Title: Kinda I Want To
Author: Askani'daughter / Eruntalince (newloverboys@yahoo.com)
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Kinda I Want To 10 - Through Logan's Eyes
By Askani'daughter
Well, at least the *emotional* tension is gone.
Mostly.
I don't know why it strikes me as funny, maybe it's the gay thing. Maybe it's the Scott thing. Maybe it's the fact that as disgusting as I may find the idea of two men fucking each other, I have to admit they're cute together.
They really do deserve each other, Chuck.
I guess it's been a month or so since Scott and Warren bonded over dinner, huh? In the usual Summers manner, of course. Haven't you ever noticed that whenever something important happens to a Summers, shit gets blown up? Without fucking fail. Scott can't even eat dinner without *something* getting blasted to all hell.
I know you had to leave for that important meeting with your little mutant underground friends, so I'll fill you in, Chuck. I've done nothing but laugh myself to sleep every night.
You know, the past few months have been nothing but a bad episode of Dawson's Creek. Now it's a bad episode of Queer as Folk. Well, the whole psychic bonding thing was appropriately dramatic (What is it with Summers and his melodrama?), but I think it ended well. Scott and Warren finally worked things out, and have some sort of relationship now. But I got nosy and sniffed around the door in the morning after Scott went to Warren's room the first night. He stayed the night, but what's funny is that I didn't smell sex in the room. And that's a scent I don't miss.
Which is the cause of their latest problems.
Oh, Scott's been spending every night with him. They're inseparable of late. They do everything together, except for maybe using the toilet, but they're definitely not fucking. There might be a little tongue wrestling going on at night, judging by Scott's guilty expression, but I don't think it's gotten past tonsil hockey.
Oh, I think Scott's properly affectionate behind closed doors, judging by how much better Warren's doing. Warren has stopped the drinking and sleeping around, and doesn't look half-ready to slit his wrists anymore. He's not as depressed, and has stopped brooding. Definitely an improvement. And Scott, well Scott's back to the old Scott we all know and love to hate. He's bossy, stern, imposing, perfect, anal-retentive, obsessive compulsive, and full of enough dry wit to surprise you. But I bet you think that now Warren's got Scott's complete attention and all of Scott's affections, they'd be perfect, right? Wrong.
Warren doesn't want *just* Scott's affection. He wants more than whatever touchy-feely, sappy, sensitive-male crap Scott's giving him at night. He wants the *whole* deal, you know? A real relationship. He wants to be doted on, worshipped, and adored. Somebody like Warren ain't happy unless he's the center of Scott's world, and the sun which Scott's world revolves around.
Of course, Scott's not ready for all that, at least not yet. Appropriately, for *any* relationship Scott gets into, Scott has brought enough teen angst and soap opera melodrama into said relationship to fulfill an army of bored housewives. I think old Scotty still has sexual issues. Gee, what a big surprise, right? Scott Summers, the Lord High Master of all that is Anal Retentive, with repressed sexuality issues? Never saw that one coming, right?
So basically, what I'm telling you is that Warren ain't getting any.
The first week, it was okay. Warren was good. Warren was great. Warren was practically glowing. Of course, Scott was glowing too, but that was from embarrassment. Warren had his Scott, and Scott had his Warren. Life was peachy. So what if nobody was getting any. Sex isn't everything.
After about a week, Warren's libido rebelled.
I guess all that male-bonding, gay love shit they're doing behind closed doors (the one time Warren tried to kiss Scott in public, Scott turned so red, his ears went pink and he ran out of the room, sputtering something about ironing his socks) really puts you in the mood. And I know from experience (with women, thank you very much, Chuck, so stop snickering) that there's nothing like a good snuggle and sappy professions of love to make you want to fuck like a rabbit on a steady diet of Viagra. It's only human nature. Particularly for the male gender.
But apparently, if Scott can't handle sucking face in public (which is fine by me), then he can't handle getting into the down and dirty with Warren. Every morning, I'll sniff in front of their door (oh yeah, forgot to say that they moved in with each other within the first week), wondering if Warren finally wore down Scott's resistance, but all I smell in their room is air freshener, normal human smells, and a startling lack of dirty clothing smell. (Scott's taken over Warren's laundry, apparently. Lord knows Warren doesn't do laundry. He'll break a fingernail or something.)
We were fixing up the dining room during the second week, when I discovered how *frustrated* those two are. It was me, Hank, Bobby, Scott, Warren, and Sam who wound up with dining room duty that day. Sam and I were working on the south wall, and Hank was trudging over all our painting and plastering materials, while Bobby stood around and pissed everyone off with his stupid jokes (please find that kid some new material, Chuck). Scott and Warren were supposed to paint the east wall, which had been plastered the day before.
Apparently, both Scott and Warren wanted to use the same paint can. Heaven forbid either one of them *share* a paint can.
"Excuse me, but *I* had the paint can first, Warren," Scott said petulantly, the moment Warren dipped his brush into the can and started working on the wall.
"So? Get another one," Warren snorted, being difficult (surprise, surprise), and dipping his paint brush again, and I swear he was dribbling over the side on purpose. It of course drove Summers nuts. You know how anal he is. (Which reminds me about my question on how Warren expects to have sex with guy who has to have several broomsticks shoved up his ass.)
"But *this* one is mine. And you're dribbling," Scott frowned.
"So, who cares?"
"*I* care, now leave my paint can alone, and get your own!"
"Christ, Scott, I don't remember you paying out of your own pocket for the paint, so I don't think it's yours."
"Well, I was using it first!"
"Didn't see your name on it!"
"Fine, I'll *put* my name on it!" Scott roared and started to paint his name on the can. By now, we were all just staring at Scott and Warren with mixed amusement and disbelief. Scott was flushed with anger, and Warren was dark in the face.
Warren's eyes narrowed, and he yanked the can away from Scott. Scott growled and made a grab for the can, grabbing the handle that Warren had. What followed was a vicious tug of war you'd expect from five-year-olds, which resulted in the paint being spilled all over Scott and Warren.
"What was that about *me* being immature, Hank?" Bobby whispered sarcastically.
"Uh, guys, Ah think we were supposed to paint the walls, not each other," Sam said diplomatically.
We were systematically ignored. They were busy arguing.
"Look what you've done!"
"What *I've* done, you little-"
"What a waste, and it's all your fault!"
"That's it, I've had it with you! I'm no longer speaking to you, Scott Summers!"
"Fine, because I don't want to talk to you either!"
At that, they both stomped out the room, in opposite directions.
"Was that surreal, or what?" Bobby asked, awed by his friends' display.
"It was like watching kindergartners fight over who uses the sandbox," Hank commented.
"What is it in Warren that brings out Scott's inner brat?" I sighed.
"Do those two need ta fuck each othah o' what? Ah thought they'd already taken care of it, but Ah guess Ah was wrong," Sam shook his head.
"Sorry, kid, I've smelled their room. No nookie for Warren," I smirked.
"But they're sleeping together, right?" Bobby asked incredulously.
"Yep, and sleeping seems to be all Scott can handle without imploding," I shrugged.
"Does it ever end? I've had to deal with this for almost fourteen years. I was hoping they'd have already been there, done that, and gotten the t-shirt by now," Hank sighed.
"Apparently, we have underestimated the strength of the door to Scott's closet," I laughed.
And so on it went. Argument, after argument. Nights where either Scott or Warren would sleep in one of the spare rooms. The occasional sound of things being thrown in their room. The very real danger of getting hit by sausages during breakfast last week, which cleared out the X-Men team from the room in 0.5 seconds. And it was all about the pettiest, most trumped up bullshit I'd ever heard about.
"The bastard used *my* hairbrush!"
"I can't believe he uses mouthwash after he brushes and leaves toothpaste all over my mouthwash bottle!"
"Do you know he fucking irons his socks, too?"
"Have you seen the state of his side of the room?"
"He spent all day organizing his coin collection!!"
"He got feathers all over my new sweater!"
"Do you know that he keeps putting labels on everything? Why does the sock drawer need a label that says 'Sock Drawer'? When you pull out the fucking drawer and see socks, can't you figure it out for yourself?"
"He kept putting underwear in the sock drawer, so I made labels so he'd understand what it was for, since he can't open up the fucking drawer and figure it out for himself."
"He made a bathroom schedule for the love of God!"
"He spent three hours in the damn bathroom. So I made a schedule, so I could have time, too."
And on and on. Now, as much as it pains me to admit it, Scott is *not* a petty person. And Warren really isn't either (although selfish comes to mind, for both of them). So it was obvious to all of us what was going on.
The UST was fucking driving them nuttier than a tree full of squirrels in heat.
We started placing bets on when Scott would cave, and finally fuck Warren. So far, I've been winning, which is sad, since Jean bet too, and she was sure Scott would have caved last Tuesday. We haven't been subtle, either.
Rogue bought them one of those gay magazines, that gives advice on positions and lubrication and all that shit. She dropped it in Scott's lap yesterday, with a grin on her face. He turned so red, I was sure he was developing hidden pyrotechnic powers. (Hell, the empathy certainly was sprung on us, why not pyrotechnics, too?) Remy tactfully brought Scott a box full of massage oils, which gave Scott pause, before he realized what he could do with them, and blushed again. Hell, I haven't seen Scott blush this much in all the years I've known him. I'm *enjoying* myself.
The blatant tube of sexual lube Bobby gave him while they were on a trip to North Carolina made him trip over his own feet and land face first. Sam and Hank's subtle hint with an anonymous box filled with various kinky sex toys in front of their door resulted in a large crash from Scott falling over (from tripping over the box on his way in, he crushed it and didn't know what the few surviving toys were for). And I still don't know who left one of those vibrating dildos on top of Scott's uniform, though I would dearly love to shake their hand, because Scott actually squeaked and accidentally flung the dildo into Warren's head, knocking the poor boy out. I laughed so hard, I *cried*.
Now, don't get me wrong, Prof. I have no problems with guys being gay (other than the fact I don't want to see it, because it makes me nauseous), so I'm not laughing because they're gay. I'm laughing because Scott's acting like a kid about having sex with Warren, and Warren's so horny he looks like he's holding himself back from just jumping Scott and seeing how far he could get before Scott passes out from embarrassment.
And before you think we're torturing Scott, you should see the way he *looks* at Warren. He's torturing *himself*. He ain't got no visors anymore, and those brown eyes of his are glued to Warren every chance he gets. Watching Warren eat, watching Warren sleep, watching Warren take a shower. Especially watching Warren take a shower. More than once, you'd occasionally wonder if Scott'll just crack and grab Warren and bend him over the Danger Room console. There's desire in those eyes, as fierce as Warren's, and no less hungry.
Sure, there might be fear involved with Scott's reluctance to consummate his relationship with Warren, but it's transparent. It's not *real* fear. Not anymore. Any real fear he might have had faded during the first week, with the stark realization that Warren *loves* him, truly, madly and deeply (emphasis on the madly part, right now). No, Scott is mostly just embarrassed and unsure of himself, like a teenage girl. Right now, the only thing he's afraid of is not living up to expectation. There's been too much build-up to this, and the pressure's cooking him. It's all in those eyes of his, that he can't hide from any of us anymore.
And I don't want them to finally cement their relationship with sex so I can have a shot at Jean, either. I love Jeanie, I won't deny it, but she didn't leave Scott to be with me. I think she left to explore herself, as much as to let Scott explore himself. What I think everyone forgets is that they'd been together for so long, they almost forgot who they really were. Jean wanted freedom herself, and Scott's hidden sexuality was a convenient escape route for her. So Jean is growing on her own, free and independent, and she certainly doesn't want a man right now. She doesn't need one. So I can wait. Maybe we'll hook up later on, but then again, maybe not. I'm not really worried about it.
Nah, I just want Scott and Warren to fuck each other's brains out because they both obviously want to so bad you can see it in their eyes. I want them together because they actually genuinely love each other, and I never met a couple, gay or straight, or whatever, that works so well together. It's like the odd couple, you know? When they're not bickering like children, they really do get along great. They both appreciate each other's sense of humor, and they both have this thing for movies, and argue about them like Siskel and Ebert. And the funny thing is that they *enjoy* every argument they have, even the one about the sock drawer. And they have this trade-off thing all worked out. Scott does the laundry, Warren does the shopping. Scott cooks and cleans, Warren eats and makes a mess (c'mon, we both know Scott wouldn't be happy unless he had a mess to clean up after). Warren drives and Scott plays with the radio station. Warren forces Scott to expand his horizons outside the mansion once in a while. (I'll have to tell you about the time he made Scott go to The Rocky Horror Picture Show with him sometime.) And watching them both watch Leno late at night, stretched out on the couch with Scott's head resting on Warren's stomach, being petted like a cat, is almost cute. Almost.
And like the rest of you X-brats, I love them like family. I want my family to be happy, even if Daddy isn't with Mommy anymore, and has hooked up with Uncle Warren now. So yeah, even I want Scott and Warren to just fuck each other and get it over with, and I hope they hurry up, or I'm going to lose the bet.
I got exactly one week and two days left on my date. And then all the money'll go to Hank. The gloating bastard. But I'm not afraid to knock heads together to win the bet, either, Chuck. Hell, I'd be doing those two a favor.
Lord knows it's way overdue.