Written: August 17, 2007, in one sitting. Rogue has control, is sleeping with Logan, and it’s more or less post-X1. Other than that, it’s foof in extremis.
* * * * *
Rogue stirred her ice tea slowly and asked, “Storm, what was your first mistake?” The younger woman’s eyes strayed over the grounds from where the ladies sat on the terrace.
Storm gently nodded her concession, “Turning Scott and Logan loose on the grounds at the same time. That was a mistake.”
“Uh-huh,” Jubilee agreed, dabbing her lips gently with a napkin. “Here, try this in the tea. It’ll put hair on your chest.” The Asian woman offered up a slim flask.
“Jubilee!” Jean pretended shock, but with a wide grin. She accepted the flask and added some to her own glass. “Nobody said iced tea couldn’t be from Long Island,” the cool, spiked beverage slid down her throat and she gave a lady-like shudder.
“Mighty fine,” Rogue added in her southern lilt. “What are they doin’, anyway?” Her eyes drifted to the edge of the grounds, where Scott and Logan stood, arguing. Fragments of their words reached her ears, punctuated with the occasional burst of profanity as the two men gestured aggressively at the ground, the trees, each other, and to undetermined things apparently in the sky.
“The groundskeeper is on vacation this week,” Storm offered. “Scott thinks that the place needs a trimming. He also thinks Logan should help him. Beyond that, only the Goddess knows what’s gonna happen.”
“Sounds dire,” Jean added with a smirk, and slipped another shot into her glass. Rogue rattled her cubes for a bit more, and the ladies quietly observed lawn maintenance in action, X-Men style.
“Scooter, you could use a push mower around the edges, and you wouldn’t need to do any trimming. Just whack it off and quit worrying. It’s grass, dammit. It grows. Quit fussin’ around.”
“This is an institution of learning, Logan, and we have a certain level of appearance to maintain. We’re going to do the trimming by hand.” Scott peered at Logan through the red lenses, “You, and me. Stop shirking and we’ll have this done within the hour.”
“I never shirked hard work, but I know you, bub. Whatever I trim won’t suit you, and you’ll end up going over it again, so what’s the point? Do it yourself and be happy from the get-go.” Logan turned and looked at the women on the terrace, “That’s the place for me, keepin’ the womenfolk company.” The smile that cracked his normally-taciturn face was practically lecherous.
Scott pondered for all of three seconds before he pulled the strings that he knew would make Logan dance, “Fine, I’ll use the new weed-eater, then. You’d never be able to grasp the technology, anyway.”
“Technology? On a weed-whacker? Are you in heat stroke?”
Scott knew by the gleam in Logan’s eyes that the older man was hooked. Scott began reeling him in, “Look, if you want to make this interesting, I’ll start on one end, and you on the other, and I’ll bet you I do more trimming, better, in less time than you.”
“You got two weed-whackers, or any whacker at all, for that matter?” Logan’s smirk was insulting, but Scott ignored it.
“There’s the old gasoline one, but we have a new electric model that’s environmentally-friendly. Choose your weapon.”
“Gas.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me in the least?.”
“Let’s hit it.”
The two men disappeared into the utility shed, and within moments the ladies heard the unmistakable sounds of manly men with manly machines. Scott was dragging yards and yards of heavy, rubberized orange extension cord over the grounds to the nearest edge of the woods, while Logan hefted the old gas trimmer over his shoulder and set off for the far edge.
“It surely is a nice view we’ve got here,” Jean admired both men discretely.
“Yeah. How’d we get so lucky?” Jubilee hiccuped softly, then giggled.
“Those two surely are built,” Storm added, then grinned sheepishly as the other women looked at her in surprise. “Hey, a girl can look.”
“That man’s got legs clear up to his neck,” Rogue whispered into her glass, and wiped a bead of perspiration from her brow.
“Which one?” Jubes demanded, then snorted into her glass as her tea disappeared and she reached for more from the pitcher.
“Well, duh - the one I’m sleepin’ with...” Rogue snarked back, then turned to look again at Logan walking away from her. “He’s gonna need a shower when this is over. I can so help him with that...”
Logan had reached the far edge of the woods and was tugging on the pull-rope starter. The trimmer jerked and hiccuped a few times before finally roaring to life. With a grin of accomplishment, the feral started buzzing along the edge of the woods, moving at a steady walk.
Scott had finally coiled out all the cording, and was pulling the shiny new trimmer from the shed. Logan had covered ten yards by the time Scott had the electric trimmer plugged in and was just beginning to buzz along his part of the edging.
Rogue drained the last of the flask into her glass, and added, “Y’all know this can’t end well.”
“We know,” the other women chorused, and watched the action from a safe distance.
Thirty yards later, Logan was powering through the grass as Scott got up to speed but wasn’t narrowing the gap. Grass clippings flew everywhere as the two men slowly drew closer. Scott shouted, “Those things aren’t environmentally friendly, you know. Look at the cloud of exhaust you’re producing. Electric is cleaner. And the noise!”
“These have more power, and get the job done faster.” Right then Logan’s trimmer spluttered to a stop, out of gas. Scott added with a smug grin, “And with electric, that doesn’t happen, ever.”
“Fuck you, Boy Scout; you think electricity don’t leave a carbon footprint? Coal-fired? Nuclear? Where’s your source? Oh, and bite me,” Logan snarled as he headed back to the shed for a fill-up. Scott gave a laugh of superiority, and continued trimming, beginning to narrow the gap in their contest.
Logan cocked one thoughtful eyebrow before heading into the shed. After filling the trimmer with gas, he reached down to the outlet and wiggled the prongs loose on the power cord, just enough that one good tug would pop it out of the fixture, and headed back to the edging.
“I’m amazed - I really thought Logan would pull Scott’s cord,” Jubilee observed.
“I don’t think Logan’s into that kind of thing,” Rogue added in mock innocence, then they all burst out laughing. The trill of female laughter brought Logan’s head around and he gave the ladies a wave and a blinding smile before strutting back to his spot, chest flexed out and shoulders thrown back. He gave the rope a strong pull and the motor roared to life again. Innocent blades of grass were mown down in his wake. The two men were once again at a tie.
When the two were within twenty yards of each other, with Logan having a slight lead, it happened. Scott snapped the line where it had tangled, and the trimmer died.
“Got a problem there, Scooter?”
“What did you do?”
“Me?!?” Logan spluttered and fought the grin that tried to erupt on his mouth. He stalked toward Scott, who obstinately stood his ground.
“You! You were in the shed, and this cord was securely plugged in - what did you do?”
“I did NOT unplug your cord!” Logan was poking Scott in the chest by this time, with the gas trimmer still idling in his other hand, the burbling of the motor drowning out their words to the women’s ears.
“This doesn’t look good at all,” Jean commented, shrugged, and drained the pitcher into her glass.
“My money’s on Logan,” Rogue added with a slightly evil grin.
“Well, of course! But, if we’re gonna put money on this, we need... rules,” Jubes added, inspired by the chance of fleecing the other women. “I’ve got fifty bucks that says Logan draws blood on Scott first. Who’s in?”
“Jubilee! That’s awful!” Storm thought for a moment, then said, “I’ll take that bet.”
Scott walked away, plugged the trimmer in again, and started back to the last strip of grass, still mouthing words toward Logan, unheard from the women’s vantage on the terrace.
“It’s not a good rule - Logan heals up so fast we’d never see any blood to call it,” Jean said. “How about first blow?”
“Does Logan poking Scott count?” Rogue asked.
“No,” the chorus chimed in unison.
Storm took the lead, “It has to be a real punch.”
“My money’s on...” and Jubilee never finished the statement, because at that moment Scott grabbed Logan by the front of his t-shirt and Logan grabbed Scott by the neck and the two men spun around in the grapple, wrapping the electric cord around their feet. They both went down with an earth-shaking thud.
Rogue jumped to her feet and shouted to the women as she ran for the shed, “I’m pulling that plug before he...”
Too late. Scott had kicked himself loose and was trying to stand up when Logan snapped out one set of claws and severed the power cord. The electricity sparked and snapped, and Logan’s hair stood on end briefly before he shook off the effects of the shock.
When he looked up from the ground, Scott was laughing and pointing at his hair. With a snarl, Logan grabbed the gas trimmer and leaped to his feet, aiming it straight for Scott, who gave a shriek and ran for the open space behind the utility shed. Maybe he couldn’t out-muscle the Wolverine, but he could outrun him.
Both men disappeared behind the shed, and the woman waited with bated breath as shouts and snarls and yells and grass clippings flew from behind the shed.
The first to emerge was the trimmer, which ended up on the shed’s roof. Logan stumbled into view, his t-shirt torn from the neck and across one brawny shoulder, before he literally leaped into the fray again with a roar, the shed still blocking the women’s view.
Before the women could react, Scott was bodily thrown into view, and with a quick snap of his legs, he hurled himself back onto his feet. Rogue noted an arm reaching up on the shed roof and the trimmer was back in the fray.
“This is not good, not at all,” she muttered to herself, before turning to the women behind her. “Ladies, shall we break this up?”
“Nah, this is better than WWE Wrestling; in fact, it’s almost up there with 'Thunderdome', only we need better seats,” Jubes was nearly bouncing in her chair.
“I’d rather stop it now, before I have to spend the rest of the night in Med Lab, patching them up,” Jean commented as she stood and squared herself to step in and break up the brawl. She hesitated for a moment as she heard the motor on the trimmer being gunned, and more yelling ensued.
Then both men staggered into view, the trimmer apparently forgotten, as Scott drove a punch into Logan’s belly. Logan jumped backwards quickly enough to soften the blow, and drove one fist into the side of Scott’s face, dislodging the goggles and allowing Scott’s energy beam to accidentally blow up the utility shed. The small wooden building went up like a rocket when the gas can exploded, spewing flaming shards of wood over several feet of lawn. Scott grabbed at the goggles and slammed them back onto his nose, before looking at the destruction happening all around them.
Both men ran for the cover of the terrace, where the women stood in shock, mouths hanging open. Small patches of former grass were now weed-whacked down to bare dirt in several places behind where the shed used to sit. The gas trimmer suddenly fell from the sky and missed Logan’s head by six inches as the last bits of debris rained down over the lawn. Hoes and shovels and pieces of fencing and wire splattered everywhere. The lawn looked like a smoking war zone.
“Oh my gawd,” Rogue breathed, then her eyes searched Logan for injuries. His hair was still smoking a little on top, and was partly coated in fresh grass clippings. The torn and dirty rags that remained of his t-shirt hung on his muscular frame, and he was grinning like a cheshire cat.
“Did you have fun, sugar?” She patted out the smoking parts of his hair, and relieved him of the rags that blocked her view of his chest.
“Yeah, that was good. Wanna help me get cleaned up?”
Rogue leaned in and kissed him soundly, adding, “Yeah, you’ll need someone to wash you down - you’re a mess.”
Logan sniffed at her with a sparkle in his eyes, “Did you save me some of that hooch?”
“Not one single drop.”
“Then I’ll have to take it out in trade. Wanna go upstairs now?” Logan’s hands reached down to cup her ass and haul her against him, making her squeak as she tried to save her own clothing from the grass and grease and gas that soaked the clothing he had left.
“Come on, ya big lug,” Rogue tugged at his hand and they headed toward the door.
Jean inspected Scott who still stood in shock at the smoking remains of the once-utility shed, now-flaming kindling. His hair was disheveled, his cheek below one eye was swelling and turning blue, one lip was split and bleeding, and the bottoms of both his pant legs were shredded.
“Come down to Med Lab now, you’re bleeding,” Jean took Scott by the arm and held him tightly as they followed Rogue and Logan toward the mansion’s door. Jean whispered, “Promise me, from now on, you’ll leave the yard work to the people hired to do it.”
“But...” Scott spluttered, clearly still shocked from the outcome of the grass-cutting.
Logan had stopped dead in his tracks as Jean and Scott approached. For a split second, Jean thought there was, just maybe, an apology coming from Logan’s mouth; so she waited, nervously.
The feral turned and stood toe to toe with Scott, who was starting to come out of his shock. “Scott,” Logan began hesitantly, and Jean silently crossed her fingers, hoping for some semblance of civility between the two alpha males. Logan raised one hand slowly, and pointed toward the spot where they’d nearly completed their grass-trimming contest before the fight broke out. “Sorry, but...uh...” again, Logan hesitated.
“What, Logan?” Scott added, tiredly.
“Bub, you missed a spot.”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Sometimes a little foof is good for the soul.