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A Measurement of Time	By : trowacko Category: X-Men: (All Movies) > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2250 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the X-Men movies, or any of the characters from them. I make no money from from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-A Measurement of Time
- 1
Title
- A Measurement of Time

Author - trowacko

Rating - NC17

Warnings - Logan/Warren aka Wolverine/Angel, movieverse *tho* mildly AU-ish
from timeline given that the movieverse takes a smurfload of liberties with
actual X-Men timeline, I hope the slight liberties herein are forgiven

Disclaimers - I do not own any portion of the X-Men franchise, nor do I make a
claim to. No profit, no harm done.

Author's note - originally for zequin_stars's
request for Logan/Warren lovesmut. In further warning, at 7,901 words, this is
so a far cry from a drabble. unbeta'd.

Time measures funny, Logan had once told him
when Warren
complained of being too old to be young. Warren
had brushed it aside. Such comments were... romantic, he supposed. An
expression best left for a forgettable quote or made into some little poem that
would become just as forgotten save for the sentiment. He was seventeen when he first joined the school; older than most, younger than
a few. Not many manifested obvious external traits such as him, but he didn't
mind. He was in a place where the name Warren Worthington III meant nothing and
he didn't have to hide his wings any longer; he even enjoyed the attention they
brought at times. He was, however, different from the others in the way the
others were different from everyone else and it was that difference that kept
him distant from his fellow students. As a matter of fact, he preferred the
company of his mentors and Logan in particular. The man whose infamy had most
people calling him Wolverine rather than the name the man preferred. Warren called him Logan.

Somewhere in the first months of school, the two discovered the other's
infatuation with the grounds surrounding the school. It was exhilarating to fly
around the grounds at dusk when it was dangerous and the odds of being seen by
humans were slim. Likewise, Logan
spent a number of hours there most nights, hiding among the trees, restless
predator without natural prey. Eventually, Logan
began to 'hunt' him in the woods behind the school, cat to Warren's bird. It was rare Warren outwitted the great 'Wolverine', but
it had always been fun trying. The feel of the man's hands catching his ankles,
pulling him down while his wings beat frantically to take him higher... it was
adrenaline, he told himself. Excitement was the chase, not being caught and
brought down. When they passed in the hallways, sometimes he'd catch Logan sniff in his
direction, renewing the memory of his scent, ever the hunter. It never failed
to make Warren's
heart skip a beat knowing he'd been marked.

All too soon it drew to an end. Graduation, possibly college work, or just
deciding what career he wanted out in the 'normal world'. Somehow, it just
didn't seem fair that it should be so. On an afternoon just about like every
other, he reflected on his schooling, how he was going to change when he tried
entering a society that still feared and shunned his kind. When he was
younger, he wanted to be among them. Now on the verge of doing so, he
didn't want to leave. He thought he had more time, but it had slipped through
his fingers, first keeping him from being an adult, now pulling him inexorably
to it. Time, he thought with a wretched amusement, did indeed measure funny.

I don't want to go home. Don't make me go.

Warren took to
flight as soon as he was out the back door, commencement announcement clutched
in one hand. Graduation in one more day and then... what? There wasn't an easy
answer despite the assurances by the staff that he would fare just fine - look
at how far Beast had gone, working with the government at that. It was entirely
possible to make a good living out there. Ah, but out there, he didn't have the
freedom of flying like he did. There was no Logan hunting him, and little freedom of
unpopulated lands where he could fly to his heart's content, whipping in and
out of trees so fast that the tips of his wings clipped against branches.

Don't make me go.

Tears he didn't want to acknowledge flicked down his cheeks, whipped away in
the wind that burned his face. His wings beat harder, faster, propelling him
into a large meadow and into another section of the forest at its far end. His
breath became harsh - dry pants that made his chest ache.

Don't make me--

His momentum was cut short and he fell toward the ground. In his panic, his
wings beat erratically, but not enough to keep him alight. As he fell, he tried
to catch a branch and ended up knocking his cheek off its edge, effectively
stunning him. He realized there was a hand on his ankle, fighting for purchase
and Warren let
himself fall. Logan
hung onto him, flicking between branches to keep either from hitting anything
else. Close to the ground, Logan
paused long enough to scoop him into his arms. He looked up at his hunter,
hurt, but not because he'd been caught. Logan
could have set him down at any time once they were on the ground, but he guided
them away from the densely packed trees and into a small clearing with enough
grass to be comfortable sitting against.

"You took that one pretty bad."

Warren shook his head; he didn't want Logan to think his
turmoil was from losing. "Wasn't you," he assured, leaning against
the tree Logan
set him down next to. "I was careless." He wished he had a little of Logan's ability to
regenerate when the pain in his jaw shot through his sinuses, forcing a groan
from him. His fingers had nearly touched it when Logan pulled them away.

"It's gonna bruise already," he scolded. Where Warren's
fingers were slender, Logan's
were slightly thicker and callused, solid, and they hurt when they gently
probed to check for broken bones. Warren
growled and ducked away.

"Wings like a bird doesn't mean my bones are as fragile," he
reminded. Logan
touched a drying track of his tears. Warren
closed his eyes.

"Then what the hell is this from, bub?" Logan didn't believe in sugarcoating. Warren used to appreciate
that.

Rather than answer, he turned from the touch, hating that as he did, a fresh
wave overtook the original paths to slide down his chin. His earlier sorrow had
not fled, much to his chagrin. The last thing he wanted was to be seen as a kid
regardless of how much younger he was to Logan;
how long had he worked to be stronger, just for this man? He opened his mouth
to confide in Logan, his mentor, teacher - friend. Ah, but Logan
didn't have a family like Warren
did. It was likely he wouldn't understand any of his inner turmoil and for that
alone, Warren
closed his mouth again. His hands warred with each other and he watched that
rather than Logan.
When Logan covered them with one of his own, Warren finally looked up.
Confusion was predominant, but there was something else there, something
softer.

"Don't--" Warren's
breath hitched. He swallowed the next one and coughed it out. Somewhere in his
gut, he could feel the emotion rising and he let it. He was young enough to
acquiesce to it and old enough to appreciate that it wasn't weak to weep in
front of a friend. Logan's
arms were around him, warm, comforting. Such a good friend and not for the first
time, Warren
wished it wasn't that way. "Don't send me away," he managed, mouth
crushed against Logan's
shoulder. Pain he thought long buried surged to the surface, and he let it. He
cried like a child; held like a child. Logan
said nothing the whole time, probably knowing there wasn't anything that could
be said to make a difference right then. Warren's
wings fluttered behind him, trying to wrap around Logan's body, needing the world to be blocked
out for just this short time and let it only be them. It might have been
minutes, but it felt much longer by the time his tears had exhausted themselves
and his sobs had been reduced to labored breaths.

Logan pulled
away, thumbs wiping away a set of tears only to have more take its place. He
chuckled when Warren
scowled and tried to look away, catching the boy by his chin to look back up.

"If you don't want to leave, don't," he said simply. "No one's
going to make you leave, least of all Storm."

"I don't mean from the school."

The moment it was uttered, it couldn't be taken back. Warren realized that's what had plagued him
the most, not returning to the outside world. He wished he'd not spoken when Logan pulled away from
him, mouth twisted in a grimace. He could practically feel the rift
splitting the air between them and closed his eyes to keep from seeing it.

"You have a life, kid," Logan
finally replied. "Whatever it is that I have isn't meant for someone like
you--" he sighed, shaking his head and settling back on the ground.
"What I mean is that you should find a place you want to belong. Something
that's not this school."

"Something that's not with you," Warren whispered. It was no secret that Logan had been tormented
when Jean was killed, but in the two years since, he'd grown closer to the
students, choosing their lives over his. Maybe that just didn't include his
heart.

"Don't do that." Warren glanced up at
the harsh tone and cringed at the blatant fury that shone in Logan's eyes. "Don't make it seem like
you're not good enough or that I don't care. It's nothing like that."

Age then? His wings? "Then why?"

"Do you know who Icarus was?" Logan
asked in return. Warren
frowned, thinking about the familiar name. He shook his head and Logan mirrored it.
"A man with wings ought to already know this story," he scolded. His
hands went to his pockets, but instead of pulling out a cigar, they pulled out
an old battered feather, one Warren
had shed quite some time previous by the looks of it.

"Icarus was the son of a man who built a labyrinth for King Minos in Greek
mythology," Logan
began. Warren
settled back against the tree, wiping away snot and tears. Logan continued. "The father gave the
secrets of the labyrinth away and for his crime, father and son were locked in
it. The father - don't ask his name, I don't remember - planned their escape by
building them wings made of wax and feathers. To get to shore, they had to fly
with those wings. If they were too low, they'd fall into the sea. If they were
too high, the sun would melt the wax." Warren grinned at the idea of man-made wings.
He remembered some of the mythology now, but he nodded at Logan to continue on.

"So this Icarus and his dad started flying across the sea. Dad flew
between the sky and the water in a straight line for the shore, but Icarus was
too excited about being able to fly that he swooped up and down, dangerously
close to the sea, and too high in the sky. He didn't listen when his pops said
he should stay in the middle and flew too close to the sun. The heat melted the
wax and Icarus fell into the sea where he drowned to death. His father made it
to shore."

Logan sat back,
satisfied with himself enough that he pulled out his damned cigar and lit it
up. The feather went back into a pocket, its appearance apparently only for the
story. Warren could feel the silence thickening
around him as he waited for Logan
to continue or finish. Logan
didn't. He snorted in exasperation.

"That's it? No moral? Just some stupid kid who--"

"There was a moral," Logan
growled, puffing indignantly. "He flew too close to the sun when he should
have just got to shore. He could have had a long life if--"

"His father should have made the wings out of something more stable than
wax."

"Maybe that's all he had available to him."

"Where did he get the feathers?"

"I don't know!" Logan
fairly shouted. "The point is that Icarus could have lived longer if he
didn't act without good thought behind his decisions. Like you shouldn't be
rushing into staying on the ground when you have a chance to fly - even if it
isn't in the sky."

"Fine."

Warren gave up.
Just like that. Leaning back against the tree, he crossed his arms in front of
him and closed his eyes for the - hundredth? - time. He'd come from that
outside world. He knew what it was like and he didn't feel like going back
alone just to be alone. The tears stopped, though the ache in his chest grew
worse for it.

"Don't do that," Logan
sighed tiredly.

Beyond them, birds sang and wind rustled through the treetops. In any other
time, Warren
would have wanted to take flight, want to feel the wind in through his
feathers, but not now. Maybe not ever again. He retreated, drawing in his
emotions, despite what Logan
said and he wouldn't be dissuaded from it. The pain in his cheek was nominal
and he didn't have any injuries anywhere else. So when Logan
picked him up and struck off for the campus, Warren opened his eyes in surprise, but
didn't protest. All he could manage was to tentatively slide his arms around Logan's neck and hold the
man as close as he could. His wings wrapped around Logan's shoulders. It was safe and warm in
the man's hold, the last embrace they might have shared that he wished Logan would have walked a
little slower.

Warren skipped
the graduation ceremonies. What few belongings he had were tucked into a
backpack and he slipped out in the early morning before the sun rose. It took
over a year for him to remember how Logan
had held one of his feathers, battered and old, yet cared for nonetheless. From
then on, he saved the few feathers that he shed, depositing them in a box that
sat near his bed. Why, he wasn't sure. Logan
had saved the one and it seemed to him that surely there had been more. Maybe
he wouldn't give them to Logan,
maybe he would. Maybe he'd just have some odd collection like someone saving
toenail clippings or something. It was an act with purpose even if the purpose
was unusual that Warren
faithfully kept it.

Another year became two, then three, and the box had to be exchanged for a
larger one as he added to it. Warren
didn't mind. It was something to do while he manned his lonely little tower in
a national park; college hadn't quite been for him. The wide expanse of prairie
lands and forests reminded him of the school he hadn't visited in - three?
four? - years. Time measured funny for him. Warren smiled at the thought, remembering the
man who had first said that to him. Time was funny for Logan and it was that way for him, too. A lot
of things were funny, just not in a truly amusing way.

The snow had threatened to fall for the better part of the week that early
winter, though it hadn't dared just yet. Warren
figured that when it finally started to fall, it would dump more than a foot
instead of the four inches the weatherman had predicted every day. He took a
few hours to stock up on some much needed supplies - bourbon was a necessity,
he assured himself as he tapped a nail against a bottle of Jim Beam - before he
buttoned down his little house and prepared to take to the skies for one last
patrol. The joints of his wings hummed with energy, a sure sign of the
impending storm. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so excited flying
in the snow that it made him shiver in anticipation. He left his sweater in the
cottage and took to the skies in only his jeans, heading north to check the
prairies before sweeping east to the shallow forest that thickened as it went
south. West of that was a number of hills where most of the wildlife could be
found. Everything was as it should be and he rushed back south to shoot between
the trees, just like he used to.

The wind was hot against his skin, burning his face as he went faster and
faster. First through the treetops, then lower, hitting thin branches just as
the snow began to fall. Thick, fat flakes swept by him, threatening to blind
him, but the exhilaration was worth the danger. Where the trees were thick
before vanishing into a huge clearing, Warren's
wings hit their first tree. It was thin enough for him to recover, yet he kept
crashing through more and more branches, eyes trying to blink out the snow that
pelted him mercilessly. Between the pines, he could see the clearing, so close.
Slowing down would have been the wiser choice, but it would have defeated the
purpose of flying at his quickest. Before he could reach the clearing, he began
angling toward the ground with every crash and bump that robbed him of speed.
His breaths were harsh, body aching as he milked his wings for more energy,
stronger beats - so close! He shot into the clearing with a triumphant shout
only to have it choked a moment later when he realized he was falling to the
ground anyway. His wings were tired and he couldn't gain enough momentum to go
up. It wasn't until he could see the blades of grass instead of a green and
white blanket that he realized that he couldn't raise his legs. A glance down
showed him why and that's all it took for his wings to stop beating altogether;
maybe his heart stopped as well.

Cursed Angels probably fell just as gracelessly.

Logan caught him before he could slump to the
ground, cradling him, just like he did the last time Warren remembered seeing him. His whole body
was weak, but it only required a little energy to reach up and wrap his arms
around Logan's
neck. Now he could feel the cold and shivered in his half naked state. Just
like before, the embrace was comforting and he would hold onto that as long as
he could, letting the shivers rack his body. He wanted to say something -
anything. All the way back to his home, he held his tongue, but so did Logan. Until the doorway,
that was. It was nearly two miles, but it might as well have been a few
seconds.

"This thing locked?"

Warren pulled away from Logan's shoulder, shifting his legs to stand
on his own. It would have been nice to have Logan carry him inside, like some fantastical
drama of crossing the threshold of his home in another man's arms. Logan never quite struck
him as the domestic type.

"No need," he answered, opening the door and walking in. "No one
comes out this way unless it's necessary; this park is a bit boring for
tourists. Only the wildlife keeps this place going."

Logan followed
closely, shutting the door once inside. "Why here?"

Why a one-room house in the middle of a park that had barely any useable roads
nearby let alone anything resembling population. Why a job that had little
future or real comfort invested into it. The answer was obvious to Warren. A shrug was all
he offered, however. "As much as people claim to be more accepting of
mutants, a lot aren't comfortable. It's a double fuck for those of us even more
different."

"The wings? I didn't think people would--"

"You're kidding, right?" Warren
laughed when Logan
merely regarded him curiously. "Fags were shunned enough before mutants
came along, and those of us who happen to be mutant and gay tend to get
shit from humans and mutants alike."

"Well," Logan
considered for a few seconds. "It's not like it shows on the surface and
if you're careful, people won't find out about it. You could still live among
the rest of the world."

Warren paused
in the process of folding his wings tightly against his body so a large blanket
could fit around his body. He wrapped up, pulling the blanket close to him hard
enough to hurt his back and wings, but it forced them to be barely noticeable
lumps just over his shoulders. "I used to try cutting off my wings when I
was a kid - that was my method of 'being careful so no one knows'. That didn't
quite work out." He fluttered his wings to illustrate.

"That's different," Logan
growled. "You didn't have a choice on tha-- nevermind." He looked
distinctly uncomfortable and Warren
had no comfort to offer.

"Tell me how it's different," he replied tiredly. "Some mutants
can live out their lives without anyone knowing how different they are and they
do it just to fit in. Is it right? Wrong? It matters only to them, so maybe
it's right for them and wrong to those who think we should be able to just be
able to say 'I'm mutant'. Jean once wrote--"

"Don't talk about her," Logan
cut in. His fists were bunched and he sat down, forcing them to open. For once,
Warren wondered
if he'd see those claws used on him and let the thought lazily slide away.

"Seven years ago she wrote about the identity crisis that hits mutants
when latent abilities begin to manifest. Powers that some flaunt and embrace;
abilities that are repressed just so the mutant can still fit into society.
It's not so different." Logan hadn't
interrupted again and Warren
pressed on, knowing his luck wasn't infinite. "When my father found out I
was a mutant..." The memory was still raw after so many years. Warren hated that, but it
couldn't be helped. "He said he could fix me in time. I would be his son
again."

"I've heard things like that a lot. Parents shouldn't make their kids feel
less than human even if they're not exactly human anymore."

"But that's my point," Warren
persisted. "There's no magical serum to 'fix' this either and even if
there was, I wouldn't want it. Others just might; you know how many mutants
took it hoping it would solve all their problems, and all it did was to
eventually remind them of just how different they really were when the effects
went away. But I wanted so badly to be his son again. I wanted my father to
just look at me the way he used to, not in disgust. I was ashamed to be a
mutant when I was a kid. Later I realized how much harder it would be on him to
know- that it was worse than just being mutant--" Warren hung his head. "I just can't go
back to that world again."

"Because of your father?"

It was laughable enough that Warren
did just that. "Because I'm not human and I'm not straight. In both
worlds, something collides and is shunned. Why would I want to be in a place
where I don't 'belong' to either side?"

Logan shook his
head. "Mutants can't be that unaccepting. That'd be... ironic."

"Before I got this job, I was attacked when I was living in the city. I
expected my attackers to be human and I would have accepted that because it's
their nature. Only one of them hit me with some kind of energy and that's when
I decided I wouldn't be part of that world anymore."

"Why? Why didn't you just come back then?"

"Do you remember telling me about Icarus?" Warren asked instead. He scooted into the
bedroom section of his little room and sat on the edge of the bed, continuing
when Logan
nodded. "I never got a chance to fly close to the sun to rob me of my
wings. My 'sun' had flown too close to a phoenix and drowned long before I got
to fly. He could have swum, but he didn't."

Logan shot upright and the sound of his claws
snapping out at ready should have frightened Warren, but it didn't. He let go of the
blanket, making his body a clear mark should Logan rush him. He could have softened his
words, or Logan
could have attacked. Neither moved.

"There was no going back," Warren
continued. "What might have been fixable was something neither of us could
do for the other. Misery might love company, but I'm greedy, too - I don't like
sharing mine."

"I am not the only person at that school you could have come
back to."

"No," Warren
sighed tiredly. "You were just the only one I would have wanted to come
back to." He got up, shaking off the blanket and making his way into the
kitchen area. Necessity, he mentally grinned as he poured liquor into two
tumblers, glad to have it, and returned the few steps into the living room. "It
was my choice on what to do with my life," he said, handing the glass
over. He shook his wings free of moisture and sat down across from Logan on a chair without
a back. "I don't regret my decisions, Logan. I have a good job and my home; freedom
to fly whenever I want to--" he tipped his glass and smiled - a real
smile. "Get to drink on the job."

"Are you happy?" Logan
regarded the contents of his glass, swirling the bourbon before taking a large
drink of it as he waited for an answer. Warren
watched, doing nothing to mask that he did. He nodded when their eyes met and
shook his head a moment later.

"Being happy isn't the point, really. I'm comfortable enough and I like a
lot of things in my life. I don't need anything else."

"You're alone."

"It's not such a bad thing, being alone. I'd often wondered how you
managed it, but it's really not that bad." Warren took a quick shot and exhaled with a
satisfied sigh. "How are things at the school these days? Are you still
there?"

"I'm there as often as I can be," Logan allowed after a few moments.
"Storm's doing a great job; sometimes I think she needs me there more to
shake things up than keep things settled. The kids that come through these
days--" Logan
laughed "--they're cockier than I remember your class being and that's
saying something."

His class; Warren
remembered classmates and many good times spent at the school with them, but he
didn't miss any of them enough to have kept contact with them. The news
reported a lot of mutant activity, yet none of that was enough for Warren to want to venture
back into 'that world' just to get news about the school.

"Logan."
Warren cleared
his throat, debated on drinking more and simply set his glass aside. "Why
did you come here?"

"What, a guy can't visit an old friend?"

"If the visit was only going to elicit hope for something that's never
going to happen, wouldn't a good friend have let their parting in peace remain
that way?"

Logan shook his
head. "A few years away and you're this jaded?" The glass he'd been
holding was set on the floor and he leaned back comfortably. "I miss
you," he said simply. "You weren't an easy man to find, but I found
you."

Ever the hunter.

I miss you, too, but I'm not on your doorstep either. "But why? Why
now?"

Logan got up and went to the front window. His arms crossed over his chest and
he watched the snow fall long enough that Warren wasn't sure he was going to
speak at all until Logan's low voice began, hesitant at first.

"There are a lot of things I don't remember and a lot that don't make
sense when I do." He turned around and leaned next to the window, a pose
that would have made a great portrait, Warren thought with an internal grin.
Even that was lost when Logan spoke again. "There were people I wronged
back there. People who ended up hurt because I couldn't be there for them.
People have died. I don't remember everything and maybe I won't." There
was less than twenty feet between Logan and Warren, eaten up when Logan walked
toward him, steps jerky as though each one required great effort. He fell to
his knees and picked up Warren's hands, staring at them instead of looking up.
"I don't know if I could be any good for anyone if I ever was to begin
with. I can't take the chance of hurting - of losing - someone like that again."

The difference in their ages struck Warren harshly. No one knew how old Logan
really was, least of all Logan. The man had a long life already, albeit mostly
stolen from his memories, but he still had residual feelings. He wondered who
had been in Logan's life before; he wondered what the man had been like as a
child.

"We call ourselves mutants, but we're still human by nature," he
replied. "None of us can save the world alone and in the pursuit of
harmony, people everywhere are going to be hurt or killed because of it. You
don't have to shove things aside or bury them, Logan, it won't prevent bad
things from happening. And you can't hide behind the dead when you still have a
future among the living."

Or maybe he could, but Warren didn't want to admit it.

"The living," Logan snorted. He sat cross legged on the floor,
pulling his hands free. Warren missed the hold as soon as it was gone.
"Good way of viewing the world, kid." Logan regarded his lap for a
few moments. "I don't remember having the problems you did when I tried
living among humans," he began. "For a quick fuck, most people don't
care about love or affection, it's just a good time. I was a careful man,
though. I wasn't going to wind up as anyone's daddy, and really, I didn't have
to worry about that with most of my lovers. At the same time, I never bothered
telling anyone I was a mutant - but that doesn't mean I was ashamed of who I
am."

"Then I wasn't just fantasizing," Warren uttered before he could
catch himself. He laughed when Logan simply nodded and shrugged.

"So tell me, kid - have you been 'saving yourself' this whole time?"
Logan's smile was off kilter, pained curiosity that couldn't be masked. Warren
regarded his hands for a few moments and shook his head.

"Of course not," he all but snorted. "Affection - infatuation -
doesn't mean I wouldn't appreciate a good fuck now and then."

"Often?"

Warren laughed. "Are you asking if I'm a slut in so many words?" He
waved away any protest when Logan opened his mouth and concentrated on the
patch of frayed carpet at the man's feet. "I'm experienced enough,"
he said at last. "There's a certain appeal to 'fucking an angel' that's
helped at times. I wouldn't say anyone's ever called me the love of their life,
but that's just as well."

"All these years, you still haven't given up." The phone in Logan's
pocket beeped and he got up to pull it out of his jeans. Warren stood as well,
backtracking till he was next to his little bed. He took the box of feathers
and returned to Logan to hand it over. When he'd first started collecting them,
he was sure he'd never give them away out of sheer embarrassment, but they left
his hands easily enough. Logan opened it and chuckled. The box went under his
arm and he headed for the door. "Would you still think it out of line if I
said I'd like to keep in touch?"

Warren sat back on his chair, arms crossed over his chest with nothing to hold
onto. His wings wrapped around his shoulders and he shrugged. "I think I
could like that." Nevertheless, when Logan walked out the door, he didn't
look up.

Time, time, that odd and inconsistent friend; Warren spent most of it on his
rounds. Bales of hay had to be delivered to animals in higher areas to
supplement the sparse vegetation. He cleared out fallen trees that impeded
natural trails to water and even shored up little bridges that had been created
before. It was hard labor, but ultimately satisfying by the time he returned
home exhausted. The somewhat wiry boy that had first left his father filled out
into quite a strong man. Warren appreciated the muscles he developed over time.
The work had increased the stamina in his wings that he could tell how much
more able they were to withstand longer flights or carry heavier loads. In the
year and a half since Logan's visit, the man hadn't contacted him, but Warren
was unperturbed. Time measured funny for Logan and him by extension. However
long Logan had already lived, a year and a half might as well be a drop in the
bucket.

Warren had been on a high flight sweep over the section of forest closest to
civilization. It was a place known for humans to gather for parties and while
he didn't always interrupt them or send them away, he had long pressed on the
need to clean up there and had even put in a few trash cans to help. It was
also the only useable road for most vehicles into the park and how most of his
perishable supplies were delivered. He caught sight of the truck meandering up
the trail and dove downward in the hopes of verifying any trash was out of
sight before it arrived. It was clear enough and he made his way to the small
parking area, glad that his mind had remembered to bring cash when he found it
in his pocket.

"Warren!" Stan alighted from the truck, clad in his customary worn
jeans and plaid shirt under a battered denim jacket. He gave a brief wave and
started to get out of the truck to unpack two weeks worth of supplies. Warren
waved in return, his arm frozen in the air when he saw someone else in the
passenger seat. Similarly dressed in slightly newer clothes was Logan. Stan chuckled
and gestured for Warren to follow. "Got everything on your list today,
young man. Your friend up there sprang for the bourbon; don't worry, I won't be
telling anyone else about that."

"About--" Warren's eyes widened at the four bottles staring back at
him in one box. "Oh. Thanks, Stan, I appreciate it." He watched Logan
get out of the truck and merely stand by it with a crooked smile on his face.
Meanwhile, Stan readied the two larger crates side by side with a number of
smaller bags atop them. Rope wound around the whole assembly and that went
around Warren's chest and waist with short lengths.

"You can handle all that?" Logan asked curiously, as if their last
meeting had been but a day before.

Warren slid a pack over his shoulders, one designed to ride low on his back to
allow for his wings. He regarded Logan smugly for a moment. "Yeah, I can.
A whole lot more, too, if I need to."

Stan chuckled and clapped Warren on the back. "When I first met Warren
here, he had to make three trips to carry everything. He's grown up so
much." The pride resident there nearly made Warren blush. He handed the
money over and prepared to take flight. Logan grasped the box with his bourbon
in it and glanced in the direction of the cabinet.

"I'd race you there if I thought you had a chance," he challenged,
striking off toward Warren's house. Warren laughed, wings spread and at ready.

"Two weeks, Stan?"

Stan nodded. "I'll be here checking mail in the afternoon."

Warren caught sight of Logan starting into a slow lope that built toward a
strong run. He had no real idea how heavy the box was, save for the bourbon,
but it was enough to slow Logan down a bit. He waited until Stan had started to
drive away before his wings spread, shaking out to their fullest length. They beat
strongly, kicking up dust from the ground. Within seconds, his feet left the
ground and he began moving upward. The initial part of the flight was always
the slowest and hardest with any extra weight. Once he struck off toward home,
however, the beat of his wings evened out and his flight was slower than
normal, but steady.

In the forest beneath him, he lost sight of Logan, but he knew the great
Wolverine would prefer stealth over a direct route. Warren entered the large
clearing between the forest and his house and kept a steady pace, trying not to
push his wings too much, yet wanting to beat Logan home, too. In nearly seven
years - eight months, three weeks and change - he'd only seen the man twice,
yet he still felt as strongly for him at that moment as he had as a young man
of seventeen. He didn't know why Logan had come back. It was good to see him,
yet it didn't give him that sense of despair that Logan was going to leave
anyway. After so long, he wondered if he was finally falling out of love. In a
way, it pained him that it should be so and that he'd truly be alone rather
than have that small part of him that was ever pining for a man he could never
have. I love you, but I won't miss you. The thought felt real enough and
it was confusing.

At the house, he landed in front of the porch, letting the momentum of the drop
slide the boxes near the door. The rope was undone and tossed aside, the pack
pulled free to rest atop the others. His wings shuddered under the exertion
afforded them and he swayed for a moment before sinking to the porch to rest.
Although his wings had done the bulk of the work, his whole body trembled from
the effort.

"Strong or not, you shouldn't push yourself so hard."

Warren laughed darkly. "How long have you been here?"

"Just a minute or two." Without another word, Logan opened the door
and began taking the supplies inside. Warren got up when Logan came out to help
out, grudgingly accepting two smaller bags in lieu of the crate he'd flown
with. Inside, Logan had things spread out in organized sections of fruit,
meats, breads and the few canned goods amidst the food. "I don't know
where everything goes," he admitted, "though were I to put everything
away, it's doubtful you'd know where everything went."

"Most everything's in the fridge. Dried fruits in the cupboards and all
the frozen stuff is in the freezer out back." Warren shrugged. "Nice
and simple."

"Simple," Logan echoed in a low tone. "Is there such a
thing?"

Puzzled, Warren started to turn around, halted when Logan's arms went around
his waist. He felt lips against his shoulder, just above a wing that fluttered
at the imbalance of his body. Fingertips wormed up his belly to his chest to
pinch against one nipple, then the other.

"Logan," he groaned, feeling nerves alight from their dormant state.
He arched his back, ass pressed against Logan's crotch that sported a bulge he
could feel through both their jeans. A particularly hard pinch to his right
nipple made him gasp, body flush with heat that spread throughout his body. He
reached up to grasp the hand, fumbled to find the other and couldn't. It
surprised him a moment later by squeezing his crotch. He grabbed the wrist to
that hand but didn't pull either away. "Logan, wha--"

"You've waited a long time - I've waited a long time. I don't wanna wait
anymore, but I will if you say 'no'."

The mouth at his back parted and Logan's tongue touched the base of his wing, a
particularly sensitive spot with enough nerves that sent a harsh shiver down
his spine. His senses were overwhelmed and his emotions were in turmoil,
neither of which helped him think very clearly. He had a few moments to
contemplate all the 'what about' and 'what if' scenarios that they clicked by
his mind for barely an acknowledgement.

What about Jean

What about the past

What if I don't love you anymore

What happens if you leave me after this

He didn't mean to cry out when he did, body taut against Logan's, straining
with need and desire. Pulsed stronger throughout both was the simple fact that
he still loved Logan. He couldn't turn his back on that no matter what. In the
moment of indecision, his decision was made on that, a hope for the future, and
if there was to be nothing, resolution that this would be enough.

"Yes-- please--"

Logan's arms dropped away and Warren slid to his knees. He didn't look back to
see Logan shedding his clothes while he knelt in the kitchen area. A glance
toward his bed showed it'd take a bit of effort to get that far, but he started
crawling in that direction, jeans tightening against his crotch every time his
legs shifted. He'd only gone a few feet before Logan dropped down behind him,
rough hands sliding over his waist. Warren struggled, but only minutely so; he
wanted to be taken down, hunted and claimed. His legs moved quicker, scrambling
for the bed while Logan attacked his belt buckle, popping it open in a few deft
moves. He was good at it, Warren smiled. Logan pulled his pants down by the
legs and it gave Warren a good head start toward the bed, scrambling out of
them, knowing full well his escape attempt was like fluttering prey for his
predator. Teeth sank into the firm flesh at the top of his shoulder a few
seconds later, causing him to whimper wetly at the mix of pain and pleasure.
Logan's thumbs pried him open and paused, letting a sliver of reality into
their otherwise mindless act.

"Bathroom," Warren gasped. "Cabinet next to the sink."

Like a phantom, Logan was gone and Warren shuddered on the floor. His knees
moved first and he crawled toward the bed again. He didn't hear Logan's return.
There were only oiled fingers slid roughly into the crevice of his ass and a
harsh grunt when they started the slide within. Warren's whimper was low in
tone, high in pitch. His elbows rested against the unmade bed and the position gave
him the leverage to rock back into the fingers twisting their way deeper. His
wings shivered, fluttered to beat uselessly against the air.

"You should keep this closer to the bed," Logan growled, resuming his
previous position. Warren didn't bother explaining the need for it that close
to the shower at times when it was easier to jerk off before getting into a
cold shower to quench the embers that might still remain.

"If you want, I will," he challenged. An amused chuff was his only
reply, but it was enough to let Warren hope that much more. He spread his wings
wide, an unconscious urge to show his plumage, perhaps. The fingers of Logan's
other hand probed, found a loose feather and jerked it free. The minute pain
made Warren cry out softly, nerves raw and body taut. He hadn't realized Logan
was already sliding into him until the pressure became almost painful. A pause
let him adjust - let him appreciate Logan's girth - before it slid in
deeper. Warren's fingers became claws, pulling and tearing at the sheets. His
back arched and he pushed back until Logan could go no deeper. Joined - truly
joined - one against the other, something he'd waited so long for and now that
it was his, he didn't know what he really wanted to do. Logan, however, already
knew, hands against Warren's waist to shove them apart only to drive them
together again.

How long, Warren wondered dimly, had it been since last he had a man inside
him? Four years? Five? Long enough that he needed to be fucked like a man
without love tainting it. As Logan's thrusts became rougher, it was obvious it
was the same for him. Pain and pleasure mixed, swept Warren up in their
conflicting sensations until there was only need and desire and lust. Cock
hard, he pumped against it with one hand, bracing himself with the other. His
knees sang in pain and every joint in his body chorused it. The final rush of
misfired nerves made his body tense, inexorably tightening against the invader
that impaled it. The added pressure slowed Logan's thrusts, made each one that
much more urgent. A low cry sounded quiet at first, spiking in something loud
that bled to a hoarse sigh. Heat swept down Warren's body, ending at his hand
and cock where his seed spurted over his fingers. Still, Logan didn't slow
until Warren was spent. In a final slide that shoved them both against the bed,
he filled Warren, pinned him to take it all. It awakened the dying orgasm into
something less severe, yet not less painful. If a noise could have made it
through his clenched teeth, it would have been a miracle.

When it was over, Warren's wings tried to fold up, hindered when Logan leaned
over his back, mouth nuzzling against the bite mark he'd left. The gesture was
tender, coupled with the loose embrace while their bodies recovered enough to
move sparked the memory of affection. Warren opened his eyes to see the sheets
tight in one hand, fingertips white from the pressure. Logan's hand was gone
from his waist, entering his vision to slide over his. His fingers parted to
let them loosely intertwine and made some small noise of appreciation when
Logan's tightened.

"I don't know what I can say--"

"Don't say anything then," Warren whispered. "When you do know,
then say it."

"I left everything behind to leave it behind. I'm not going back; unless they
need me. You know?"

"Yeah," Warren smiled. Here to stay, he thought in wonderment. It
wasn't real. Ah, but the man against his back was real, the cock still inside
him real, and the feel of a mouth kissing his cheek was real. "Welcome
home."

How long they knelt on the floor before grudgingly getting up to shower was
lost to Warren. How many days had passed before he demanded Logan go buy new
clothes was hazy. His feathers were returned, box hidden under the supply of
bourbon, only thereafter they both collected the feathers for a purpose that
eluded both. The weeks that went by were a careful balance between work and
being hunted in the wide, wide park to a predator he'd captured with the
patience of years. On a Christmas when he regarded the man across from him as
if taking him in for the first time, he forgot how much time it had been. Time
still measured funny for Logan and by extension, measured funny for him as
well.

*just because it comes from the mind of a wacko, doesn't necessarily mean it's
insane*
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A Measurement of Time