Snow (sweptawaybayou) wrote,

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For lady_t_220

Because I've promised her Wolverine prison fic forever and because she is the reason I am here. And because she is sweet and kind and funny and totally in love with Hugh Jackman, although personally? I think she is waaaay to good for him. Written quickly, morning is coming in London and I wanted her to have something to read in the a.m. that might make her smile.

by Snow

Not mine. Never will be.

He woke alone and in the dark. A dead body across from him. Logan scrambled to his feet, his hands moving on the cement behind him, his eyes searching opaque, indistinguishable surroundings. The sharp tips of his claws digging, hurting just under the surface of the knuckles of his hands, held back by a caution born of a life among non-mutants. Among humans.

He inhaled. Reeking smells of vomit and urine, pain and desperation assaulted his lungs and his mind. The body on the floor moved and Logan focused on it, just the outline visible in the room. He crept soundlessly to the opposite wall, his fingers slid from concrete to metal as he found the door.

“It’s locked.”

Logan felt the snarl that rose from his chest before he could hear it when the body on the floor moved again, when it spoke. A calm, quiet voice and eyes that glittered as they opened, as they looked at him. His hand moved behind his back to test the handle.

“Told you.”

Logan stilled himself. Calmed down. He allowed his eyes to close to slits and his other senses to expand. A small room. 8 by 10 at the most. Water in the corner, a sink or a toilet. No windows. Thick, old, drying concrete and gravel walls and Logan’s fingers flexed and curled into fists. Nothing he couldn’t cut through, given enough time.

The dead man stood, staggered to his feet and trembled. The fresh, copper scent of blood floated through the air between them, thick and Logan could taste it on his tongue. Not human and yes … it was. He was. But not alive.

Logan stood with his back to the wall next to the door, unwilling to drop his stare through the dark at the outline of the man’s wide shoulders and tall frame. Instinctively knowing that if he looked away, even for a moment, the dead man could move faster than he could track.

“What are you? Why are we here?”

“A vampire. And I’d assume we’re here because we were fighting on the right side of the wrong battle.”

Bits and pieces of the night started to return to Logan’s consciousness. A hurried flight in the jet from New York state, a fight in an alley, a dragon in the sky. Losing track of Jean and Scott and Rogue as he waded through trolls and demons and things that he didn’t have a name for, things that he killed before he could think of one.

“Where is everyone else? Do you know?”

The vampire shook his head and Logan watched, as those wide shoulders seemed to sink in a little. As he became less for a moment.

“No. I don’t.”

Logan waited to see if more would follow. More words, more information, more of his faulty, slow to recover memory. But there was only silence and darkness and he turned to the wall. Popped his claws out of the top of his hands and started to slide one into the tiny crease where the solid iron of the door met the concrete of the wall. Logan felt the movement before he could even turn back to see and was suddenly turned and held tight against the wall.

“Shhhh.” An almost silent whisper and fingers over his mouth. “Someone is coming.”

They stood motionless, silent and Logan heard the sound of someone something on the other side of the door. Pausing and passing by, a sliding step, a squishing wet noise and the grind of what could only be bone on stone.

And then they were alone again.

Still pressed to the wall by the cold, hard body of the dead man, Logan pulled in his claws and put his hands on the vampire’s hips. He saw the shine as those dark, impenetrable eyes turned to him.

“I know you.”

He whispered, a lie and the truth all at once.

“I remember you.”

“No.” That low voice crawled through the nonexistent space between them. “You don’t.”

Logan felt the pressure of a palm covering his cock through his jeans, the cool touch of lips on his neck just above the collar of his flannel shirt and up, into the rough, short stubble of his beard. The back of his head pressed to the surface of the concrete behind him. The slip and slide of the vampire as he moved to his knees and Logan’s hips jerked forward at the puff of breath and the pressure of sharp teeth. His fingers splayed over the rough cement behind him as his mind shifted from captive to caught to yes … fuck yes ….

“What …?”

“Don’t ask.”

The low growl drifted up as his jeans were yanked down his thighs and Logan was just about to protest until his cock was sucked into the vacuum of a cool, wet mouth. Until he felt fingers pulling his balls down from where they were camped, up tight against his groin. Until his hands left the wall and slid through the short, stiff silk of the vampire’s hair and he pulled that mouth closer and fucked deeper.

There was no hesitation. No pull away, no gasping for air, no choking. There was only the wet slide, up and down and back and forth. The flutter and lick of a tongue, the graze of teeth a little too sharp, the feel of a brow that had ridges and bumps, the growl that vibrated up through Logan’s spine to the base of his skull and raised the tiny hairs on the back of his neck to meet his own and clash in the complete silence that surrounded them.

Thick throat muscles swallowed around him, fingers dug into his thighs.

Logan’s eyes closed. The darkness behind much more welcoming than the black helplessness of the cell.


That was fun. Lord, how I do love the thought of those two together.

Tags: angel/logan, crossover fic, fic
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