BABYLON REVISITED
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X-men Comics › Slash - Male/Male › Logan/Scott
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,534
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
X-men Comics › Slash - Male/Male › Logan/Scott
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,534
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own X-Men comics, or any of the characters from it. I make no money from from the writing of this story.
BABYLON REVISITED
BABYLON REVISITED
Logan/Scott
755 words
R
The title of this story originally comes from the short story by F. Scott Fitzgerald, who would either turn in his grave, or laugh his ass off that I'm using it in such a way.
Characters copyright and property of Marvel Comics Group. Story and plot copyright 2002 Blu Fiction and property of Atomic Fantasy – all rights reserved. Please contact the author for archive permission and feedback.
~
When Scott takes off his uniform, it’s like a hurricane hits me. I can’t do anything but stand still and try hard not to get blown away. It’s like sensory overload: all the angles, scents, sounds. I can see each of his muscles move one by one, independently working together as he slides t ont one forearm down and then the other, peeling away the tight suit. I can see small lines of sweat trickling down his back, and his chest; the sweat goes over the shoulder blades or down the middle, maybe runs between his pecs in that perfect little crease he has.
I practically slobber right there on the floor.
I have to quickly turn so my my hard-on doesn’t give me away. I’m not a timid man – never have been – but when yer in the presence of leadership like that, ya don’t want to embarrass yourself. I try to push myself further into the dark opening of the locker, hiding it away; I keep my face in the shadows; I’m glad for this dark hair o’ mine to cover the flush on my skin.
But goddam that ass looks fine. It’s tight an’ it’s round and it looks fuckin’ hard enough to crack walnuts with; I can’t keep my eyes off his backside as he bends over to grab his towel, then stretches back, leaning just slightly so that his cock juts out in profile and his ass gets even tighter – and he towels off that smooth back of his. Back and forth, back and forth, until it’s only damp-dry instead of wet. And I want to tell him that I’ll gladly lick every drop of the front side of him if he’ll let me; he doesn’t need to use a towel.
I don’t – of course. I stand there with a hard-on like nothin’ on this earth and watch secretly, keeping my jaw tight and my eyes almost down. Anyone would think, and everyone does – always – that I’m just lookin’ at the floor, minding my own business. That seems ta be my brand, around here. But I got a sex drive that would kill King Kong himself, an’ every time I see Scotty take that thing off I nearly lose my hold. One of these days it’s gonna happen – it’s only a matter of time. Only a matter of time.
It might be the same with Jean, but, truth be told I ain’t ever seen her like this – not in this light, not with a body coated in a sheen of sweat and salt and smells; not flushed red from exertion like a two-dollar Hong Kong whore. Nuh uh – not like this. As much as I might like it, I haven’t. But Scotty I see every other day at three o’ clock, always the same movements, always the same schooled face: taut jaw with the hints of a five o’clock shadow just startin’ ta show. Grim, determined, near dazed – and fucking to die for.
The only thought in my head by this point is how many ways I can knock him on his ass, spread his thighs and fuck him until the moon comes out.
That’s pretty crude, I know. I never think I’d be gentle. Even my own self-delusion has its limits.
Now I’m smirking to myself and he’s noticed it. He gets that look behind his eyes – the one with the dark glowing tint that means he’s annoyed or horny – and says ta me:
“What now, Logan?”
“Nothin. Slim. Scott. Scotty,” I say while still keepin’ my smirk exactly the same. I snap a towel out and nearly squirm at the slap it makes hitting him.
He snorts in derision like he always does when he’s uncomfortable. I like making him uncomfortable. It gets me going. He goes back to cleanin’ himself off. I like that he doesn’t shower until night. I like the scent of a man. I like the scent of that man better’n most.
My hard-on’s comin’ down now, and Scott walks past me, just grazing my ass with three of his fingers. There isn’t enough room to walk behind a person in the locker room without touchin’ him. I count on this every time. I won’t ever get the chance. Yeah, shit I know. But it’s damn good paradise while it lasts.
Logan/Scott
755 words
R
The title of this story originally comes from the short story by F. Scott Fitzgerald, who would either turn in his grave, or laugh his ass off that I'm using it in such a way.
Characters copyright and property of Marvel Comics Group. Story and plot copyright 2002 Blu Fiction and property of Atomic Fantasy – all rights reserved. Please contact the author for archive permission and feedback.
~
When Scott takes off his uniform, it’s like a hurricane hits me. I can’t do anything but stand still and try hard not to get blown away. It’s like sensory overload: all the angles, scents, sounds. I can see each of his muscles move one by one, independently working together as he slides t ont one forearm down and then the other, peeling away the tight suit. I can see small lines of sweat trickling down his back, and his chest; the sweat goes over the shoulder blades or down the middle, maybe runs between his pecs in that perfect little crease he has.
I practically slobber right there on the floor.
I have to quickly turn so my my hard-on doesn’t give me away. I’m not a timid man – never have been – but when yer in the presence of leadership like that, ya don’t want to embarrass yourself. I try to push myself further into the dark opening of the locker, hiding it away; I keep my face in the shadows; I’m glad for this dark hair o’ mine to cover the flush on my skin.
But goddam that ass looks fine. It’s tight an’ it’s round and it looks fuckin’ hard enough to crack walnuts with; I can’t keep my eyes off his backside as he bends over to grab his towel, then stretches back, leaning just slightly so that his cock juts out in profile and his ass gets even tighter – and he towels off that smooth back of his. Back and forth, back and forth, until it’s only damp-dry instead of wet. And I want to tell him that I’ll gladly lick every drop of the front side of him if he’ll let me; he doesn’t need to use a towel.
I don’t – of course. I stand there with a hard-on like nothin’ on this earth and watch secretly, keeping my jaw tight and my eyes almost down. Anyone would think, and everyone does – always – that I’m just lookin’ at the floor, minding my own business. That seems ta be my brand, around here. But I got a sex drive that would kill King Kong himself, an’ every time I see Scotty take that thing off I nearly lose my hold. One of these days it’s gonna happen – it’s only a matter of time. Only a matter of time.
It might be the same with Jean, but, truth be told I ain’t ever seen her like this – not in this light, not with a body coated in a sheen of sweat and salt and smells; not flushed red from exertion like a two-dollar Hong Kong whore. Nuh uh – not like this. As much as I might like it, I haven’t. But Scotty I see every other day at three o’ clock, always the same movements, always the same schooled face: taut jaw with the hints of a five o’clock shadow just startin’ ta show. Grim, determined, near dazed – and fucking to die for.
The only thought in my head by this point is how many ways I can knock him on his ass, spread his thighs and fuck him until the moon comes out.
That’s pretty crude, I know. I never think I’d be gentle. Even my own self-delusion has its limits.
Now I’m smirking to myself and he’s noticed it. He gets that look behind his eyes – the one with the dark glowing tint that means he’s annoyed or horny – and says ta me:
“What now, Logan?”
“Nothin. Slim. Scott. Scotty,” I say while still keepin’ my smirk exactly the same. I snap a towel out and nearly squirm at the slap it makes hitting him.
He snorts in derision like he always does when he’s uncomfortable. I like making him uncomfortable. It gets me going. He goes back to cleanin’ himself off. I like that he doesn’t shower until night. I like the scent of a man. I like the scent of that man better’n most.
My hard-on’s comin’ down now, and Scott walks past me, just grazing my ass with three of his fingers. There isn’t enough room to walk behind a person in the locker room without touchin’ him. I count on this every time. I won’t ever get the chance. Yeah, shit I know. But it’s damn good paradise while it lasts.