It wasn't the sensation of warmth, of moving fingers that woke him or even the steady insistent tug over the feverish skin of his cock that woke him, and the border between dream-heady thrusts and dry-humping the sheet was blurred until his eyes opened wide and the spurts of come were trapped in the shorts he wore, blood-hot but quickly cooling. Scott caught his lip between his teeth in a low, pained groan, angry in the next instant that he'd gotten swept away like a teenager boning up over his first messy nocturnal emission. His second, almost shamed thought was over how there was no way for him to change his shorts when he was trapped in bed and even if he crawled out in the dead of night, he couldn't make it far enough to launder or switch his shorts.
Bed baths were out at this point. He was going to have to insist.
There had been no fire or recrimination, no pain or the incessant whispers that had dogged him, but after the initial flush of shame waking from that dream Scott was disturbed. He couldn't flip onto his side so he dragged a pillow out from under himself, wincing and smothering the exclamation even when there was no one to hear, and covered his face.
This isn't happening. This can't be happening to me.
For the first time in over ten years, he'd jerked out of sleep with hot cheeks and a throbbing dick. That in itself was no cause for shame, but the fact that it was a man's hands touching him, a man's...against his mouth, after all he'd been forced to go through and to wake up hard, as if he wanted that - well, cold showers and exercising until he literally dropped were a better alternative. He couldn't like it. It wasn't right.
Tonight it had been Logan. He tore the pillow away from his face and scrubbed at his mouth, reached for the water some considerate soul had left within reaching distance, but he could still taste it. Musk and bitter and salt on his tongue, the rough edge of desire and the bulge he drew on with both hands disappearing between his lips, and he scrubbed at his face with both hands and it wouldn't go away.
He'd woken up from one of those dreams and Logan had... then he had... and the last piece fell into place, Logan getting up afterward and showering immediately, no doubt in shock. Scott had brushed his teeth and re-ordered his clothes as best he could and grabbed the keys to his bike and he'd split. As the pavement rushed up to meet him not so very far from the oasis, he remembered that last thought passing through his apparently plenty-thick skull.
I won't have to deal with it. Relief. Scott wasn't that lucky, though, because he had a guardian angel watching out or he was lucky or there was a God making time looking out for fools at least and he'd managed that last bit for sure.
"No wonder he wouldn't be caught visiting me," Scott said aloud, just to hear the bitterness. His voice in the echo of the empty room solidified the statement into truth, made it real, and he squeezed his eyes shut.
He was convinced after waking from a realization that lit his body up like that he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep for the rest of the night, but in the enfolding quiet of the med-bay's darkness he was shortly proved wrong. Scott slid with boneless relief again into a place where he wouldn't have to deal with it.