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He couldn’t get drunk. It was one of the first things he’d tried, after waking up on the cold, dusty ground surrounded by a crumbling reactor with no memory of who he was. He’d gone into a shady bar and ordered beer after beer after beer but after hours of drinking he’d had to admit defeat.
It had taken him a while after to figure out that he could get something of a buzz if he mixed his alcohols and drank a whole lot in a short period of time. Which was how he came to be sitting in some dive bar in upstate New York, feeling slightly woozy, and nursing a glass of scotch while half-heartedly watching the hockey game on the TV behind the bar.
There were footsteps behind him and the scrape of a chair as a man fell heavily onto the stool next to him.
“Living the good life, I see,” said the stranger.
Logan turned to look at him. He leaning forward, elbows on the bar, eyes nominally following the game, but it was clear he attention was focused on Logan.
“Do I know you?” Logan asked. The guy’s face was in profile, but Logan was still sure he’d never seen him before. Not that he remembered anyway.
The man turned to face him, and his grin revealed sharp teeth.
“Now that’s an interesting question,” he replied. He didn’t elaborate.
“Got a name?” Logan asked.
“Yeah,” the guy said.
“If you’re here to be an asshole, I’m not in the mood,” Logan said, pulling out a cigar from inside his jacket pocket.
The guy let out a laugh and turned so he was fully facing Logan. He leaned in slightly, and Logan got a whiff of him. He smelled like metal and blood, and there was something familiar about it, something that caused a spark of recognition in the back of his brain. He must have known this guy, before, but he couldn’t recall any specific memories or anything. It was frustrating, but then, so was much of his life nowadays.
“You don’t remember a thing, do you?” the man looked almost gleeful at the idea.
Logan was about to reply when someone knocked into him from behind, making him push over his glass, the whiskey inside spilling all over the countertop.
“Oh shit, shit, sorry.” A visibly drunk woman steadied herself with her hands on Logan’s shoulder. “Oh, your drink, I’m so sorry, I’ll definitely get you another one.”
“No need, lady,” Logan replied leaning back to get her hands off him, but she was already pulling a wallet out of her purse.
“No, it’s my fault, just let me buy you one,” she insisted.
“You really don’t have to -- “ Logan started, but just then another guy walked up to them. It was getting too crowded in this corner for Logan’s liking.
“These guys bothering you, babe?” the new guy asked, glaring at Logan and the stranger.
“No, no, I just need to get him a drink,” she said.
Suddenly the boyfriend was all up in Logan’s face. He was big and beefy and the stench of beer on his breath was strong.
“What the hell you think you’re doing, hitting on my girlfriend?”
“Jake, no, calm down,” the girlfriend pleaded, but the guy just pushed her aside.
Logan rolled his eyes. “You stupid or something?”
It took a moment for Jake to process the insult, but when it finally made it through his alcohol-addled brain, he snarled. “I’ll fuck you up,” he growled, and raised a fist.
But before it could connect, there was a hand wrapped around his neck. Logan watched with surprise as the fingernails lengthened, digging into the guy’s skin, and then looked over to where the stranger was now standing next to him, his gaze fixed on Jake’s face, a dark sort of pleasure in his eyes.
Jake knocked the hand off. Pinpricks of blood were rising up where the nails had been, and Jake pulled his fingers back from his neck incredulously. A scared looked passed his face before he was scowling again.
“What, you need your boyfriend to do your fighting for you?” he sneered.
“He doesn’t,” the stranger replied, “but I do it anyway.” And then his fist was in Jake’s face, and Jake had apparently brought friends because three more big, beefy guys gather around them, and Logan didn’t have a choice but to join in the fight.
It wasn’t the first time he’d been in one since that day, but it was the first time he wasn’t fighting alone. It was a struggle hold back the claws, to not let the rage that was constantly simmering take control of him. His new friend, however, had no such compulsions. From what Logan could see between trading punches, the guy had his abnormal nails out, and was scratching and clawing as much as punching the other guys, and one of them was already passed out on the floor, blood oozing slowly from his midsection.
Before Logan knew it, the fight was over. The guy he was fighting finally called no more, and sunk down to his knees, clutching his wrist. Two other guys were being helped up by some of the other patrons, and then there was the strangers, holding Jake up against the wall, hand wrapped around his neck.
Jake seemed to be struggling, his hands clutching helplessly at the stranger’s arm, a look of terror on his reddening face.
“Let him go,” Logan called out.
The man didn’t seem to hear him. He lifted his other hand and ran a clawed finger down the side of Jake’s face, drawing blood.
“I said, let him go,” Logan said, stepping forward and reaching out to pull the guy back. It seemed like the guy wasn’t going to cooperate, so Logan unsheathed his claws. That sound seemed to pull the guy back, however, and he finally let Jake drop.
“You’re both freaks!” Jake yelled out, voice somewhat high pitched as he scrambled to get away. “Fucking muties!”
For a second, the stranger stopped, and Logan prepared himself for a real fight, but then the moment passed, the nails went back to normal, and Logan was following the guy outside, into the cold night air.
“So who are you then?” Logan finally said after they were both a ways away from the bar’s entrance.
It took a moment for the man to react. Logan waited, tense. Something about the guy pinged him in an unexpected way. This guy was trouble, and not in the way the drunk guys inside the bar were. This guy would have killed a man and laughed about it.
“Who do you want me to be?” He turned slowly and walked towards Logan until they were less than a hair’s breath away. His scent was overwhelming this close, and Logan could almost taste the blood on his tongue.
“I don’t have time for this, bub,” Logan said, and turned to walk away, but the guy grabbed him suddenly forcing him close. Logan brought his fist up, extending his claws just enough so they were digging into the guy’s neck, but not yet drawing blood.
“You want this,” the guy whispered. “You want to hurt me.” He grinned, and his sharp teeth glistened in the weak light.
“Take your hands off me,” Logan growled.
But instead, the guy was pushing him back, into a parked truck, and then his knee was up between Logan’s legs propping him up.
“You want this,” the guy said again, and then his hand was pulling at Logan’s pants buttons, making its way inside his boxers and wrapping around his cock.
This was the last thing Logan was expecting, so he couldn't be blamed for reacting immediately. No one had touched him since he’d woken up, and before that, who knew?
“You do this a lot?” he grunted, and moved his hand to the guy’s shoulder, withdrawing the metal claws.
“I do this for you,” the guy replied, and his hand was hard and rough on him, but it didn't matter. It was like Logan’s body was made to react to this, to him because before he knew it, he was close, so close, and he was hot all over, starting to sweat inside his jacket despite the cold weather.
“Why?” Logan said, and his voice came out strangled as the hand around his cock reached back to squeeze at his balls.
The guy didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “Inside, when those guys were on you, you wanted to hurt them, didn’t you? You wanted to make them bleed, to make them hurt. You wanted to see the terror in their eyes as they looked at you and saw their own mortality. You wanted to sink those shiny claws right into their flesh, feel it give so easily for you.”
Logan closed his eyes against the words and the feelings they evoked. His constant simmering rage was mixing with arousal, and it was a heady feeling.
“You know how I know this?” the guy asked.
Logan shook his head. At least, he thought he did, but the guy didn’t seem to expect an answer because his hand sped up, stroking and pulling, and then Logan was right there, spilling into his jeans and panting harshly.
The guy stroked him through it, laughing softly. When the aftershocks had stopped, he pulled his hand out and licked it.
“I know,” he said, pulling back and letting Logan straighten himself up, “because you’re just like me.”
“And who are you?” Logan asked as he buttoned up. The wetness was unpleasant, but he could live until he got back to the motel room he was staying at.
The guy smirked and turned to go. Right before he was about to melt into the shadows, he turned and called out over his shoulder.
“You can call me Sabretooth,” he said, and then he was gone.