while with his gun the pagan angel rose to say

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Fic: To Quiet the Whispers - Victor/Logan (1/1)

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Still awake and totally aware. Which naturally means I'm so very not. :D

To Quiet the Whispers
X-Men Origins: Wolverine. Victor/Logan. NC-17. ~3800 words. Civil War era. For 'genital torture' on my [info - community] kink_bingo card. Slightly related and delicious artwork by [info - personal] ponderosa (WS): The Union Forever.
Logan turns from the spread of tents in the darkened valley below. "I wish you wouldn't talk like that."


To Quiet the Whispers

Rumours from the old world infect the new. Tales of demons and beasts and immortal devils run rife through the common folk, and Victor has heard them all a dozen times over. In days of war, fear of the dark runs deeper still.

Their superiors suspect and say nothing. Battle after battle they emerge with tattered, bloodstained clothes and refuse the field medic's aid. Away from firelight and prying eyes they play at dressing wounds to quiet the whispers of their fellows.

But those whispers simply change, become cold stares and derisive sneers, all from a distance thought safe.

Victor could hardly care less.

"Leave them to it," he says, and rips off another chunk of hard bread. "Waste of time, Logan, sharing a fire with cannon fodder."

The name is new and Victor enjoys the taste of it on his tongue. James took it himself, not for their dead father but for his brother. It was then Victor had realised the power in a name. He'd always been protective of his little brother, and protective is simply another word for possessive.

Logan turns from the spread of tents in the darkened valley below. "I wish you wouldn't talk like that."

"They say worse of us."

"What do you care?"

"I don't." Tossing the bread aside, Victor wipes his fingers on his trousers. He'd pay good money for a bite of fresh meat instead of this garbage. Even the scrawniest hares he and Logan had survived on last winter were more appealing than the Union's slop. "You do. We should hunt tonight."

"Developed a curiosity for snakemeat, have you?"

Victor crooks an eyebrow as Logan plucks the bread out of the dirt, gives it a casual brushing off and helps himself. "You're one to talk of lack of taste."

Logan shrugs. "Wasteful."

Done with his sad excuse for a meal, Victor jabs at the fire. When he'd suggested they join the war he hadn't considered these long stretches of sitting doing nothing while they waited for some geriatric general miles away to pen an order.

Logan seems to deal well enough most of the time, wandering into the main camp to gather their meal allotment and exchange a few words. The news he brings back is usually more of the same. The last few days he's left later in the day and come back sooner. A tension Victor's more accustomed to feeling tighten his own skin steals away the easy flow of Logan's stride.

"We should go now then, if you're hungry." Logan stands, that same tension narrowing his eyes as he strips off his jacket in a quick jerk. Sweat from the heat of the fire glistens in the hollow of his throat.

"I've a better idea." Slipping off the rock serving as his seat, Victor instead leans back against it. "Come here."

Hesitant, Logan looks again at the camp.

Victor is on the near side of the fire; their silhouettes would be plainly visible to anyone who glanced their way. His lips curls away from his teeth. He certainly doesn't care who sees them. Mores are for the society that creates them and Victor has no interest in things that are proper. The longer they stayed out of the cities the less Logan had cared but now, surrounded by men, Logan needed convincing.

It would be annoying if it weren't so fun.

"Never mind them," Victor says. Since Logan's given him the chance, he takes it to eye the shape of his brother's body. It's been the same for years now, probably will remain this way for decades to come. Victor had hit his peak when they finally crossed the border into the States and Logan hit the ground running right behind him, remained smaller than him but just as fast and sometimes, when Logan would let himself go, almost as strong.

Logan shakes his head. "Not here."

A genuine smile curves Victor's lips. He really does love this part. Logan tries so hard.

"They believe it already," Victor says. He draws one knee up to sling his arm over it, lets his legs fall open. The number of women he's had isn't at all modest and none of them have gotten under his skin like Logan. "Let them see us fuck if they want to so badly."

"Victor," Logan hisses, but it's useless protest and they both know it. The sluggish night air easily carries the change in Logan's scent. Even without it, Victor would have to be blind to miss the thickening of Logan's cock. The tight trousers that work well enough for battle are not so forgiving of modesty.

Victor rolls smoothly to his knees, hooks his claws in Logan's belt. The leather's no stronger than warm butter under their sharp edges. "What's the price of a little pleasure, Jimmy?" Breathing deep, Victor nudges the hot line of Logan's cock with his mouth. Logan's scent is so heavy he can almost taste it. "The Alleman brat's already seen you on your belly for me."

Blunt nails scratch Victor's scalp as Logan tries for a grip on his hair. "Don't you lie to me, Victor."

The rip of cloth speeds Victor's pulse. "I wouldn't." Even if the truth weren't so fine, he wouldn't. His spit soaks into the front of Logan's trousers beneath the firm press of his tongue. Logan's body goes taut but he doesn't really try to stop Victor from peeling his torn clothes out of the way.

A teasing hint of Logan's uneasiness scents the air, either at the idea of being caught or knowing they already have been. It tugs at Victor's insides, thickens his cock, slicks the head wet and ready. He imagines putting Logan on his knees, what it'd be like to fuck with that fear riding him.

"When our last marching orders came," Victor says, shucking Logan's trousers straight to his knees, "and they sent him to fetch us." Framing Logan's groin with his hands, Victor admires the shallow curve of his brother's cock in the ruddy light. Logan's balls are heavy in the palm of his hand when he cups them, mindful for the moment of vicious claws. "Days ago now, but he saw. Almost ran when you took my dick, you made so much noise for me, then I could smell him just as well as you. Little prick with an even tinier prick gone stiff at the sight." Mouth curving a slow, spreading grin, Victor puts one hand to Logan's hip to hold him. "Can't blame him."

Logan barely reacts when Victor gives his sac a gentle squeeze. His lips are a thin, white line, his jaw clenched. Angry and well aware there's no point in it--what's done is done. The rasp of Victor's tongue along the cut of his thigh brings a quick hiss of breath. "Sure you don't want to come down here?"

"Seems fine enough with you the one on your knees this time."

Victor groans softly at the swelling rush of anticipation. If he had a mind, he could bring Logan down in seconds, but why end it so soon?

"Hold on then," Victor says, shrugging out from under Logan's hand so it falls to his shoulder. He licks a warm, wet stripe from tight, smooth belly to balls. The taste of sweat thickens on his tongue, dark hair pressed to his lips surprisingly thin and fine, not quite as soft as the hair on Logan's head.

Victor remembers how shocked he'd been when he'd taught Logan to shave and found the hair on Logan's face so unlike the coarse hair on his own. Another difference that at first grated on his nerves and then later, after Logan had given up on trying to maintain a smooth jaw just to fit in, it became more of a fascination.

"Not the time for wool-gathering," Logan says, bumping him with a knee.

"No?" Victor stretches out his fingers to resettle his hand on Logan's sac, sets his mouth close to the base of Logan's cock so he can feel it twitch against his cheek. It's like being an eager youth all over again, learning for the first time what their bodies could do. The softness of Logan's balls in his hand is dizzying, steady downward pressure stretching skin easily at first and then, as he tightens his grip, begins to strain. He presses a smile into Logan's skin. "Tell me when it hurts."

Logan grunts, his knees buckling, stubbornly straightening again. His hand forms a fist on Victor's shoulder. "Not what I-" and Victor cuts it short with a quick, dirty lick to the head of Logan's cock, lets it smack back down onto the flat of his tongue. Another longer, lazier lick, and Logan's fingers uncurl.

Settling back on his haunches, Victor wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He eases off a little, rubbing at thin flesh as he licks the taste of Logan from his skin. The same hunger clouding his head darkens Logan's eyes. A slap to the inside of Logan's calf gets his legs spread wide enough for Victor to slide a knee between, and another sharp tug shortens Logan's breath to a grunt.

The skin of Logan's sac is stretched taut, shiny. Victor rubs his lips over them to feel the heated flush, gives a low chuckle at the slight tremble in Logan's legs. He strokes a hand down his brother's thigh, calming gesture at odds to the slow baring of his fangs. He waits for a protest that doesn't come, grudging acceptance in the shiver skittering beneath Logan's skin stoking the burn in his blood almost as much as the vulnerable weight of Logan's balls heavy on his tongue.

Victor sucks one into his mouth, bites carefully down to keep them separate, snug against his teeth. A push from his tongue forces it to squeeze slowly out between them, blunt fingers digging steadily harder into his shoulders until all that's left in his mouth is loose skin trying to go tight. He worries at it gently, not near enough pressure to split skin, and still Logan lets out a strangled groan, hunches forward.

On impulse, Victor knocks Logan's shaky legs out from under him. They roll close to the fire, Logan spitting and snarling, yanking Victor's hands away from the fresh tear in his shirt. Victor jams a knee into his thigh, shakes him off and finishes what he started. The ripped edges of Logan's shirt fall wide, drag halfway off one shoulder as Logan rears up and Victor slams him back down.

"Better," Victor comments, runs his claws lightly over his brother's quivering belly once he's sure Logan knows his place. "Don't you bother glaring at me like that, little brother, just because I thought of it first."

"If I'd wanted your teeth anywhere near-"

"You can stop me," Victor says, hearing the purr in his own voice. He shuffles back, knocks one of Logan's legs out of the way and straddles the other. "But you're too much like me, Logan." Curling his claws between Logan's legs, Victor scratches a soft line from the sweat-damp heat of his hole up beneath his balls. The muscles in Logan's thigh jump. "You want to see what I'm going to do."

Victor wraps one hand around the base of Logan's dick, angles it up to watch the thin bit of fluid seep down over the head. "I like that about you." Holding up his other hand, Victor waits until he has Logan's attention before his claws lengthen and curl. He sets the tips one by one all along Logan's cock, each touch bringing Logan's breath faster, harder.

Logan gives up a low groan as the tips press in so very slightly. Sweat beads his upper lip, dampens the curl of hair at his temples, behind his ears. His fingers dig into the dirt as those long bone claws of his creep into his hands.

"I really like that about you." Drawing in a breath, holding it, Victor savours the moment as long as he can stand before impatience gnaws at him. He jerks his hand away, leaves behind little more than scratches barely deep enough to draw the thin lines of blood they do, and Logan thrashes under him, teeth grit stubbornly against the ragged scream Victor knows is caught in his throat.

Logan's claws tear free, might've laid open Victor's thigh if Logan hadn't flung his arms wide. Not one to miss an opportunity like that, Victor drops over him, pins him to the ground by his wrists.

Time hangs as Logan's chest heaves. Victor nuzzles at his throat. He can't help himself and he doesn't want to, craving the feel of flesh between his teeth. The bite clamps over Logan's windpipe, crushes the breath from him for a dozen heartbeats.

A spray of dirt from Logan's sudden kick sets the fire to flickering. Victor grins, drunk on the hard-edged lust turning his little brother into this frenzied, wild thing twisting beneath him. He eases off, shushes Logan's furious snarl, brings their mouths close.

"I love it when you get like this, too," Victor says, and drags a lick over Logan's bared teeth.

With a mild warning to stay down, Victor frees Logan's wrists. "Good boy," he murmurs, splaying his palms flat low on Logan's stomach. He can feel the jittery dump of adrenaline still coursing through his brother's veins. "I'm not done with you yet."

Logan's nostrils flare on a sharp breath. Instinct must be screaming at him to get up, fight, dominate, the same as it is for Victor but they've had years now to learn how to keep the animal caged.

He grasps Logan's cock again, gives it a few strong pulls though its hardly gone soft. Foreskin bunches around his fingers as he shuffles a little further back, skin so fragile he can't help but lean down to suck on it, feel it thin and delicate against his teeth.

The firelight throws the bunched muscles of Logan's stomach into stark relief. Before he reacts on impulse alone, Victor turns the threat of his fangs to a slow, tonguing kiss. One more pass of his hand pulls the foreskin all the way back to expose the glistening head.

"I'm surprised," Victor says. He rubs at the slit to clear away the slick, wiping it off on Logan's side before he comes back a second time to watch the way the tiny hole opens beneath the drag of his dry thumb. "I didn't think you'd let me play with you quite this long."

Logan watches him the same as a stray dog eyes the butcher's shop, craving and wary at once. A bright, shocking thrill jumps like lightning up his spine. Logan can be vicious when it matters, and yet for Victor he's laid out willing and waiting.

A full-body tremor goes through Logan as Victor sets claws to cock again, tips clustered along the ridge. His chest echoes the tremor, lungs tight, labouring to draw breath as his ribs shrink and clench ever tighter. As each moment passes to the next he expects Logan to call an end to everything and it simply doesn't happen.

Tenderly, carefully and gently and all those words Victor has found no use for since before the start of the war, he runs the tip of one claw up over the head to Logan's slit, filled again with milky fluid. He grits his teeth sharply together to keep from shouting his own eagerness to the distant sky, greedy for the harsh rasp of his brother's breath, the thundering of his heart and his scent, so rich with lust and longing and trepidation.

Victor says, "I don't mind if you scream for me," and slowly presses his claw into Logan's slit.

Logan's body arches beautifully. He manages to strangle whatever noise tries to escape but that's almost as good, his chest sweat-soaked and heart pounding hard against his ribs as he fights the urge to get away from the pain.

Much less careful than before, Victor sets his thumbnail about halfway down the head, so desperate for just that little bit more that he can barely think. This time when Victor's claw pierces flesh, Logan lets loose with a scream more like a roar, only enough sense left in his head to keep from thrashing and slicing himself up far worse.

Victor pulls his claws free, covers the wound quickly with his hand to feel the rush of blood as it heals. He fumbles one-handed at his own trousers, not in the least surprised when thick fingers bump into his, tear at the buttons. As he sits back Logan rears up, yanks the heavy cloth down over his ass.

Words little more than hoarse growls, Logan grates out, "On your back."

Victor thumps to the ground without complaint, not even when Logan hauls his pants down so fast they get caught on his boots, drag him roughly through the dirt. He kicks free of Logan's grip and spreads his knees, pushes both hands up under the trailing hem of Logan's shirt as welcome weight settles solidly on top of him. The last thing his little brother is worried about right now are the men camped downhill.

"Going to lose it fast, aren't you." Victor sucks in a sharp breath of his own as Logan shifts, lines their cocks up perfectly, grinds. He presses his hands harder to the smooth flex of muscle in Logan's back, arching up and trying to pull Logan closer at the same time. The careless prick of his claws sends a shudder through them both.

Returning the favour, Logan goes for his throat, though doesn't linger long after sharp teeth find a tendon, clamp down hard enough to tear a rippling snarl out of him. Logan palms the side of Victor's face, pushes their mouths together to cut it short, the hungry, eager noise he makes slipping between Victor's lips. The kiss is little more than sharing breath before he gets control of himself long enough to force Victor's mouth wide open, fuck his tongue inside.

Grit digs into the back of Victor's skull. Logan pushes harder, slices Victor's lip on his own teeth. The taste of blood barely touches his tongue before Logan dives for it, sucking Victor's lip into his mouth to take it all.

When he pulls away with one last bite stinging Victor's mouth, Logan shoves up on both hands, and Victor follows his gaze down to see the press of their cocks between their bellies. He grinds slowly, knows just when to pick up the pace and make Victor's cock jerk, leak fluid almost as thick as come.

Logan lets his weight list to one side as he leans close to Victor's ear, whispers, "That's what I like," before he bites viciously hard at the hinge of Victor's jaw.

Victor digs his claws in, fighting against the sweet build of pressure for the gratification of watching Logan fall first. By the flare of challenge in Logan's eyes his brother knows it and knows it's far too late, Logan's already lost to the thick spill of come on Victor's skin, mouth going slack and eyes squeezing shut as he grinds Victor to the ground.

Logan's harsh, panting breaths are loud over the crackle of the fire. When he opens his eyes again they're still glassy with pleasure. He rolls onto his back, sluggish like the air is syrup-thick as his knees splay shamelessly wide and his grip on Victor's hip goes weak as any man's.

"Oh, ready for my turn now, are you?" Victor says, hand on Logan's chest for balance as he pushes up, wraps the other around his cock.

Logan grunts quietly, rubbing his palms along Victor's thighs. "Thought I'd get mine first," he says, voice a thick rasp like the spill of powder down a cannon's bore, "so you could give me yours."

"That's what this is, is it." Victor strips his cock almost savagely, the steady waves of pleasure he's been riding till now swelling as fast at his own touch as they are at the sight of Logan stretched out under him. Logan reeks of sex and still he's hungry for it, fingers kneading mindlessly at Victor's flesh while he watches.

Months ago, Victor had taken a bayonet to the back. The slanted blow skidded up his parallel to his spine, an eruption of heat that sent him staggering to his knees, aware of nothing but Logan's arms coming round him and the fresh spray of blood as his brother took the man's throat out. When he comes it's all he can think of, knocked senseless by pleasure instead of pain and Logan the constant.

It strikes Logan low on the chest, spatters all the way down to the bloodstained mess of it already smeared on his stomach. The firelight catches the bit still clinging to Logan's slit and Victor shifts slightly, paints the head of Logan's softening cock white. Logan's grip goes tight, mouth slack and open as he watches.

Sleepy satisfaction curves Victor's smile. He pats Logan's side with a sticky hand, his eyes gone to slits. He's fully intent on crawling away to flop in the sad patch of grass furthest from the fire to cool the burn of his skin.

Instead of loosening, Logan's hold tightens. He curls his upper body up, nudges at Victor's chin with his nose until Victor ducks curiously, then takes Victor's mouth in a sweet, dirty kiss flavoured with his own come.

As his filthy fingers curl in Logan's hair, Victor wonders how he could've missed when that happened. Pleased and purring, he sucks Logan's tongue clean.

"You'll need a fresh shirt," Victor says, fingers stroking Logan's throat before he rocks back on his heels and rolls up to his feet. He stretches and tucks himself away, not minding in the least the way his clothes cling to his skin. "I'll fetch you one from the stores."

Some of the lassitude softening Logan's face fades. "You're going into camp to have them issue me a new shirt when your spare will do?"

Victor fixes the few buttons their tussle had knocked free. There'd be little question as to why his brother required new clothing if Victor strolled into camp looking as he does now. He doubts anyone would dare utter a word aloud to him but he could hear their whispers well enough, and their stares would say it all regardless.

"Don't bother to clean up," Victor says, giving his brother a nudge with the toe of his boot as Logan sits up completely, one leg curled under the other, "or I'll have a mind to make a mess of you again."

Logan's silent as he goes, and at the bottom of the low hill, Victor turns to see that he hasn't moved from the fire, outlined in perfect silhouette by its light. The still night air would've easily carried more than just the sound of Logan's cries to the line of tents.

Whistling a jaunty marching tune, Victor resumes his walk.

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