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1.
Breaking Erik out of the Pentagon happens as a blur of non-stop activity.
Apt, Logan thinks, clapping a hand on the shoulder of the one not-so-silver blur responsible for pulling it off.
There’s a flicker of interest in dark brown eyes that’s gone in a blink, a cordial nod that Logan forgets about the moment he steps out of the exit.
2.
Nothing anyone can do or say is going to convince Logan that 1973 isn’t whack as fuck.
The feeling strikes Logan to his core when unfamiliar brown curls flop around in his periphery. It spreads as a tightness in his palms when piercing blue eyes seize him up like they’re contemplating the best way to obliterate him. It dissipates then, a tingle down his fingers— a nest of silver, singular strands longer than they have any business to be, tips brushing the edges of a silver jacket—
“Hey,” the owner of the silver hair that Logan’s been eyeing with scrutiny greets.
— and Logan waits, anticipates, but the feeling oddly does not return. It’s probably the timely distraction, equally likely, the impending headache.
Peter Maximoff takes Logan’s scrutiny as an open invitation, drops to a crouch carelessly beside him. The speedster’s movements are loose. His knees knock into Logan’s. Probably tired, Logan thinks. With the amount of energy he’s expended, Peter hasn’t eaten nearly enough to refuel what he’s lost. When nothing is immediately forthcoming, Logan eyes the younger mutant with skepticism. Peter doesn’t usually care to sit around and make idle chatter, and god forbid he actually sticks around.
But if it isn’t obvious enough already, the bright interest in Quicksilver’s gaze when their eyes meet suggests he’s nothing quite so usual. Logan can’t remember the last time he’s seen Peter like this, more— curious, than cynical, and the exchange makes him ache, a gentle press, like the ghost of a touch around his heart.
“You happen to need somethin’?” Logan asks, not bothering to give up his cigar while idly also wondering how Peter, as he is, had somehow gathered that Wolverine, of all people, would make the most pleasant form of company for this part of the afternoon.
“Not exactly, no,” the speedster replies casually. “I just, needed to get some air. Those guys are intense. From someone who grew up with my twin sister, that’s saying something. Well except for Hank. Hank’s alright. But boring. And watching him gives me anxiety.”
Despite the extensive delivery, Peter’s points are extremely valid and Logan snorts before he can help it. The speedster startles a little at Logan’s amusement before his lips curl into a hesitant smile. A gust of wind greets them readily from the steps near the outside of an unassuming diner where they’ve made a pit stop and the fingers find their mark, no longer the ghost of a touch, around his heart.
“Those guys are the most ambitious people I know,” Logan says as a much-needed puff of smoke hits his lungs. Maybe it’s the timely reminder that Peter isn’t half as blasé as Logan knows, but he finds himself uncharacteristically considerate, helping Peter establish that he’s wholly inculpable for what happens next. The professor and Erik are unpredictable, and disaster seems to follow them in epic proportions.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Peter not-questions, because he doesn’t yet seem to get what Logan’s trying to say.
“The problem with ambition is that the ends always justify the means. Things are gonna blow up in our faces at some point,” Logan elaborates.
“Well, that’s ominous,” Peter laments as understanding dawns on his face. He lets out a languid sigh, dropping to an actual seat.
Logan braces himself for the inevitable— Surely it can’t be that bad if you’re still here. I’m fond of blowing things up myself. What’s the plan anyway? — Peter usually has a dozen of these ready to go, never one good at dealing with silence; but all there is is a pause, a moment’s hesitation, before Logan finds Peter leaning against him.
Apparently, Logan is also the preferred candidate for the best headrest, and limited though the speedster’s options are, that— this, is something entirely unexpected, if only because Logan is generally regarded as the furthest thing from inviting. Then again, Quicksilver has always been brazen.
“You don’t mind, do you?” Peter, deciding belatedly to seek confirmation, manages to get out as he half-dozes, hooded eyes fighting a losing battle.
For reasons that he doesn’t yet know, Logan reaches a hand to nudge the younger mutant steady against his arm. It’s an answer as any.
“I always knew you were cool,” Peter slurs in the face of Logan’s non-verbal agreement, a loopy grin on his face, and the ache clenches like a fist around Logan’s heart. Peter is sound asleep the next second, the high of his cheekbone pressed deep onto the joint of Logan’s shoulder.
God, the habit of taking a shut eye anywhere had started young.
Logan sees no reason to grace him with a reply.
He sees even less reason to bother with the perplexed looks their three unwilling companions who’d just left the diner in the minutes after are throwing at them.
3.
The last thing Logan remembers before waking up in 2023 is drowning.
Largely unpleasant feeling clinging to his bones aside, Logan doesn’t have much to go on, save for the holographic display by the bedside that promises good weather ahead.
Climbing out of the bed that’s familiar only in the way it smells like his, Logan takes a second to find his footing. He’s groggy and even the smallest rays of light hurts his eyes, but he’d wager that 2023 is different now. Whether it’s better might be a tad too early to say, but it’s different, in the way it feels, in the way it smells, in the way things simply are.
As Logan’s eyes start to adjust to the light, it strikes him how calm his surroundings are. Loud noises and the blaring of alarms that have made up his routine for years are strangely absent, and with them the sense of impending doom— the need to run, hide, fight. With both feet planted firmly on the carpeted floors, Logan is immediately thankful that he has this moment to indulge. The absence of blood and grunge in the room is another plus. The greys at his temples that Logan catches sight of in the mirror, not so much.
Half stumbling through the corridors, Logan realizes that calm doesn’t mean things are easy to understand.
The faces at the X-Mansion— a place with people that Logan’s almost given up all hope of getting back— is something that presents a conceivable challenge: accepting an altered version of his rightful memories. It takes some time to fit the faces that are new, even more for those that are old; as well as for those that are entirely unexpected.
“Well, good morning to you too. Is it me or are you looking a little woozy? Late night?”
The throwaway comment is enough to stop Logan midstep, snorting amusedly. Surprising face at the X-Mansion or not, some things never change.
“Somethin’ like that,” Logan agrees anyway, right hand finding a place between the shoulder blades of a silver-haired speedster who miraculously— apart from the loss of puppy fat and his matured demeanor— still looks the same as he did 50 years ago. From the windswept state of Peter’s hair, he’s probably made a lap while waiting around for a response.
Peter tilts his head assessingly in response, dark brown and silver glinting in the sunlight, and something inside Logan inevitably lightens. It’s funny how the thought of missing something he’d never really got the chance to know had somehow hurt more than it should.
In the face of Logan’s continued silence, Peter chews compulsively on a piece of gum, hair falling forward to cover the right side of his face. It makes Logan aware of the stark difference in how Quicksilver wears his hair between now and what feels like yesterday, and Logan finds himself messing up those shortened silver strands at the back of the speedster’s head just to feel it for himself. It has the added benefit of keeping the speedster far too distracted to make another lap. Or make light of Logan’s attempts to walk straight.
“Wha—”
“Later,” Logan says, giving up his assault on the speedster’s ridiculously soft hair as he finally catches sight of the professor, who, at least, looks to be back to his usual self.
4.
Once Logan’s all caught up with the professor and gets a little more to go on, he’s not sure that he likes what he finds.
Particularly when it comes to their teaching classes for the brats. The crux of the matter being: while Logan’s used to history, he can’t say the same about standing in music for Peter.
The light in the speedster’s eyes doesn’t dim the slightest as he drops by to deliver the unfortunate announcement. It distracts Logan for long enough to hold his protest, and by then he’s whisked away with the rather disturbing explanation of “You’ve been with the Prof long enough. I need you ready.”. It seems as though nothing else is standing in the speedster’s way, because that’s exactly what they’re doing now; preparing, just the two of them in an otherwise empty classroom.
Logan has some choice words for the genius who formalized this arrangement, especially since he doesn’t remember the first thing about playing a— or as a matter of fact— any, musical instrument.
“So. You don’t remember anything after my dad almost killed you. And that was fifty years ago.” the source of Logan’s current headache remarks, long legs sprawled across honey oak wood floors making quick work of tuning a guitar. “It was hard believing you were from the future then, and it’s even harder believing you know a different one now.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I have a hard time just wrappin’ my head around it myself,” Logan concedes. He’s learnt the hard way that it’s better to just rip off the band-aid when it comes to Quicksilver’s insatiable thirst for answers. The alternate future isn’t spared from them, it seems.
The admission satisfies the younger mutant for a bit, because a pleasant silence greets Logan. The silence is pleasant in the fact that it’s comfortable and hardly deafening if Logan considers the soft rustle of the speedster’s sleeves and the tiny squeaks from the careful tightening of knobs. Taking in the purposeful flex of Quicksilver’s usually deft fingers, Logan is hit with the realization that whether he’s flighty or chatty or somewhere in between, Peter has never been bad company.
It takes a certain level of openness and maturity to accept the situation so easily, and in this case, a godforsaken amount of questions.
“Well, it’s comforting to know that even the power of future time shenanigans can’t change that personality of yours. What makes you tick back there anyway?” Peter starts after no less than a minute, curiosity seeping through despite his focus, and Logan could say the same of Quicksilver’s insistence on not leaving things well enough alone.
Logan spares the younger mutant a sideways glance, considers his options. He’s greeted with panels of silver illuminated in the quickly fading daylight.
Logan has always been easy for Peter to read, and he has an inkling that it’s no different regardless of which universe they’re in.
“Survival,” Logan says, vague enough and honest enough to end the intrepid line of questioning.
“You could’ve just said you weren’t ready,” Peter confirms Logan’s suspicion snarkily. He’s shifted to sit close enough now to nudge Logan with his elbow. A twirl of a drumstick gets Logan in the ribs.
Logan allows him this with a half-hearted glare and a raised eyebrow. If Logan knows any better— which his correct hunches thus far implies that he does— he’d say that Peter is testing how far he can push their established boundaries.
“Right now, understandin’ this one’s more important,” Logan says as a matter of fact. “Care to fill me in? I’ll get you dinner for your troubles,” Logan decides, because while the professor had been crucial in filling in the gaps in history, Logan needs something a little more— personal, and Peter, as he is, seems keen.
“And here I was, thinking you’d never ask,” Quicksilver says, humming consideringly.
Somehow, Logan knows that despite the perceived contemplation, the speedster’s already made up his mind.
“I’ll bite, if you promise to keep that anger in check,” Peter continues in the face of Logan’s obvious lack of enthusiasm in playing along, ditching his latest musical project and stretching out, long legs draped haphazardly across Logan’s lap.
And— wait. Wait. Wait. Wait.
Peter’s legs are on his lap.
Logan’s heart has possibly jumped to his throat at the realization— because. what. the. fuck.
Logan is vaguely aware of two things— an achievement considering how his thoughts can’t seem to form a coherent sentence— the first of which being, the intrusion might have been unintentional from the way the speedster’s eyes have widened in alarm. The second of which being, Logan’s already responded in kind; his left hand on the thigh invading his lap; an effort to center himself. The wiry muscles beneath the tips of his fingers have distracted Logan enough that he’s held on for longer than he should.
In hindsight, it’s a terrible response to convey his thoughts. In his defense, they’re a mess.
It seems to achieve something regardless, because Peter heaves a sigh of relief, seemingly regarding Logan’s hand on his thigh as a good sign. Apparently, this type of exchange between them is commonplace now, and Logan’s head is spinning.
“Well?” Peter says, still a little on edge, and Logan nods slowly, not actually trusting his voice.
“For starters, you don’t actually cover my classes,” Peter deadpans as he loses the edge.
Logan immediately forgets how bizarre their current situation is and glowers at him instead.
5.
Prank aside, Peter holds up his end of the deal, but then he’s tardy, which is unusual.
Logan makes the decision quickly, raises his fist to rap his knuckles against the door of the speedster’s room.
Given that it’s his first visit, Logan doesn’t know what to expect— okay, maybe he does, a little, so Peter, answering the door with his hair still damp, more gray than silver, a dash of fresh mint and only a towel around his waist, is something that is nowhere near Logan’s rather simple expectations.
Peter is pleasantly flushed, which isn’t something that should phase Logan, what everyone does in their free time is their own business, but the bare expanse of the speedster’s torso and the sharp edges of his collarbones manages to do just that. Regardless, paroxysms of a good time aside, they have a dinner to get to. Logan crosses his arms, makes sure to voice his displeasure.
“Since when do you not want to eat?”
“But you said—”
“Dinner,” Logan says, pointedly.
Peter flushes impossibly darker.
“I never thought you meant it literally. I never thought I’d need— you know what. Just give me a minute,” Peter declares, still strangely flustered, and Logan almost laughs at the irony of it all.
“Hey,” Logan says, catching the speedster’s wrist before he goes off for his minute, presumably to get dry and change, “it’s no big deal.”
Instead of looking reassured, Peter gapes, a frown adorning his face.
“What exactly do you not think is a big deal?” Peter questions, almost accusing now, and Logan blinks at him, wondering if Quicksilver is somehow having an off day.
“Jerkin’ off. Or whatever it is you do to get off.”
Peter should really pick his battles better, because if he wants some pure and unfiltered honesty, he’s going to get it from Logan. But the way the speedster is throwing his hands up in surrender suggests that maybe Logan has got this wrong.
“God, I almost forgot how thick you are,” Peter declares.
Logan raises his eyebrows at the unexpected jab.
“You’re lucky I like a challenge,” Peter says, “and you.” He adds like an afterthought, hooking his hand through Logan’s arm. Logan’s right eye twitches, but it seems pointless to object when he’s already had the speedster’s legs on his lap.
“So… dinner?” Logan prompts, noticing that Peter is completely dry. Forgoing his usual choice of clothes, he’s decked out in a fitting gray turtleneck and leather jeans. Classy, Logan thinks, briefly wondering if he’s underdressed before snorting. This future is clearly messing with his head.
“Dinner.” The speedster confirms, and for the second time in nine hours, Logan finds himself half-stumbling through winding corridors. This time, not completely of his own volition.
1
When Logan pulls up next to what looks to be a relatively new establishment with a charming rooftop patio, its name proudly splashed across its doors in LED red, Peter eyes him with what can only be described as suspicion, and Logan thinks maybe he’s made a mistake.
“Did you have somewhere else in mind?” Logan tries.
“Well, no. This is fine, perfect even. It’s a little trippy,” Peter says, losing the suspicion, and he’s gone through the doors in a heartbeat.
Logan on the other hand, takes his time to park, before he’s greeted warmly and led directly to a wooden couch at the rooftop patio where Peter— no surprises here— has wasted no time making himself at home, a dozen plush cushions congregated behind him.
Logan realizes that they’re probably regulars who have visited an obscene number of times from the easy affairs of the past couple of minutes; a detail which sheds some light on Peter’s earlier reaction.
Trippy doesn’t even come close to describing how Logan feels, and he’s grateful when the cozy ambiance starts to settle almost as soon as the wait staff have left them.
Thankfully, things regain their semblance of normalcy when Peter stabs at his crispy cauliflower, chunks it into his hummus. With some amusement, Logan watches each one disappear at record speed. To his credit, Peter only steals a single piece of Logan’s strip loin in the process.
“If you’re gonna be demonstratin’ such restraint, I wonder why we keep comin’ back here,” Logan not-questions as another side of seared dayboat scallops disappear as soon as they’re served. The waitress simply smiles at them indulgently and collects the discarded plate like it’s prosaic— to her, it probably is.
“Must be something to do with how much you like me,” Peter returns once she’s left, and Logan would be better able to appreciate the sentiment if the ridiculous amounts of food weren’t ending up on his tab. “But if you’re asking why here, I’d say it’s probably the patio,” the speedster reckons with a shrug, suggesting that he has no idea how the rendezvous had started either.
Logan grunts his acknowledgement, works his last piece of ribeye before Peter has a chance to get his wandering hands on it.
To Logan’s surprise, Quicksilver does in fact, exercise some restraint.
One large plate of mussels later, they move on to drinks, and Peter, on occasion, his loukoumades, lighting up each time he pops one into his mouth. While the penchant for sweets isn’t a surprise, the open enjoyment is. The odds that this particular trait had stuck in the altered version of the future is something that Logan is still trying to wrap his head around, if only for the fact that he likes it, probably more than he should.
On the subject of things that Logan likes more than he should, the snug way Peter’s top is clinging to his form is decidedly not one, because the longer the night drags on, the more Logan is aware of how the creases and folds stretch and collapse, a layer covering the body that Logan can say he’s familiar with, from earlier. Logan is definitely not enjoying the way the speedster’s neck peeks out, above the collar of his turtleneck, the distracting bob of his Adam’s apple, the way his silver hair frames his face, nor the indent of his dimples when he smiles, one of those wide ones, and— oh god, Logan realizes, comprehension dawning. He does want to take him out.
“Or maybe, we keep coming back because you like the view,” Peter says, lips curling playfully. Yeah, Logan’s definitely been caught staring. But Logan’s hardly fucking shy, and with the hints that Logan now realizes the speedster’s been dropping, he’s probably not the only one who likes the view.
“Maybe,” Logan agrees, pushing up his sleeves. Chugging his pilsner, Logan eyes Quicksilver from above the rim of his glass. Two can play at this game.
“Fucking finally.”
Contrary to the hesitation Logan’s expecting, Peter makes the declaration with relief, a huge grin splitting his face, and Logan can’t help but think that it’s the best fucking thing he’s seen all day.
“So when I said dinner,” Logan prompts, deciding that they should probably set things straight.
“Well, yeah, I thought you meant sex,” Peter agrees nonchalantly, and Logan misses his grin immediately, wants to wipe the indifferent look off his face. “I mean, what else was I supposed to think?” Peter continues helplessly, mask slipping a little, and Logan moves.
As far as kisses go, it’s a good one, the speedster eager and deepening it as soon as he sees the chance, working his tongue against Logan’s. Heat starts to stir involuntarily, traveling from the sparks on the tip of his tongue and pooling around his heart before dripping down to his loins. But being detained for public indecency on his first day in the altered future is not on his bucket list, so Logan makes a valiant attempt to stop things from progressing any further by tugging gently on Peter’s silver locks— which, as Peter whimpers— is a terrible, terrible idea.
The speedster has the sense to get them to somewhere appropriate— his room, Logan places from Peter’s scent and how he’s chosen to decorate, though, maybe, nowhere is really appropriate if Logan considers that this is, for all intents and purposes, their first date, but Peter is kissing him again, wrapping those legs around his waist, and everything else just fades into chatter.
“What you thought earlier, about the sex,” Logan can’t help but clarify when they’re snug and toasty under the speedster’s weighted blanket and residual adrenaline is the only thing keeping them from sleep, “you know I ain’t got the patience for talkin’ in metaphors.”
“Well see, I kinda thought about that,” the speedster admits, fingers lazily drawing patterns on Logan’s ribs. “But then, an actual dinner seemed equally unlikely.”
Logan doesn’t contest the point. It’s reasonable, given how much the speedster eats. Which reminds him— “We skipped out on our tab,” Logan says a little incredulously.
“Go to sleep Logan,” Peter says, rolling his eyes, “it’s 3 in the morning and I am not getting out of bed.”
It’s just as well, Logan decides, carding his fingers through silver tresses that’ll hopefully only get more familiar with time.
Logan isn't disregarding the fact they probably have some things to iron out, some issues to work through, yet the day has proven that just being with the speedster fills him with a kind of ease that sets in, bone-deep, and the thought of following that feeling is something Logan isn't keen to let go of. With how Peter has been seizing the multitude of opportunities, he probably feels right the same way.
All Logan knows in this moment, as Peter's eyes close and Logan's right behind, is— he doesn’t want to get out of bed either.