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I wake up to find him, not surprisingly, gone. His presence lingers though, as does his undeniably masculine scent that is all over my room, all over me. I take a quick look around the room, noting the haphazard trail of my discarded clothing that starts at the bedroom door, remembering how eager, how hungry he was; remembering that look in his eyes. I think back to those precious moments full of passion and the ache comes rushing back to me, both in my heart and in my groin. I long for those moments when he is nothing but raw emotion, when he truly lets go and is what he should be; a force unto others, unto himself. I am a mutant, and I know that I can be powerful, strong when I need to be, but he is something else. He is a bundle of pure, exposed nerve, raw passion at its best and sometimes, its worst. This is not his mutation; this is him, this is the man. He is life. His ability to heal and his adamantium claws only serve to amplify his already combustible nature.

He comes to me at night, almost every night now in fact. I know that some night he will not show, some night this will likely be over, this…thing between us. I do not want to think about that, not now or ever. Instead, I think about last night. I think about him barely knocking on my door before assaulting me with his eager, powerful lips. I think about his rough, calloused hands reaching for my skin, ripping off all the clothes from my body to cause that trail on the floor leading up to my bed. I close my eyes and recall the sensation of his full weight pressing me to the mattress, the hardness and heat between his legs speaking volumes of truth, or maybe lies, before he says a single word. Then I think of that single word, the memory of it sending shivers through me even now.

“Scott.”

It was a word, a name, my name. However, in his unique way, Logan was able to pack so much more into that single word. It wasn’t so much as said as it was growled, a deep resonating sound that came from low in his chest, followed by that look, that look that tells me this is what he needs, maybe not forever, but for right now, and I think that maybe this is what I need too. Maybe this time will erase the ache. Maybe this time will be different.

Different it is not. It is the usual rough, tough, mind-blowing sex that I have come to rely on as if it were necessary to my very life. He is above me, around me, and with every stroke, every grunt, we are one step closer to that place that brings us both such relief, such ecstasy. The moment arrives at last, when that violent wave crashes over us and sweeps us both up into its seemingly never-ending tide. He comes down first, rolls off me and drops his body heavily beside mine. He is calm now, the fire in his eyes temporarily gone out. He no longer aches. I cannot say the same for me. The moment the ache in my lower half is soothed, the ache in my heart is ripped open, bleeding fresh as a new wound. I do not tell him. I will not tell him. I want this, I want him, and if this is the only way I can have him then so be it.

I lay my head on his chest gingerly but the slow, steady heartbeat that I hear does not soothe me. I think I would feel better if it were fast, quickened, more like mine at the moment. I lay there a moment, expecting…what, I am not sure. I open my mouth to say something, anything at all.

“Log…” I barely whisper before I realize that he is asleep.

I bring my head up from his chest and place it back on my pillow. The contrast from his body heat to my cool pillow temporarily soothes the headache I was not aware I had, and soon I am drifting off, silently wishing for dreams that will never come.