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Hank knew that he was freaking out. He knew that he needed to calm down. That what he needed to do was get his head together and start thinking rationally. He knew that he wouldn’t be any good to anyone when he felt like his skin was crawling. There was nothing else he could do, though, not when he was stranded in the dark with no answers, stuck waiting around uselessly while the rest of the team went off to rescue the X-Men who’d been captured during what should have been nothing more than a recon mission.
He didn’t always go out with them, but he would have for something like this. He’d only stayed back so he could be on hand in case any of the ones who’d been captured needed medical attention. The problem was that Hank wouldn’t be able to give any of them the help they might need in the frame of mind he was in. Worry was keeping him from standing still or focusing, and he couldn’t stop pacing back and forth along the length of the small medical centre he’d set up in the hanger long enough to even take a deep breath.
Goodness. No, no, this was the last thing any of them needed. It didn’t matter the circumstances—Hank was a doctor with more field experience than he’d ever would have wanted to gather but had done so anyway, living in such a world as they did. He’d faced horrible situations before; waiting around for his team to return was something he’d done countless times.
It shouldn’t be any different now, recently realized feelings or not.
Shaking his arms out, Hank focused on calming his thoughts. They were probably fine. Logan was probably fine. And if they weren’t... well Hank was a doctor, and he could make sure he—that they—would be fine. He would do his job, and he would do it well, as long as he could calm down. Just as he was practising some of the deep breathing exercises Erik had once shown him, his hearing picked up the familiar whirl of jet engines and any sliver of calm he’d managed to scrape together crumbled away in an instant.
Hank, if you could prepare a bed, Charles’ voice sounded in his mind and Hank cussed under his breath, immediately getting to work. It was easy to channel his worry into movement. We have one injured and in need of medical attention.
Who’s hurt? he pressed back, certain that his anxiety had to be laced through his thoughts as he moved about in a panic, getting a cot opened and then draping a plastic sheet over it.
Charles didn’t answer which did absolutely nothing to calm Hank down, the bastard. A few moments later the ceiling was splitting open and then the X-Jet was lowering down into the hanger. Hank rushed over immediately, waiting with his hands folded together to stop them from shaking. His mind was whirling with all of the things that could have gone and he wondered why the hell he’d decided to sit this one out when he should have been out there with Logan to make sure he was okay.
Goddammit, Hank was going to kill the bastard after he made sure he’d live.
How did Charles and Erik do this?
Logan is insisting that I tell you it’s nothing bad, Charles relayed, along with the image of Logan folded over himself and holding his side which, for some reason, was bleeding. Oh, for God’s sake! He says it’s only a little scrape, but his healing isn’t taking care of it as it should.
Christ on a fucking cracker, of course it was Logan.
Squeezing his fingers together tightly enough they went a little number, Hank didn’t focus on the jet’s ramp lowering or the small team of X-Men that came hobbling out. In fact, he barely even looked at them, rather waiting very impatiently for the one man he was worried about the most despite telling himself that it was absolutely ridiculous to be so focused on Logan and no one else and wondering why none of the others seemed to even mind that he was rather obviously ignoring them.
Oh goodness, did people know? Did Logan know?
Finally, the man in question came hobbling out of the jet, pushing off Erik who was trying to help him walk with a few choice cuss words Hank would rather have not heard. He would have really preferred not to have heard the scathing insults, either, but Logan seemed intent on shouting profanities as he limped, stubbornly, down the ramp. Sure, Hank knew that Logan and Erik weren’t the closest, but Logan was injured. God, had he really fallen for such an idiot?
And then, because Hank felt like his skin was stretched too tightly over his bones, he asked, “Why are you such an idiot?” even as he rushed forward to help Logan off the ramp.
“Yer one to talk, pretty boy,” Logan told him, groaning when Hank crouched down and, without a moment of hesitation, carefully lifted him into a bridal carry.
His makeshift medical bay wouldn’t beat the real medical bay and from a quick glance at Logan’s side, it was easy to see that a spot near his ribs was still bleeding. If this was anyone else, he almost certainly would have done what he could with the area he’d set up. Because this was Logan, a man with the most advanced healing factor Hank had ever had the pleasure of studying, he rushed to the medical bay. Hank took long, quick strides as he carried Logan down the white, sterile hall as carefully as possible, studiously ignoring everything that Logan was muttering about and focusing on studying the cut on his side. He couldn't be sure, but he was almost positive there had to be something under his skin that was preventing the cut from healing entirely.
“Can you put me down?” Logan asked, not for the first time but this time louder than any of his previous attempts.
This time, unlike the last seven he’d asked in the span of mere seconds, Hank was able to put him down and he gently laid Logan out on a medical bed with more care than the act probably required.
Dammit.
“Stay still,” Hank told him firmly, looking at Logan’s dirty face with as much authority as he could possibly muster.
For good measure, he even pointed at him sternly.
It worked on the children. Hopefully it’d work on Logan too.
It did not work on Logan, because as soon as Hank had turned his back—he needed gauze and a scalpel, a headlamp, possibly a needle and thread if the cut still won’t close on its own—he heard Logan start shifting, the leather of his suit creaking, and by the time Hank had his hands full of everything he thought he’d need Logan was sitting up with a gloved hand covering his side and looking like he was about to stand.
“Oh for God’s sake!” Hank groaned, rushing back and depositing his loot onto the trolley beside the bed Logan was trying his damnedest to struggle off of. “I said to stay still!”
“‘N I said I was just fine, only you weren’t listenin’ to me the entire trip here which, darlin’, not appreciated,” Logan muttered at him, a full-fledged pout on his face and looking for all the worlds like an adorable, dirty puppy.
Shaking his head at both his inner thoughts and Logan’s pouting, Hank forced himself to focus on the issue at hand as he sanitized his, quickly tugging on a pair of gloves and then swatting Logan’s hand away from his injury. Logan protested, of course, but Hank was ready for it and talked over his squeal of annoyance. “You aren’t healing. That means one of two things: one, you’re going to die because something is very, very wrong, or my preferred option, two, that something is preventing the wound from closing.” Hank gave him the flattest look he could muster and ignored every bit of worry that was stealing his breath away and making his hands shake. “Now, stay fucking still so I can make sure it’s option two, alright?”
Thankfully the cussing had its desired effect. Logan’s eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open—Hank ignored every single visual that look brought to mind—and his hand fell away from his side. Hank, already having a headlamp on his forehead, leaned forward to get a closer look at the gash in Logan’s side, pressing a hand right above the cut which pushed out a gush of blood.
“Goddammit Logan, what the hell did you do?” Hank asked furiously, looking closer and finding a shard of... something embedded under a very thin, very transparent layer of skin that was trying to grow back. He watched in fascination as thin tendrils of skin layered over the piece of glass only to tear apart, causing another trickle of blood to escape sluggishly. “Dammit. Alright, yes, there’s something in here. I’m going to have to cut it out before you’ll heal around it.” Hank straightened up and looked Logan in the eye, firmly stating, “Stay. Still.” with an edge of growl in his voice.
“Ya know, it’s real fuckin’ hot when you boss me ‘round,” Logan joked, causing Hank to roll his eyes but still managing to break the tension he felt stacked along his shoulders. If nothing else it made his next breath easier and he snorted when Logan added, “Wonder what else you’d tell me to do, huh darlin’? I promise I can be a good boy when the rewards good ‘nough.”
Hank winced as he cut into Logan. The other man barely reacted asides from a slight jerk he couldn’t seem to help, and something painfully tight clenched in Hank’s chest. He knew that Logan was accustomed to pain with the life he’d lived, but he’d never wanted to be the cause of it. Sure, he was only hurting Logan to help him, but... he still felt absolutely terrible as he used a long pair of tweezers to pull the piece of glass out from under Logan’s skin. Within a heartbeat of having the glass cleared from within Logan’s skin the wound was completely healed; Hank didn’t feel any better even though Logan sighed in relief.
“See darlin’? I told you there was nothin’ to worry that pretty little head ‘a yours ‘bout,” Logan told him with a grin and a ridiculous wink, his hand moving forward to hold onto Hank’s hip even as he peeled off his gloves and tossed them onto the trolley beside him.
“Logan you almost healed over a piece of glass. Do you have any idea what that would’ve done?” Hank asked incredulously, eyebrows almost undoubtedly disappearing into his hairline as he looked at Logan like he was crazy all well resolutely ignoring the heat that seemed to be flooding his body from Logan’s hand on him.
“Nah, babe, but I didn’t have to worry ‘bout it ‘cause I knew you’d take care of me,” Logan’s voice was a low rumble that had Hank leaning forward without meaning to. Despite the ridiculousness of Logan’s statement, there was a part of him that found it endearing. Hank would take care of him, and there was something nice about Logan recognizing that. Logan’s hand squeezed his hip and his thumb slipped under his dress shirt to brush his naked hip and... Hank felt like his skin was on fire.
Hank’s mouth dropped open a little in surprise and he hardly hard Logan’s next words over the sound of his racing heart. “‘Sides, you’re real fuckin’ cute when you’re all flustered, ya know that?”
“You asshole,” Hank cussed again, the word flying from his lips before he could think better of it.
Logan laughed at him, but it was a weaker noise than it should have been. Everything was weaker than it should have been: the bass of his voice, the strength of his hold, the power of his leer. Hank had no idea what had happened, but it had clearly taken a lot out of him.
“I’m fine now, darlin’,” Logan told him, and while his voice was sincere, he didn’t look it. He looked exhausted. “Just a little tired still, but nothin’ that a good night's sleep ain’t gonna fix. Whaddya say, Doc, why don’t you come to bed with me just to make sure I get enough rest?”
A refusal was on the tip of his tongue and ready to fire, just like it Hank did every time Logan playfully flirted with him.
And... instead of refusing like he’d done countless times before, he grabbed the leather of Logan’s X-Suit and tugged him up till he was standing, looking into Logan’s eyes long enough for the other man to give a firm—and very enthusiastic—nod before Hank was pressing their mouths together in a bruising kiss. It was everything he’d ever wanted and everything he’d never let himself want, all at once. Logan grabbed his other hip and slid his hands around to the centre of Hank’s back to tug him closer as he kissed him back just as hard.
Hank kissed him and kissed him, pouring his fear into the press of their mouths, reassuring himself that Logan was alive as he swept his hands up his chest, held onto his neck, gripped his shoulders. Nothing had ever felt so good and Hank happily lost himself in sensation; the way his lower neck felt from angling it down, the pressure of Logan’s nose against his own and the way it was squishing his left nostril, the pressure of Logan’s fingertips against his lower back, the scratch of his stubble against his chin.
He’d never been kissed like this. Logan kissed like he was trying to consume him and all Hank wanted was to be Logan’s. He tugged on the hair along Logan’s nape which earned him a moan. He licked across Logan’s teeth, held him in place as he devoured him. Hank had never kissed anyone like this but the way Logan let him take control felt like the most natural thing he’d ever done. He wanted, and Logan wanted, and so he took.
By the time he was so out of breath his chest was burning, he started to gentle the kiss until it was just a wet glide of soft lips, exploring tongues. Logan kissed him like he wanted him and Hank had a dizzying realization that perhaps the last few months of playful flirting from Logan... weren’t as playful as he’d thought.
God. Well, they certainly had some lost time to make up for.
“Don’t do that to me again,” Hank told him firmly, petting Logan’s jaw with his thumb and keeping him held close as he looked into his eyes.
“Don’t kiss ya?” Logan asked with a laugh, eyes crinkling deeply. “‘Cause darlin’, you’re sending some mixed signals with the way you’re all but ridin’ my thigh right now.”
Hank felt his whole face flush as he dropped his eyes to where he was straddling Logan’s thigh, catching his bottom lip between his teeth and chewing on it as he thought of what to say. He’d liked Logan for months, and while Logan had been persistently flirting with him for even longer than that... he’d convinced himself that Logan was kidding.
It wasn’t like Hank had the best experiences when it came to men, but as Logan’s thigh pressed even firmer against where he was growing warm and wet, he didn’t think the usual hang-ups were going to get in the way.
Still, he said, “Don’t worry me like that again,” as he stared into Logan’s eyes, noting the flecks of yellow that lined his iris before he leaned in and kissed him softly.
Logan’s entire face had softened when Hank finally pulled back. “Don’t you worry, pretty boy,” Logan told him, leaning in and brushing their lips together so sweetly Hank whimpered. “I ain’t leavin’ you ever again.”