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In the Beginning ...	By : KerwinLS Category: X-Men: (All Movies) > Slash - Male/Male > Logan/Kurt Views: 1298 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men, nor do I own the characters from it. I make no money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter One: IN THE BEGINNING . . .

The town described in this story is a real place, and everything (with the exception of mutants) in the story is really there. I lived in Provincetown many years ago and I just recently went back to visit. I have included links to many of the places and things mentioned in the story, in case you’re curious.
This is the prequel to my very long Movieverse story arc. Links to my other stories are at the end.

How did Logan and I first get together? Vell, do you vant the short version or the long one? I must varn you that the long version is very long indeed.

All right, if you are sure you vish to hear all the details, I vill be glad to tell you about it. I have nothing else I must do for a couple of hours anyvay, since I do not need to teach my next class until 4 o’clock this afternoon.

I vill have to give you a fairly detailed recap of the events that led to my meeting Logan in the first place, not to mention vhy I stayed in this country so long after the much-publicized happenings at Alkali Lake, so please bear vith me. You may know some of this, but I doubt that you know all of it. Very few people do.

It all began about 4 and a half years ago. The first time I saw Logan was when William Stryker tried to start a government campaign against mutants by drugging me and forcing me to attempt to assassinate the United States president. As you doubtless know, that plan did not succeed and in the end, the X-Men were able to destroy his secret facility and discredit him completely.

I was in the Blackbird, having been previously picked up by Storm and Jean, when we landed again in Boston to pick up Logan and the others at Bobby Drake’s house. The moment I saw Logan, I knew there was something interesting about him. Much to my subsequent embarrassment, I tried to impress him by telling him I was known as the Incredible Nightcrawler in the Munich Circus. He was not the least bit impressed. In fact, he was downright rude.

However, I did gain some favor in his eyes after my daring rescue of Rogue, when the missile hit our jet. It may sound like a fairly easy thing to do, but I had never before attempted to catch someone in mid-air and bring them back to an airplane in flight, and I did not know for certain that it would work. Do not ask me why I thought she would be safer in a plane that was on a collision course with the ground at the time. It just seemed right somehow for us all to be together.

After that, things moved along very quickly. I could not help but notice Logan’s feelings for Jean while we were all camped together with Magneto and Mystique. She seemed to be a very admirable woman, so I could not blame him for being attracted to her, even though she was already involved with Scott.

For the rest of that adventure, I did not see too much of Logan, except when he led us to the exit of the power plant. However, I did get closer to Storm during that time. I could almost have fallen in love with her, had things gone differently. She is very beautiful and very brave, a combination I cannot help but admire.

Then Jean died getting the plane off the ground. I tried to rescue her, but she somehow prevented me from teleporting, to my shock and surprise.

I remember Logan holding on to Scott, making him realize that Jean was dead and there was nothing more he could do about it. I can still see the look of despair on his face, when Scott began crying on his shoulder, and yet he repeated “She is gone” several times more, as if he still needed to convince himself that it was true. I wanted to hold him and comfort him, as he was attempting to do for Scott, but, of course, that was not my place. The best I could do was recite parts of the Twenty-Third Psalm, hoping it would provide solace to the others in this unhappy situation.

After Alkali Lake, I remained at the Mansion for nearly a month, debating what I should do next.   Everything seemed awkward. Despite the presence of many other mutants, I felt as if I did not truly belong. I know that I am a misfit even among misfits, due to my appearance, but I could so clearly recall how much at home I had felt in the circus, where I was simply one of many other unusual people. Although the X-Men and their students tried very hard to make me feel welcome, especially after Professor Xavier invited me to stay on at the School, it did not feel quite right. Maybe everyone was still in shock over Jean’s death.

I saw Logan on and off during that month, but we both seemed uncomfortable around each other. I tried to get to know him better, but although we were outwardly friendly, there was nevertheless something vaguely unsettling between us. I think he was mourning for Jean during that time, but he did not want anyone else to realize how deeply he had been hurt. Often I would see him standing in front of her monument, usually in the evening when few other people were around.

I wasn’t exactly spying on him, but let us say I was very sensitive to his presence, noticing him whenever he came into view in a way I did not notice others. I suppose at some level I knew I found him sexually attractive, however, as a good Catholic, I was not looking for such a thing. Yes, I had fallen from grace numerous times over the years, but never with a man. Having been exposed to far too much and too many kinds of sex in my childhood, I had long ago decided I wanted nothing that would remind me of that time in my life. Indeed, until fairly recently, I have tried very hard not to even remember it, much less think about it.

As the month drew to an end, I felt I must get away from the School for a time, in order to think things through. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go back to Germany, or stay here. I decided the first thing to do would be to travel around and learn more about this country, before I made up my mind.

I told Professor Xavier about my decision. The rest of the X-Men wished me well, though I got the feeling from Storm that she might be concerned about the wisdom of my choice, given the circumstances. Admittedly, my feelings were mixed.
On the day I left, Logan was off somewhere doing something on his own, as he often does. I was just as glad that I didn’t have to say good-bye to him also.
Slowly, a bit at a time, I made my way from the East coast to the West. I had some money saved up from my successful career with the circus, but not enough to keep me going forever. Since I had neither driver’s license nor car, and I could not just board a plane or bus without creating a sensation, I chose instead to travel by train, in my own way. It was easy enough to teleport into empty boxcars on freight trains as long as the door was open and I could see where I was going, even if the train was moving quite fast. If there were no open doors, I could always just teleport onto the top of any of the cars and hang on there, if I really needed the ride.
To this day, I feel a burst of nostalgia whenever I see or hear a freight train rolling by. The sound of that lonely whistle always brings me a bittersweet pang of memory.
This sort of travel was also very cheap, and a good way to see the countryside. If I wanted to stop somewhere and look around, I could always do that, albeit often only late at night, when no one would notice my presence. Stores that were closed for the night provided an abundant source of food. I was careful to leave the correct amount of money on the counter, so it was not exactly stealing, although I may not have always gotten the taxes exactly right.
I kept in touch with Storm and the School via a cell phone. Storm had suggested one called a Jitterbug, which had larger keys that worked better with my fingers, but I still often had to use the point of my tail to avoid hitting too many keys at once. Now and then, Professor Xavier would check on me telepathically, but that contact abruptly stopped partway into my trip. Storm later told me what had happened, and it saddened me very much to know he was dead. And not only that, but dead by Jean’s hand. That was the first I knew about Jean being somehow alive again, but having rejected the X-Men and joined Magneto’s band of mutants. I didn’t know all the details, but I knew it was not good.
I had time to consider many things during my travels. Would I fit in with the X-Men? It had felt wonderful sitting on the mantel in the President’s office and realizing that my actions had had an impact on the world. Being an X-Man could allow me to do that again. Or perhaps teaching at Professor Xavier’s School would be a rewarding vocation, if I preferred not to face the violence surrounding the X-Men?
Then again, I could go back to Germany and try to join another circus, now that the original deal in the USA had fallen through. I recalled wistfully my life as a performer, and the way the others had accepted me as one of them. But now that mutants were becoming more generally recognized for what they were, could I really last much longer as an attraction? I doubted it. I was too well-known to the general public for trying to assassinate the American President.
During my travels, I heard about the mutant cure that had been developed, which started my thoughts along entirely new lines. Would it work for me, and even if it did, would I really want it? What would I look like? Normal, or just lose my ability to teleport? What could I do if I were just a normal person?
As you can imagine, all this had my mind in turmoil. And that was without even adding my thoughts about Logan into the mix.
However, during my trip, I saw lots of gorgeous scenery and came to realize at a visceral level just how big this country truly is, compared to Germany, or all of Europe, for that matter.
I also saw the poorer sides of many towns and cities, as railroad tracks do not usually run through the wealthy part of town. That was eye-opening in itself.
I saw many things, and even occasionally met some interesting people who were also wandering around and catching rides on trains as I was. I had reached the West Coast and was following the railroad lines around California when Storm called and told me the X-Men were on their way to Alcatraz Island because of what Magneto was doing. She said they were in dire need of all the help they could get, if I might be willing to join them. Despite all the questions I still had, I did not hesitate to tell her I would be there as soon as possible.
It did not take me long, as I was just outside San Francisco when I heard from her.

As it happened, I arrived before the X-Men did, just in time to see Magneto moving part of the Golden Gate Bridge to Alcatraz Island. As soon as it had settled into its new location, I ‘ported out onto the bridge, staying well behind Magneto’s mob of assorted mutants. I found many people trapped in wrecked cars, some of whom were injured. The best I could do was to get them out of the cars using my teleportation skills, in order that they could get as far away from the battle as possible. Some of the people I rescued were more terrified of me than they were of their situation, but that didn’t matter, as I didn’t give them enough time to even think about resisting my help.

It wasn’t long before the X-Men appeared on the scene, fighting with Magneto’s forces in the open courtyard in front of the main prison building. I caught a glimpse of Logan at the forefront of the battle, as usual. I would have gone to help them, but Magneto began tossing cars around, with Pyro setting them on fire on the way. Since no one seemed to care whether any of those cars still had people inside them, I moved closer to the action, seeking to save the ones in the most immediate danger. The majority of the cars were empty, but I did have one close call when I ‘ported into a car to rescue an elderly couple. The car began to lift into the air as soon as I got in, but I took them out at least 3 seconds before it was ignited, so no harm was done.

The car tossing ended soon after that, and a dense fog rose up rapidly from the surrounding water, its sudden appearance a sure sign that it had been Storm’s handiwork.

From where I was crouching behind a car, I could see Jean standing on the end of the bridge. For a moment, it appeared as if the fighting might be over, but then a troop of heavily armed soldiers ran past me, heading for the island.

As soon as Jean noticed the soldiers, all hell broke loose, as she attacked them with all the awesome power that was hers. The top floor of the prison building collapsed, with debris flying everywhere. She rose into the air, moving off the bridge to land on top of a pile of cars and assorted other wreckage.

No sooner had she landed than walls of water rose around the island. Even as the water engulfed me, I caught a glimpse of soldiers being vaporized and dissolving into thin air.

Instantly, I ‘ported out of the rising waves of water, intending to land on top of the prison building, hoping it was still there. It was, but a few feet lower than I had figured, so I landed hard on the rubble. A sharp pain ran up my tail, but I ignored it in favor of getting myself into a place where I could look over the fragmented walls of the building and see what was happening in the battle.

Partly across the courtyard, I saw Jean below me, an aura of flames surrounding her head and upper body, a look on her face that was terrible to behold even at a distance. It was as if she was possessed by something. The Jean I knew would never have casually slaughtered all those people. Since I can blend into shadows and dark places with relative ease, at least I was at little risk of being spotted.

Fires burned everywhere. Rubble flew around as if in the midst of a tornado. Wind roared in my ears, threatening to displace me from my perch, but I held fast, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Anyone still alive was fleeing onto the bridge, often with an X-Man leading them to safety.

Only one man still stood. Above the surrounding tumult, I heard Logan shout, “Jean! I know you’re still there!!”

As he staggered toward her, waves of energy seemed to flow outwards from her body, engulfing him in a fierce blast of heat and radiation. I could feel the edges of that blast on my face, but could not tear my stinging eyes from the scene. I was frantic to do something, but there was nothing I could do against such an outburst of raw power.

His leather uniform burned away, then his flesh, exposing the shine of his adamantium-laced bones in brief patches, as his skin repeatedly healed and was as quickly destroyed. I willed him to stop before he took so much damage that even he could not survive. I was tempted to try ‘porting down and taking him away, but I knew that was not what he would have wanted.

And still he came on, struggling up onto the wreckage where she stood. Finally, he confronted Jean directly.

I was not close enough to hear what they said to each other, and yet somehow I heard it in my mind, as if I had been caught at the edge of a telepathic bond that had formed between them. Yet it was more than just words, it was feelings also. Logan’s love for her and his fierce determination not to fail her. A faint echo of the incredible agony he was enduring just to stand before her.

“You would die for them?” she demanded harshly, fixing her awful eyes on him.

“No. Not for them. For you,” came the tortured answer, as if drawn from his very soul. He hesitated, struggling to hold his ground, then repeated, “For you.”

His love for Jean washed over me also as he fed her his hopes and his dreams. All the things he had learned from her and all he wanted to give back to her in turn, but knew he would never get a chance.

Around all that, I felt her struggle against the inexorable force that held and used her, blaming herself for letting it take over her body, her innermost self screaming in desperation to be freed, no matter what the cost, before she could do even more damage to the world. Or to the man she loved. And yet, she must hurt him more cruelly than ever, in order to stop the monster that she had unleashed.

“Save me,” she begged.

I knew what she was asking, and so did Logan. What I did not know was whether he would have the strength and courage to grant her request. He looked ready to cry. They stared at each other for a couple of seconds.

Then I heard him say hopelessly, “I love you,” just before he ran his claws through her body, and caught her as she collapsed.

Peace swept over me as Jean died, combined with Logan’s overwhelming grief at what he had had to do in order to grant her last request. Then the telepathic bond was shattered. The tornado of rubbish slowed its circling, and the wall of water began to collapse.

By the time Logan screamed, “Nooooo!” it was quiet enough for me to hear his voice with nothing more than my ears.

Tears ran from my burning eyes for his despair, and for the loss of a wonderful woman who had clearly been overcome by something that no human could control, and yet had vanquished it in the end. I sobbed uncontrollably, partly from the aftermath of the telepathic emotions I had felt, but mostly from my own grief.

All around the island, the water cascaded back into the bay. Bits of wreckage abruptly fell to the ground. I was about to ‘port down to Logan. I never saw the chunk of wood that landed on top of me, knocking me unconscious.

I found out later on that Storm had found me while searching for casualties and brought me to the Blackbird. I didn’t come to for an hour or so, and by then I was safely in the infirmary at the Mansion.

Other than a hideous headache and a very unfamiliar feeling of dizziness and lack of balance that lasted for several days as a result of concussion, I was in pretty good condition, with nothing more than cuts and bruises and a sprained tail, although my face felt as if I had been severely sunburned by whatever sort of energy Jean had been using. The CT scan showed no major brain damage, but they kept me on bed rest until the symptoms went away. At first, I had trouble pulling up any memory of what had happened just prior to my injury, but it returned slowly as I recovered, so I was able to give an account of my involvement in the battle. However, I still hadn’t made up my mind about what I planned to do next.

On the last night I was to remain in the infirmary, I was having a dream about flying, with Storm pressed close against me, carrying us joyously through the sky. Mostly we were in the clear blue areas between white and puffy clouds, but suddenly she darted into one of those clouds and we were wrapped in soft cocoons of cotton. (Of course, I know perfectly well that clouds are not cotton and flying through them is like flying through thick fog, but this was, after all, merely a dream.)
Inside this cloud, she glanced over at me, her eyes pure white. I knew my own eyes were glowing golden, as they do in times of excitement and arousal. She smiled and winked at me. Our clothing disappeared. Strong and shapely legs wrapped around my waist as she settled her warm wetness down onto my stiff penis and—
I awoke with a jarring moment of startlement, but also with an aching erection. So I did as I normally do in such circumstances, and took matters into my own hand. As I stroked my stiff cock, I recalled moments from that sweet dream of delight. However, I found those moments mingling with flashes of Logan’s body, naked, bleeding, scoured by Jean’s awesome power, skin burning down to shiny bone, then regenerating almost as rapidly as it had disappeared. His uniform was gone entirely, and even his genitals were caught in that same agonizing equilibrium between destruction and regeneration.
And I responded to both images, male and female. I worked my cock faster and faster, turning my moans of pleasure into stifled gasps.
And then I heard a small noise inside the room. My eyes flashed open and I stopped what I was doing, instantly alert to possible danger as I heard the chair in the corner squeak as it did when someone sat down or stood up, and I saw who was there.
“Logan?” I exclaimed softly, as he stepped out of the shadows and approached the side of my bed.
“Don’t let me interfere with what you’re doing,” he replied in a strange tone of voice.

“Uh – Vas?”
“Hey, it’s not like we aren’t both men. Ya think you’re the only one who jerks himself off now and then?” There was an intent look on his face, mingled with what might equally well have been embarrassment or desire.
Tentatively, I squeezed my cock. Yes, it was still very interested in what I had been doing before we were so rudely interrupted. In fact, it was still almost ready to let go.
Logan smiled. “Mind if I join you?” he asked, unfastening his belt and pulling his jeans down over his hips.
At that point, I would have willingly had him leap into bed on top of me and fuck my brains out, but he was apparently not quite willing to go to that extreme, only working his engorged penis out of his pants and grasping it with his hand, stroking himself just as I was now doing.

I could not take my eyes off of that cock. Not that it was all that extraordinary, except maybe in girth.   Even with it fully erect, I could see that, like me, he was not circumcised, since he was able to slide his foreskin partly over the glans as he worked his hand back and forth.

Then I thought of how that cock would feel inside me, and I came hard, my semen spurting onto my abdomen, my eyes still fastened to his penis like a dog on a bone.
“Oh, fuck,” he gasped slowly, watching me. I reached for the box of tissues next to the bed, but he blocked my hand with no explanation beyond a quiet, “Leave it there. Please.”
In another moment, he ejaculated also, holding his pumping cock so that the fluid fell onto my belly and merged with my own.
For a brief time, we both stared at what we had done. I had no idea what to say, but I had recovered my sanity long enough to wonder what he was feeling: satisfaction or disgust?
By now, I had let go of my own penis, so the small scars that ran down the top surface of the shaft were no longer covered by my hand. Logan had to have noticed that, but, unlike many others, he did not ask about them.
Instead, a strange sort of shit-eating grin spread over his face. “Makes a pretty picture like that, what with the splatters of white against your blue skin and those scars on your belly, don’t it?”

With that, Logan pulled up his jeans and left the room.

I did not clean our cum off my body until morning. In fact, I added more to the design before I could fall asleep, and this time the images in my head were all of Logan.
After that, there was the usual dithering around over what had happened. Was it a fluke? Something he wanted? Just a case of being swept along in the heat of the moment? Does he want it to continue or was he just horny? Having a reaction to Jean’s death? Just felt like jerking off or hoping for a reason to find an opening with me? Casual sex, or did he take it seriously? A beginning of something, or nothing of any significance at all?

And what exactly had he been doing in my room in the first place?

After I got out of the infirmary, I was given one of the guest rooms at the School. I tried to tell myself what had happened with Logan had been an aberration. He was probably still trying to recover from killing the woman he loved, so he just wasn’t thinking straight. However, that wouldn’t explain his presence in my room that night. Of course, I did not know him very well back then, so I was basically trying to reason in a vacuum.

As for me, I had to admit I was attracted to him and had been from the first moment we had met, but what did that mean, if it meant anything at all? I have found many people attractive over the years, both male and female, but it has very seldom led to anything, since my conscience generally squelched such feelings before they could become actions. I had long ago settled on masturbation as the least of all possible sexual sins. Given my appearance, perhaps that was for the best.

As for Logan, did he even consider sex with men? Virtually all I knew about him was that he had loved a woman and lost her in the worst way possible.

And yet – and yet—my eyes followed him around whenever he was in sight and I could not get enough of watching him. However, if our eyes met, we both quickly looked away. Revulsion? Or attraction, which neither of us dared to acknowledge?

After a week of this, I had had enough. Time to take the bull by the tail – or is it by the horns? I cannot remember. American idioms have always confounded me, even though I have been in this country for some years now and I knew basic English even before that. I suppose I could even get rid of my accent if I tried hard, but I do not want to. It marks me for what I am: a foreigner in this country. In a world where I must often hide my true appearance, I do not wish to hide anything else any more than I must.
But let us get back to Logan. I had noticed that he was not usually to be found in the midst of a group of people, but rather off by himself. It was late afternoon before I got up the nerve to act. I sought out an opportunity to find him and speak to him in private. I was not sure what I wanted to say, but I needed to get to know him better, one way or another.
Not finding him anywhere inside the Mansion, I went outside to stroll around the grounds and think things over, only to discover Logan standing by himself in front of Jean’s Memorial.
For a time, I just watched from a distance, enjoying the fresh air that had finally become warm with the approach of early summer. He did nothing but stand there, looking anguished. His lips moved as if he were praying, or perhaps talking to the dead woman.
Slowly, I wandered over in his direction, hoping to make it appear we had just met by accident.
Without turning around, he said, “Kurt, I know you’re there. Come on over. It’s all right.”
“How could you tell?”

“I can smell ya a mile away.”
I made a face of astonished shock. “I smell that bad?”
“Nah. I can recognize most folks just by their normal scent. The distance varies according to the wind direction. I’ve got a nose like a bloodhound. One of my mutant talents.”

"Oh."
For too long a time, we stood there in silence staring at the monument together. Finally, I ventured a remark. “I did not know her very vell, but Jean vas surely a remarkable voman.”

Logan sighed heavily, then turned to face me. “You’re here because of what happened that night in the infirmary, aren’t you?”

“Ja. I vish to know vhy you vere there, sitting in the darkness vhile I slept.”

“Is that all?”

“Vell, as you said, ve are both men and –”

He cut me off before I could finish. “Let’s stick to the original question, OK? Storm told me you saw what happened at Alcatraz, when I killed Jean. I just wanted to ask you something about that, but you were asleep, so I figured I’d wait for you to wake up. Then, when you did, you –”

This time, I cut him off. “Vhat vas it that you vished to ask me?”

“I’ve been playin’ that scene over and over in my head, wondering if I interpreted things wrong, that maybe she didn’t really want me to kill her and I –”

He choked up and turned away, clearly trying to get himself under control. “What if I hadn’t –”

“Do not even think it. You had no other choice, and she knew vhat she vas asking vhen she begged you to save her.”

“How can you be so sure?”

It was several months later when I felt comfortable telling him that I had been an involuntary eavesdropper on their telepathic contact, so I tried to come up with a more neutral reason. “Jean vas a brave voman, who vould give her life for others, if necessary. She already proved that, at Alkali Lake. Vhy should it be different at Alcatraz, vhen the stakes vere even higher?”

“You’re probably right. I just can’t feel it,” he said wretchedly, “Oh, Jean, forgive me! I’ve failed you twice, once at Alkali Lake and now again! What’s wrong with me, that I can never save the ones I truly love?!”

Despite the grief in his voice, his face as I could see it in profile was set in an expression of concentrated anger. Another man in these circumstances might have been fighting tears, but not this man.

At a loss as to what to do, I tried consoling him with words. “You did save her, in the only way that vas possible. There vas nothing more you could have done.”

“This is what happens to all the people that I care about,” he went on, staring with narrowed eyes at the monument. “They all die. I see them in my dreams. Faces. Women, and sometimes men. I don’t even remember who they all are, but I know I cared about them and they’re dead.”

The only indication of the hurt he was keeping inside was the blood dripping from his hands, as the tips of his claws pierced his skin. I guessed that happened at times when he felt something very deeply, although I was far from being sure of that. Maybe the rage he was showing was the real cause. Either way, I desperately wanted to do something to ease his pain.

“How many times have you saved lives?” I asked, laying a tentative hand on his shoulder. “How many people are alive now because of you?”

“Not enough! Never enough!” came the fierce reply. But he did not push my hand away.

I could not help it. His despair cried out for something more than words. Sliding my hand around to his other shoulder, I held him lightly against my side. “You are not God, Logan. You cannot save everyone. You are very strong and your claws make you even more deadly, but you vill not alvays vin. No one alvays vins, in this life.”

I do not know how long we stood there together, but eventually he pulled his claws back and shook his head, like an animal throwing something off its neck. I took that as a cue to remove my arm from his shoulder.

“Oh shit! I’m sorry, Kurt. I didn’t mean to do that.”

“It is all right, mein Freund. Really.”

He ran his hands through his unruly hair. Then he took in a deep breath, and exhaled. “At least I got the answer to that question I wanted to ask you. I guess I just needed to hear it from a more objective observer.”

“Ja. That can mean a lot sometimes. I am glad I could help.” I looked around in the gathering dusk. “It is almost suppertime. Vill you come inside vith me?”

“No. I need to stay here a little longer and pull myself together. You go ahead, OK?”

I nodded, recognizing his desire to be alone. I left him standing there, outlined by the setting sun.

The next morning, I was eating a late breakfast in the cafeteria when Logan appeared beside me and sat down.

“‘Morning, Kurt. Sorry if I startled you.”

“For a man your size and veight, you can move very quietly.”

“Lots of practice, that’s all.”

“How do you like the food here?” he asked, as we ate.

“Vell, the cafeteria does a very good job, but I do miss the food in Germany, especially the delicious sausages that seem to have migrated to this country and promptly become bland and boring. And they are called, for reasons I cannot fathom, ‘hot dogs’. At first, I imagined the Americans actually ate dogs.”

A very slight smile crossed his face. He drained his coffee mug, setting it back down on the table and then turning to me decisively. “I know you were traveling around to see more of this country, to decide if you wanted to stay here or go back to Germany.”

I nodded, wondering where this was going.

"So have you made up your mind?"

I shook my head.

“Then how about we take off together for a week and I’ll show ya a place I bet you didn’t see on that cross-country train ride? Doesn’t need to cost a lot of money either. We could travel by motorcycle and stay at a campground.”
“A motorcycle? I have never ridden such a thing,” I replied, trying not to show too much surprise at this proposal.
“You wouldn’t have to do anything except sit there. I found a nice bike way in the back of the parking garage that used to belong to Scott. It’s a couple of years old, but it’s a touring bike, which means it’s meant to be comfortable for long trips and has extra storage space. It’s set up for two people, so I’m guessing he and Jean used to use it. It’s not one a’ them fancy Honda Gold Wings.”
As if I would know a Gold Wing if it flew into me.
“It’s a Hog, the Electra-Glide Classic.”
“Ve vould be riding a pig?”

He laughed. “Sorry, I forgot you’re not too familiar with motorcycles. A Hog is a Harley-Davidson, about as good a bike as you can get. Needs to be checked over real good, but I can do all that myself.”

“Vhere vould ve go?”

“It’ll be a surprise. I know a place you might find interestin’, not too far north of here.” He shrugged. “Plenty of time after that for you to make your preparations to go to Germany or stay here, whatever you decide.”
A whole week. With him. Did I dare?

“Vhat about the X-Men?”

He shrugged.

“If they need me, they’ll know where to find me. I have a cell phone. Besides, things are likely to be pretty quiet for a while. After that major mess in San Francisco, both sides seem to be laying low and licking their wounds. Wanna go?”
Although I had no great desire to play tourist again, I did want to get to know Logan better, and this sounded as if it would be a perfect opportunity. However it turned out, I should be able to settle things one way or another with this man who had so thoroughly captured my interest. Not to mention my libido.
“So whaddya say? You up for such a thing?”
I pretended to consider it for a few moments, but I already knew what my answer would be. “Ja, I am certainly up for it.” Hoping I had gotten the idioms correct, I gave him a sideways look and added, “In more vays than one.”
His smile broadened. “I was hopin’ you’d say that. So, you wanna see the bike?”

“Ja.”

“C’mon.”

I followed him down to the parking garage, then back to a distant shadowy corner, where he pulled off the tarp covering the motorcycle.

It was big and black and shiny and had all sorts of confusing silver pipes and stuff all over the place. I had no idea how to ride such a machine, but the self-satisfied expression on Logan’s face made me certain that he could manage this monster without a problem.

“Pretty nice, huh?”
“There is not much space to carry things,” I observed tentatively.
“Are you kidding? Two panniers and another carrier on the back.” He touched each item as he mentioned it, which was fortunate or I might not have know what he was talking about. “Most bikes don’t have nearly as much storage space as this baby has.”

“Most cars do not have nearly this little,” I pointed out.
“True, but most cars aren’t nearly as much fun to ride either.”
“I vill – take your vord for that,” I replied, trying not to sound too dubious.
“Just look at this separate seat for a passenger. It’s got a back and armrests. You won’t have to hang onto me all the time.”
I smiled archly. “Perhaps I vould prefer to ride holding onto you.”
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t mind that much myself. But it can get uncomfortable for a long trip. And at least this gives you some back support.” He patted the other seat. “I’ll be sitting here. There are foot rests for you here and here.”
For a minute he stared at me with a strange look on his face, then added, “Too bad I haven’t gotten the bike going yet. We could have taken it for a test drive.”
I looked pointedly around the cluttered expanse of the underground parking lot. We were at the far end, where the less-used vehicles are stored. No one else was anywhere to be seen. I was not entirely sure what that odd smile meant, but I had a pretty good idea, so I tried to look encouraging and curious when I met his eyes.
“I suppose we could take it for a trial run, of sorts,” he said, rubbing his hand suggestively over his crotch.
“Ja, ve could. But how?” I glanced at the formidable size and complexity of the machine standing propped on its kickstand next to us.
“Easy. Take off your pants.”
“Vhat if someone –”
“No one’s down here. I’d hear them or smell them if they were.”
Still somewhat doubtful, I slipped out of my jeans, wincing as I pulled my tail through the hole I had cut into them.
“Tail still sore?” Logan asked.
“Ja. But mostly just if I move it the wrong way, down near the end.”
“I’m glad you lost those striped pants, buddy. Made you look as if you escaped from a bad fashion show.”
I smiled nervously as I stood there before him naked from the waist down. Surely, he would say something about the scar on my cock now, as it was clearly visible. “I had little choice, as the pants vere badly torn and soiled after Alcatraz.”
“I did kind of like that strange coat you had. Still got it?”
“Ja. It survived vith only minor damage that could be repaired vith a needle and thread and a dry cleaning. It is just too varm to vear around here most of the time. And perhaps just a little too melodramatic also.”
He went to the motorcycle, swung one leg over the back, and ended up standing there straddling the front seat, but facing backwards. “Now sit up there on the seat. Carefully. The bike won’t be exactly upright, but I can keep it steady on the kickstand by holding my leg against it. That’s it. Put your feet down here on the footrests, then spread your legs as wide as you can.”
I did as he requested. Now he absolutely must notice that scar and ask the usual question.

But no. All he said was, “See? That puts your cock just about level with mine. Now close your eyes and imagine the engine’s running, and we’re out on the road, the wind and the noise from the motor filling our ears and the vibration flowing up and into our bodies.”
“Uh – who is driving?”
“Don’t worry about that. Just picture it in your mind. Fucking while you’re riding a bike isn’t really a good idea, but it makes for a great fantasy.”
It took him a little time to get his pants down far enough to work his own cock free since he was straddling the bike, but then I felt it prodding against mine. I was already halfway hard, but as he guided his cockhead underneath and rubbed it against my balls, it was quickly inspired to stiffen further. Wrapping his arms around me, he pulled me forward, tighter up against his groin, until he could get his fist around both of our dicks and begin jerking us off together.
This was the first time he had actually touched my cock, and I delighted in that sensation. There’s something about having another person holding you that’s just different from doing it yourself. Perhaps simply because the rhythm is theirs, not yours, and that’s not what you’re used to. Or perhaps it’s just the idea that there’s someone else involved. Whatever it was, it took my breath away.
I didn’t want to remain totally uninvolved in the action, so I managed to get the tip of my tail between us, using it to rub against our straining cockheads. Doing it made my sprained tail hurt a bit, but it was well worth the pain.
Our imaginary ride didn’t take too long to reach its destination. I tried very hard to be quiet, but I could not suppress a rather loud moan as I came. Logan, however, was absolutely silent.
As we separated, it became quite apparent that we should have removed our shirts as well as our pants. I laughed and he grinned as we got off the motorcycle.
“I guess maybe we had better go up to our rooms the back way,” he suggested, never once letting on that it was unusual to have a scar running along my penis, even though he had held it in his own hand.
I completely agreed with his suggestion.

I spent entirely too much of that night trying to decide if I should feel guilty about what we had done. Obviously, I had had a sexual encounter with a man, which is considered a sin in and of itself. While I had managed to justify masturbation as a necessary evil, perhaps this was really nothing more awful than mutual masturbation, no worse than what we had done together in the infirmary? But it had been Logan’s hand on me, not just me alone with myself. Did that really count as more sinful? Or could it be considered not quite sex?
I thought I knew what a priest would have said, but I convinced myself that it was all right. If nothing else, I could go to confession and be absolved for what would surely be a very minor sin. But I was going on a trip with Logan, and I knew where that might lead. Would I end up with yet another scar? Surely not.
In the end, I settled on the idea that if all we used were our hands, it was not really sex and hence not forbidden.
Yes, I am well aware that such an idea is at best merely a rationalization for something that I wanted to do, and had every intention of doing. But I sincerely doubt that I am the first man to come up with that excuse, and I won’t be the last. In any case, that was my thinking at the time, as well as I can remember it.

The following day Logan handed me a copy of the Motorcyclists’ Handbook from the local DMV. “Here ya go. Read this, so you’ll know a little something about how motorcycles work.”

“Is that necessary? I vill only be a passenger.”

“Even so, I want you to be aware of some of the safety issues. It’s not quite the same as being in a car. Come on, take it.” I still hesitated. “By the way, if you see that we’re in a bad situation and are sure to crash, don’t hesitate to teleport yourself out of danger. I’ll survive. You might not.”

“Umm. Maybe I could ‘port us both, cycle and all.”

“Maybe you could. But even if you can, you’d have to be able to realize the situation almost as soon as I did. All the more reason to read the safely manual, buddy.”

I finally took the booklet out of his hand. “Du hast recht. I vill read it.”

I had a terrible time deciding what to take, since there was not much storage space, despite what Logan had said. When he told me that we would not really be camping out in tents, but instead using an old motor home that belonged to a friend of his, which was located at the campground on a permanent basis, I was much relieved. Even without having to pack camping gear, there was little room for clothing.
Logan insisted that I must wear jeans and a jacket, plus some sort of heavy shoes and, of course, a helmet, whenever we rode the motorcycle. Since it was by then early May and quite nice outside, I thought the heavy clothes would be a problem. However, I reckoned without the wind chill factor when traveling on a motorcycle. I would have been quite cold without them, even had we not been going north.
I also feared that heavy boots would be difficult to find, considering my feet. As it is, I have to buy custom-made shoes in order to fit my unusual feet. Fortunately, I have found a place online that makes them to order, with thinner and more flexible soles and a stretchy fabric top. They do not provide a lot of protection, but I’ve gone barefoot so often that the bottom of my feet are quite tough, so that is not a problem.
For use on the motorcycle, I was able to borrow a pair of boots from Colossus that I could put on completely over my regular shoes, but I could not walk around in them, so I would just slip them off and leave them with the bike, along with our helmets.

A little over a week later, we started off on our little adventure together. Somewhat to my annoyance, he still refused to tell me where we were going until we got there.

“Vell, at least tell me how long it vill take,” I protested.

“We should be there in about six hours, depending on the traffic. Just sit back and enjoy the scenery,” was all he would tell me. “Leave the rest of it to me.”

So that was just what I did, stoically refusing to ask anything more about our destination as we sped along the highway going I knew not where. But I did note the signs along the way and the general direction in which we were heading, since I really don’t like not knowing where I am.

GERMAN TRANSLATIONS
Yes, I am aware that, as in too many of the comics, I have used the misspelling of “Vas?” for the German “Was?” in this story. This is deliberate, since it can be too easily confused with the English word otherwise. In all other cases, when Kurt says something in German, there will be a “W” used in the German words.

Du hast recht.              You’re right.
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In the Beginning ...