Half Right

When the rain was pouring outside, beating down on the nighttime streets like a stampede gone wild, that was the time all the bad smells came out to play. Sewers and garbage and the people that made them in the alleys. Logan had forgotten what that much rain and stench was like after being in the desert, but it wasn't much of an improvement.

Brooklyn stunk like a bad memory come to the fore, but the thing he wanted the most in the world? A drink. It'd been a long day and fighting Hulks had never been his idea of a red carpet night.

A tall mug of something would've done him good. Rotgut, shitfacing, apple juice, it didn't matter. Anything to wash the coppery feel of blood out his mouth and to quiet the voices in his head that ranged from common to uncanny. A broken nose kept his nose from bothering him, much, but the smarter voices in his noggin ones that said old men like him needed to stay down and take a reprieve, back away from the anger, the rage that would have 'em do something stupid, like he had.

To heal and be glad that where he was now, nothing was worse like he'd known. No family and friends to lose, no people to have already hurt or let down. Nothing to run from. That was wisdom in a nutshell. Taking on the Hulk though – a Hulk – that just plain wasn't.

And so living decades on decades with the ability to shrug off anything from a bear claw to a 12 gauge to the face had left him and wisdom as passing acquaintances than friends. They say wisdom came with age, but the bitter irony was that had he been a decade or so younger, still looking like shit, he'd be looking for a house out west now. Some place that was remote and shambling to fix up with a sweet young dame on his arm, and a couple crumb-snatching tykes raising hell. Would've been a dream. It was a dream.

Logan had woken up a long time ago and was still jonesin' for someone to put him back to sleep.

Age made people bitter, angry things – worse still with animals like him. At least, the wrong kind of age did. Maybe that was why he was fixin' kill to the Hulk. No, not the Hulk, a Hulk – had to remind himself things were different now. Maybe Big Green knocked his screws too loose, but he did remember that had been was some poor, dumbass kid named Amadeus Cho who'd Logan missed the memo on.

Bannerwas who he wanted. Twisted, sad, broken, corrupted, shit-eating, cousin fucking Banner. That name alone was enough to fan the fire in his gut, bring back the animal he'd kept suppressed for too long. Doubted it'd be a fight he could finish a second time, but it'd be one hell of a way to go.

Wisdom had him go the other way. At least for a bit.

Using licking his wounds after tangling with Cho (and nursing more of a concussion than he cared to admit, thinking, 'Cho. Hulk. Cholk. Heh.') as an excuse to get away from it all. Not just the rage, but the wisdom, too, just to… sleep. To think. He wasn't in his world, anymore. Was too good to be that place and he'd been through too much to not immediately notice it. Not his world, not his time, and peaceful enough for him to hibernate for a few years.

Cho had gone and socked his bop all the way to Brooklyn. These were the times when heroes could duke it out like a friendly Friday piss-drunk bar night on the regular, and that nostalgia hit Logan like a four-wheeler. He wasn't in Hell's Kitchen, Manhattan proper, or Queens, but Brooklyn, and that was fine. Didn't want to get into talks with Murdock about how he'd gutted someone with the gall to wear his mask, or Parker and how Logan had let down three generations of that family and let his granddaughter grow into a Spider-Bitch of her own right. Stinging little cuss had the mouth her grand-daddy did, just not the brains, or the heart.

Must've been fate or just plain good luck that he knew someone here, though. He was old enough to believe that. Hopefully they'd let him crash on the couch and give him a pitying six-pack. They hadn't been the too close at this point, so he might not ask Logan which shit future he came from and if he and his family and friends were alive, because then Logan would've been obliged to share. Misery loved company, and he had a habit of dragging that old bitch everywhere he went.

Thought about them all drinking together. All the outcasts… but that wasn't going to happen. Logan hated this world for that. For being too much of a reminder of what he'd been through, for reminding him what he'd seen and done and foisting introspection on him like a monk in a temple – apparently it came with age. Not a package deal he wanted in his twilight years.

The soaked his blood away, leaving his skin prune-like as it bathed beneath his torn clothes, his vision hazy and foggy, eyes just about rolling in his metal skull like marbles. Couldn't see straight, could barely smell. Could barely find it to Barton's old brownstone. By that point, he was clawing along the brickwork in an alley to stay up, feet sifting through puddles and a lack of trash while that old healing factor of his sputtered like a bad engine.

He figured it was Barton's place, anyhow. Fire escape in an alleyway kept clean, like he remembered – Clint had been a stickler for cleanliness. Order. Right and good things that kept every scrap of trash in the garbage. If nothing else, it beat drinking as a coping mechanism.

Logan barely managed to clamber up the rust and follow his way to an open window like the whipped, wet, and beaten dog he was. The place was dark inside, but the couch there was just barely lit by the outside storm, a Valkyrie waiting for him on the other side.

He sniffed the air, old habits and instincts just there enough to keep him alert. All he could smell was his own blood and the rain up his nose, burning pain and cartilage. The couch seemed to get closer to him rather than the other way around, and next thing he knew, he was tripping over it. Out like a light.

Woke up with something licking him. Either his brain had taken more of a beating than he thought, or Barton had gotten a dog. But that couldn't be – Barton hated dogs. Logan could barely pry his eyes open without having to use his hands and stared at the mutt pressing its cold, wet nose with his worn and raw knuckles, panting and wagging its tail. Apparently he passed the sniff test.

Alright, so it was a dog. Logan liked dogs. Loyal, good listeners. He sniffed himself, not sure how long he'd been asleep, but what sleep he managed allowing his healing factor to do something other than keep him alive and stop his nose from bleeding. Past his own smell of wet mutt, and the mutt's of dry-mutt, there was something else. Perfume? Garish and sweet smelling, feminine. Young. Felt like ages since he'd smelled something like that. Sure as shit wasn't Barton. Least he hoped it wasn't.

There was something sharp to his forehead. Logan muttered a curse under his breath.

Another reason he liked dogs: they couldn't hold a damn arrow in his face.

He just about closed his eyes again, only for them to open at the last second as he smelled her, eyelids creaking like rusty doors as he saw her from the bottom up. Slender. Not weak, supple and young, and tapered calves leading to generous thighs thickened with muscle. Broad, rounded hips and a slim waistline. Purple covered breasts that weren't the biggest or the best by a long shot, but there were worse sights to wake up to.

Like an arrow in the face. All held by a girl young enough to be someone not old enough to hold a weapon, but maybe he was just old fashioned in his advanced age.

The dog picked up something she didn't as Logan's lip curled in a slight snarl, and it whined. Smart dog. A whiskey-burnt growl vibrated the back of Logan's throat. Shit.

"Barton… Hawkeye? Don't tell me yer a broad like Thor, now."

The girl's lips curled, an eyebrow popping. "Well, you're half right, old man."

You Smell Like Death

The girl backed a little, keeping her arrow trained on him to make a point. Point got, but her scent didn't move away, it just spread. Everything sweet and spice and nice – it was a sucker punch to Logan's senses. Pissed him off more than anything else, but even that was just a calling card for his taste in women.

"Now, mind telling me what's wrong with Thor being a 'broad'?"

Her voice was soft and light. Would have been smoky if she were just a bit older. Maybe she would have been smarter if she were older, but she was just young and stupid, now. Logan knew the type and the time, and this was the time where they had flourished. He'd missed that.

"She fricasseed me," he grunted, still feeling the thunderbolt of lightning roasting him like a pig on a stick as he swung his legs over the edge of the couch. A wet squelch of his boots against the rug. Watery boots, mud and blood. Wondered if she could smell it all.

Apparently she could. She pulled back further on the bowstring. "Oh. Well, that's fair, I guess. You're paying for that by the way."

He waved at her, cracking his neck. Was still paying for it. Some of his skin was still scar tissue and if it were possible, his bones broken and healed the wrong way while still carrying electrical discharge. As it was, he felt like a stack of half-dollars squeezed into a penny-pack. "Yeah, yeah."

"You're Wolverine, right?" He didn't answer. Her voice dropped. He smelled the slightest bit of fear. "You… you a zombie or something?"

For a second or so he saw things behind his eyes better left forgotten. Shulkie falling through the sky after she'd lobbed him out of the Deadlands. The big ugly mutt that was half pterodactyl and half flesh eating putz swooping up to get a free bite – probably lost his jaw for that. Yeah. Probably. Hulks were tough – Jen had always been one of the good ones and she'd… she'd be fine.

Logan felt his skin crawl. Maybe it was blood sliding over the hairs on his arms, lacerations beneath his clothes and on his back flowing freely, but optimism had never been his strong suit. Just knew Shulkie'd go down swinging. She'd fuckin' better. "Get that damn pencil outta my face 'fore I make ya eat it."

But she didn't. The girl took that as a challenge, stepped up quick on soft, quiet feet, putting the arrow a centimeter away from his eyeball. He saw something in her eye, smelled more than fear beyond his own bloodied nose. Stupidity. See, Barton had always been smart enough to listen. Women.

Her pupils were shrinking, eyes widening, and nostrils flared. She was hopped with youth and arrogance, exacerbated by the box between her legs and hugged tight by the full body sheer wrap passing as her tight suit. So tight it clung to her crotch smooth and easy, putting it on display like a prized jewel. Nothing but a taunt in the guise of clothing. Kids these days…

Her pinkened lips upturned into a coy smile, arms tensing like she'd press the arrowhead right into his eyeball.

He didn't budge, and she didn't either. Few different ways for him to stop that from happening. Less than a few that wouldn't end with him falling on top of her and one of them half-bleeding to death as a few hundred pound body filled with old and metal bones lay on top of her.

"I bet you'd like that old man. Wouldn't be much different than what you're packing, I'd guess?"

Logan leveled her with a stare. An arrow to the brain, he could heal from. Probably. Definitely used to be able to. Maybe not now, but then that'd be it. No point in worrying about it.

He breathed in, slow, methodical. And he flinched. The influx of her scent hit him like a brick thrown by a pro. Something that was pretty in a word and drug in another. Sweet and spicy like everything he wasn't, it bashed him upside the head and set his skull alight as if Jubilee's firecrackers were going off in his skull. He looked at her and saw flashing lights, scents in synthesia, and felt like he'd just started the first second of a month long trip in Amsterdam whorehouse.

And with that came the berserker rage that had been down and out for too long. Cholk was one thing, but no way in hell was he about to get talked down to by some snotnose kid who probably thought a pearly protein string on her face was a status symbol. Sure as hell not one that smelled so sweet that she belonged in a candystore, and had the nerve to walk around in something so tight her asscrack could be described as a fissure in her suit.

The mutt barked.

Logan quashed the animal in him and the urge to wipe the smirk of her face easily enough. Would be bad. Barton, since he probably knew her, would be less inclined to give up a six-pack that way. With that in mind, falling back into the couch and bleeding over it seemed like a better option. So he did, muttering, "Used t'be girls had respect for their elders."

She followed him, sneering and emboldened at that, at how he was dirtying up the fabric, and moved the arrowhead to his skull. Her mistake. Logan snatched it and broke it in short order, tossing it to the side of the room. He was old, not incompetent, and she was young, and full of herself.

She nocked another arrow almost as quickly and had it in the same place. "Yeah, I bet they were barefoot and pregnant, too. Wolverine is dead," she said, as if expecting him to be surprised. Logan snorted. Must've been lucky here in this world to get that before fucking over everyone he cared about.

Looking at him, seeing the dead emotion in his eyes, her face softened, slightly, in a way he just wasn't used to. "…Hey. You want a sandwich?"

"Funny thing, askin' a dead man out fer food." He gestured to the arrow. "And threatenin' to poke his eye out."

"Don't flatter yourself. I'm asking a dead man if he wants food. Wolverines come back from the dead a lot," she corrected with a smile, as flippantly as possible while ready to shishkebab his eyeball. Pointedly, she didn't take that possibility off the table. "If you're not a zombie the least I can do is ask if you want some grub. And ask how you got so old and busted up. Because… wow, dude, you look like hell."

Logan wanted to snarl, but slurred instead. His tongue felt thick. Nose felt… fine. Numb but tingly, like a secondhand high. Or first. Decided he liked her, for the time being. "Ain't no damn zombie," he said, swaying a little.

"'Ain't' gonna tell me how you got so ancient either, huh?"

He debated telling her. Never gave much a damn about the butterfly effect, anyway. "…M'from the future. Or a world. Different. Different… somethin'… Ain't a good one."

She parsed that, nodding… and dropped her bow to her side and put the arrow back in its quiver. Then she put her hands on her hips – an entirely innocent gesture, usually, if a little mannish, but with her pelvis thrust out to show that she was everything but. Logan felt his eyes roll around in his head and every old human instinct was storming the gates of his mind. The fun ones, ones that had his eyes centered on the puffy mound in her crotch and made him see the congruous line signaling her snatch, fabric riding the highlife into her cameltoe. Had to be seeing things… Tailors back then – on his world – had some fucking sense… hadn't they?

"Oh. Well, that makes sense. Alright," she said.

"Yeah," was all Logan said to that. He held his hand out, weakly gesturing her to back off. Smell got worse, or better, depending on how you looked at it. Was beginning to feel like someone had set off an aromatic in the entire room while cooking happy-fun-time pastries. The fireworks behind his eyes ebbed into little flashes, lighting up parts of his brain like sensory triggers for old memories, old feelings and smells and noises. Made him hungry, but his stomach wasn't growling.

"What, afraid I have cooties?" she asked. "They don't have cooties in the future?"

"Not good ones," he grunted.

Was starting to feel drunk, but definitely better. Nose started to heal quicker too, his flesh beginning to knit itself up like it used to, quick as a latch. And the world was coming back clearer than before, like he was, like someone hadn't just wiped the fog off the a stained glass window, but replaced it with Plexiglas. Everything suddenly clear and crisp and fresh and he could smell the old pizza boxes on the countertop, the oregano in the spice cabinet, the aftershave Barton used along with the rainwater, rust, and garbage across the street.

The worst of it was the aftershave – Barton, that sonovabitch, wouldn't be changing that for another twenty or so years. The past was good like that. He could smell the girl's shampoo and choice in baby powder. Lavender and vanilla, so soft and feminine… Logan breathed in deep through his nose. He liked that, liked it a lot.

Shook his head like a dog to get away from it, feeling his vision begin to turn hazy, just in a different way. Not fog, just heat. "What'syername," he slurred.

Looking him over, more like he was a zoo exhibit she wasn't sure was dead or not, she gave him a half-assed salute, legs coming together and thighs slapping against each other with a jiggle. Somehow her hip popped to the side, lazily, but it worked. He worked his eyes over her, from the curve of her calves all the way up to the serpentine curve of her midsection. "Kate. Kate Bishop. Hawkeye, like… Hawkeye."

Girl Hawkeye. Next thing he knew Parker and Stark would be girls too. Shit, maybe he'd be one. "Names… Logan," he said, trying to sound clever. "Wolverine."

"Oh, you don't say? Didn't notice from those claws popping out of your hands."

Logan looked down and saw his hands had clenched, claws slowly sliding out. Hadn't noticed. Either too punchdrunk or just plain drunk – from his healing factor or her scent, he didn't know, but he wouldn't complain. "I hope you're just happy to see me and not waiting to skewer me."

He took a deep breath of the air, of her, and felt like going a few rounds with Lady Thor just to show her his work history. Uppity runt looked at home with something big and hard in her hands... she'd be up in bed at home with him, yeah… "Oh, I'd skewer ya all day, darlin', just don't give me any ideas…"

"What."

Logan shook his head again. Violently, growling in an attempt to shake the cobwebs and fuzz away, the warmth spreading from his lower half. "Nothin'," he said, sheathing his claws and putting his hands in his lap. They went back in easier than they had in a long time. His prick wasn't so easy to put down, but easier to hide in his jacket with the smell of blood and the dark of the room. "Just get me that sandwich and I'll be on my way."

Kate frowned at him the way the girls used to. Kitty, Jubilee, Jeanie. Something was just nice about that, how warm and fuzzy it could be when it was like that. When they were perturbed, annoyed, or downright pissed. That made his baby-maker swellwhen he connected it with her soft features. The curve and plump of her lips, the dip of her waistline and the swell of her hips. The way she held herself too, perfect and poised like a wishbone that didn't think someone could come along and just break it, perfectly.

"'Get me a sandwich,' he says," she intoned, rolling her eyes. "No you're not. You're almost dead on your feet, Logan."

He stood up and felt like a man made of lead with legs of jello. "Few years n'countin' that, darlin'."

"Ugh, I can't let you leave like this, got that?" She groaned, setting down her bow. "At least finish bleeding out on the couch, don't track that crap all over the place…"

He grunted, took a step forward. "Who said ya had any say in it?" Then, he was falling, and hit the couch like a sack of bricks before he could blink again. She'd turned, blindly jabbing him in the sternum with her bow. The dog was licking his hand again, whining as Logan watched her go, watched the running line between the crack of her pert little ass get eclipsed by his cock, barely constrained in his pants.

Kate walked into the kitchen. "Just… shut up while I make you your damn sandwich and run you a bath. You smell like death."

"Ngh… you smell better, darlin'..."

"Don't butter me up old man, I'm on a diet."

She came back with a small plate and two pieces of bread. If he hadn't smelled the cold-cuts between them and the piece of cheese, the mustard, Logan would have figured she'd given him a fuck-you sandwich. Certainly was young enough and seemed the type to know the recipe perfectly.

She set it down on the table in front of the couch. Being that it'd been decades since he'd ripped into anything as extravagant as deli turkey and pasteurized cheese, so he took it and shut up, hunching over and devouring the grub like a dog. Kate had pulled up a chair and watched him eat. He saw she had made a sandwich of her own, but when his was gone, she slid it over to him.

He really liked her now.

She hopped up into her seat, crouching in it in a way that her knees were out, her calves pressed flush against her thighs, and her thighs plumpened but shrink-wrapped because of her choice in clothes. The valley in-between her legs ended with her crotch, either shamelessly or mindlessly put on display like no one would look, or that no one had a mind to because she could shoot off the wings of a fly from across the room.

That told him something about this world and how his memory had gone south if he'd forgot girls her age acting like this. Young and dumb and full of… something, and so Logan didn't look. Not first, but when she didn't change position, his eyes gradually found their way back as he chewed. Maybe he'd been wrong about her. Certainly seemed to know the recipes men liked the most, like how to get into a man's heart with a good sandwich and a show.

After he wolfed down the second sandwich she spoke up. Logan barely heard her over the sound of his flesh knitting between his ears, his stomach growling and eardrums popping, but gave her his attention anyway. Owed her that much. "You thirsty?"

"Been drinking rainwater, blood, and dust. What do you think?" he said. Felt out of breath, but on the precipice of his second wind like he wasn't so old after all.

Snorting, Kate got up, treating him to another show, this times legs and ass as she swung over the arm of her chair and walked back into the kitchen. Oughta been a nurse with bedside manner like that, Logan thought.

She came back with a weird little cup. By the light coming in from outside Logan saw the H with an arrowhead on it pointing down, the purple color, and gave her a look. "What?" she asked poutily. "Gotta put my brand out there. We can't all be as famous as old reanimated corpses like you."

Logan sniffed, and drank it. Fucking apple juice… God, he'd missed that too. Certainly went down better than whiskey. It was the little things.

"Told ya, ain't a damn zombie," he said, chuckling a little before he knocking the drink back. He held it out for a refill, and she gave him a look. He waited.

Kate groaned, getting up again. She rolled her eyes. "Men."

She came back with the entire gallon jug and told him to top himself off. That was fine, Logan wasn't about to object. Thanked her again, and proceeded to drain nearly the entire damn thing dry. By the time he was on his last glass she was trying to be stoic, but he could see the repressed grimace on her face as she looked at the jug of juice. "Okay… Breaking news: old fossil breaks into a young girl's apartment, eats all her food. Sources suspect it may be Santa Clause's barfly hobo brother!"

Well, he'd been called worse. "Thanks, darlin'. Could eat you instead if ya prefer," he said, sipping at his cup, feeling more lucid.

"I thought you said you weren't a zombie?"

"M'not."

"…Oh."

She blinked unthinkingly for a second, or maybe thinking too much. Either way Logan didn't bother saying anything about that or the look on her face. She nibbled her lower lip, as if considering something, and something else caught her eye. Logan continued to drink, careless of the downward trend her eyes had.

The girl didn't speak again until he finished his glass, then she nodded at one of the doors in the darkened hallway. The rain beat on in the silence, but he appreciated the ambiance. The sound of her slightly elevated heartbeat, the sudden splash of sweet smelling sweat barely beginning to pearl on her skin, and the saliva beginning to pool in her mouth.

"Bathroom's first door on the left. Clean yourself up," she said, swallowing before climbing out of her seat slowly, slow enough for him to look, and walking away just as slowly.

She looked over her shoulder and saw him looking, and furrowed her brow. "Trying to be a good hostess here, old man. I'm giving you the chance to wash the heck up. You smell like a wet dog."

The mutt whined. Logan scratched it behind the ear. "Thought it was death," he said.

Kate waved behind her as she disappeared into, what he suspected, was the bedroom. "It's both, and it stinks. You stink. Stop stinking."

Carelessly, Logan licked his plate clean and got the last few drops of juice out of the jug for good measure. Would have been a lie to say his mind wasn't wandering. Had been too long since he'd had a good meal in his belly, a cool drink to calm him down... a hot young body beneath him to scream into the pillow… but his mind wandered elsewhere.

What he could do, now. Had his list of targets and getting back into wetwork would be easy – nothing to hold him back, no real commitments to keep him caring – except the perfectly alive X-Men and outcasts here in this world, friends to pull him from the brink when he didn't want them to. But if he could take out the main players that caused the villain uprising, keep it from happening here…

There wasn't much time, if any, was there? Fuck, didn't even remember when the hell it'd all went down. Didn't remember a lot of things, but things were different here and in ways he could've sworn hadn't been. Hulk was Asian, a Hawkeye was a dame, and Thor was a cunt that fried him like he'd punted her in her the bean. And none of it added up.

His world, his time hadn't been like that. Knew he wasn't the brightest bulb on the shelf but B for bad day just couldn't follow S for shit if Shit never happened. Hulk was friggin' Jackie Chan now, which meant… Banner wouldn't be around to sic his brood on Logan's family. Wouldn't be around to snap. It'd be okay. They'd all be okay.

Didn't say that out loud, didn't even think it. Again, optimism had never been his card to play. Play it by ear, maybe.

Logan looked to the bathroom door. Had been a long while since he'd had a shower, too.

A Warm Couch, a Warm Meal, and a Full Stomach

He walked on out of the bathroom and back into the living room as he dried his frosty hair, his dick swinging between his legs. When Kate exited the bedroom, barefoot but redressed in her costume, he smelled perfume and conditioner – must've had her own personal bathroom. He rolled his eyes. Women.

"Don't just leave your bloody clothes on the floor, Logan!" Kate demanded her voice a melodious keen, but it sounded like a whine to him. "And put some clothes on!" Definitely whining.

He turned, heedless of his own nakedness and her lack of it. "Will when I find some. Got any?"

She was peering into the bathroom where he'd left his sooty and bloodied pile of rags on the floor and she slammed the door on them, grimacing. "Get your own," she said.

"Darlin', you need to make up yer mind." He plopped back onto the couch, naked as the day he'd popped into this world and landed in a pile of trash. His cup was mournfully empty, but his belly was thankfully full and that was good. It was a bit too soon to get back to drinking in any sense - Logan cackled. Yeah, that was a laugh.

There was a mutt licking his hand and a young thing yelling at him to put some clothes on. Half reminded him of the mansion. Half reminded him of home, and he had had half a mind left to consider it a good thing.

"This is my apartment," she retorted, stomping over to him and standing over him as he made himself comfortable. Her eyes flicked down, then flicked back up, and the third time he followed their gaze back up, looking her in the face and everything else. Slim a thing as she was, thighs notwithstanding, she didn't cut an intimidating image. Just tall enough that her crotch was level with his face… but not close enough that it was on it, and Logan had a silent struggle to pull his head back.

She opened her mouth after a couple of false starts and silence, and Logan could feel his prick start to swell again. "And get your old balls off my couch!"

"Smells like Barton's place if ya ask me," he said, brushing her off. He sniffed the air and, other than smelling her, a sweet tang that made him blink like a shot of saccharine whiskey had been poured between his ears, he smelled more of a lack of her, especially on the couch, which told him a few things about what she was doing here than not. Like Barton didn't have a thing for the young n' dumb ones, good on him. "Barton's couch."

"Well, I didn't," Kate said, fists going to her hips. "And that is my couch. I bought it, I paid for it, and I keep it here."

He blatantly stared forward, right at her pouch. There was a brief pause where he could sense her apprehension – smell it, really, smelled like anticipation, fear – and hear her snort. She jerked her thumb toward the end of the hall, to the bedroom. "Get up. If you want to sleep, do it in a bed, not with your balls on my couch."

She reached out to pull him up, and he let her. She could yank a good heft for a girl her age and size, but a few hundred pounds of man and metal were out of her purview. As Logan sat back down she came stumbling after, balance gone and a slight yelp of surprise dying on her tongue. By the time he'd caught her, hand at her waist and one on the back of her thigh, she'd already righted herself. Right in front of her face.

"God, you're heavy-" she said, having realized what had happened. She tried to move away and he held on to her. "Thanks, I'm fine, you can let gohoo…?"

Snkit. One of his claws came out as easy as knife through butter. Logan shelved the surprise and put it toward carving her pants off. Quick and easy, like carving a turkey with a scalpel. A patch of fabric came away, forming a flapping window, and he tore at it to clutch her crotch with his hand.

Kate seemed to realize what he was doing just as quickly too, and sighed as he did. There was a quiver in her voice.

"…Tell me you didn't just tear my costume," she said, as he started to tear at her panties. They had her little purple brand-recognition on them. Logan chuckled at it. "Don't… laugh. I just got this outfit repair- mmn, okay, we're doing this? We are, huh?"

She looked down at him, and he looked up, his mouth on the patch of bare, puffy pussyflesh poking out of the hole he'd left in her panties. The dog barked, and for a second Logan pulled away from the soft, yielding flesh of her thighs encircling her head to growl at him. As it whined and scampered off into one of the back rooms, Logan wriggled his tongue up in her and watched her shudder slightly. "Y-Yeah… we're doing this… fuck, that's convenient."

He was comfortable sitting on the couch and eating her out more than she was. A few seconds into it and her legs had started to shake. Logan pulled away, more to see her body rock in its entirety and grin at it than to give her a break, and she shoved his face back in, her cunt quivering over the coarse hairs on his upper lip. "Don't… you f-fucking dare pull away now, old… man…" she said, gritting her teeth. Her fingers grabbed and pawed at the hair on his head and Logan slowed down, tongue coming to a crawl and lips smacking just enough to let her know that he'd stopped moving because what she had was so, so important to say, and he listened to women.

She tugged at his hair and growled. Sounded like a whimper. "Don't stop, either!" she yelped. He lashed his lathered his against her puffy, juicing mound in one long, drawn out masterstroke that made her knees quiver. Logan laughed into her crotch. She tugged on his hair some more like that'd stop. "Yeah, laugh it up, old man…. Lap it up you dirty… fuck. A girl takes you in, off death's door, and you repay her kindness by…. Fuck…. Putting her pussy in your mouth…?"

Logan raised his eyebrow and squeezed her clit between his fingers, looking up at her. "Mmmphcmflninph?"

"Fuck!" No, apparently. She was cumming.

He felt it before she did, the thunderous paroxysms of her pussy continuously clenching down on his cunt and throbbing against his face until it was all he could do to keep it from sucking his tongue back inside of her like a tape-feed, and so he did. The extra force of him shoving his head as far as he could between her legs made her thighs come together, but that didn't stop him. Her juices flowed freely into his mouth and he munched down on her all the way through every last cum she had, one strong arm coming up behind her pert ass to keep her mostly up right.

His prick was drooling freely, as hard as an iron rod but he left it untouched. Every once in a while her legs would give and brush against what he had in store for her, and in between his mitts kneading the firm flesh of her ass like dough and his merciless eating out of her pussy, she still had enough sense to straighten up. Less because of his prick and more because it changed the rhythm and location of his mouth. She was using his face like her own pussy-eating convenience, which was fine. Wasn't like he wasn't going to use her babyroom as a convenient place to dump his sperm.

Kate wasn't a screamer, or a moaner. She kept her whines to herself, but they built up like water in a cup until, eventually, that cup runnethed over and Logan was treated to the sweet, cute sounds of a pretty young thing losing her mind on his face. She started to paw at his head, his face, hunching over. "O-okay, you win…" she slurred, "I… I… give. Old man knows how to treat a girl…. Y-you too."

"Still hungry," Logan grunted into her. What it sounded like didn't matter, because she whined out a just as intelligible, "God damn it Logan, please get your fucking face out of my pussy… please…?"

He didn't, and she unleashed a line of pitiful curses that got weaker and weaker. "Mmn! Fine, you…fucking cunt-hound… just can't get enough? My pussy can't taste better than air, can it? But you don't need to breathe much with that healing of yours, do ya? Can just… live there, baby… shit!" He growled into her, lifting her up with one arm and making her all but ride his face, causing the thick breadth of his cock to slide and drool along her leg. "…Holy fuck, you're so fucking… hard. What did you have in mind, Logan? That I'm going to let you stick that thing in me?"

He could feel her heartbeat on his tongue accelerate. Her breaths got heavier, and she started to pant. Her grip on his hair was rough, and Logan took his aggression out on the saliva-slathered mons in his face. "Nuh-uh. You're lucky I… mngh! Let you eat my pussy, old man… crash on my couch, eat my food… and eat my sweet, sweet little pussy… No, you don't get to cum in me..."

Her foot lifted and she nudged his cock with it, kicked it lightly, and then a third time, feeling it along her skin for longer. "Mmm… maybe… if you beg…?"she slurred.

Logan stopped. He didn't just stop, he pulled away and put her foot down. Kate's hands were too weak to keep him in place and so she stumbled with a shocked breath, suddenly assaulted with the sensation of cool, night air against the formerly stuffy and face heated region of her drooling pussy. Wiping at his beard, Logan cracked his neck, and leaned into the couch, his cock on full display.

"Mn- Logan-" Kate started. Her eyes looked like they were malfunctioning, blinking out of sync as her body dealt with the effects of suddenly being ripped away from a source of continuous orgasm.

"Logan-" she tried again, sounding more lucid. She took a step forward, one weak hand going to her pussy and pressing, trying to get some semblance of sensation back. He kicked her away, and she whimpered. "Logan, please!"

Logan picked at his ear. "What?"

She spread her legs. The rest of her body was still suited up with only the hole at her crotch to show any discrepancy. And what a discrepancy it was. A well of wetness had spread from her honeypot, tears had started to take in the sheer material of the suit, and the look on her face was one step away from hissing like a cat. But it wasn't there yet, and instead she looked like one in the rain. A cute, wet pussy just begging for his attention. Logan had a feeling that if he tried to slide his fingers up in there she'd bite at him. Girls like that were fun in their own way.

He spread his legs slightly and gave his cock a shake, if she didn't get the message, and his precum stained the leg of her costume. Kate's eyes zeroed in on his prick like a bright, lone light in a dark room. A myriad of expressions flashed across her face before she took her first step, but then it was another, and another, each lower than the last until she was swinging the meat of her thighs over his. The look on her face could curdle milk or give diabetes, it was so sweet and pathetic.

"Don't cum in me," she ordered, glaring at him with dark, stormy eyes. Down below her hand was shaking around his prick, trying to get a hold of it. She jumped at its heat, but then found purchase and lined up the shot. Hers, his, Logan supposed it was all the same, now. "I want you to finish eating me, understand?"

He rolled his eyes. "Not a zombie," he said, and took her legs out from beneath her.

She dropped. The result wasn't immediate, at least not for her. Logan though could feel…. Everything. The tightness, the warmth, the needy, hungry cling of her too-tight pussy choking the life out of his drooling cock. He lost himself in it, closing his eyes and breathing heavily against her chest. Feeling his balls churn and rise against her soft legs, he almost felt like letting it all out, right up inside her…. But he didn't, and instead steadied his breathing to see how she was feeling.

Kate had the look of someone who didn't know they'd been impaled, on her face. Logan had seen that look a more than a few times in his long life, just none ever so pleasant as the look of realization that slowly dawned on her. It was slow, her eyes moving down one step at a time, first at his face, then his body, and then where he stuck her… and then they started to close. She bit her lip and her body seized hiccupped a high pitch like a chipmunk. If it wasn't the orgasm she'd been looking for from his mouth, it was the one she'd gotten from his one-eye without the mental-capacity to reject it.

She was saying something though, and Logan leaned in with a lazy, self-satisfied smirk on his face. "What was that, darlin'?" he asked, and she spit on him. Drooled was more like it, but he recognized the intention and chuckled.

"Said… wanted you to… eeemeout…. Nodd… dish…" she slurred, shaking her long, dark hair in his face. "Jush… wannedtocum… Ijusshwantedtocum!" she cried, and so broke the dam.

Logan rubbed her back and rocked her in his lap as her whimpers turned to cries, and those cries turned to moans. He picked up her legs and put her feet on his shoulders after a second of testing her flexibility. "Don't you worry darlin', plenty of cum in yer future…" he assured her.

Kate shook her head angrily. "Fffuck you, oll…man…" she hissed. "Don't… don't kiss me." Logan hadn't, had it even had it cross his mind, but her pussy clenched his prick at the word – women – and so he did. She was choking him now, but up top her arms were too weak to do much of anything except hook around his neck.

Over the smack of saliva and lips she groaned into his mouth, feeling her body rise and fall at the whims of his hands clutching her ass, fingernails first. He'd leave fingerprints, and they both knew it. "Sssaaid not to… kiss me, Logan…"

"You say a lot of things, girl," Logan said, kissing her again. Her tongue couldn't do much to stop his from punching down her throat, and so it just sat there, undulating against his until he took it back, at which point she followed it. "Need to make up your damn mind."

"Fffuck you!"

Logan made himself comfortable on the couch, heavy nuts and all, and ground her into his lap, finding a pocket deep in her and sitting himself there against the protestations of her slow to slacken cunt. "Maybe. If you beg," he said.

A low keen of a whine came out of her mouth. She was nuzzling her head against his collar, nipping at it to keep her voice back. "Fuck, you're really going to make me ask, aren't you…? Fuck… fuck, fuck, fine!" She whined. "Fuck me, get me… get me pregnant! Put-Put a baby in me you stupid old… just… keep going!"

Far be it from him to turn his cheek at one who'd done him right, much less a pretty thing like her, but he had to ask. Logan looked down at her, pausing to see the visage of tortured, frustrated rapture on her face and the sheen of sweat rolling down her face."You sure about that? Bad career move-"

With what strength she had, Kate speared herself on his fat prick, slapping wetly against his balls. Her legs fell from his shoulders and wrapped their way around his back, a groan tearing its way from her throat. He watched the new Hawkeye go cock-eyed. "Fucking knock me up, you old canuck! Filthy old prick! You fucking… ungh, god! You piece of… knock… me up… cum inside so much, so fucking much…" she growled, fingernails digging into his neck in between lashing his tongue with hers. "Fucking kiss me and feed my cunt your cum! Drop every last load inside me Logan, please…"

Logan shrugged. She was old enough to make that choice apparently, and he wasn't so old that he didn't want to get his rocks off getting his rocks off in a tight, squirming cunt. He let it sit deep enough that the tightness of her cunt wouldn't stop him from dumping a fat wad right up there and then… yeah, all of it, out and up and in, volleys and shots of potent, thick jizz blasting her right at the door to her eager little babyroom. A ballsdeep cumpie so pressurized it started to squirt and squelch past the vacuum seal of her cunt on his cock, forever staining the couch and carpet.

Logan had a mind to point it out that she'd done it once she settled down. Her body shook and quivered, but her legs didn't loosen their hold on him. She shifted, and as he felt shudder again he gave her a swift smack on the ass for good measure and play. "Good…" he said, feeling like a welcome guest. "You got somethin' on the couch. And yer carpet…"

Kate breathed in and exhaled, feeling his palm her cheeks as brazenly as he pleased, which was as much as she let him. She couldn't do much with her legs locked as they were, stuck, really, and so she only objected slightly as he ran his fingers up and down the crack of her ass like a credit card. "S'Clint's…" she murmured, shaking slightly to fend off two of his fingers as they got a little too intrepid.

She looked over her shoulder at the white streak that was cooling on the carpet. "Oh, fuck… Clint's gonna kill me…"

Logan spread his legs which, while it didn't make hers spread, made her resituate herself on principle as she felt the heat of his body move. The shock of cool air hit her again, so she didn't object at all when his other hand came to sample her butt like fruit in a store. "That's a shame," he grunted.

She glared at him. "Yeah, it is. I told you not to cum inside me! I get…. Tight, and- fuck, you came so much inside me…" her words ebbed off as he stared down at her, and she stared down in awe at her belly, a little swollen, and felt the lips of her pussy, a lot swollen.

She was starting to enjoy the silence, and the feeling of being so full, when he looked too, and grinned. "Heh."

Kate grimaced and started to rock herself to sleep… or another orgasm – he was still hard, so whichever one came first… "Oh, shut up, old man…"

Logan snorted. Women.

A/N: This is based off of some part of the Old Man Logan #2 Vol. 2. ANAD made it confusing, but I enjoyed it.