Comfort

by Amanda Sichter

It was supposed to be passion. There should have been hot looks, sudden breathlessness, a need that couldn't be denied any longer. It should have been fast and thrusting and animal, scratching and biting each other, slammed up hard against a wall, rutting against each other in mindless musk and sweatiness, until we came in perfect simultaneous passion, just like the movies show it happening.

Turns out it was a comfort fuck.

Who would have guessed?

I certainly didn't. The fantasies I've had about fucking Logan - and believe me, I've had some fantasies about fucking Logan - were all animal, hot sweaty maleness fantasies. Not rape fantasies - there's nothing of the rapist in Logan - but just hard and hot and furious, striving for some perfect pitch of mindlessness where all that mattered was his hard back muscles rippling beneath my tearing fingernails, his teeth locked in my shoulder, his hard cock between my dripping wet thighs.

It's not like I haven't had comfort fucks before, either. Being an X-Man you don't have any choice in the matter. The nights when it all gets too much and the Dream doesn't seem worth it and everything hurts too much and all you want to do is hold someone, enfold them, wrap them inside of you and rock in each others arms until all the hurt dissolves away in quiet bliss.

Of course, they've always been with Scott.

They've never before been about Scott.

But I went to Logan and he held me gently when I asked for it, kissed me softly when I needed it, slid inside of me as if I was fragile, rocked and held and warmed and released me like only Scott had done before. He didn't even pull away, didn't even fret when I sobbed in his arms afterwards. It isn't every man who can cope with after-sex tears but he knew they weren't about him and he just held me in his arms while I sobbed as if my heart was broken. Which it is. But not by him.

He didn't ask.

Thank God and bless him. He didn't ask. Didn't ask why I sought him out and wanted - well, let's say begged for - him to betray his leader by screwing his wife. Didn't ask why I needed to be held so gently, why tears like a storm shook me afterwards. He held me and kissed the top of my head and stroked the length of my back with rough, soft hands.

I haven't been touched in months. Not like that. Not any way. Because Scott. . . because Scott is different. Because Scott is cold. Because Scott has closed his end of our psychic link and my head is hollow.

Because Scott thinks our love was a lie.

That's what he told me. Not in so many words. Not as if he was really speaking to me because we don't talk any more. But when I told him my heart was aching and my bed was cold and I wanted to talk to him, touch him, love him again, he told me our love was a lie. Sorry - to quote "when En Sabah Nur was in my head, he spent a lot of his time stripping away a few of my illusions about life and about myself". I remember it exactly. How can I not - when one of his "illusions" was that he loved me? That's the thing he didn't say out loud. That's the thing he said with the hole in my head where the psychic link between us used to live.

And soft kisses on my head turn into soft kisses on my mouth and my hand is drifting over muscle again, my mouth tasting sweat again, and Logan's cock is hard against my thigh. This time I turn beneath him, let him on top, lift and wrap my legs around his back so his cock slides deep inside of me. This time I can thank God Logan brought his tent out with him, because this time he's pounding into me, his hips grinding against mine, my teeth ripping at his shoulder, thrusting back at him just as hard, and if he hadn't brought his tent this would be way too uncomfortable.

This time it's about passion and that's what I thrust down the psychic link, heat and passion and turmoil and someone wanting me and loving me. This is what I thrust down the link and this is what stops, judders, halts, catches me in the backwash as it hits the black hole in Scott's head where he's shut me out completely, closed himself off from me because he thinks our love is a lie and the fucker doesn't have the courage to tell me that himself. Shut me out because somehow it's all my fault, that Apocalypse was in his head and isn't in his head and made him doubt himself and made him doubt love and that I saved him when he didn't want to be saved and it isn't my fault and I haven't got the strength to forgive him for hating me any more.

Passion turned back on itself, magnified, increased and I'm coming over and over again as Logan thrusts all that hot, sweaty maleness into me like he wants to fuck me forever.

This time it's about passion.

This time it's about revenge.

And revenge is the very best comfort of all.

The End

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