first time with old man!logan ;(
Fear crawls on Logan’s skin way too often. A casual reminder that everything he touches, he destroys.
So when you two finally fuck, he’d ask “How d’ya want me, doll?” in a hesitant voice. His calloused hands touch you as if you’re something fragile.
He knows the years are finally catching up to him. His weary bones, facial wrinkles, and scruffy greying beard reveal his old age.
And it is not every day, almost never, that he’s met with a young thing like you drooling over him, “P-please, Logan…”
He always doubts how someone like you could ever want someone like him. The scars all over his body brushing against your soft skin. So fuckin’ contradictory, he thinks.
Logan knows he’s corrupting you—feeling sick of himself—but at least he’d be so careful and gentle; keeping a composure over himself because he loves watching you reach into your orgasm before he reaches his own, “Such a sweet girl f’ your old man.”
It strokes his ego at how you are so dependent on him. He has you crying in his arms, your words trembling with soft gasps, and he’d whisper in your ear, “Like this, baby? ‘S this what ya’ wanted?”
Logan thrusts his hips forward regularly until it creates an echoing squelching noise in the room. You’d sob out a yesyesyes’s and slip out an i love you, and Logan gives and gives because you’re all he ever needs.
No one told Logan that sometimes bravery feels like fear. And now he holds the feeling too dearly, “Best thing that has ever happened t’me.”
He won’t let fear win again.
