One More Notch

Logan/Daken. NC-17. ~2300 words. Dubious consent (amnesia, Daken). Set during Wolverine Origins #38.
He swings his leg over the old gearshift to kick Logan’s foot off the gas. “Give me a good reason why we shouldn’t.”

Logan smells like violence and truth. It stirs up something in the pit of Daken’s stomach if not the blankness of his mind, and he sinks lower in the seat, lets Logan’s scent wash over him in the hope it’ll uncover something familiar.

What he get doesn’t seem all that familiar. The corner of his mouth quirks up all on its own as concern peels off Logan in waves. Logan isn’t telling him everything–isn’t telling him much at all–but his instincts tell him he’s the centre of everything for Logan right now, and he likes it.

He stretches his arm out along the top of the seat. Tiny shards of glass needle at his skin. “Are we lovers?”

Logan’s pulse thuds like a drum. “No,” he rumbles.

Not a lie, but maybe a wish it was. Daken twists sideways in the seat and takes his time sizing up his ‘friend’. I’m like you rings hollowly in his head. He has his doubts, and he can’t tell if they’re more or less after seeing how Logan handled the driver. Fear is a good motivator, but death is certainty. If he’d been on his own, he would’ve left a corpse behind.

He props his chin on his fist and reaches out to lightly scratch his nails through the whiskers on Logan’s. “Maybe we should be.”

The explosion of Logan’s reaction batters his senses, leaves him dizzied and torn between relishing it or clawing his way free. Logan’s gaze is hard, fixed firmly ahead, but his heart’s dancing in his chest and his skin’s damp with a warm sweat. Adrenaline and a thin tendril of lust thicken his scent, drown out the stink of fresh cigarette ashes in the dashboard tray.

The crawl of it down Daken’s throat feels good; Logan’s flinch when Daken leans in to sniff at his throat is better. Whoever he is, he thinks it’s love he’s carting around in there. And he’s afraid of too many questions.

“We definitely should be,” Daken says, and slides across the token bit of distance left between them. He fits a hand snugly to the soft rise of Logan’s cock, feels it swell and decides that’s a better answer than the one showing in the hard line of Logan’s mouth. It’s almost as good as the panic racing beneath Logan’s skin.

“You’re not gonna like it if I hit a tree.”

Reaching for Logan’s belt, Daken says, “But you’re going to like this.”

A hand clamps down on Daken’s wrist. Bones grate and flesh bruises, and the heady surge of his blood isn’t for the pain that comes with it but the knowledge that Logan can break him and won’t. With his memories messed up, maybe he needs Logan and maybe he doesn’t, but Logan wants him.

He swings his leg over the old gearshift to kick Logan’s foot off the gas. “Give me a good reason why we shouldn’t.”

Lip twitching back in a snarl, Logan jams the gears to stop their grinding. “Kid, ya didn’t even know your own name.”

“You did.” Muscle quivers beneath Daken’s fingers as he digs under Logan’s belt to get at the zip. The truck idles in the middle of the road, set like a stage. Anyone that comes along is going to get quite the show. He’s a little surprised at how much that thought appeals.

Lust winds sweet and smoky through Logan’s agitation, drags it down to the dirt and buries it when he gets a hand shoved inside to press flat against Logan’s bare belly. Coarse hair crinkles against his palm as he pushes further down, skims his knuckles along hot flesh before curling his fist tight. He aims a slick slow smile upward. “You’re not really going to try to tell me you don’t want this.”

“Didn’t know you did,” Logan grunts, jerking his hand off the wheel when the steering column gives a sharp crack. “You gotta knock it off. You don’t know who you are, don’t know what you can do.”

“You do,” Daken repeats, and braces for the sick slice of bone through his flesh. He nicks skin as he rips through the heavy material of Logan’s glove, the hot tang of their blood mixing in the air bringing a low rippling growl straight up from the pit of Logan’s stomach. “Put your hands on me.”

The last of Logan’s reluctance winks out. He tears at his other glove with his teeth as Daken slides down into the footwell. A hand tangling in his hair yanks him to a halt halfway there, his chest pressed snug against the thick muscle flexing in Logan’s thigh. Stark white shows at the edges of Logan’s eyes.

“Guess that explains the haircut,” Daken says, and pulls against the hold to see if he has it right. There isn’t much of a thrill to the shallow tug on his scalp until Logan’s hand twists, blunt fingers shoved through the tangle of his hair to press rough knuckles hard against the peak of his spine. His skin itches at the imagined prick of claws. “It’s all for you.”

He bumps an elbow against the dash to trigger the overhead light before he hauls Logan’s cock out. Everything about Logan is thick and blunt, from the hard-headed attitude to what he’s packing below the belt, and the surge of lust that fills Daken’s nose this time around is all his own.

Licking his fingers, he rolls the foreskin back, and the fact that a cut cock wasn’t an option to begin with doesn’t do much to dampen his appreciation of the reveal. The head of Logan’s dick is sweet pink and shiny wet all the way down to the ridge. He squeezes tight near the root and bends to suck up the fresh seep of precome, hold it trembling on his tongue before smearing it to nothing against the roof of his mouth.

“I’m beginning to think you really need this,” Daken says, and Logan makes a noise as if the lazy kiss he presses to the slit is a gut shot full of shrapnel. It drives up under his skin like the shattered glass and spurs him up on his knees, ignoring the hand tearing through his hair until it tightens enough to hold him back from the kiss he fully means to take.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” Logan says, but it’s weak. Weak and pointless when his dick’s as hard as the steel that comes springing out between his knuckles and he’s not really doing a damn thing to keep Daken off it. No matter what shit comes out of his mouth, his body says he’s been craving a chance at this for a good long time.

“You don’t think so? Let me tell you.” Reaching back, Daken fits his fingers over Logan’s to spread them out, curving them to cup the back of his skull. Logan’s thumb skims down to brush the soft skin below his ear all on its own. “The first thing I’m going to do is make you kiss me, because if I’m going to put your dick in my mouth, you’re going to give me a proper hello. That would be the second, by the way. You cramming your dick in my mouth.”

He splays a hand on Logan’s chest for balance, partly because he thinks he’ll like the look of it there–and oh yes, he does–but better than that is the frantic pound of Logan’s heart. It beats brutally hard against Logan’s ribs, desperate to burst through and push warm and still beating into the palm of his hand. He curls his fingers to claws, blunt nails biting into flesh, and leans in close to put his smile one soft breath away from Logan’s mouth. “Say hello, handsome.”

What starts as a trickling growl, cornered-animal furious, melts to ragged need in Daken’s mouth. Logan’s hand goes tight in his hair, jerking him close so the light press of teeth becomes sharp edges scraping his lips. It’s no trial to stay lax for it, draped halfway across Logan’s lap; not hard to open for the rough shove of Logan’s tongue and let it rub slick and wet against his own. It’s the easiest thing he’s done since he woke up with his claws jammed into that thing leaning over him, its lukewarm blood streaming into his open mouth.

Blood that Logan’s tasting now, and by the low sound he makes and the crinkle of his nose, he doesn’t like it. He turns away, spits. He teeth glint in the dashboard lights.

“I thought you said you’re like me,” Daken whispers through a chaste kiss pressed to the corner of Logan’s mouth. Whiskers scratch at his lips. He turns his head, follows the coarse line of them up to bring his mouth close to Logan’s ear, put his neck and the thick rush of blood beneath his skin straight in the path of Logan’s teeth. “Better?”

The seat creaks as a shudder rocks Logan forward. His teeth bracket the spike of Daken’s pulse. He digs in, tongue pressed to the flutter Daken can feel echoing through his chest, and skin gives way beneath fine points as Daken flips around to an overhanded grip and starts jacking him.

This is what should always be, he thinks. Pressed close with blood between them, the thick iron tang of it mingling with their sweat and the cloying heat of lust. He eases up, not ready for it to be over yet, and somehow doesn’t expect the vicious clamp of Logan’s jaws on his throat holding him in place.

“Did you forget already?” he asks, for a split second wishing they had the time as well as the space for him to put Logan on his back and see what he could really do. “You’re going to fuck me, Logan. You’re going to be the first one to push your dick down my throat, because I don’t remember anyone else but you. Now let go.”

Long seconds tick by. “Still playin’ games,” is the first thing Logan says after his jaw loosens. His chin is stained red, whiskers blood-wet. He scrubs a hand over his face, sniffs at Daken’s blood smeared on his fingers as if he really doesn’t want to like the smell of it as much as he does.

The thing about that is, Daken likes it. All of it. It rings as true as anything Logan’s said tonight. With a crooked smile and an eager thrill coursing through his veins, he slips back down to take Logan’s dick onto his tongue. One little suck is all it takes to drive Logan back under the power of the instincts riding him raw. He takes Daken’s hair in hand like a leash, no yes please or may I, as unapologetic about gagging Daken on his cock as he was about leaving that man stranded in the dark ten miles back.

The ache that builds up in Daken’s jaw isn’t good, isn’t bad. The rub of a cockhead on the back of his tongue isn’t as familiar as he’d thought it might be, but the loss of Logan’s control is. He’s the one with a dick pushed down his throat but there’s no doubt in his mind as to who’s fucking who. The longer he turns that thought over in his head, the better Logan pumping into his mouth feels until it’s a struggle not to reach down to get a hand on his own cock. He briefly firms his grip around the base of Logan’s instead and then lets go entirely, stops fighting the steady pressure of Logan’s hand against the back of his skull.

Logan’s cock lodges deep enough to cut off his air. He squeezes his eyes shut, focuses first on the involuntary quivering of Logan’s muscles and the come shooting down his throat second. Logan doesn’t need the encouragement but he works to swallow around him anyway. The ache flares up sharp hot in his throat is mirrored in the tug on his scalp, and it takes him a moment longer than he would’ve thought to pull off Logan’s dick.

Grin caught between his teeth, he leaves the mess smeared on his chin alone in favour of prowling up into Logan’s lap, his knees spread carelessly wide. “You see?” he says, finally pulling his own dick free as Logan’s wide rough hands settle low on his back. “Look at what you missed out on for however long. All this time, you could’ve had me.”

He’s ready to go when Logan makes a low broken noise, pure and beautiful regret, but he holds off, knows there’s something just that little bit sweeter waiting for him. It shows up in the form of bloodstained kiss and this time he can taste the reluctance on Logan’s lips along with the bitter smear of come. He bites back a grin to make sure it doesn’t end too soon, drinking it all down to savour later as he paints Logan’s softening cock white.

His lips are hot and bruised when he draws away. He spares a moment’s regret for that as Logan’s gaze hooks immediately on the wet sheen of them, but he knows the lure now and there will always be another opportunity. Dropping back onto the seat, he tucks one leg up under the other, their thighs pressed flush together. He drapes his arm over the back of the seat again, drags a few fingertips through the mess on Logan’s balls simply because he can. With a sideways glance, watching Logan watch him, he gives his hand a quick sniff before licking it clean through the grin he’s finally let loose. “Let’s go wherever we’re going, friend. Unless you know a motel on the way?”

Without a word, Logan puts the idling truck into gear. Through the stink of sex and regret still lurks the promise of violence. Daken drags a breath full of it deep into his lungs. Even with a black hole where his life should be, he certain it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

End

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