Male bonding

DISCLAIMER: The boys ain't mine, I'm just borrowing them for a while.


“Was ist das?” Kurt asked, after he’d swallowed what he had in his mouth with a grimace of distaste, staring at the beer bottle in his hand. Vile, it had been like drinking weak battery acid or something. Disgusting. He’d never tasted beer that bad before. Ever. He turned a dirty look at Logan, who had bought it for him.

“Budweiser,” Logan said cheerfully, grinning a little at the look on Kurt’s face as he drank from his own bottle of Molson. Cost of driving out to Harry’s? About ten bucks in gas. Cost of one Budweiser? Few bucks more. The look on the German’s face as he tried his first truly American beer? Priceless.

“Nein, I have had a Budweiser in Czechoslovakia, and it didn’t taste anything like this,” Kurt denied, studying the label closely. As if it could tell him just why the beer had tasted so bad and so very weak. There was no possible reason that someone could have made beer that tasted that bad deliberately...was there?

“That, is an American Budweiser.”

“What is wrong with the people who make this, this...scheisse?!” Kurt’s face twisted in disgust, before he put the bottle down on the tabletop carefully and pushed it away from him with his hand. Here in Harry’s, there was sort of the expectation that it didn’t matter what the clientele looked like, you left them the hell alone. Which was why he could take the blue German out here in his scarred demonic glory, tail and all. Harry wouldn’t stand for anyone coming in here and making difficulties for his customers. The rest of the people in here wouldn’t either. Live and let live, and if you didn’t, then you were going to wind up with an ass kicking to teach you the error of your ways. “They make it taste that bad on purpose?” he asked Logan in bewilderment, turning on his chair to face him.

Logan smirked, and had another gulp of his Molson.

You save someone’s life once, help one of his family’s kids when they reached puberty and the time bomb of their X-Gene activated, and well...the X-Men had earned themselves a safe drinking hole. And when a fight did start, Xavier paid costs to cover damages promptly. Mutants were more or less welcome at Harry’s, no matter how obvious they were. And Wagner was damn obvious, from the tips of his pointy little ears, to the end of his pointy little tail. But here, everyone knew better then to comment. Harry wouldn’t stand for it, and besides...he was with Logan. There were very few people, in Harry’s or otherwise, who were willing to mess with him. As hard as it had been to convince him to come here and get out from the safe haven that the Institute grounds offered, it had been worth it so far.

And for once, Logan was cautiously optimistic that this wasn’t going to turn into a clusterfuck all of a sudden.

“You did that on purpose,” Kurt accused Logan, one eyebrow arching in disbelief. What a mean trick to play on him. He had to have known what it would taste like to someone used to European beers; which would be why he’d ordered something different. Verdammt. “Do they have something I would know here?” He wouldn’t be trusting one he didn’t know again, and he definitely wasn’t trusting Logan to order for him if he didn’t recognize the name. And label, he’d check the label this time.

Gott, that had been foul.

“Heineken, maybe.”

“Ja, that will do,” Kurt said with grudging approval. Not the best, but probably the best he could get. As long as it wasn’t another trick like the Budweiser had been. If it was, he would really have to figure out something to do to Logan to pay him back. He should do that anyway. Maybe Bobby or Jubilee would have an idea on what would be the best thing to do. They seemed to have a knack for jokes that worked the best on their victims. And for this, Logan would deserve the very best he could think up in conjunction with their scheming teen minds.

Bobby didn’t really like Logan. So his ideas might need to be tempered a little, but they were bound to be good. Inventive.

“Sure. I’ll get it.”

A number of beers later, and Logan was admiring Kurt’s ability to still be upright. Him, he had a healing factor so he’d have to drink a hell of a lot more then this to even be approaching drunk. The Heineken had met with Kurt’s very grudging approval, but Harry didn’t stock that much selection. Even getting the Millers in had been a pain in the ass, but apparently people other then him bought it. Mostly Harry’s was a Bud and Coors kind of place. Unpretentious. Mostly the way he liked it, even if the general class of beers could be lifted, but that was Americans for you. Always willing to stick with crap, as long as it was American crap.

Idiots.

Had to admit that some of their machinery was still better then anyone else’s. Give ‘em credit where it was due.

“...the amazing Nightcrawler.” Kurt drew a picture on the table with one of his thick fingers, other tucked up behind his thumb as he dabbled in the moisture that had run off the beer bottles. It looked like one of his scars, jagged line looping around on top of the wood pattern. Admired it for a moment, before smearing it with the side of his hand. Gone. “It sounds better in the German.”

“I’m sure it does.”

“You have no room to talk, Herr Logan. I know what a wolverine is.” Kurt looked up, blinking drunkenly and smiling slightly. Fangs in his suddenly impudent grin. “It is not...wie heisst das...a glamorous animal either.” Clumsily, he picked up his bottle of beer again and drank while Logan just stared at him for a moment. Mmm, Bier. Even if he’d prefer a nice Pilsner...a German one. Oh, he would make sure it was a good German beer. It would definitely taste better then that...imposter Budweiser. Lies! American alcohol was full of lies.

Kid had some balls, saying something like that. Though he was pretty sure it was just because he was drunk as hell. When he woke up, he might want to reconsider what he’d said, if he could remember, and apologize. Logan snorted and drank from his latest bottle of beer. “So? Like I’m worried about being glamorous. I’ll leave that to the pretty boy…Cyke.”

“I don’t know if I would call him pretty,” Kurt said doubtfully, struggling to decipher the English in his drunken state and still make sense at the same time. It was something that he was proud of himself for being able to do. Gott, he just hoped they didn’t go into a lot of slang. He always had trouble with the slang. People said German was hard. Ha! They never had to learn English as a second language. And American English was some bizarre twisted mutant child of language all its own. They didn’t even spell things the right way.

“Just means he tends to stand around, look good...not actually doing anything.” Logan lounged back into his chair; hand wrapped around a chill beer bottle. Not that he believed half the stuff he said about Cyke, hell, he didn’t believe more then about five percent of his bullshit. Just didn’t like the man. And for things that had nothing to do with Jean. Didn’t like the way he worked, the way he thought. So by the book, straight to the rules. Good little boy scout, marching in goosestep to Xavier’s dream. There were worse dreams to devote your life to. But...if he disagreed, Logan knew he’d be able to leave and tear himself off from Xavier. Scott was bound by what he saw as a duty. And now that Jean was dead, that held him to the school tighter then ever, trapped to serve an old man’s vision.

“Nein, Logan...” Kurt slurred, shaking his head. The brilliant gold of his eyes was a little dulled, spaced. Out of it. Gott, he was drunk. Maybe he should stop drinking for tonight. Well...one more beer wouldn’t hurt. Herr Logan had driven them here on what he was sure had been pointed out to him in passing as Herr Summers motorbike, but…the ride had been thrilling. Almost like flying in the ring again. He just hoped that he could focus enough to stay on it as they drove home, that the wild looking man sitting across the table from him would see him home in one piece. “Scott...he is a good man, ja? Don’t you think?”

“Sure...and he has a pole wedged up his ass the size of a flagpole,” Logan grumbled, watching the sway of Kurt’s tail as it dipped around the back of the chair, coiling and uncoiling lazily. Like a snake dancing to the movements of a flute, sinuous and graceful. Kurt blinked at him, eyelashes fluttering in a gesture that on anyone else he would have put down to coquetry or mockery, but he knew it was just because the kid was trying to focus. And here he’d thought Germans could handle their alcohol. Schnapps was fucking lethal.

Kurt hiccupped gently, and shook his head. “Always...mein herr...you sound so, so...disapproving of S...Scott.” He wasn’t sure he understood why the two men disliked each other so much. Rogue had said something about the woman who died, Jean. Apparently there was bad feeling from both of them wanting her, and her only choosing one. Maybe it was just that the way they thought sent them clashing in antagonism. Alpha males, one liking things controlled and orderly, and the other leaning more towards the wild and chaotic. It was just opposites of two strong personalities grating against each other and throwing up sparks. He just hoped that if they got really upset at each other, they did it in an area that didn’t have many valuables or furniture. And if that didn’t happen, that the professor had a lot of insurance. What would you even call that? He was relatively certain that no insurance provider would cover acts of testosterone.

“Nah, he disapproves of me.”

“He is not a bad man, ja?”

“Didn’t say that he was.” Logan quirked an eyebrow at the elf, wondering just where he was going with this line of thinking. It was more then just a little bit funny to watch him forge ahead, as drunk as he was.

“Und...you are not a bad man.”

“Now that, you’d get some people to disagree with you on.” He tipped the bottle back, draining it dry. Damn good beer, even if they had to import it and truck it all the way down here. Harry was making noises about last calls, so he got one for the road and Wagner had another one as well. Meant he ended up supporting the German as they made their way out of the run down bar, with his god damn tail weaving between both their legs like a cat playing trip you up. He had a sort of respect going for the little bastards; didn’t mean he wasn’t annoyed by their little games anyway.

“Entschuldigung, Logan,” Kurt muttered, mentally voicing a stern reprimand to his errant tail as it tried to twine its way around Logan’s ankles again. While he had been made welcome at the mansion, it was casual. Remote. Like they’d picked up a stray cat. They fed him and gave him somewhere to stay, like he was an impermanent guest who nobody had to bother to get to know. Even in a house full of mutants, they didn’t know quite how to treat him. It made him wish he was home, but while the professor assured him that every effort was being made to track down the wandering circus that he had called his home, nothing so far had been forthcoming. This was like a breath of life, when he had been quietly dying inside of loneliness. He was not used to being alone. Not like he had been. “Sometimes, it has a mind of its own, ja?” He wasn’t willing to alienate the one person who’d shown him something close to friendship since he’d been in America. Hopefully, Logan would overlook the eccentricities that came with a tail that had a mind of its own. As had been demonstrated tonight. Multiple times.

And there it went again!

Not that he was disparaging any of the people at the mansion. But they had their own lives, their own troubles. Die Kinder were far too busy being children to talk to a strange German who had trouble speaking English sometimes, let alone their version of it. They were young, and arrogant. Like all young people should have the chance to be. And so often did not. The innocence bruised look in the back of some of the eyes of the children who came to the school tugged at his soul. They had seen that the world was not a caring place, and the people in it could be cruel. That was not something that a child should know.

“Sure, Blue.” Logan didn’t think the comment that immediately came to mind about body parts having a mind of their own would be appreciated. Man was religious, after all. Devoutly so. Almost to the point of what he would call insanity, but he was good man underneath it. Not like the assholes that pounded the pulpit and exhorted their congregations to hatred of anything different. Fuck, he hated those. Like what you believed gave you the right to do some of the shit they did in the name of God. And it happened over and over and over again. You’d think they’d learn, but they never did. Or they took encouragement out of it. Drew out the poisons of the past to spew in the present. Made him sick.

Somehow he managed to get Kurt onto the bike, and he’d just have to hope to God that the kid didn’t fall off. More then a little bit drunk, but he seemed to be alright for the most part.

“Hold on tight,” he instructed the man sitting behind him as he kicked the bike into life. Three fingered hands slid around his body to interlace just over his belt buckle, felt Kurt lean in against him. Jesus, his breath could kill a moose. Probably. Logan wrinkled his nose a little and drove out of the parking lot, gritting his teeth as a bunch of kids on the corner whooped and cat called. Something about fags, and the snarl rose up almost unbidden. Stupid little fucking bastards. Probably so deep in the closet they had to scream about how they weren’t interested in guys like that no way! And beat up on the ones they hated because they had the courage to step out.

Hoped Kurt hadn’t heard any of that.

Kurt sighed, feeling wind whip past his face and it was cold, so cold. Had to hold on to Logan, or he’d probably become a blue and red smear across the road. Didn’t think he could coordinate enough to teleport. In fact, he was pretty certain about that. Drunk, like he hadn’t been in a long time. Good company more intoxicating then the alcohol. It was hard to say how much he’d missed it until he’d had it back. He tightened his grip around Logan’s stomach a little, feeling dizzy for a moment and hid the side of his face against the man’s broad back. It cut some of the wind chill at least. Warmth, radiating outwards from underneath white cotton and flannel. He was so warm. Solid. So real.

Sometimes he wasn’t sure what was real anymore.

The long sweeping curve of the driveway opened up before the wheel of the bike as they swept up it, Kurt leaning obediently to the side as Logan did. Almost fell off before he recovered, and Logan let go of one of the handlebars to haul him back on better. Kurt laughed, then hiccupped and laid his head back against Logan’s back. Warm. Nice. Gott, he was so very drunk.

Parking the bike was interesting, since Kurt seemed to be fixing to slide off it half the time. He managed. Grabbing Kurt’s arm, he laid it across his shoulders and supported the German as they both walked to the door of the garage. He’d just put Kurt to bed, then go out and have a smoke.

“You’re out late,” Ororo remarked as she swept past them in the silent halls, holding a container of some sort of ice-cream and a silver spoon and dressed in her nightgown. She managed to look regal even then. Gorgeous. Coffee coloured skin and white hair almost fading into the white silk of the gown she was wearing. A lady of contrasts, and all of them interesting in their own little ways. Logan grinned at her, showing off his fangs as Kurt muttered in German and stared at the floor. Probably too blasted to even look up. Or too mortified. It’d be a toss up of which was the stronger reason.

“Took the elf out for a few beers,” he felt compelled to explain shortly, under her sky-eyed gaze.

“A few beers.” A delicate eyebrow arched, and the smile was as beautiful as any dawn he’d ever seen. She didn’t believe him in the slightest. He didn’t really blame her. Nobody got this drunk off a few beers. Unless they were complete light weights...little girls, maybe. Though he’d known a few women who were decent drinkers...ah, he was getting lost in the few memories that he did have. Melancholy. And he didn’t even have the excuse of being drunk to cover it.

“Yeah.”

“Make sure that he’s set up for the hangover in the morning, Logan. You let him get this way; you can help him come out of it without too much harm.” She kept walking up the hallway, headed towards her attic room. Apparently, it felt freer and more open up there for her. She had room for her nursery as well, wet and warm and growing. The cool scent of rain mixed with plants filled the hallway after her, under laid by that smell he just tagged ‘Ororo’. Every mutant smelt like their powers. Some more then others. Maybe she’d had a bath today, and that’s why she still smelt like clean, pure rain water over growing things. Always smelt so pure.

Woman wrapped in clear skies. A goddess, even if no one believed in that anymore. She was still one of them, and all unknowing about it too. Kinda sweet, if you looked at it from the right angle.

“Sure, ‘ Ro. See you in the morning.” He pulled Kurt’s hand down a bit more, making the German stand up straighter. “C’mon, Blue. Let’s get you situated.” More German that he didn’t understand falling in slurred mutters from Kurt’s mouth as he helped him stand, made him walk. The rest of the trip to the German’s room was uneventful, and they didn’t meet anyone. Thank God for that. He wasn’t sure if Kurt would have recovered from the embarrassment.

It was going to be interesting enough when he remembered that they’d met Ro.

Made him wish he kept a camera to hand, just to catch that horrified look for as long as the scrap of celluloid lasted. Memory was tricky. Couldn’t trust it. Photos could last longer then human memory, he knew that. There were photos that were old, old, and his memory was so much younger then that. Paintings of scenes, of people that were dead and dust for centuries. Yeah, take the memory out of the head and put it somewhere safe to be watched. Much better idea.

Kurt yawned, exposing white fangs for a moment as they came to a halt. Ha! That was his bedroom door. He reached out to open it, but let Logan do it as the other man’s hand got there first. As it pleased the Wolverine to do, he wasn’t going to argue. Safer. Much easier. Besides, it was just a door. Who cared who opened the door? He didn’t. Besides, doorknobs always gave him trouble, his hands didn’t fit around them easily. Nothing in the world fitted him, he thought morosely. Or he just didn’t fit the world. He couldn’t even sit in most chairs without judicious rearranging of his tail.

“Just a bit further, Wagner.”

“Mmm, ja.”

Sitting down on his bed, he fumbled with the laces of his shoes for a few moments, before just pulling them off his strangely shaped feet and curling his toes in relief. In the morning, he’d be worried about them. But not now, when he was feeling pleasantly disconnected from all his worries and the world at large. Floating. So calmly, yet happily. It was a nice feeling, very content and warm. Logan was moving around his room and the connected bathroom doing something, he didn’t know what. Didn’t really care. Couldn’t sleep in the clothes he was wearing so he bent at the waist, tugging his shirt off over his head and feeling it slide past his pointed ears gently.

Gott, he was tired now. Still quite jovially drunk, but tired. Long night. He didn’t usually stay up this late anymore. Not like he had in Europe. Late nights, early mornings, show on the road and moving, always moving. A novelty, to have stayed in one place as long as he had. He could feel, somehow, the need to move on again. See something new, be somewhere else like a burn in his travel itchy feet. But, it was not safe to do so here in America. Not without the comforting disguise of the circus to wrap around himself. Even drunk, he knew that. He sighed, and flopped back onto the bed, deciding not to struggle with his belt and try to get his pants off.

Logan came out of the bathroom and put two pain killer tablets and a glass of water on the bedside table, looking down at the almost passed out German with faint concern. Then he shrugged. A hangover wasn’t anything anybody would die from. At least – and he remembered some of the whacky shit a mutation could pull on a person – not that he’d ever heard of. His eyes traveled over the rarely seen path of the scars that looped and jagged across Kurt’s torso, wondering just why he’d had them done. Who’d done them. With what. Whether he had accepted any pain killer or just gone through it with his strength of will to keep himself still while the cuts were made.

He was betting on nothing to cut the stinging hurt, and since the cuts were so clear, the German’s stubbornness in the face of pain was pretty strong. Or had he been held down? Hard to know, hard to tell. Couldn’t ask. So many things here that weren’t up for being talked about. Secrets, clustered into the walls. This entire place stank of secrets that people weren’t telling. Cuddling pain to themselves like it was a fluffy pet, fingers wrapped greedily into fur and soft shuddery voices whispering ‘mine, mine’. Sometimes the pain was all you had left to hold.

“Danksche, Logan...for inviting me,” Kurt murmured, tail twitching before it curled around one of the man’s calves, leg bent just at the knee where it hung over the bed and strange foot bare. Toes splayed against the carpet, and heel higher then it should be.

Logan, after studying it for a moment, decided it really did deserve the tag of ‘hock’. Not quite human. But all of them fit into that category. Some were just more visual about it then most.

“Wasn’t a problem, elf.” A hook tugged at his memory, bright shining flash of insight turning to the surface. “Bitte schön.” Didn’t want to know how he knew the right thing to say back, just did. And used it.

Tired smile, before Kurt turned over onto his side, drawing his legs up and settling down into sleep. He yawned once more, feeling the drunken haze tugging him down into it further, where it was all black. Warm and welcoming. “Gute Nacht, mein Freund.” He’d deal with the morning when it came. Didn’t even hear Logan leave, as the cliff edge became a spiral, became everything. Slept.

Closing Kurt’s door behind him, Logan went through his pockets for a cigar and his lighter, pausing to light up. The aromatic curl of smoke drifted past his nose as he breathed out, sliding the silver lighter back into its place in the back pocket of his jeans. Well, now. That hadn’t been too bad at all.

Maybe he’d even do it again.

The soft sounds of sleep and slumber filled the mansion around him as he headed slowly up to his room, the one that had even less sign of its occupant then Kurt’s. And he’d been here longer. Been known here longer. Just didn’t bother getting attached to a whole lot of things...

Empty room, smelt like cigars and himself. Kicked the door closed behind him with a nudge of his boot heel, shrugging off his over shirt and throwing it haphazardly towards the laundry basket. Didn’t make it, and he shrugged philosophically before toeing his boots and socks off and going to lie down on his bed. Arms crossed behind his head, staring up at the swirls of dried paint on the ceiling that nobody else would ever notice, smoked his cigar and thought. About a few things.

Maybe in a week or so, he’d see if Kurt wanted to head out again.