Disclaimer: The X-men and their world belongs to Marvel/Fox. No profit or copyright infringement is intended

NOTE: This story is Movie-verse AU

Grand Opening

This story will be included in the Left Turn at Westchester storyline as an outtake, referred to by the characters but not played out on the board.

"I have to apologize in advance." Warren said, city lights sliding across those amazing cheekbones and shimmering on the raw silk of his tie. He glanced at Logan, sitting next to him in the limo, and smiled ruefully.

"Fer what?" Logan asked. The formal wear - silk and wool and more silk - wasn't uncomfortable. Worthington had convinced him to accept the gift of a hand tailored suit. Three months of being prodded and poked by Warren's ancient and trusted tailor had resulted in a clothes that fit like a glove. He pulled at the neckline - that was the only thing he didn't like. It fit fine - but Logan wasn't used to wearing a tie. "I ain't gonna strangle."

Warren's gaze flickered - down - and Logan smiled. Now, there was the reason he'd let Warren dress him. He was planning on some undressing in the very near future. God knows, Warren wore his suit damn well and Logan was aching to his hands on all that virgin wool and Thai silk.

"Not the clothes, Logan." Warren said as the car slowed and pulled up next to a brightly lit building. A red banner was draped over the marble front 'Imperial Exhibit, Grand Opening' and a red carpet was roped off from the gawking New York crowd. The crowd waiting grew noisier and when Warren's driver opened the door, the sound rushed in like the sea. Warren's words barely carried over it. "For this gauntlet."

Logan climbed out behind Worthington to see him already half buried in a dozen or more reporters, all yelling at once. He trailed along behind, content for the moment to be ignored, and watched.

Warren's brilliant blue eyes sparkled in the harsh lights of the camera crews, his pale hair shone like gold, and he seemed to have a perfect instinct for the most photogenic moment. His smile seemed completely genuine and it was obvious that the press just loved him. Logan shook his head as Worthington worked the press, somehow managing to catch and answer the dozens of questions being thrown at him, making every sentence a sound bite. He even managed to sound and look like he was really paying attention to each and every person around him.

The supposedly hard bitten reporters responded in kind, practically melting under Warren's attention. Logan noted how they avoided taking any photos that emphasized Warren Worthington's famous 'handicap'. The bulge of Warren's hidden wings were noticeable and the Worthington family had, years ago, revealed that their favorite - and only - son had a physical 'deformity'. Warren had absorbed that lesson far to well, in Logan's opinion. Those wings were one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen and he had a hard time imagining that even a wolf pack like the press would tear Warren apart over them. But Warren refused to reveal them, went to great lengths to hide them and nothing Logan or Scott or Jean could say would change his mind.

As they breached the first rank of reporters and Logan moved up behind Warren, a young man somehow managed to pry himself out of the crowd and pounce - like a predator - on Worthington.

"So what's your statement on Spain, Mr. Worthington?" He yelled, thrusting a small mike at him at the same time, obviously trying to catch Warren off guard. The young reporter was startlingly scruffy and had a slightly wilted Mohawk, of all things. His press badge was clearly displayed however and the police didn't pull him away. "What about those mutant sweat shops you own? Have you even bothered to look into it, Mr. Worthington? Or is the quarterly profit report enough information for you? I noticed that all the bought and paid for rank and file of the press didn't ask that."

Surprisingly, Warren's grin widened when he saw the young man in front of him. He seemed genuinely glad to see the obnoxious brat. Logan snorted when he saw the kid blush faintly. Another one caught by the famous Worthington charm.

"Joseph, I was expecting you! I'm always glad to hear your voice." Warren said lightly. "Spain? Well, I'm always careful to take what I read in the papers with a grain of salt - we all should be, don't you think?. I did travel to Spain last month - "

"On your private jet, of course." The reporter broke in scornfully. "And on a corporate account. What about all those workers making that private jet possible? What are they eating when you're nibbling caviar?"

Warren met the young man's eyes intently. "I'm very aware of the fact that the food on my table and all my privilege depends on the people I employ. Without them - down to the newest and youngest of my employees - I'm nothing. I would never permit sweatshop practices - anywhere, in any of my companies. It's illegal and I follow the law - in every nation."

The young reported was slightly taken aback by Warren's brief moment of intensity, then he gathered himself. "So you are preferentially hiring mutants, putting good Spanish workers out of jobs?"

Warren shook his head with a lopsided grin. "As I said, Joseph, my companies follow the laws of the nations they have a presence in. Spain has a quota on the number of mutants any one employer can hire and my companies follow that law. My companies have always had a policy of hiring the most qualified workers for the position, regardless of disability. A - personal - issue with me."

Warren shifted slightly, the subtle guesture highlighting the bulge under his well tailored suit. Clearly unprepared to follow the line of questioning into Warren's personal life, the reporter fell back and Warren moved along. They finally reached the refuge of the building and Logan sighed as the noise level dropped off.

"Who was that brat?" Logan asked as they handed their coats over to the coat clerk. Warren ran a hand along his hair, making sure it was still neatly combed back and adjusted his formal jacket. Logan tugged on his collar again. "Sounded like you knew him."

"Joseph?" Warren smiled briefly, scanning the smaller, richly dressed crowd. "Yes, I do know him. He's been a thorn in my side since he managed to get a post on the 'Socialist National'. Brilliant mind, startling really. I've been trying to hire him for months. Won't have anything to do with me, of course."

"Wadda ya want him for?"

Warren flashed him a brief glance, the intensity of his gaze catching Logan like it always did. "I need a media machine, Logan. And I need a good one. The American media is tied up in only ten companies - I intend to be the eleventh."

They were briefly caught up in the crowd of rich and famous. Logan was introduced, enduring the calculating gaze of a dozen or more incredibly famous people wondering just why Warren had brought him to the invitation only New York Museum of History's grand opening of the permanent Imperial Exhibit. Warren eyes were sparkling with well hidden amusement as his courteous introductions made it clear that Logan wasn't his bodyguard. Logan could see how everyone went away wondering if he was a friend, or a 'friend'. He overheard someone say 'but no, he's so ugly' or if he was a co-worker or some wealthy hermit Warren had dug up to annoy everyone. As they moved into the dining area, Warren picked up their earlier conversation as if they'd never been interrupted.

"Since Mohammed won't come to the mountain, I'll go to Mohammed." Warren's smile turned slightly predatory. "I've almost completed the deal on purchasing 'Socialist National'. I am looking forward to that."

"Hawk among doves." Logan muttered, catching the edge of Warren's grin as he overheard him.

The dining tables were set up under an enormous red banner with a gold embroidered Japanese mon. Logan knew it instantly - the royal family - and for a moment, the modern smells of perfume, cleaning chemicals, silk and wool and nervous sweat faded away. He smelled cold air and the rustle of cotton, smelled the sea -

"Logan?" A hard hand on his arm startled him and Logan jerked away, stumbling into an older woman wearing a stiff rustling silk dress. Warren was staring at him, eyes dark with worry. "Are you alright? You - seemed a little out of touch for a moment."

Logan shook himself. "Yeah. I'm - I'm okay. Just - remembered something, I guess."

Warren tipped his head to the side curiously. "That is what we're here for."

Logan grunted, wishing irritably that he wasn't in the middle of a crowd of noisy New York elite, that he had time and room to think but they were being seated, drinks offered, conversations starting up and they had no time to themselves.

The dinner seemed to go on forever.

"I did warn you there'd be a price to pay." Warren murmured in a moment of relative quiet. "These events are grueling."

"Got that right." Logan muttered.

Warren was on his fourth Bacardi cocktail and it was a pattern Logan wasn't sure he should worry about or not. It wasn't like Warren ever got drunk - as in falling down drunk - but he drank. Quite a lot. Logan just didn't know enough about him to know if it was a problem or not. Everyone around him tonight was drinking like fish.

He was pretty relieved when the dinner ended and they were released into the museum itself to view the collection. There was a tour, with several young and attractive Asian women to interpret the work but evidently it wasn't a required event. Warren tipped his head to a side gallery and Logan gladly followed him out.

The cool quiet after the crowed heat if the dining room was a relief. The lights were dim and the silent, elegant clutter of statues, display cases, paintings and mounted objects both intrigued Logan and set off his paranoia. There were a lot of shadows around and a lot of places to hide.

"All of these things were created in Japan after the Perry expeditions." Warren said as they walked, his formal shoes tapping softly and mostly covered by the heavy sound of Logan's polished cowboy boots. He was willing to wear the formal monkey suit but nothing was going to make him wear those thin Italian shoes. They were pretty on Warren but that was as far as he was willing to go.

Logan grunted, caught up mostly in the eerie familiar/unfamiliar sights around him. The color of those ceramics were familiar but the setting - a cold museum - made them seem alien and out of place. He couldn't smell anything either - aside from Warren and himself and the cleaners they used in this place. It was easier of he didn't look at anything in particular - just let stuff filter in through the corners of his eyes.

The cloisonné drew him, though.

Logan, clenched his hands behind his back with a frustrated growl. He wanted to pick up a delicate little vase with its pale background and tumble of violet wisteria. There were vases, containers, boxes. All of them with gold filigree and delicate, translucent lacquer work. Logan ignored the card explaining how cloisonné work was unknown in Japan before the western contacts and naming the artists who'd made the various works. In the case on the end, along with a couple of round little vases with lucky storks on the side, there was a Ceylon green box the size of Logan's palm. There were delicate darker green streaks of inlayed enamel to represent grass and had a silver and blue dragonfly seemed to have taken a moment to rest on the top. There was a small but visible crack in one corner. Logan pressed his hands to the plastic case.

He knew that box. He knew the weigh of it in his hand. Logan could feel it. His hand closed reflexively as the memory rushed over him like water - the anger, the smell of water and bamboo, the fall of moonlight through the paper screens. The servant crouched at his feet, head to the tatami mat, stammering out his message. The gift, refused. Throwing it aside with a shout then stalking outside, the padded kimono flapping about his shins. Rage. Rage and moonlight and a delicate box left broken on the floor.

"That's mine." Logan growled, coming back to himself with the taste of that half remembered anger in his mouth. He jerked free of Warren's supporting arm and stalked a few paces away. He was shaking and Logan breathed deep, until he was sure he had control of himself. He couldn't remember why he'd been so angry or what the gift was for. But he remembered something. One more memory won back from the dark. One more victory over that cold bitch Rasputin.

He went back to the case, staring at the little green box, staring hard at it. "Mine."

"Logan -" Warren said softly.

"I know, dammit, Wings." Logan muttered turning away. It wasn't his now. It belonged to - he glanced at the card - it was part of a private collection - Frosts. "It ain't mine."

Warren touched his elbow, squeezing gently as they moved into the next section.

"Warren, what a pleasure."

The voice made Logan's hair stand on end, he knew it. They both knew it. Emma Frost.

Warren turned thought, with a friendly, relaxed smile. There was nothing happy in the scent of him though. "Emma. I didn't know you favored this sort of thing."

Emma Frost shrugged with a lovely, predatory smile and walked over. The high heels on her ice white pumps clicked on the floor like knives and - even knowing what she really was - Logan couldn't take his eyes off the plunge of her formal gown or the way the satin seemed to cling like a dream to her long, long legs. He shifted, a soft sound crawling up his throat - part threat, part visceral interest. That damn dress made her look more naked than nothing would.

"Part of the family collection is here -" She glanced around, not bothering to hide her disinterest. "- someone had to make an appearance. And you? Of course, this is just the sort of refined event that you favor."

Emma glanced over at Logan, looking him up and down with a slow blink and a small smile. "I see - Mr. Wolverine - is still with you. Are you still from Canada? Or is it somewhere else today?"

"I'm just the same as the last time we met." Logan growled, focusing his mind firmly on some very visceral, primitive images. It wasn't hard - not with Warren's smell filling his nose and the sway of Emma's ass a few feet ahead.

"Except with more clothes, this time." Emma said with a cool laugh. "Pity, that."

"Well, Emma - I always dress to suit the occasion." Warren said lightly. "Whatever it happens to be. Cherry invited me."

Emma glanced at Warren, brow lifted, then sighed. "And when she says jump, we all say how high."

Warren tipped his head in a non-committal answer. They walked for a while in the dim rooms, Logan shut out the verbal sparring, concentrating on keeping Emma disinterested in his thoughts. Or, as she glanced back at him once, flushing faintly, interested in the wrong thoughts. Warren's mind might be unreadable, but his wasn't and Emma was one fucking scary teep.

"Always a pleasure, Warren." Emma said as they came back to the hallway that led to the main rotunda. "At least you - and your friend - aren't boring. But I have work to do and I've put in my bit for the family."

"I'm sure we'll meet again." Warren said with a smile. "I'm looking forward to that and you haven't even left yet."

They watched her walk off.

"That bitch scares the crap out of me." Logan muttered when he was sure she was gone. Warren glanced at him.

"I'm sorry, Logan." Warren said. "I didn't expect her to be here - I thought it would be Adrienne."

Logan shook his head, stirring restlessly. The thoughts he'd tricked Emma with had left him half-hard and impatient. He stepped to Warren, nosing at his hair, and slid a hand along his waist. "I wanna suck you off."

Warren shuddered and Logan smelled the spike of his desire with a grin. "I'm certainly not going to say no."

Logan pulled him closer, so the other man could feel his cock. Warren's hand dropped down to rub him and Logan groaned. "We gotta go someplace."

They were alone just now but that could change any minute. Warren stirred, wrapping a hand around Logan's wrist and tugging him towards a smaller side hallway. The sign on the door they came to was universal and Logan snorted as they pushed their way into the brightly lit men's room.

Warren seemed pretty experienced in this and Logan wondered just how often Mr. Worthington had sex in public restrooms. Warren found the wedge the janitorial staff probably used to prop open the door on top of the towel dispenser and wedged the door shut. Logan already had his hands under the man's jacket, stroking over the silk shirt and feeling - with distaste - the nylon and canvas harness Warren used to bind his wings down.

"Logan -" Warren turned, kissed him hard, running his hands along the lapels of Logan's jacket. Logan grinned as Warren stroked his clothes and dropped his hands down to knead the other man's hard muscled ass. Warren shifted forward to press his erection against Logan's hip, gasping a little. The feel of warm breath in his ear, then the skilled touch of Warren's warm tongue made Logan groan and tighten his grip. There'd be bruises on Warren's pale skin tonight and the thought exited him. His bruises. His hands.

"Ya said ya needed a distraction -" Logan traced the shape of Warren's hard cock through his pants, squeezed him gently to get a gasp and the scrape of Warren's teeth on his jawline as the man bit him.

"Mmmhm." Warren breathed, rocking in Logan's grip. "Don't want Emma getting all my secrets."

"Hu -" Logan's breath left him in a rush when Warren slid his palm firmly down the length of Logan's cock. Logan's hips arched, instinctively following the wonderful pressure. He rubbed his face against the other man's fair hair, breathing in the scent of expensive cologne and - beneath that - the clean, strange scent of the man himself. Logan licked Warren's ear, felt his shiver and bit his neck as Warren tipped his head back with a soft moan.

Warren was moving, grinding hard against him and Logan grinned at his impatience. He pressed Warren back. "Give me a little room t'work."

Breathing hard Warren braced himself against the sinks, watching Logan's hands with wide, hungry eyes. Logan unfastened the formal belt and unzipped Warren's pants. The ivory silk briefs beneath were damp and Logan shuddered, his own cock throbbing at the sight - and the heady smell of pre-cum. He eased Warren's cock free, stroking the long shaft with trembling fingers. The rose pink head was moist, shiny in the fluorescent lights and it made Logan's mouth water.

"Beautiful." He whispered and sank to his knees. Warren's cock bobbed in front of his nose and he felt the anticipatory shudder that wracked the other man. He glanced up, meeting the blue eyes - nearly black with lust - and grinned. "Ya gonna be okay?"

Warren was flushed, blond hair tumbled out of it's careful pattern and spilling across the wide forehead. His tie was askew and seeing Warren - always so perfect - panting and deshevlished and desperate for Logan's touch was worth the pain in the ass dinner. Warren's breathing was ragged and his hands white knuckled on the porcelain.

"God, Logan - "

Logan breathed on Warren's cock, smirking as it twitched in his hands. "Yeah?"

"Please -" Warren gasped, arching forward shamelessly.

"Yeah." Logan whispered and took wide head into his mouth. Warren cried out softly above him and Logan had to brace his hips in his hands.

God, it was incredible. Sweet velvet in his mouth, the hot, fast throb of Warren's pulse against his tongue. Incredible, every time. Logan groaned around the flesh in his mouth, swallowing convulsively. He was drooling and didn't care. Logan pulled as much as he could into his mouth, hearing Warren whimper. Rocking forward, Logan felt the rub of Warren's head against the roof of his mouth, he swallowed again, eyes drifting shut as he felt the welcome slide of Warren's cock down his throat. He took it all for a moment, before he had to pull back. Warren's hands closed desperately in his hair, he thrust shakily.

"I need - god - need this." Warren whispered harshly. "Logan - "

Logan pulled on Warren's hips, guiding the rhythm, keeping is shallow enough that he wouldn't choke and let the other man fuck his mouth. He could taste the heavy salt of pre-cum on his tongue, he rubbed the velvety head, sucked greedily. Wanted more. God, his cock ached.

Groaning, letting Warren control the pace for a moment, Logan desperately yanked his pants open to free his cock. Wrapped a hand around himself and moaned, sucking hard on Warren's cock.

One hand wrapped around his own shaft, Logan wrapped his free arm around Warren's narrow waist. He was taking it all now, relaxed and eager, and it was damn good to feel the light slap of Warren's balls on his wet chin, the deep movement in his mouth. The taste of Warren's flesh was like - like nothing else, irresistible, wonderful. Warren was making those sounds - those sounds that set Logan's pulse pounding. Soft, throaty moans, almost voiceless, startlingly vulnerable. He had the man now, Warren wasn't thinking of anything but him - his mouth, what Logan was doing to him. The man was his. Logan's arm tightened, pulling Warren close, he swallowed greedily around the shaft buried in his throat. Demanding. Taking.

Warren gasped, shuddering sharply, and came. Logan drank it down, hand pumping hard on his own cock then giving out a muffled groan as he shot all over the white tiled floor.

After a moment, Warren tugged on his hair and Logan reluctantly let go and leaned back on his hands, catching his breath. Warren had his head thrown back and was panting - rapid shallow breaths - and Logan recalled that the damn harness the man wore wouldn't even let him take a full breath.

"Christ." Logan muttered, scrambling to his feet. He reached for the peal buttons on Warren's shirt but Warren grabbed his hands.

"No - I'll be - alright." Warren managed.

"Damn that thing anyway." Logan growled, fingers digging into the canvas. "Ya can't even breathe in it."

Warren smiled faintly. "It's fine, Logan."

Logan sighed sharply and grabbed some paper towels and cleaned himself up. They washed up, Warren producing a comb and carefully smoothing his hair back. Logan wiped up the mess he'd make on the floor, rude to leave that to the janitors. Warren was rebuttoning his jacket and smoothing his tie by the time he was done.

"Here -" Warren offered Logan one of those paper breath fresheners. The sharp, mint stink assaulted his nose.

"Na." Logan waved it off. "Too damn strong fer me."

"Ah - well." Warren filled a glass with water and dropped one of the papers in the glass, it dissolved and he gave Logan that. "Most of the people here tonight have little else to do besides gossip and the - odor - on your breath is rather distinctive."

Logan, shrugged, swished the diluted mint in his mouth and spat. "Ya seem ta - know what yer doin' here."

Warren's eyes met his in the mirror, startling bitter. "There aren't many opportunities to have sex without taking your shirt off and - perhaps unfortunately - I'm not suited to be a monk."

Logan touched the back of Warren's hand briefly, wishing the elder Worthingtons were still alive so he could beat some sense into them. "I like ya naked better."

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