Cherik One Shots

Sweet, Hot Summers

So this is gonna be scogan, not cherik (obv), but dw cherik is coming soon (ive been a lil preoccupied with stony fics, and i haven't had a good cherik fic idea yet so plz leave some if u have any that u wanna read)

Summary- Logan hates that he likes how hot and sweaty Scott gets at the beach.

Warnings- smut, top logan, (power) bottom scott

Word Count- 2124

(This is my first time writing them so 🤞 hope its good)

***

It was the professor's idea to have a beach day for the kids and invite the teachers along, Logan himself apparently included. He had donned a simple dark blue pair of swim trunks that was gifted to him and a white tank top, wanting but not being allowed to wear jeans and a flannel— yet, he brought a flannel anyway, excusing it as a cover up. It matched, thus Xavier didn't make a fuss, and off everyone went— by plane, to a private beach, because the professor was that showoffish.

Scott had sat beside him, no doubt out of purposeful irritation, wearing red tinted sunglasses, a casual, partially buttoned floral shirt, and near matching shorts, which were... short. Logan looked quickly away, the color yellow, the pink florals, and the creamy skin of Scott's upper thighs burning annoyingly into his brain.

"Don't like it?" Scott teased, elbowing Logan, which earned him a scowl upon the sent glare. "No, I get it. It's too modern for you," his stretch turned into a flex, "Too bad I pull it off so well. You're just jealous."

"Shut it, Summers," Logan muttered and turned back to look out the large window ahead.

Logan heard a chuckle from Scott but nothing more, him now sparking conversation with one of the kids behind them. Logan repressed his eye roll and settled more comfortably into the seat, willing himself to enjoy the surprisingly smooth ride. It was rare they get to go on the plane knowing it's not leading to imminent danger, so it was the time now if any to appreciate the craft Hank had poured into it. He held a special adoration for a good mechanical masterpiece.

Soon, the plane landed and everyone filtered out onto the searing sand, immediately immersing themselves in either a game, the ocean, or lying out to tan. Logan was the self appointed lifeguard, perched against a far away tree behind some tall grass as he observed the area with care. He then slipped an unlit cigar he'd socked away in the flannel between his lips, chewing the tobacco with a satisfied huff as he knew he couldn't be seen.

"Y'know," a voice started behind him after a few good long minutes, and Logan was gracefully relieved of his peace. "You aren't exactly being a star role model when you do that. There's a reason the professor bans-"

Scott silenced himself as Logan turned with a raised brow, saying gruffly as he moved to hold the cigar between two fingers, "Why harp to me about it? No one's lookin'. Now, quit telling me what to do, or not do, and go play hooky somewhere else."

Scott said nothing but failed to move. He pursed his lips, hands on hips, seemingly in the mix of an internal debate. Then, wordlessly, he unbuttoned the remainder of his shirt, Logan helplessly staring at the nimble fingers working so tenderly and gingerly, revealing a remarkably well sculpted figure as the cloth fell to the sand below. There was a ghost of a happy trail and Logan swallowed at the intense low rise for revealing such, bright yellow contrasting somehow perfectly with the strip of skin there. And, again, with the criminally short inseam...

"It's hot," Scott presented his excuse, but his voice was ever so slightly lower in register, revealing the hint of a euphemism. "Gonna head into the water, if you wanted to join?"