A Helping Hand
Title: A Helping Hand
Pairing: Logan, Scott & Peter. Ultimateverse.
Summary: Sometimes we all need a little help. *g*
Disclaimer: Marvel owns them. No harm intended. No profit made.
Feedback: Would be lovely.
Archive: Yes to the usual suspects. Others just let me know where it's going.
Thanks: To Eil for the speedy beta. To Ransom for letting me borrow the cuffs thing. I'm begging you to finish that story. Really.
Notes: Response to Eil's Masturbation Month challenge. Okay, so I played with the Weapon X cell assignments and timeframe a little. Sue me.
Date Completed: May 24th, 2002
Weapon X Headquarters
If he'd ever taken the time to think about it, Logan never would have guessed that Scott Summers was such a prolific masturbator.
Not that Logan himself was opposed to a good wank now and then—there wasn't a whole hell of a lot to do around here, really. Hell, his first trip through this place, he'd spent plenty of time jerking off. But Jesus Christ the kid was getting a little carried away with the self-abuse. Maybe it was part of an escape plan. Maybe he was planning to float himself out of here on a river of his own goddamn jizz.
Or maybe he was dedicating so much of his time to beating off because he knew Logan couldn't.
Whatever the reason, Logan was getting pretty fuckin' tired of listening to it. And pretty fuckin' tired of being jealous of the fact that Summers could go to town on himself whenever he wanted while he couldn't even scratch his own goddamn balls.
He'd been wearing the cuffs for three weeks. Three weeks with his hands pinned together behind his back, held there by two thick metal wristbands connected by a short, sturdy chain. And the fuckers had his hands yanked up to just about the middle of his back, which was not only more uncomfortable, but made it impossible for him to release his claws without skewering his own arms. And that certainly wouldn't do him a whole hell of a lot of good.
They knew he wasn't a threat to his cellmates, so it was obvious that he was forced to wear the cuffs in the cell just because they knew it would irritate him, make even the smallest of tasks a giant inconvenience. He couldn't eat, get dressed, use the bathroom or brush his teeth without help. He couldn't even sleep on his back, because it meant agonizing numbness in the morning. Couldn't read, couldn't play cards, couldn't make shadow puppets on the wall. All he could do was curl up on his side on his bunk and listen to Cyclops masturbate. It fuckin' sucked.
He rolled onto his stomach and nearly whimpered at the pressure on his persistent erection. He began to rock his hips, rubbing himself against the mattress. After a few unfulfilling minutes, he realized he wasn't going to get anywhere with this approach. He groaned into his pillow and wished for the thousandth time that they'd free his arms just long enough for him to get a good one in. He was frustrated as hell.
Why, oh why, couldn't they have put him in a cell with Jean?
He lay there for another minute or two, running through his options. He did this often, and they never changed. In the end, he always came to the same conclusion: he needed a hand. And he was finally at the point where he didn't care who it belonged to.
He kicked the blanket off and stood up. Naked, as he usually was these days. He crossed the narrow cell, his erection bobbing in front of him, and loomed over Scott, who lay on his side, facing the wall. The kid smelled like a friggin' sperm bank.
Logan nudged him with his knee. "Hey. Cyke."
Scott didn't move. "What do you want, Logan?"
"I want you to do that to me."
"Don't play dumb. Everyone can hear you beatin' your meat over here."
A rectangle of red light appeared on the wall. Scott had opened his eyes. "You want me to jerk you off?" Surprised, and doubtful. Like he'd maybe misunderstood.
"No way, Logan."
"Aw, c'mon, man. I can't do it myself. I'm dyin' here."
"Maybe you should have thought about that before you tried to separate Wraith from his right arm."
"He deserved it."
"I agree. But I'm still not putting my hand on your dick. Go back to bed."
"How about a blowjob then?" He was only half-serious. Maybe three-quarters.
"Logan. . ."
"Fine," he huffed. "Thanks for nothin'. I'll remember this."
"I'm sure you will." Scott flipped onto his back, slid a hand under his blanket. "And now that you've got me thinking about it. . ."
Logan stared down at Scott, watched his hand rise and fall under the blanket. Felt his own groin tighten in anticipation. Goddamn. The kid was a machine, even without a healing factor. Nineteen was truly a magical age.
"Wow, this feels really good," Scott mused, smirking in the red glow of his visor before he closed his eyes in contented bliss.
Logan glared at him. "I hate you," he said, then turned and went back to his bunk, ignoring Scott's snickering laughter.
He crawled awkwardly into his bed and was just getting started on the long process of pulling his blanket up when a voice above him said softly, "I'll do it."
Logan froze, the blanket he was gripping tightly between his toes momentarily forgotten. "Pete? Did you just. . ." He paused, waiting to see if he'd really heard what he thought he'd heard. Could have been a hallucination. Like how people dying in the desert imagined they saw water.
"Yes. I'll help you. If you would like me to."
"Shit yeah, I'd like you to." He rolled to his knees, sat back on his heels as Pete slid to the floor next to the bunk. A big body in standard issue boxer shorts, blocking out the dim light from the corridor.
There was plenty of space between the upper and lower bunks, but Peter still had to duck his head in order to fit. He settled cross-legged in front of Logan, shins bumping up against Logan's knees. Nervously rubbed his hands on his thighs, staring at Logan's hard cock, jutting up out of his lap. Nibbled his lower lip.
There was a quiet rustling from the bunk across from them, and the gloom in the cell took on a red tinge, the soft glow of ruby quartz. Scott was watching.
Logan looked down at himself, then up at Pete, desperately praying that he wouldn't back out. He really needed some relief, or he was gonna go crazy. A few more seconds passed, and Logan was almost certain that he really had chickened out when Peter reached out and wrapped a tentative hand around his aching erection.
"Ahhhhh." Logan's head fell back and he rose halfway up onto his knees, thrusting deeper into Peter's grip. Finally. Yes. A hand on his chest pushed him back down to sitting, fingers trailing down over a nipple. The first hand was still moving up and down between his legs, nothing tentative about it at all now. He'd never had another man's hand on his cock before, but Pete's hands were big, his grip strong, and he could almost pretend it was his own hand, except for the fact that it was facing the wrong direction. It felt good. Really good.
And then it stopped.
"Wait. . .more. . ." Oh please more.
Peter's voice was soothing and amused as he slid off the bed. "Relax. I'm not stopping." Logan knew he probably looked pathetic, cuffed hands and stiff cock and pleading eyes, but he didn't care. He needed that hand back, pronto. Pete knelt behind him, muscled thighs on either side of his hips, and reached down to take hold again. "This way I can do it like I would," he explained, picking up where he'd left off.
"Yeah. . ." Logan agreed, already lost in sensation. The hand was back, warm and sure. It was heaven. His eyes slipped shut, and he slumped back against the big man behind him, let the hand do its work.
He'd expected a perfunctory handjob, the kind women doled out when they weren't in the mood to fuck, but he was wrong. So wrong. Pete took his time, massaging him, rubbing the head with his thumb, pumping him in long, slow strokes. Rather than rushed indifference, Logan was being treated to the most tortuously exquisite handjob of his life.
"Open your eyes," a voice said in his ear. Logan struggled for a moment with remembering exactly how his eyelids worked, and the voice spoke up again, urging. "I want you to open your eyes."
Once he got those tricky eyelids figured out, Logan found he was completely unprepared for just how erotic he would find the sight of another man's hand on his cock. Strong fingers moving steadily up and down his length, tight flex of muscle in the forearm that lay on his thigh. His vision swam and he closed his eyes, let his head fall back, groaning. Peter eased him back a little, took his weight, and pumped faster.
Logan could feel the creeping sensation in his cock, the oncoming rush that flickered in his groin as his hips began to move, balanced on the verge of orgasm. "Close. . ." he hissed through gritted teeth, head lolling on the big shoulder behind him.
A hand closed over his flexing hip, tugged him back more sharply on the backward arc of each thrust, and he could feel a hard column of flesh pushing against his ass, rubbing. Peter's voice was back in his ear again, a hoarse whisper broken by shallow pants. Telling him how good he felt, how good he looked right now. Telling him how he wanted to watch him come, see him let go. Telling him that he had a beautiful cock, and that, if Logan would let him, he'd do this whenever he wanted. That next time, he'd do it with his mouth.
It was that last whispered thought that did him in. "Oh Jesus. Oh Jesus, Pete, I'm gonna come," he moaned. He could hear Scott gasping somewhere off to his right, apparently nearing his own orgasm.
The hips beneath his jerked, pushed against him, and the fingers on his hip tightened to the point of pain, worked him tightly against the rock-hard body beneath him. The stroking fist clamped down on him, squeezed, and he shrieked as his cock convulsed in Peter's tight grip, each contraction a sharp, wonderful ache. Swelling and spurting in the big hand between his legs, while the voice in his ear moaned, "God, Logan."
"Well, that was alright," Logan said, when he finally stopped panting and was able to speak. Pete snorted and continued to rub his hand lazily over his sticky stomach. He didn't seem to be in any hurry to move. "You know, if you keep doin' that, I'm gonna be hard again in about 30 seconds." Actually, he was pretty hard already.
The hand on his stomach drifted a little lower. "Actually, you're pretty hard already."
Huh. That was a little spooky. Anyway. "Yeah."
"You want me to do it again?" A teasing finger ran lightly up and down the underside of his erection.
Logan almost said yes, then paused to think for a second. "Didn't you say somethin' before about your mouth?"
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