Night
By Tiriel
NC-17, m/m
Part Three of the Macho Posturing series. Logan in bed.
Once again, I'm a bit behind. I'll be catching up to the end of the season before too long. Zack wasn't in this ep, but my mind made a connection.
Disclaimer: These guys aren't mine. Damn do I ever wish they were, though.
Set after the Dark Angel episode "Pollo Loco"
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Night
By Tiriel
When the news of a dead John Doe with a Manticore barcode came through, Logan was worried. He told himself that it was for Max's sake, that the only reason to care who it was was because of her feelings for her Manticore "family." But that didn't explain the relief he felt when she identified the barcode. "Not Zack," he thought, the muscles of his shoulders relaxing at last.
In bed that night, lying on his side, looking out the window at the city lights reflecting off the clouds, nowhere near as bright as they had once been, he said the words out loud. "Zack's not dead. He's still out there somewhere. But why should I even care?"
"Maybe because you want to finish what you started," said a voice surprisingly close to his ear. Zack's voice.
Logan flushed, glad for the dark. It didn't offer him any real privacy, though, because to a genetically enhanced Manticore soldier the dark wasn't all that dark. He'd been caught talking about Zack, and he was wearing only a pair of light pajama pants underneath the sheet. He didn't let himself move away from the voice. "No, it's because it would hurt Max if you died. Not me. And what do you mean, 'what you started,' anyway? I didn't start anything. You did."
"Does it really matter?"
Logan shivered. That time, the voice had been so close that Zack's lips had brushed his ear.
"You like that, do you?" Just a whisper that time, and then it was Zack's teeth on his ear, nibbling gently along the edge.
Logan squeezed his lips together tightly, but a whimper still escaped his mouth, giving him away. He felt the weight of Zack's body on the bed, then warmth against his back, as Zack moved in close behind him.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"You don't know? You were in that chair way too long if you've forgotten this." Zack ran a hand down Logan's side.
Past tense. Zack didn't know, hadn't seen him since before the effects of the Manticore blood transfusion had worn off. Logan opened his mouth to tell him, to say that there was no past tense about the chair at all, that it was present tense again, but he stopped. Zack's hand had drifted down further, past the point where feeling usually stopped. But he felt it. How that could be, he didn't know or care. He only knew that it was good. He could feel everything--Zack's hand on his thigh, the insistent hardness pressing against him, all of it.
"I remember," Logan said, and leaned his head back, turning his face toward Zack, who took the hint and kissed him long and hard. The bed seemed to spin, and he found himself gently pinned under Zack's body. He slid his hands down, pulling Zack closer, grinding against him.
Then the body blanketing him was gone, mostly. Zack's hands pressed his to the bed and he pushed himself up, hovering just out of reach. "You sure you can take it? Wouldn't want to blow out your plain old unenhanced nervous system."
Logan grinned, straining upward, and his eyes met Zack's in challenge. "Come on, G.I. Joe, show me what you've got."
Zack was on him again with a growl. Logan tugged uselessly at Zack's clothes, too distracted by the hands that seemed to be everywhere at once to actually attempt to undress him. In a blur of motion, Zack pulled off his own clothes, keeping at least one hand on Logan's body the entire time. And, oh, those hands. They were warm and strong and touching all the right places. Places he had always loved to be touched, and places no lover had ever found. He gasped for air. His pajama pants were stripped away by those capable hands, and the head-to-toe sensation of skin on skin for the first time in so long--Zack had been right about that, after all, he'd forgotten how good this felt, he'd remembered, he just hadn't *remembered* it, the knowing and the experience two different things--it made him wonder if his nervous system would blow out after all.
And then, having proven just how good he was with his hands, Zack began to demonstrate the incredible, wonderfully dirty, mindblowingly sexy things he could do with his mouth. He revisited all the places he'd touched, this time with lips and tongue and occasionally teeth. Logan found himself incapable of doing anything other than lying there, knocked back under the onslaught of Zack's attentions. A tiny tendril of guilt about that crept its way into his consciousness.
He must have communicated that somehow, he wasn't sure, because Zack spoke against his skin. "Let me. You can show me what *you've* got next time."
"Next time" was a surprise, but a shockingly pleasant one, and it was good enough for the guilt, which went away, leaving Logan moaning on the bed with nothing on his mind but pleasure and need. The need began to take a shape, form an image, a desire that he'd never really considered until now.
"I-I-" he said, but it turned into a cry of delight instead of the start of a sentence.
Somehow Zack understood. He hissed into Logan's ear. "You want me inside you? You want me to take that virgin ass of yours and show you how good it can be? Tell me. Say it."
"I-I want it. I want you to fuck me."
"My name. Say my name, Logan."
"I want you, Zack. Please." Nipping hard at Zack's earlobe, pushing up against him, gasping when their cocks made contact, doing it again. Filled with the knowledge that he'd be willing to beg for it if necessary, that he can't remember the last time he wanted something so badly, that he's so utterly out of control that they might as well be fucking on top of the Space Needle.
And then they were. Logan gripping the railing that runs along the windows on the observation deck, which looks the way it used to before the Pulse. Suddenly certain that this is a dream, has to be, a mixture of his thoughts of Zack and a fantasy he'd once had about Max after he'd learned that she sits on top of the Space Needle to think sometimes. An explanation for why he was giving it up so easily to this man. Inside because even in his dreams he's not crazy enough to want to be up there where she goes, in the open air. The knowledge was crushing for a moment, less than a second, but then it fled with the rest of his consciousness because Zack was fucking him.
Zack was fucking him hard and deep and good, and Logan held the railing so tight that his fingers began to numb. The lights of the city as it used to look swam in front of his eyes, and he was whimpering, making noises he'd never heard himself make. Teeth on the back of his neck like a tomcat's, his cock untouched in front of him, moving with the impact of every thrust. He didn't dare let go of the railing to stroke himself, but he didn't need to.
With a cry of "Zack!" that echoed off the walls, he came, his heart pounding in his ears. Behind him, Zack's breathing was ragged and his teeth moved from the back of Logan's neck to his shoulder and bit down hard, muffling a shout as he thrust deep one last time and stopped.
They stayed like that for a moment, still joined, alone together above the city, their sweat-slick bodies beginning to cool. Then, with a kiss to the spot he'd bitten and a whispered "Until next time," Zack was gone and Logan was alone in his bed.
The End...for now...