Written for Clue. I took prompts ages ago and she asked for Magneto/Wolverine that was “profoundly dubcon”. Signed, sealed, and delivered.
X-men. Magneto/Wolverine. NC-17. ~2500 words. Movieverse. Dub-con. Post-canon.
My boy, the one thing you’ll learn straight away is that an animal in this house earns its keep.
The Same Deep Water
Knives, bullets, bare-knuckled fists, they all contribute to a world of hurts that Logan’s long-accustomed to. Others he’s only known the touch of once or twice like the wrong end of a howitzer; the creeping bite of flame; the dusty weight of rockfall; Stryker. It’s the lingering thorn of Stryker that’s led him here, plopped him down in an overstuffed wing chair with his spine ramrod stiff and his hands pinned to the arms.
His bones twist and strain—a teeth-clenching pain that’s grown frustratingly familiar in the last few years—and he’s helpless as a newborn to fight the pull. He resists it anyway until muscle tears from tendon, stitches itself up again while Magneto calmly watches him struggle. There’s no malice in Magneto’s gaze, no simmering violence. Most everyone Logan’s met, even the Eagle Scout poster boys, stink with the need to know where they land in the pecking order. Magneto though is a confident bastard, a believer, convinced he belongs at the top. It’s unsettling, gets Logan straight in the gut and heats his blood until he itches for a real fight.
Magneto’s hands rest in his lap, fingers relaxed and threaded together. His brow is lined with age but free of sweat or signs of strain, not even a vein popping to keep Logan in the chair opposite him. It’s screwed in the head to prop Logan here like this, sit knee-to-knee as if they were two old pals having a fireside chat. Logan’s not much for putting on a show, but in this case he’d prefer it to look like a bit of effort is going in to reducing him to a doll. Magneto’s lips thin into a faint smile before he asks, “What do you owe them, Wolverine?”
“About as much as I owe you.”
“Jean is dead. Charles, too.” Magneto leans forward, his suit rustling against the fabric of the chair. He lays a hand on Logan’s knee, the touch gentle compared to the brute force of his power clamped to Logan’s skeleton. “Nothing keeps you there. And now you’ve come knocking at my door. For what? To bully me with empty threats?” He shifts, scooting to perch on the very edge of the seat. Logan’s adamantium hums as Magneto saturates it with raw energy. “Or did you come here expecting to find a weak old man.”
“Tell me what I want to know and I’ll get going.”
“No, Wolverine, you won’t. You will stay as my guest.” Magneto rises, all strength and grace. He pats Logan on the cheek, the touch patronizing before slowing to a caress. His fingers curl lightly behind the hinge of Logan’s jaw, his thumb smoothing over the bristle of whiskers. “But my boy, the one thing you’ll learn straight away is that an animal in this house earns its keep.”
A snarl ripples up Logan’s throat.
“A year in the Brotherhood’s ranks and I will tell you everything you wish to know.” Magneto’s fingers ghost across the edge of whiskers to Logan’s lips. In the reverse of the tight frown tugging down the corner of Logan’s mouth, a small, bitter smile finds its way to Magneto’s. He moves to leave then, and when Logan finds himself free to turn his head and track him, Logan’s not sure what keeps him seated. He’s fought for less, spilled enough guts to fill a boxcar under the orders of uniformed pigs who didn’t deserve their rank or a lick of respect. Sold his body for every use under the sun at least once and lived through it.
My finest experiment.
“What guarantee do I have that you’re not just gonna use me and lose me?”
“Oh, I’ll use you, and plenty, for myself as you have surely guessed and for the Brotherhood. However, unlike Charles, I don’t renege on my word. Come to my bedchambers, Wolverine, and we can lay down the foundations of this arrangement. I promise you, it won’t be unpleasant.”
He’s free to go, to cut his way out and leave the maddening scraps of his past alone. He’s spent so long not really knowing who he is, doubt nibbles at him that things’ll be any different when he’s patched up those holes. The spaces between his knuckles itch; the aching nudge of metal presses at the tendons of his wrist. It lingers through the long walk down the hall, up a twisting flight of stairs and onward where the trail of Magneto’s passing is sharp with the traces of lust and triumph—pheremone scents that crawl like bugs under Logan’s skin.
The lush bedroom is massive, crowded full of carpets and tapestries laid over rich dark wood. A fire blazes in the hearth, deepening the shadows at the edges of shapes large and small. It could be a mirror of the professor’s quarters, and Logan breathes in half expecting a trace of the man, but there’s no ghostly presence riding the musky reminder of Magneto’s intent.
“Always the mercenary,” Magneto says, standing at the bedside and undressing slowly. Logan’s eyes track to the numbers inked on his flesh—his excuse for tyranny. Mouth quirking under the scrutiny, Magneto uses his powers on the chain of Logan’s dogtags. Logan’s lips curl away from his teeth as the stamp of his own numbers dangle accusingly in front of his face. They’d never been his excuse, no matter what that dog Victor had said.
Logan yanks the tags out of mid-air, crossing the room as Magneto slips out of his shoes and flicks a hand. The door swings shut, the click of the latch sealing the most delicate prison cell Logan’s ever found himself dumped in. “Drop your pants so I can get this over with and rustle up something to eat,” Logan says. He hauls his shirt and undershirt off over his head, leaving them tangled around his wrists as he plants himself elbows first on the mattress. He skids his legs wide, waits for the feel of his fly popping open and his jeans dragged down by the rivets.
“I think you’ve misunderstood the terms,” Magneto says, his touch light at Logan’s elbow. He slides onto the bed, waits with that same steady gaze that says he fears nothing, not even letting Logan crawl up over him and put teeth to his throat.
The bed groans under Logan’s weight as he holds himself in check. The body under him is lax, waiting, and he feels the temperature of the air rise as heat pours off Magneto’s skin. “What is this?” Logan asks, the question torn from him even as instinct tries to take over at the submission offered up sweet as syrup. It’s a goddamn trap that plays on his weaknesses, he reminds himself even as he noses at Magneto’s throat, breath coming quicker at the scent of blood rushing under skin.
“An exchange, and a mutually pleasurable one if you’ll permit it.”
“And if not–” Logan doesn’t need the answer, but gets one in a hard jerk of force that makes his knee push Magneto’s leg wide.
“Well, we already know I hardly need your permission, now don’t we?”
A sound builds like thunder low in Logan’s chest, makes it out between his clenched teeth and not much further as Magneto turns to kiss him. The soft press of lips hits him with a thousand volts, the shock jolting him to the core with more strength than it’d taken to render him immobile. Logan’s too numbed to do anything but kiss back as sure hands skim down his side and work swiftly at the waist of his jeans. This isn’t how he’d been prepared for things to go, and a new sound escapes him, thin, weak as he jerks away from the kiss.
“No kissing,” he says, claws disappearing back into his arms. He hadn’t even felt the pain of bone scraping bone. He flexes his hands as tiny goosedown feathers drift back down to the pillow they’d been ripped from.
“If you insist.” Magneto shrugs off his disappointment as he takes Logan in hand, the heady scent of his arousal going straight to the crudest parts of Logan’s brain. His body doesn’t care in the least what his thinking brain has to say about laying down with the man; his cock swells to fill the soft cradle of Magneto’s fingers. A shot of pride that’s hard to swallow chases the dizzy rush of all that blood going south as Magneto murmurs his appreciation and spreads himself wider beneath Logan.
Magneto had asked if Logan expected a feeble old man, and he had with how much of the ‘cure’ Beast had pumped into him, but mutant powers or not, he’s far from feeble. His age shows mostly on the surface; the muscle of his body remains fit, and the way his limbs open for Logan is stately not stiff. Logan presses bared teeth to the one flaw he finds, a poorly-mended break that’s left a permanent jag in the wing of Magneto’s collarbone. He growls and catches the bone between his teeth, remembers suddenly a different man’s body and the taste of blood welling against his tongue. Releasing his hold, Logan licks at the faint indent of his bite, the closest concession to nicety that he’ll give as Magneto’s slick hands find his dick harder yet.
It’s mechanical then, or it should be. Fucking doesn’t take much thinking and a rhythm is easy to settle into, but Logan’s mind doesn’t shut down like he wishes it would. Every sound Magneto makes, each twist against the sheets, it drives Logan on. It shouldn’t. It goddamn shouldn’t, but it hits him like a hot spill of innards across his claws, satisfying despite the stench. His stomach drops out, leaving him hollowed out with a strange hunger growing beside the pleasure.
“Surely you can do better than this,” Magneto says, his fingers digging into Logan’s shoulders. His head is back, a vicious, pleasured smile on his face. “A little more vigour, if you would. You can’t break me so easily.”
The accusation slides in like a stiletto to the kidneys. Logan fights the crackling rage that turns his hands to fists and the inky, sickly darkness that says he’s proven over and over just how easy he’ll give himself to another man’s will. He shoves up, weight propped on his knuckles, and Magneto’s hands settle to press light against his chest.
“Don’t make me do all the work. That’s hardly sporting.” Magneto’s words come with a faint hint of his power, drawing Logan steadily deeper by the very bones of his hips.
With a gutteral roar that’s raw and angry and filled with a shameful anguish, Logan resists the pull and jerks back, his cock almost slipping free before Magneto stops him. The fingers resting on his chest twitch, the slightest hint that this time, it requires willpower if not effort to work his power.
“Let me go, old man.”
Ecstasy flitters across Magneto’s face, echoed in the slight clench of muscles around Logan’s cock. He shifts, inching Logan deeper by the lift of his hips alone, and another hard clench forces a groan out of Logan. “When you’re not holding up your part of the bargain, why should I?”
“Still hard, ain’t I? You want it rough, I can do that.” The words burn like acid, as sharp and stinging as the pleasure of being granted control of his body again and fucking in deep enough to cut Magneto’s breath short.
There’s a darkly glimmering thread in him that thrives on the simplicity of watching a body squirm under his weight, moan weakly at the relentless slam of his cock, shiver and beg for another scrape of teeth on tender skin. It’s easier than he’d like it be to give in to the scent of blood pounding lustfully, let the red haze carry him through any qualms his conscience might serve up.
Better, yes, to lick at the thin trickling sweat at Magneto’s temple, to curl a hand underneath his body and brace it for the hard, rutting thrusts that turn rough breath to soft, frantic panting. Logan finds his own breath turning shallow, each lungful feeding his senses, muting the Professor’s weak leftover stamp of morality under a steady buzz of lit nerves. Logan’s attention arrows in on Magneto’s gaze as it goes steadily unfocused, the minute tensing of muscles as orgasm draws near. He’ll have a sliver of a chance when it hits, a whisper in the back of his skull tells him. He can punch a gutful of metal into that slender body and be done with this whoring.
Who has the answers, Wolverine? Those people? That creature in your arms?
He could fight the bit and maybe save God knows how many humans from Magneto’s crazed visions of a mutant only future.
One day, someone will finish what I’ve started.
Logan shudders, shakes off the clinging threads of doing the right thing that’s been dogging him ever since he got all tangled up with the Professor and his crowd. He’s as sick of being led along like a mule with a carrot as he is of letting a leash settle around his neck. The one thing he knows down to his toes is that he’s no saint, and it’s the devil in him that wants to see Magneto pushed over the edge, vulnerable for a moment that’ll flash by quicker than a memory. He tongues the point of a tooth as it happens, holds his own breath as Magneto’s eyes flutter and the air floods with the heavy scent of his come.
“Good enough for you?” Logan asks, ignoring the hint of relief when Magneto lets him pull away, finish himself off on the old man’s thigh with a few flicks of the wrist like a fucking porn star.
Uncaring of the mess, Magneto twists to follow as Logan rolls to his back. His fingers return to stroking Logan’s cheek, petting him. He draws near, pausing a hair away from a kiss, his lips quirking to the side as Logan’s muscles go tense. “Good enough for now,” he says.
Logan slides his eyes closed, listens as Magneto’s breath evens out and he stands, dressing himself as calmly as if he’d just risen from a nap. Everyone has a price, everyone has a weakness, and Logan’s long overdue for answers. If he gets to know this bed as well as he expects, there’ll be a chance to snap the leash if he gets sick of being led around. Magneto’s arrogance is unsettling but it’s also the one thing Logan can count on and use against him.
Grabbing a corner of the bedding to wipe himself off, Logan makes a soft grunt of acknowledgement as Magneto concludes their deal by offering him free reign of the place. He’s got a year to this sentence, there’s no sense rushing to have a look around. And the stink of sex grows more satisfying by the second. Logan licks the taste of sweat and cock off his hand.
No sense in rushing at all really when he’s already made up his mind. The scent of Magneto fades, leaves Logan alone with his decision. Never one to really look back, Logan snags a pillow to get comfortable and put the bed to better use.