan looks, breathing hard and wild-eyed, blood-coated grin, hair sticking up all ways. A door opens into the alley and they duck into the loading dock, crouching down. Waiting and listening. Logan's thigh brushing against his. Smelling blood and sweat.
It's dark here, really dark. Total silence, except the rub of leather on leather as their arms brush, the slowing pants of their breath, and Peter's own heartbeat thundering in his ears.
Logan shifts away, edging toward the corner of the building, toward the street. Peter tries to follow, but Logan puts out an arm, hand landing in the center of his pounding chest, stilling him as Logan takes a peek into the street.
Voices and footsteps. Sounds Logan heard long before Peter did.
Peter looks down at Logan's hand. Dirty, smear of blood on the knuckles. Pressing hot against his thumping chest. He turns his head to look at Logan, sees the messy points of his hair in profile.
Out on the street the footsteps slow, car doors slam, an engine comes to life.
And then Logan's thumb moves. Too purposeful to be a twitch. It slowly slides up, pushing Peter's shirt with it just a little bit, then back down. Up again. Pressing just a little, just enough. Rubbing slow and sure.
For the first time in his life, Peter thinks he might faint.
Light splashes down the street as the car's headlights come on. It pulls away from the curb, accelerating past the alley.
Logan's hand falls away, becomes a beckoning finger.
"C'mon," he says, not looking back.
Peter follows him out into the street, heart beating wildly against the smear of blood on his shirt where Logan touched him.
End
PG.
Set during UXM #15, when Peter and Logan are going out together at night and righting wrongs.
The fight happens fast once Logan and Peter get inside the warehouse. The guys go down easy, but not too easy. An old-fashioned fist fight, no powers. No claws, no metal. The punches hurt, but Peter likes the sound of flesh hitting flesh. Likes the raw thud and grunt.
Likes the way Logan looks, breathing hard and wild-eyed, blood-coated grin, hair sticking up all ways. A door opens into the alley and they duck into the loading dock, crouching down. Waiting and listening. Logan's thigh brushing against his. Smelling blood and sweat.
It's dark here, really dark. Total silence, except the rub of leather on leather as their arms brush, the slowing pants of their breath, and Peter's own heartbeat thundering in his ears.
Logan shifts away, edging toward the corner of the building, toward the street. Peter tries to follow, but Logan puts out an arm, hand landing in the center of his pounding chest, stilling him as Logan takes a peek into the street.
Voices and footsteps. Sounds Logan heard long before Peter did.
Peter looks down at Logan's hand. Dirty, smear of blood on the knuckles. Pressing hot against his thumping chest. He turns his head to look at Logan, sees the messy points of his hair in profile.
Out on the street the footsteps slow, car doors slam, an engine comes to life.
And then Logan's thumb moves. Too purposeful to be a twitch. It slowly slides up, pushing Peter's shirt with it just a little bit, then back down. Up again. Pressing just a little, just enough. Rubbing slow and sure.
For the first time in his life, Peter thinks he might faint.
Light splashes down the street as the car's headlights come on. It pulls away from the curb, accelerating past the alley.
Logan's hand falls away, becomes a beckoning finger.
"C'mon," he says, not looking back.
Peter follows him out into the street, heart beating wildly against the smear of blood on his shirt where Logan touched him.
End