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Hank is on him the minute the door creaks shut - a pleasant surprise, coming from the big furry pillar of politeness. Logan reckons it’s a product of the insane mess of hormones that’s been pouring off him since he started to change - the new mutation trying to resolve itself with the essentials of Hank McCoy and scrambling itself up a little along the way, throwing him into a state of frustrated, agitated arousal. It’s not lost on Logan: he’s been able to smell Hank from halfway across the mansion since the mutation began, manufactured humanoid testosterone clashing with animal musk, the new-familiar sweat of stress, and the stink of sex that seems to cling to him like a joke for only Logan to laugh at.
They’ve been too fucking busy, the last two days, for Hank to be getting any from him or anyone else. The Professor has them overhauling everything: new uniforms (all six by four feet of Hank squeezed into black leather), new training (Hank loping across the length of the Danger Room, fur rippling with hidden muscle, unsteady on his feet like he hasn’t quite learned his way around the new body yet), new tech (Hank with his blue furry legs sticking out from under Cerebra like the world’s weirdest mechanic fantasy - Logan’s beginning to wonder if Hank’s hormonal swings have any secondhand effects). No fucking time for anything else.
Until now - Logan sneaking off to Hank’s room, feeling stupidly like the teenager he never really was. He can hear him pacing from halfway across the mansion, can smell whatever lather he’s been working himself into. So he opens the door, plans to lean against the doorframe and give Hank his warmest sleaziest grin so he gets what’s on offer, but. Hank has that pretty well in mind, Logan thinks, as he’s pushed up against the wall so Hank can rub his head under Logan’s jaw. Marking him. Christ, he can smell the transfer from what must be scent glands on Hank’s face to the furry stubble on his own jaw. Smells nice. Smells new, but it’s still Hank, and Logan’s never objected to smelling like Hank.
Hank starts mouthing at his neck then, sort of licking him - his tongue is rough but it feels intentionally wet, scratching warm and shivery against Logan’s skin. The idea of all those big sharp teeth so close to his throat sends a pleasant little kick up his spine, and he reaches round to cup the back of Hank’s head with one hand. On a hunch, or just because it feels right, he starts scratching behind one of Hank’s new ears with his wide blunt nails, and— Hank starts rumbling deep in his chest like an old engine, vibrating right down into Logan’s bones. The guy is fucking purring, Logan realizes with abject delight. That’s just beautiful.
“Missed you,” Hank growls into Logan’s neck. His hands - paws? - his paws are wrapped tight around Logan’s shoulders, claws popped just enough to prick into his skin because Hank does, in fact, know how he likes it.
“I been around,” Logan says aimlessly, looking up at the ceiling as he takes in the sensory profile of Hank’s body. Big furry mass of fat and muscle pressed up against him, running hot hot, probably hotter than he should be, all those little cells working doubletime to make him over. His heart’s pumping fast too, pulse thundering along like wild horses; he stinks like sweat and wet already, and if Logan pushed a thigh between his legs he’s sure he’d hear the squelch of sodden underwear. He’s given over purring for a more desperate-sounding high growl, thin and buzzy in Logan’s ear. Logan puts a hand over his pounding heart and drums his fingers against the flesh. “You doin’ alright there, big cat?”
Hank laughs, a little wildly. “I— Hell, Logan. I feel like I’m going crazy. I feel like my skin is about to get up and crawl away. I—” He cuts himself off with a moan, pushing his chest further into Logan’s touch, rubbing against him until Logan has to grab on to keep his position. “I feel like an animal,” he says, and he sounds - apologetic. Regretful. Angry.
Logan’s been feeling like an animal pretty much nonstop for long enough to enjoy it, most of the time, but hell— He knows how that is, too, the tearing discord of your body refusing to do what you want it to. He grabs Hank roughly by his big furry cheeks and pulls his head down to get something like direct eye contact; bumps his own crooked nose against Hank’s wide flat snout, feeling the warm dampness of his little blue-black nose. “Ain’t so bad to be an animal,” he says, breathing the words hot and low right against Hank’s muzzle. “Tell me what you need, Hank. Tell me what I can do to make it better.” It’s only half a tease, even as he traces the swell of Hank’s chest with light fingers in a distinctly teasing way, feeling the hairless puckered scar-stripe where he had his tits off two lifetimes ago. It sits there like a secret now, under a carpet of fur too thick and long to show it off, only there for those who know how Hank twitches when it’s sought out and touched.
“I need,” Hank says, and stops. Breathes out, a great big gust of air that ruffles Logan’s hair back. “Sweet heaven. Anything. Anything you can give me.”
“Alright, big guy,” Logan nods. Better not overtax his great big PhD brain while it’s all wobbly and hormonal. Logan’s an inventive guy, he can work with anything. “Alright.” He angles his chin behind Hank to the rumpled, reinforced queen bed and grins. “Wanna take me to bed?”
By way of a reply, Hank hoists him by the waist and dumps him onto the mattress, making Logan bark a pleased laugh as he lands heavily to be pressed between the creaking springs of the bed and the slab of shifting furred muscle that is Hank. Shit, he loves this. He loves the fight-or-fuck rush that sings through his whole body when he gets with someone who’s big enough to handle him like this; he loves being surrounded by the smell and feel of Hank, relearning his sense-map in the most intimate way possible.
He ends up on his belly, Hank behind him pulling his hips back up to grind against his ass and he can hear how wet Hank’s getting in his shorts. He puts a hand between his own thighs to rub hard over himself with the flat of his hand and asks, “You wanna fuck me, Hank?” And Hank says Yes in a big rumbling growl but then he just stays there, humping against Logan’s body like he’s forgotten anything else he might have been doing. Fuck. Logan pushes back against him, yes, yes, smelling the stench of their arousal rising and mingling until he can’t stand it anymore. (That and he has to get out of these fucking jeans.) “C’mon, Hank,” he says, going rigid-still so Hank will shake the fog and listen. “Get your dick out.”
Hank flexes his claws just once into Logan’s hips, six little jolts of wonderful electric pain; then he presses something like a kiss (Logan thinks, from the way he can feel his hair sticking up, that that big barbed tongue might have been involved) to the back of Logan’s head and thuds down off the bed to rummage in the nightstand.
The dick Hank’s made for himself is, honestly, a miracle of modern mutant science. Prosthetic-grade blue silicone on the outside, nice detailed veins and everything, and something on the inside that, when Hank fastens the base end up inside his cunt, gives him honest-to-god sensation from the whole damned thing. It’s not quite as good as actually being touched, Hank tells him - a little out-of-sync sometimes, a little strange - but certainly an improvement on ordinary dead silicone. (Call him old-fashioned, Logan prefers to fuck with his hands. Maybe he’ll get Hank to make him one of those things, though, if the good doctor will help him out during the calibration process.)
He gets to see it for a long moment, Hank slipping the curved base between the slicked furry folds of his pussy and stroking the silicone shaft a couple times in one enormous paw - surrounded by the new body, Hank’s dick could almost be mistaken for average - before he has to devote himself fully to kicking his way out of his jeans and undershirt. When Hank comes back to bed Logan is naked, rubbing his body gleefully into Hank’s navy-blue sheets because he knows Hank will be able to smell it just as well as he can. His smell on the sheets, Hank’s smell on him.
Hank likes to fuck around - likes to push his fingers up Logan’s cunt first, tug on his dick a little, take his sweet damn time to get him open if he’s taking him up the ass - but there’s none of that this time. Hank attaches himself to Logan’s back and slides right the fuck in, big long stretch going into Logan’s cunt until he’s taken Hank as far as he can take anything. He just barely manages not to spring claws into Hank’s mattress - god, god, there’s fucking nothing like this. Hank is huge against him, a quarter-ton of rippling muscle and fat and fur bearing down, and Logan knows he’s strong and fast and heavy as fuck, himself, knows he’s more than dangerous enough for everyday use, but right at the moment he’s got nothing on the guy on top of him.
Hank lays into him hard and fast so his tits get mashed down into the mattress, so his ass sticks to the front of Hank’s hips with rank desperate sweat, and all he can do is gasp in lungfuls of Hank’s scent and squeeze one arm underneath himself to jerk himself off in careless starts. Hank’s fucking his own slick out of him so it drips down and gets his dick wet, mats his bush down damp and tangled, makes him feel completely and blissfully wild. He doesn’t bother even trying to think of anywhere he’d rather be.
He can tell when Hank gets close, rubbing himself in against Logan’s walls in short little thrusts; he’s snuffling at Logan’s neck, big damp nose pressed up against his hairy throat to huff his scent in, and Logan half-imagines he might bite down against his shoulder when he comes, clamp down to hold him in place and let the blood spatter on his soft dark sheets. The thought is more exciting than it is alarming - Logan could take it, the pain, the hot licking spill of blood against his skin. He’d get better real fast.
He squeezes tight around Hank’s cock, half-consciously, consumed by the thought of it - Hank licking at the wound as it closes, too horny in Logan’s fantasy to spare any headspace for consummate medical concern - and Hank snarls against his neck and shudders to a rutting pulsing halt deep inside him. Logan feels him shoot off - feels the dick shoot, anyway, from its little reservoir of synthesized something-or-other - and the sticky fullness of Hank’s come dripping into him makes him twitch and seize around him again and he’s right fucking there all of a sudden. He shoves himself back against Hank, and he seems to get the picture - he dislodges a paw from Logan’s hip to reach it under his belly so delicately, rubs his dick with one hot soft-callused pad, and Logan kicks and yells and comes hard around Hank’s cock, into Hank’s hand.
They don’t really stop fucking. They slow down for a bit, dick-drunk and slack, and then Logan starts rolling his hips again, feeling like he’s scratching an itch inside himself with the way the ridge of Hank’s cockhead rubs against his walls, and Hank starts swaying forward into him, and they’re back. It makes a filthy sound, Hank fucking him through both their come - good and frothed up, now, squelching around with every thrust. Logan groans, pleased and hoarse, and hooks an ankle around Hank’s flexing tree-trunk thigh. “You got another load for me, Hank?”
“God,” Hank gasps, and starts fucking him faster. Logan loves listening to Doctor Henry McCoy descend into horny incoherence, and it’s happened so fast this time around - seems like all the fucked-up pseudomenopausal shit the new mutation adjustment period brings up is good for something, after all.
Case in point: usually it takes Hank a long fucking time to get around to a second orgasm, but after just a few more minutes of rutting he’s there again, raking his claws down Logan’s sides and twitching into him like he’s gotten an electric shock. There’s no second blurt of fluid from his dick, but the change in the pitch of Hank’s scent is more than proof enough. No satiety there, not yet, only a shift in the tenor of his desperation.
“Easy, big cat,” Logan bites out, feeling the suck and pull of Hank shifting backwards to pull out way too damn fast. “Rather keep all my inside parts on the inside for the moment.”
“Sorry,” Hank says, and slows down to nearly nothing - sliding himself slickly backwards in barely-perceptible increments until his cock pops out of Logan’s hole and smears against his thigh. Definitely teasing if anyone else did it, worth a sharp kick in the leg for cheek, but it’s Hank so he can’t fucking tell.
Not that he gives it too much thought, because as soon as Hank’s finally pulled out he shifts down and plants his face firmly in Logan’s sore pussy. He ain’t gonna fucking complain about that, Hank sniffing at the wet mess he’s made in Logan with animal enthusiasm, licking him up with that weird rough tongue. The soft spines rasp just this side of painful against Logan’s dick, make him twitch and swear and shove his ass back in Hank’s face. Hank pauses to lick the sweat and slick from down inside his thighs, then up between his ass cheeks, and the little barbs catch and pull against the carpet of dark curly sweat-dense hair that covers him like his own fur coat. When Hank goes back to licking Logan’s cunt clean, his nose stays tucked in Logan’s ass, huffing the day’s worth of sweat that’s built up there. Scenting him, getting Logan’s smell nice and embedded in his animal brain, and hell if that doesn’t just make Logan all warm and fuzzy to think about.
Hank’s always been good at this, as long as Logan’s known him - knows how to keep his teeth out of the way, gets real focused real fast on the best way to make whoever’s underneath him scream. If Logan had a complaint, before, it would be that the guy was too meticulous: not focused enough on the bigger picture, not quite willing to use his whole mouth instead of just pointing his tongue. Now, though, with Hank’s new mouth struggling to fit itself around Logan’s parts, with Hank’s big broad tongue and hot breath washing over him, it’s suddenly a non-issue. Logan feels like he’s getting eaten alive from the back, consuming and rough and fucking perfect.
Jesus, but Hank doesn’t let up. Logan hears him spread himself open behind him, dip one big furry digit into his own wetness until it’s soaked - then he brings his hand back up under Logan and smears his wet knuckle across Logan’s dick, rubbing until the slick furry rasp of it makes Logan completely fucking nuts. Between that and the big muscular tongue sucking the moisture off his cunt like he’s candy, Logan comes seizing and snarling into Hank’s pillow - not so hard as the first time around, but it still fogs up his brain, still makes him feel like he’s on fire from his cunt to his toes.
Hank growls long and happy into his back end, and Logan gets hit with a fresh wave of want want want off Hank’s body. Hank’s gotten to play with Logan’s pussy for close to an hour now - high fucking time he gets some in kind, Logan thinks.
“Get up here,” he says with effort, thumping the bed beside him with a hand. Hank gives him a parting lick and crawls up the bed - Logan wants him to lie up on the pillows, but as soon as they’re parallel Hank pulls Logan’s body down flush against his own and shoves his face into Logan’s neck to lick and nip and kiss him all over. One big paw on his ass, one petting through the hair on his tits and belly; blue fur and fat and muscle rubbing up against every inch of Logan’s sweaty skin.
Logan relaxes into it for a minute or so - Hank purring loud against him, Hank’s humid animal smell filling his nose and his lungs and his whole world, Hank squeezing his thigh between both of his own to hump wet and hard against it - then peels himself loose and shoves Hank up by the hips until he gets the picture. “Scoot up, pussycat,” he says, and Hank glares at him but he does what he’s told and he’s still fucking purring, isn’t he.
Logan takes a second, once he’s got Hank laid out against the headboard with his legs spread open, just to feel him up a little more. He runs his hands up Hank’s long, powerful legs - digs his thumbs into the callused pads of his hind paws and trails his fingers along the strange forward-bend of his lower legs. He scratches through the thick blue fur that blankets the heft of fat and muscle on Hank’s thighs, grinning when Hank purrs louder at the feel of Logan’s blunt nails. He squeezes Hank’s belly, palms his chest, traces a nail along the scar whose place he has to find by touch now. He only takes pity when the desperation is pouring off Hank so strong it’s nearly choking him, big yellow eyes blown wide and dark, teeth bared and gritted. Logan can see his blue-lack gums, dark and glistening with saliva, and it makes him want to lick broad and wet and nasty right over the gleaming shuttered knife-row of his teeth, up under his thin lip to touch him somewhere nobody’s ever touched him before.
Instead he slides back down Hank’s body, comes to rest between his legs. He frames Hank’s cunt with his two hands and spreads it open gently to the close air of the room - the dark blue hair that surrounds his lips, matted down with so much slick moisture that it’s tacky to the touch; the incredible bloom of dark pink flesh within; the wet twitching bud of his cock and the softly gaping hole that sits beneath it. This part of Hank hasn’t changed much at all - except that maybe his dick is a little bigger, almost as big as Logan’s thumb now when he goes to tease it, enough of a length that he can rub the hood of it up and down the rooted shaft - but that doesn’t make it any less exciting. On the contrary.
Logan buries his face in Hank’s bush and breathes him in, and the familiar earthy smell of desperate arousal makes his mind go fuzzy and loud with hunger. This is, without a doubt, one of his favorite places to be - head between Hank’s big furry thighs, mouth on his sweet wet cunt. Logan bites gently at the swollen mound of Hank’s dick, makes him snarl and twitch up into his mouth; he gives him a lick to kiss it better and moves on down to slurp the built-up sticky wetness of the day out of Hank’s cunt. God fucking hell, he tastes good - salt and sour and concentrated animal musk, a taste that’ll leave a coating on Logan’s tongue for a good day or so after the fact. Logan thrusts his tongue shallowly inside of Hank and sucks at his hole until another sluggish flow of wetness floods his tongue, until he’s coated in it from cheeks to chin. He wants to stink like Hank when he’s done here, even if they’re the only ones who can smell it.
Following the whims of his hindbrain, Logan tests the mouth of Hank’s cunt with two broad fingers. He’s soft and hot and clenching weakly at nothing, and he lets him in so nice and easy, swallowing down both fingers and giving out a pleased little groan. The feel of him is incredible, hot silky muscle pulsing in a desperate bid for stimulation; Logan savors it around his fingers as he licks back up to get Hank’s dick properly in his mouth.
He really is bigger now, Logan thinks, bemused - not by much, but he rests heavier on Logan’s tongue, feels fatter in his mouth. With the hand that’s not slowly working a rhythm up to pound his cunt, Logan presses up and in against the flesh next to Hank’s dick, exposing him further from under his dull pink hood. He teases his tongue at the underside of his prick, sucks him in to milk him gently against the roof of his mouth.
Hank never needs much to come like this - he’s real sensitive, especially after he’s blown a couple loads already. Logan strokes over his belly with his free hand, feeling the rippling heft and the soft fur of his body - and Hank’s voice breaks between a purr and a whimper, and Hank’s hips twitch all fluttery and insistent into Logan’s face. Real sensitive.
When Hank gets close Logan can feel it, can fucking smell it - thick in the air like an obscene perfume, the regular arousal-smell changing just slightly in tenor as Hank drips down Logan’s forearm. He’s four fingers deep now and fucking into Hank like he’s working a punching bag, fast and hard and tireless, using his hand the way other men use their cocks.
His thumb is slipping around Hank’s entrance, insinuating itself into the situation, and he can feel what that’s doing to Hank, the way he flexes and twitches around Logan’s fingers to try and let him in that little bit further. And then finally, finally, it happens - he shoves back in deliberately and his thumb pops into Hank’s cunt right up to the first knuckle, crushed against his palm by the force of Hank’s twitching channel, and Hank’s cock twitches in his mouth and his pussy floods with clear salty slick and he comes totally, completely apart in Logan’s hands.
Logan can’t help a snarl of pleasure as his senses are submerged in Hank’s orgasm - his big pumping heart and his roaring groan of satisfaction and his sweaty slick smell finally satisfied. He flutters his fingers inside of Hank and rocks with him through it, subsumed by pure animal joy.
Hank relaxes slowly. Logan lays his head on one big blue thigh and scratches at his flank for a good minute, rhythmic soothing touch, until he’s loose enough that Logan can remove his hand with a sucking pull of sound. He sets about cleaning Hank up, then, the way Hank did for him - licks the frothed-up juice off his cunt, trails his tongue down to where some slick has dripped into the matted blue fur around Hank’s asshole. He swipes his tongue over the tight little hole, just to taste where sweat meets leftover slick, and he swirls his tongue teasingly through the fur on Hank’s inner thighs until the big guy chirps and pushes his head away.
“No reflection on you,” Hank rumbles as Logan squirms his way back up the bed to sprawl out against him, “but I think I’m going to fall asleep in about ten minutes no matter what happens in the meantime.”
Logan grins, wide and easy. He licks his fingers off, then wipes them on Hank’s sheets for good measure. The smell of sweaty animal sex is still hanging in the air, almost tangibly humid; he doesn’t really mind, but he thinks Hank might. “Suppose we should crack a window,” he says, and Hank makes another little trilling chirpy sound in response, but neither of them moves. Logan’s beginning to feel like he might fall asleep, himself.
He imagines shuffling back to his own room in the morning to put his uniform back on and finds he doesn’t really mind the prospect. Sleeping here, with Hank, cocooned in the smell of them and lying loosely against six hundred pounds of gently snoring cat-man, sounds a hell of a lot better than going back to his room to shower it off and tuck himself into bed all respectable.
He sighs and shifts down into the bed, getting comfortable, breathing deliberately slower to power himself down. Suddenly he makes a face, feeling— There’s something… He sticks his tongue out and pulls a couple wiry blue hairs out of his mouth. That’s new. Hank never used to shed much at all.
“You’re gonna give me a hairball,” he says to the room, but when he looks to his side Hank’s already dead asleep. Christ, the hormones really are messing with him. That’s fine, he thinks as he fumbles for the lamp-switch - they’re all gonna need their rest.
Hank’s arm is up - not tucked behind his head, just sort of stretched across the pillows, in true sleeping-cat fashion. Logan takes the opportunity to tuck his head in the space between Hank’s chest and his underarm. It’s warm and soft and he’s surrounded, more than ever, by the scent of Hank’s new body. No, he thinks as he closes his eyes: it’s really not so bad at all, being an animal.