Title: A Taste for Blood
Fandom: Marvel Universe
Pairing: Logan(Wolverine)/Steve(Captain America)
Disclaimer: Not my characters! I just love them and hug them and write them and appreciate them and make no money whatsoever
Summary: Drabble with angsty, wet, wartime boys.
Sneezefic Annual Challenge Bunny: 3
Author's Notes: So, yeah. This is set during World War II and sort of inspired by X-Men Evolution flashback canon more than anything else. But it is what it is.
A Taste for Blood
An hour after sunset, the gunfire finally stopped and the rain finally burst from the storm clouds. Logan hurried one more moaning man into the ambulance and closed up the metal doors. It sped off, bouncing on the rough battleground. With any luck, the three wounded soldiers inside would make it to see the dawn. There were several handfuls of others Logan hadn't been able to rescue in time.
Logan trudged back on his own, in the darkness, hardly aware of the rain until he got back to camp. There was Steve Rogers, standing off at the edge of camp, stoically looking out towards no man's land. He stood in the rain, as still as a statue. The sight made tiny hairs on Logan's arms stand at attention.
He approached with caution, circling around the side to the man could see him coming. “What are you doing here?” Logan asked.
The dark eyes stared past Logan, unblinkingly. His army uniform was fully soaked and dripping. His arms hung straight at his sides, hands balled up in fists so tight his knuckles were white.
Logan turned, studying the darkness and seeing nothing special in it. It was only darkness, with no end. “Rogers,” he said strongly, worriedly. “What do you see?”
There was still no response. No flicker of comprehension.
“Rogers… let me getcha back to your tent.”
Steve did not move, but his eyes flickered over to Logan, as though only just noticing he was there. “I can't make it,” he whispered.
“I'll help,” said Logan, in what was almost a growl. He gripped the man's muscular upper arms, and forced him 'round. It was a slow, careful march back to the tent. The dirt ground was muddy, and their boots made sloppy, squishy, matching tracks. “You'll catch your death if you stay out here, and then what good will you be?” Neither laughed.
“Too late. I think I already have,” Steve said and sneezed so violently that Logan had to wrap an arm around him to keep him upright. The man who was Captain America shivered in Logan's grip as they approached the tent.
Dry clothes and bed roles did nothing at all to help. Even when he was wrapped in a quilt, his teeth still chattered fiercely and his face was pale. The only thing for it was for Logan to strip down, too, and squeeze onto the cot. They lay on their sides, as always, to fit. Logan's arms and one leg were wrapped tightly around Steve's body from behind.
“I have to go out tonight,” whispered Steve.
“You're not going anywhere,” Logan countered. “Medic's orders. Fancy shield or no, you're in no shape to fight.” He held tighter, as though hoping to hold Steve there for good. “And, tonight, neither am I. So stay put.”
Steve sneezed again, rubbed his nose into a bit of the quilt, and slowly the shakes left him. Tension drained from his body and he hugged Logan's arms to his chest. One hand sought out another and Logan felt their fingers intertwine. Then he felt lips brush his knuckles and his fingertips. He peered over as Steve kissed one finger then froze. “You all right?” Logan asked.
Steve closed his eyes and, as the taste of blood hit his tongue, began shivering again.