Archive of Our Own ^beta

Maya and Logan had moved from Xavier’s mansion a while ago, a few years after he began to grow more grays on his head and healing began to take more work than it used to.

The house was a little cabin nestled in the woods by the Hudson Bay. It was fully funded by the Institute so they didn’t need to pay a single cent. Maya would occasionally go back down, teach a few classes, train a few students but those moments were few and far between. 

She came back from the store, seeing Logan in the exact spot she left him earlier. He was reading in the living room. Allowed himself to do something he previously didn’t have much time for. She went over to the couch and bent over to give him a kiss on the cheek, arms around a brown paper bag. He leaned into the kiss, reaching up to pull her closer. 

“Hey, honey, I gotta put this away.” Maya chuckled, slipping from his grasp.

“Can’t spare two more seconds, blue?” He looked up at her, setting the book on his lap. 

Maya stared at Logan. He was older. That much anyone could tell. There were wrinkles by his eyes, silver hairs with a hint of brown left in some places, and a few scars scattered across his face. The one on his temple was from a close shave. But she didn’t just see the old man he currently was. No, she saw the man she had grown to love. When he stared at her, he almost looked boyish. His hard features softened into something sweet. 

She wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him to her chest. “I think I can do that.” Her voice was low, soft. Intended only for him to hear. 

Logan closed his eyes and listened to the calm, constant beat of her heart and let out a deep breath. It calmed his own beating heart as it always had countless times before.

After dinner was a new part of their routine. Logan sat in a tub while Maya bathed him, her touch always gentle yet firm as she massaged shampoo and conditioner into his hair. He always stared at the bathwater rather than at Maya or some other place, a glaze filled his eyes. 

“Am I—” He paused, not wanting to admit to something he felt. But it was Maya. He trusted her with everything. Even the difficult stuff. “Am I hard to take care of?” 

Maya stopped the warm washcloth which she used to scrub his shoulders. She moved beside the tub so Logan could see her face. “Of course not, honey.” She cupped his cheek. Her thumb swiped over the scar there. “I love you.”

“I know, but…” Logan couldn’t meet her eyes. Instead, his darted to different milky suds littered throughout the water. “I can’t do shit by myself anymore. Not really. That has to be,” He finally looked up at her. “Exhausting.”

Insecurity shined his eyes, a deep self-hatred for the fact that he was aging. That he wasn’t the person he used to be. He was human. And humans were a delicate machine. A machine that could be broken so easily. 

Maya breathed. Her shoulders slumped as she realized the reason for his question. “It can be.” She admitted. “But I’m just happy to spend time with you. To be with you. I focus on that. And it’s not so bad to be close to you like this.” A hand found his knee which rested above the water and massaged gentle patterns there.

Logan’s chest rose and fell with the weight of her words. It was hard to accept help in such a tender way. To be held as if he were something precious and worth protecting. Usually, he was the one doing the protecting. Maya didn’t need that. She didn’t need anything from him. Except for his heart. He knew that. He knew. Yet things change over time. He assumed that would too. It didn’t. 

With a huff of air, Maya took one of his hands and pressed a kiss to his palm and then to his wrist. His pulse jumped beneath her lips. Just like it always had when she touched him like that. “I married you, Logan.” It was a simple reminder. One he needed a lot. “And I know we both thought you would outlive it all, but that doesn’t change the fact that I vowed my life to you. This…” She slid her hand down to his thigh beneath the surface of the water, “Taking care of you, is part of that.”

Logan's wrinkles deepened for a second. A quick second. Before they softened and he leaned forward to kiss Maya. He cupped her cheek and pet her hair, a reverence in his touch that he could not convey with words as eloquently as his wife. 

The weight of the silver band on his finger was the physical reminder that he was loved. The one he'd stare at while Maya wasn't around. He had locked down the one person who truly knew him. Who truly loved him. 

And now, he wasn't sure how much longer he had to live. Before, it would have been forever. Now, it was sooner rather than later. Now, he wanted to live. Wanted to have that beautiful life with Maya. To have a family. Sure, they couldn't have one biologically, but there were other avenues. 

Logan imagined having a little girl. A brave, beautiful little girl who looked and acted nearly identical to her mother. With long, dark hair, a cute hooked nose, and the sweetest eyes. But those eyes would be brown and green to match both her parents. He would talk to her all the time while she was a baby, would help her with homework as a child, even if he didn't understand it, and he'd help her through her first break-up, let her cry on his shoulder, as a teenager. 

It was a good dream. That couldn't become reality. But it was better than nothing at all. 

He pressed his hand against her cheek, watching as small drops of water rolled along Maya’s skin. She made no move to wipe it away. Instead, she slid her hand over his arm. Caressed the inside of his elbow. It stopped on his shoulder, thumb drawing circles on his collarbone.

“Thank you,” Logan’s fingers, though rough, handled her with care. He curved them against her jaw, feeling the scar there. “For putting up with me.”

Maya's eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled. “It's not that hard.” She assured. 

“Still.” He sighed and pulled her into a kiss. His hands, still wet, explored her face as if it were the last time. The scars on her face, the curve of her brow, the swell of her cheek. “I love you.” His breath was hot against her lips. 

Maya pressed a kiss to the bridge of his nose. “I love you too. Don't you ever doubt it.” He tried not to. 

Once the bath was done, she helped Logan to the bedroom. He limped on his way and leaned heavily against her. He refused to get a cane. And Maya would always be there to catch him if he fell. 

She got in bed next to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressed against him from behind. He has slowly accepted his role as the little spoon. Enjoyed it, even. The cold of her body was strangely comforting. A soft breeze on a summer day that caressed his skin. She perched her chin on his shoulder and pressed her cheek against his, hands resting on his stomach. 

Logan let out a deep breath. Limbs relaxed. Untensed. He glanced down at her hands, watching the deep red gem of her engagement ring twinkle in the low light of their bedroom. He still remembered that day like it happened yesterday. Her bright smile, the tears that slipped from her eyes. It was one of their happiest days together. 

They were still happy. More or less. Even if there was the looming threat of death, he savored the domesticity of their life now. 

As much as he hated not being able to do much, watching Maya cut down trees for firewood or make dinner or fix something around the house never failed to get him going. She was still as strong as ever. Her muscles flexed under her shirt, under her skin. She was beautiful when she used her hands for something. 

“Maya?” Logan whispered into the dark room. He folded his hand over hers on his stomach. 

“Yeah?” Her voice rumbled against him. He could feel the vibrations through his chest. 

He licked his chapped lips. “I need you.” 

Maya let out a breath against his neck. “Logan.” 

She hadn't wanted to strain him with sex but he didn't care. The minute amount of pain he’d go through would be nothing compared to the pleasure he'd feel. 

“Please.” Logan pressed his ass against Maya's hips. “It's been for-fucking-ever.” The desperation was evident in his voice. 

He didn't lie. Maya was focused on taking care of Logan's more basic needs. Shelter, food, and water. And all the things that came with it. Needed to keep him warm, safe, and happy. Keep him alive. She kind of forgot that he also required sex. 

Maya pressed her forehead against his shoulder, mulling it over. “Alright.” She slipped her hands underneath his shirt and pressed kisses against his neck. 

He pressed against her more firmly and let out a breath. Those lips on his neck never failed to get his body hot. “Can you do it just like this?” He didn't feel like moving. 

“Sure, sweetheart.” Maya had to reach over him to the nightstand. She pulled out a half-empty bottle of lube. “Whatever you want.” She pecked his cheek. His skin tingled. 

With her help, Logan's boxers were pushed off his hips and fell off the side of the bed. His dick hardened slowly as she slickened up her fingers and slid them down to his ass. She gently worked him open, listening for any discomfort at all. Instead, she only heard his soft, ragged breaths. Needy. Hot. Wanting. 

“Baby, please,” He panted, eyebrows drawn together. “Need you, baby. Need you so badly.” 

He was always a begger. He had given up trying to act more “masculine” and in charge of everything long ago. For her. Only ever for her. 

Being on the receiving end when the person giving was as careful and meticulous and downright attractive as Maya was not the worst thing. In fact, it was a very good thing. The best feeling in the world. Broken down and put back together again with such care. There was nothing else like it. 

Maya pushed his shirt up as her hand slipped further up to his chest, squeezing his pectoral while her fingers thrust into him. “I know, sweetheart.” Her breath was cold against his ear. “But I don't wanna hurt you. Gotta get you ready, mon cœur.” 

His heart beat wildly he could hear it in his head. He moaned lowly. A whimper, really. Her fingers curled inside him. He was close already. But he wanted to hold off until her dick was inside him. 

She ran her nose up and down the column of his throat. “Tu vas si bien, mon cœur. Je suis tellement fier de toi. Je sais que ça doit être dur.” She whispered sweet things in his ear, praising him, knowing that it would set him off even more. 

They grew up in fucking Canada, they both knew French. Maya learned it while in school. It was mandatory when she was young. Even through the torture, the language stuck. And Logan… well, he'd been around long enough that he picked up quite a few languages. A few just so happened to be from around the place he grew up. 

But Maya's accent. It was perfect. Sinfully so. By voice alone, Logan would mistake her for a French citizen. 

“Chérie, s'il te plaît. J'ai besoin de toi en moi.” He panted, turning his head to try and capture her lips in a kiss. 

Maya hummed into the kiss, sliding her tongue against his. Their noses bumped together. His beard scraped her skin. It was a dance they were used to. Yet it never failed to make his heart race. 

She complied with his wishes. 

She removed her fingers and pulled down her sleep shorts just enough to uncover her cock. A hand hooked under Logan's thigh to raise it enough to open himself up a little better. She pushed her cock into him slowly. Almost agonizing in his eyes. 

“Ah, Maya—” He gasped. His head fell back against her shoulder. 

“C'est ça, mon cœur. Juste comme ça. C'est ça.” Maya worked her dick in and out until it was buried to the hilt. “I missed this. Missed being surrounded by your warmth.” She nudged her nose against his cheek to breathe in the scent of him. 

After the bath, Logan smelled clean. Like her body wash. A mixture of citrus and something herbal yet also the scent he usually carried around with him. Whiskey and tobacco and smoke. And now sex. 

He couldn't help but roll his hips. He wanted friction. Any friction. “Move, baby, please. Fuck me.” 

“As you wish.” She rolled her hips languidly. She wanted him to feel every last drag of her dick. And she didn't want him to pop a hip if she thrust too hard, too fast. “Toujours aussi beau, mon cœur. Ça me rend toujours fou de voir à quel point tu es attirant. Tellement beau, comme une œuvre d'art.” 

Logan's mouth dropped open after Maya brushed against his prostate. Soft moans and whines escaped his throat. He reached behind him and grabbed onto her hip. In his older age, it didn't take much for him to get close. And Maya didn't make it easier for him to hold on. His body was tuned to her touch. A machine she knew how to work and oil like no one else.

“Almost there, huh, baby?” She could feel it. The muscles in his thigh tensed beneath her fingers and his heart raced under her palm.

“So, so close.” Logan sighed. He groaned and held onto Maya tighter. The flesh molded to his fingers. “Harder—fuck—baby, please.” 

Maya let out her own small whimper. “You know I can't say no to you, sweetheart.” She snapped her hips harder, long, deep strokes which hit all the right places. 

He was tempted to laugh but was disrupted by his orgasm. He cried out, eyes slipping shut as he saw a glimpse of Heaven. He pressed against her harder and spasmed as he came on the sheets. Logan panted as he came down from his high. Body trembled. Face flushed. He was utterly satisfied. 

But something was missing. 

Maya had slowed her thrusts again. There was no need to overwhelm him. “I love you so much, honey.” She pulled his back against her chest harder. “Je t'aime tellement, chérie.” 

“I love you too.” He shuddered, “Want you to cum, baby.” 

She moaned lowly, “Keep saying that, baby.” She sucked small marks onto his skin. Now, they lasted a lot longer. A bittersweet revelation. 

Logan whined softly. His free hand clutched onto the pillows as Maya kept her slow, yet filling, pace. If there was one thing that she loved, it was whenever he said those three little words during sex. 

He babbled ‘I love you’s in several different languages. Spanish, French, German. But there was one Maya adored the most. Her language. 

“Aakuluk.” 

One word. Almost the same amount of letters used. 

Maya let out a low whine as she hit her peak. She spilled into him. Her hips stopped, nestled against the curve of his ass. 

“I love you too, James.” She panted. Kisses were placed over the flowering bruises on his neck. 

Logan shivered when she called him by his given name. No one ever said that anymore. No one except for her. She said his name, both names, with such love that it winded him at times. Killed him and gave him life all the same. 

Logan was the one who saved her from herself. Who she called for help during hard missions. Who took her virginity. Who she sparred with long ago. Who she laughed with and cried with and made love with. Who she took care of day in and day out. 

James was the one standing at the altar. Who she said her vows to with tears in her eyes and a tender smile on her lips. The name she said when she got especially frustrated, knowing it would scare him and excite him. A name forgotten made new again by her. 

Maya moved to pull out but Logan tugged her down. “No, no, no, stay.” He panted, “Please, sweetheart. Stay. Wanna go to sleep like this.” 

She sighed and settled against him again. Arms wrapped around his waist. “Okay.” She could feel a build up of sweat on his skin but he wanted to ignore it so she would too. For now. 

“Thank you.” He set his hands over hers. A breath of air escaped from his lips. 

She pecked his cheek. “I’m never gonna leave you. You know that, right?” She ran a hand up his sternum. His heart was beginning to calm under her palm.

“I know.” Logan’s eyes slipped shut. 

He was afraid of abandonment. In the many years he’d been alive, he'd lost so much. People left him. People died. People turned from friends to enemies. It left wounds so deep, sometimes he wasn’t sure he could go on. But he lived. He had no choice in the matter. 

Now, he was dying. Still no choice in the matter.

But that wasn’t what he was afraid of. 

Maya was a person who loved so deeply, so much and she had become attached to him. She protected and cared for what was hers with a ferocity only he could match. He was afraid she would get stuck and never move on. Or worse, she would take it out on others and disrupt the peaceful life they would have once had. She was powerful. One large wave and the entirety of North America could be wiped off the map.

“Promise me,” There was a lump in his throat. “Promise me, blue, that you’ll mourn me but it won’t turn to anger or melancholia. I don’t want you hurting yourself or others.”

Her fingers curled against his chest, turning drops of sweat into blankets of frost. “I promise.”