Author: Kat Lee
Dedicated To: Happy Birthday, kattrip033! Hope this year is the best one yet!
Warning(s): Kinda AU because in most 'verses Sabes gives Wolvy a much darker "present"
Word Count: 584
Date Written: 3 July, 2016
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Marvel Comics and Disney, not the author, and are used without permission.
Some days, he just doesn't want to ask any questions. That's not to say that they're not still there, still buzzing in his head. They're always there, but over the years, he's learned to ignore them when he chooses. Today is definitely one of those days.
He doesn't want to wonder why Creed is waiting outside of his latest hotel room. He doesn't want to consider where he's been or who he's killed this time. He doesn't want to look the gift horse in his snarling mouth or demand where he got the empty bike next to his own. He doesn't want to contemplate what his team would think if they could see him now, dressed only in tight and ragged blue jeans and his favorite pair of cowboy boots and looking down at the man who's been so many different things to him over the years. And he damn sure doesn't want to contemplate what their relationship has been or what it is today.
He just wants . . . Heh. He smirks. He's always known what he's wants, and Creed's always been right, no matter how many times he's tried to deny it. He takes the silently, opened invitation, stalking out into the hot, afternoon sunlight and swinging his legs over the hard metal of the bike. They ride for hours in silence, their trail winding, as it usually does, unconsciously North in the direction of their old stomping grounds.
He doesn't let them go all the way. There'll be too many questions if he does. Instead, he stops at one of their favorite joints along the way. He smirks again and hears Creed laugh, deep and dark and husky, as the locals seem to chase each other's tails getting the Hell out of the bar and out of their way the very moment they walk in. Ordinarily, he might consider their fear a reason to question his actions or, at the very least, his company, but not today. Today, he just tells himself there'll be more beer, peanuts, and empty pool tables for them.
"The usual," he barks to the barkeep quaking in his boots. He lights up and, with his cigar between his teeth, picks up the nearest pool stick. He resets the game and takes the first turn. Creed circles him without saying a word and knocks several balls into their holes when it's his turn.
The beer and burgers arrive, and they continue to play in silence while eating. The whack of their balls, the sounds of their noisy chewing and slurping, and the barkeep's continued quivering are the only sounds for hours. Creed doesn't talk, doesn't try to, and for that, Logan is grateful. Words never come to anything good between them.
It's much later when Creed is on his third burger and Logan's watching him eat instead of paying attention to their game that Wolverine finally decides to make his move. Creed smirks at him through the bright, red meat and ketchup smearing his cheeks. His primal, green eyes growl at him that it's about time, but aloud, just before Logan licks the blood from the burger from his mouth, he says only, "Happy Birthday, whelp."
Logan grins but growls, "Shut up," in between licks. He slams his mouth down hard on his, his fangs nipping his lips and drawing out the sweet taste of Creed's own blood, as he backs him against another pool table. The barkeep finally leaves as Logan takes his birthday present.