The Amazon / Dead of Night
Ororo Munroe, the X-Man codenamed Storm, plunged headlong through slick underbrush, sliding along a slippery incline at breakneck speed. Her normally luminescent white hair hung around her shoulders in dirty, sodden ropes. Wet leaves slapped her face, causing her to spit out several green leafy bits. Lightening flooded the night sky and the earth trembled beneath a jarring boom of thunder.
Torrential rain drenched the forest, rendering even the thick leaves and vines of the rainforest’s natural canopy ineffectual protection against the wind-lashed deluge. The terrible weather was an environmental response to her emotional state she knew, but she was too exhausted to do anything about it now. She slid against a small sized tree, wrapping her arm around its slick trunk. Cocking her head to one side she listened to the sounds of the forest, straining to hear any noise that would indicate her target’s current location.
Ororo turned her face up to the rain, opening her mouth and capturing reflective droplets on her tongue. Despite the dire circumstances she now faced, she longed to give herself up into the exhilaration of the night, to the fury of the storm, her storm. She could feel it, like it was a part of her; the pounding of the thunder, the streaks of white-hot lightening, and the cool hit of rain pelting her heated flesh. There was no time, however, to immerse herself as she desired. There were lives that hung in the balance and she couldn’t afford such a selfish indulgence.
With a grim look of determination Ororo unlocked her arms from the slender trunk and once again began her mad descent along the rain forest’s muddy incline. She was sliding much faster now than before and she felt a burst of fear as she realized that she was dangerously close to the edge of a sheer fall. With a grunt she threw herself backwards, her fingernails digging into the rich soil, searching for something--anything-- to grab onto.
Normally a fall from a cliff, sheer or otherwise, wouldn’t have been an issue, she could fly after all; however, she was afraid that she may be too drained now to summon strong enough winds to support her and a fall from this height would be devastating if not fatal. Storm began to swear under her breath as she skittered down the muddy hillside, unable to clasp onto anything more substantial than loose leaves. Finally, as panic was beginning to swell, her nearly numb hand found exposed roots from a dead tree and she gripped them for all she was worth.
Taking great gulping breaths, Ororo rested her cheek in the cool mud. Damn it, where was he? Slowly she crawled to her knees, holding the root with her right hand as she once again tried her communicator. “Storm to Cyclops, do you copy?” The crackling hiss of static was her only reply. Damn. Thunder rumbled overhead, weaker this time. A quick flash of lightening illuminated the ground below the drop off and she sucked in her breath.
Below her, on the ground thirty feet down, a man lay prone, his limp form surrounded by six murky shapes, all carrying weapons. One man raised his arm and Ororo could see an outline of a rifle resting against his elbow just before the man fired round after round into the prone form, the lifeless body jerking with each hit.
“Wolverine!” she screamed.
All caution forgotten Ororo flung herself down the hill, spewing through the mud slicked leaves and freefalling towards the ground below.
An earsplitting scream roused a semi-conscious Wolverine from his stupor. He twisted on the ground, six adamantium laced, razor sharp claws emerging from the backs of his hands, splitting skin and tearing muscle as they erupted between his knuckles. The night exploded in a blur of sound and movement. With hardly a blink to betray his motion Wolverine swung his arm in an arc, slicing the end off of the rifle pointed at him. One of the other men fired and the acrid smell of gunpowder mixed with the bitter scent of his own blood filled his nose. With a savage snarl he turned on the soldiers, his unbreakable blades sinking true and deep, as the Wolverine became lost in a ruthless killing frenzy that was over in seconds.
Blood bubbled and gurgled from one young soldier’s mouth as he fell. With the last remaining strength in his body, the nameless soldier pulled the pin on one of the cylinder grenades strapped to his green combat suit. The resulting explosion was immediate and forceful. Wolverine was thrown back, landing hard, his ankle twisting behind him with a sickening snap and crack, the tendons tearing. Fuck!
Wolverine felt blood seeping along his front, soaking his torn shirt, his body literally riddled with wounds. He was losing consciousness rapidly. Shock was settling in and his teeth began to chatter. Over the dull roar of blood in his head, he thought he heard the sound of a freight train and he blinked groggily. A freight train? In the jungle?
Hurricane force winds were suddenly howling around him. Good. Great. Perfect. Survive months of torture and hell, take out half an army to escape and he’d be done in by the fuckin’ weather. Brilliant.
Surprisingly, just as quickly as it had begun the winds ceased and the night was still once again, save for the patter of rain against heavy leaves and the distant rumble of thunder as the unexpected storm tapered off.
Wolverine lay still on the wet ground, his mind a foggy blanket of hazy pain. Rain washed into his mouth choking him. He tried to sit up, tried to focus. Had someone really screamed his name? He closed his eyes, hearing a voice that reminded him of smoky bars and black satin sheets. Stupid. It couldn’t be her. She was thousands of miles away with the rest of those goody-goody X-brats.
Forcefully he opened his eyes, the harsh reality of his situation returning. He was laying in muddy goop, his body battered and beaten beyond recognition, his healing factor getting the workout of his life, and he was alone. The only building for hundreds of miles was the fucking torture palace he’d just escaped from. Waves of weariness crashed over him. The night could’ve gone better, but he was free. At least until they sent more troops after his sorry, broken ass. He was too weak to run right now, but he had to. He needed to move--they would be coming for him…they always came for him.
Wolverine swore viciously, angry that his plans had failed so dramatically. He had planned this escape for two days, taking into account the soldiers routines, who would be guarding him, and even the weather. The damn monsoon had been completely unexpected.
Wolverine grunted again as he levered himself up on one elbow to peer through the rain and he froze. A few feet away from him in the mud sat Ororo Munroe, her head was bent forward and her long tresses were hanging in sodden ropes over her face as she heaved in labored breaths, seemingly oblivious to the rain. And to him.
He cleared his throat pointedly. Ororo lifted her head and faced him. Their gazes locked. Her eyes immediately narrowed.
Ororo pushed her tangled hair from her face and crawled over to where Wolverine lay. “How bad are you hurt?” she asked with sharp practicality.
“I’ll survive,” he growled. He tried to get up but his leg throbbed, his ankle giving way beneath his massive weight.
Ororo reached for him and despite his struggles she held fast, her strength surprising him. She propped her shoulder under his arm and helped him stand, her mud streaked face impassive. “We need to move. Find shelter.”
He simply grunted.
Together they trod through the thick foliage, making their way slowly through the dense jungle. Wolverine would occasionally extend his claws, cutting through the thicker parts on their makeshift path. After a time they came across a shallow stream and Ororo halted, listening. “Do you hear that?” she asked.
Wolverine nodded. “Yeah. Waterfall.”
Ororo shifted his weight, preparing to move again. “Let’s go there.”
Wolverine’s ankle struck a jutted rock and he staggered, pulling her down with him into the cold water. Ororo landed on top of him with a soft oomph, her wet hair slapping him in the face. She pulled it back over her shoulder, rolling from him and trying to get him to get up.
“Leave,” he barked angrily.
“I don’t think so,” she snapped in return. “I didn’t fly all the way down here to find you and leave you.”
He growled at her, his upper lip curling away from feral fangs. “Why did ya fly down here?”
“That bald headed crank in a wheelchair that supports us misses his favorite pet,” she glowered at him.
Wolverine snorted. “Obviously ya don’t share Chuck‘s dilemma.”
Storm’s answer was flat and honest. “No. I think rescuing you is of waste of time and energy.”
“Then why the fuck are ya here?” he demanded, his pain making each word more growl than syllable.
“Because I’m an X-Man and it‘s my job. Something I take pride in,” she responded, trying again to rouse him.
“Just leave me.” He said again, resisting as she tried to pull him to his feet.
“I can’t. What kind of X-Man would that make me?” She tugged harder, her hands sliding up his mud slicked skin and she fell backwards, splashing into the rocky stream.
“A fuckin’ smart one.”
Ororo didn’t respond, instead she simply sat in the water staring at him stubbornly, her black uniform tattered and torn in several spots, her hair a muddy mess, the dirt mixing with the blood trickling down the side of her face.
“Yer hurt,” he said, almost accusatory.
She shrugged indifferently. “Part of the job.”
Wolverine frowned. He didn’t like the idea of her hurt. He snorted disdainfully, what the fuck did he care if she was hurt? He didn’t ask for their help. Didn’t want it.
“Well, too bad, Wolverine. Now get up.” Storm demanded. “There’s a rock wall behind that waterfall, I noticed it when we flew in. We can take shelter in the cave.” She stretched out one muddy arm. “Come on.”
Wolverine met her determined gaze. She was just as stubborn as he was, and he could see that she wasn’t about to bend. He tilted his head into the rain. Being in a dry cave as opposed to a wet stream did seem like the better of the two options. “Fine.”
The cave was deep and roomy and partially hidden by the waterfall, which was beneficial giving their current circumstances. Ororo released him immediately upon entering the dark cave and he slid unceremoniously to the hard floor. “You came alone?” he asked after a brief silence.
“No. I got separated from the others after an explosion.”
Undisclosed Military Facility / Dead of Night / One hour ago...
“Status, Storm?” The still silence of the balmy summer night was broken by a hiss of static and the commanding voice of the X-Men’s young, but disciplined leader, Cyclops. He and his team of renegade fighters were stationed near a lone outpost in the middle of an Amazonian rainforest. Although clearly a South American territory, the outpost was US Military manned.
Storm’s silken, sultry voice responded to his request. “Four guards front gate. Three on north wall, same on all sides. Six grounds patrols, with dogs. Possibly hostiles on the inside, I can‘t make anything out from up here. They seem to be searching for something…or someone.”
Cyclops took the information in, running it through his quick mind. “Marvel Girl, do a thermal scan of the building. See if we can narrow down his location before we go plowing in there.”
“I’m on it.” Jean Grey replied. She dropped her heavy black pack and pulled out a pair of night vision goggles, modified by the late Hank McCoy. As she strapped them to her head she felt a brief sting of sadness, remembering their recently murdered teammate and friend.
There was a moment of quiet, then, “This guy we’re after must be pretty special for Xavier to risk all of our necks like this.” Alison Blaire, former lead singer of the punk rock band Dazzler, commented.
“He’s the most dangerous mutant on the planet,” The large Russian mutant known as Colossus confirmed, a trace of pride in his deep accented voice.
“He’s a waste of our time.” Storm said with quiet conviction. “I for one think we should let Xavier’s little pet rot.”
“Whoohoo. I detect some hostility.” Alison whistled. “So who is this guy exactly?”
“His name is Wolverine. He was a government assassin until he came to the Institute. He signed up under Professor X and became an X-Man. The best X-Man we‘ve ever had.” Colossus rattled off.
“This dude’s an X-Man?”
“Was.” Storm said shortly.
“What happened?”
“He and Cyclops had a ‘falling out’.” Bobby Drake, Iceman, said with a chuckle at his own joke.
Alison came back. “I don’t get it, Snow job. What’s so funny?”
It was Storm’s ice cold voice that replied. “Wolverine attempted to kill Cyclops. He threw him over a cliff in an effort to have our beloved Marvel Girl all to himself.”
“No shit,” Alison said with a touch of disbelief. “And we’re rescuing this guy?”
“Apparently.”
“Cut the chatter.” Cyclops came back on the line, his voice edged and hard. “Storm, give us some cover.”
Immediately the night air became a bit cooler and a thick blanket of fog rolled across the ground, enveloping the team and the outpost. The X-Men pulled on their multi-functional goggles, needing to be able to see in the thick mist, readying themselves for the upcoming skirmish.
“Angel, you and Colossus take out the front gate on my signal. Iceman, Dazzler and I will follow, formation Alpha Zulu Gamma. Marvel Girl, keep the jet ready. Storm, stay airborne and Nightcrawler be ready for extraction.” Cyclops barked the orders, quick, succinct and efficient. It was easy to see why he was the leader of the X-Men. Upon confirmation from his teammates, Cyclops shot off a quick optic blast into the fog, the ruby red glow distracting the guards.
Warren and Colossus took off immediately. Warren, aptly codenamed Angel due to his Adonis appearance and the massive white wings sporting from his back, flew high and fast, carrying the large Russian towards the front gate. “Ready?”
“Just say the word!”
“Now!” Warren released Peter Rasputin, watching through the red tinted goggles as warm amber flesh glinted pink steel and crashed through the barricade like a human wrecking ball.
Before the dust and debris even had a chance to settle the other X-Men piled through the gate. Iceman immediately sent a wall of ice and snow up, freezing the gate guards and preventing them from firing their weapons.
A high pitched alarm sounded, the shrill shrieking blaring through the night, sending the guard dogs into a frenzy. “Thank you. The louder you get the more you get!” Alison raised her arms over her head, bright light lasers shooting down her tattooed arms and out towards the charging canines.
From a close proximity to Alison, Cyclops questioned, “Marvel Girl, location of target?”
“Thermal scan shows nothing, but there is a lead lined wall at the back of the building. Maybe there.”
Bullets ricocheted off the ground near Cyclops’s feet. He turned, firing short, powerful optic blasts in the direction of the gunfire. “They know we’re here now, Storm. Clear the air.”
The winds picked up and the fog dissipated, melting away like it had never been. “Cyclops. Helicopters. Closing in fast.” Storm warned from her aerial position.
“Can you handle them?”
A rumble of thunder was his only response and despite the tense circumstances, Cyclops smiled. And they called him stoic. His smile faded as he recalled the reasons behind Storm’s closed off demeanor. Hank. Their friend and brother in arms so recently taken from them. Storm had taken it harder than anyone, Hank had been her very best friend, and the result had been a complete emotional shut down from her. No laughter, no anger, no anything. That was until tonight, until they had been ordered to come down here and rescue Wolverine. Then she had finally shown something.
High above the lone building and the confrontation between her fellow X-Men and gun wielding soldiers, Ororo watched the two approaching Comanche helicopters with glowing white eyes. She hovered in the air, patiently waiting for them to get closer, her white ponytail flying behind her in the wind.
As soon as the copters were in range she sent gale force winds under their bellies, pushing them away from her. Flashes of lightening snapped from her fingertips, narrowly missing the black transports, but she didn’t care, not like she should have. The urge to ‘slip’ was nearly overwhelming, but she fought it down. With barely a conscious effort she sent bolts into the tails of the helicopters, forcing them to crash land into the dense foliage of the jungle. Satisfied that the helicopters no longer posed a threat, she performed a midair flip and flew back towards the still under siege outpost.
Closing in on the fighters she caught sight of Cyclops as he used his powerful gaze to punch a hole through the cement and mortar of the building that they believed was the current housing for the Wolverine.
Inside the small building Cyclops and Colossus raced through the corridors, towards the back of the building. A large iron and lead gate and door stood in their way. “Take it down.” Cyclops ordered.
Colossus ran forward, his metal feet slamming into the ground, denting the linoleum. He hit the door with his right shoulder, busting through it with the effort most people would use to bust out of a paper bag. Inside the sealed room sat a cage, the door swinging open on broken hinges, three soldiers lay on the floor, entrails spilling from one, and the two others beheaded.
“Christ.” Cyclops said entering the small, foul smelling room. He counted hundreds of bullet holes along the wall behind the cage, the gray stucco decorated with crimson splotches. There was urine and fecal matter everywhere, sprayed and thrown on the cage. It was obvious that the people that had captured Wolverine took pleasure in humiliating the man and for the first time in their acquaintance Cyclops felt genuine sorrow for the trials the feral mutant had to endure. “Those sick bastards.”
Colossus roared, gripping the bars and pulling for all he was worth.
“Colossus, stop. Stop!” Cyclops commanded.
Colossus grunted, straining on the adamantium bars.
“Dude, you’re about to give yourself an aneurism. They’re adamantium. You aren’t going to break them.”
Cyclops adjusted his headset. “Wolverine is gone. Looks like a breakout. Storm, I could use an aerial visual and sweep.”
“And I could use a stiff drink. We don’t always get what we want, now do we?”
“Storm,” Cyclops began.
“Oh, lighten up,” she said. “I’m on it. The things I do for you guys.” Storm muttered as she rose high above the tree line. She scowled without realizing it, her generous mouth turned down at the corners. “There’s a lot of activity in the forest. I can’t make out details, but the animals are going nuts, Cyclops.”
“Could be him. Mount up, team. Storm, follow him if you can, but do not engage. We have no idea what his mental state is.”
“Oh, I’d imagine it’s the same as it always is. Crazy.” Storm flew ahead.
Cyclops smirked a bit. “Probably. Marvel Girl, see if you can pick up anyt--”
KA-BOOOOOOOOM!!
Currently
“Here.” Ororo removed her vest, folding it twice. With quick, efficient movements she propped Wolverine’s ankle on it. He grunted, but was otherwise silent. “I’ll look for something to start a fire.” She started to rise but his hand cupped her arm in a firm grip.
“Why did ya really come for me, Storm?”
She jerked her arm away, not meeting his eyes. “I’ll be back.” She made her way towards the cave opening.
“Everything’s soaked. Ya won’t find anything worth burning. ‘Sides, I thought you didn‘t get cold.”
Storm didn’t reply, instead she simply walked from the mouth of the cavern into the pouring rain without looking back.
Wolverine closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the stone wall. He was exhausted, but knew he wouldn’t sleep until she returned safely.
Ororo walked a short distance, lifting thick foliage, searching for dry branches buried beneath. After a short time she had gathered enough for a small fire and she smiled a bit in satisfaction. When she returned to the cave she noticed Wolverine had his face turned and his eyes closed. She assumed he was sleeping, and moved quietly, hoping not to disturb him. She gave his wounded form a cursory once over before settling down to make a fire.
Ororo was wrong. Wolverine wasn’t sleeping. As soon as he heard the distinct sizzle of lightening meeting kindling he opened his eyes half way, his glittering gaze following her every move. She stretched her arms over her head, the black spandex of her uniform top rising to reveal her well toned abdomen. She sighed quietly, cricking her neck and rubbing one hand along its base. She sat beside the small fire wrapping her arms around her drawn up knees and resting her chin atop them, a pensive look on her mud streaked face. Storm turned her head, her eyes resting on him for a moment before she turned back to the flames, a soft sigh passing her full lips.
Wolverine had the absurd wish to be a telepath in that moment. He wanted to know what she had been thinking, what she was thinking now. Ororo was an enigma, a puzzle to him, and to many others, he knew. She had been before he had left the team and she was now. She was one of the few people he could read accurately.
Ororo grimaced as time passed; her clothes were beginning to dry on her, stiff with mud. She glanced back over towards Wolverine, noting that he was still asleep. Even so, she shifted away from him as she tugged her top over her head.
Wolverine raised one thick eyebrow. Her clothes were soaked and caked; it was only natural that she wouldn’t want to wear them. What wasn’t natural was his immediate and strong erection at the sight of her exposed back. Her back for fuck’s sake! He shifted a bit, his cock throbbing almost as badly as his ankle. It was comical. Here he was, shot to shit, broken and half dead on a dirt floor and he had a hard-on from hell.
Ororo turned again, folding her shirt and resuming her previous seated position, her ample breasts pressed into the front of her still clothed thighs. The firelight illuminated her supple curves and Wolverine thought how much that tight top hid from the world. Ororo Munroe had the best tits he had ever seen. Generous and firm, rounded and natural looking. He wondered what her nipples looked like and stifled a groan.
Ororo moved again, running her fingers through the tangled mass of hair on her head, pulling leaves and twigs from the slightly curling thickness. Her hair was as unique as she was, normally, when not caked with layers of mud; it was a thick, luminous fall of snow hanging nearly to her waist. She’d cut it since he’d seen her last, he mulled.
The warmth of the fire enveloped Wolverine and his eyelids grew heavy, Ororo’s simple motions were lulling him. He tried to keep his eyes open but it was futile, he was going under…
Ororo pensively chewed the end off her third fingernail. She gave Wolverine another look. He was still asleep. She should check on him. She started on another fingernail. Why she was so bothered by him was beyond her. She didn’t even like the guy. She sighed, unable to believe Cyclops’s willingness to allow Wolverine back on the team should he choose to join them.
Scott had been through hell. A month of suffering, nearly every bone in his body broken, lying at the bottom of a gorge in the Savage Land, eating his own gloves and insects to survive. Survive a betrayal by a teammate, someone that was supposed to have his back, not stab him in it.
Ororo shot the sleeping man a dark look. Bastard. Why they had bothered to track his worthless ass down… But she knew why. He had been an X-Man, and the X-Men took care of their own.
With a reluctant sigh she pulled her top back over her head and crawled to where Wolverine was propped against the cave wall. She gave him a quick once over, noticing the holes in the formerly white t-shirt he wore, and the dark rust colored stains that decorated it. He was of average height, but the breadth of his massive shoulders made him appear bigger than he was. She let her gaze travel to his face and her mouth went dry. His ebony hair was badly in need of a trim, thick locks falling over his brow, brushing the bridge of his straight nose. She reached out to brush them back from his face before she realized what she was doing. She snatched her hand back as if touching him would burn her.
With a careful eye, she studied his features. His normally burnished sun warmed skin was paler now. His low set brows were furrowed even in sleep, and she wondered if he ever truly relaxed. A thick fringe of lashes rested on slightly hollow cheeks and Ororo noticed how marked his weight loss was since she’d seen him last. Shallow lines bracketed his mouth and creased his forehead. If she didn’t know that he was in fact far, far older, she’d have guessed him to be near thirty.
The firelight played with his sullen mouth like a lover. Ororo cocked her head, watching the shadows. It really was a wonderful mouth, she mused. Firm and well formed, the slant of his jaw tightened it into a sulky pout that was capable of devastating any woman. Ororo wondered what that mouth would look like if he smiled. She leaned forward, momentarily enthralled by her own musings, the tips of her fingers reaching for his lips.
“Sapphires.”
Ororo jerked back, startled by the rough cadence of his voice, her gaze darting up to his wide open steel eyes. She didn’t say a word, not daring to breathe.
“Yer eyes,” he said groggily. “Look like sapphires.”
Ororo sat back on her haunches. “I wanted to make sure you were still alive.” She ignored his comment on the color of her eyes.
Wolverine reached out, his quick hand catching a still damp rope of her hair. He watched her silently as he rubbed the strands between his fingers. It was as soft and as heavy as it looked, he noted. He had never touched her hair before. Hell, he couldn’t remember ever really touching her before. She sat still, like she was waiting for him to strike and that thought brought a cynical tilt to his brooding mouth. “I’m cold,” he lied. He scooted until he lay flat on the ground. “Lay down with me. You need to rest.”
“I’m not tired,” she responded immediately.
“Yer a shitty liar too.” He tugged her hair. “I can smell it on ya, Storm. Yer exhausted.”
She gripped her hair, trying to wrest it from his firm grasp.
“Ya’ve got nothin’ ta worry about, darlin’. I’m harmless right now.”
“Wolverine, I doubt you can ever be considered harmless,” she said flatly.
He snatched her wrist with his other hand, pulling her towards him. “I’m cold.” he insisted. “Body heat will prevent shock. Ya can’t be that heartless.”
Ororo frowned. What if he really was going into shock? She surrendered, slowly stretching alongside him. Wolverine slipped his arm beneath her shoulders, his embrace casual. After a few minutes with no movement from him, Ororo relaxed a bit, the events and effort of the night catching up to her and she felt lethargy seeping into her.
Wolverine felt her body relax, her breathing even out and he turned slightly to study her. He frowned faintly when he looked at her. It was like he was looking at her for the very first time. When had she become so unbelievably gorgeous? And that she was. Not the Barbie doll pretty of the buxom blondes he’d had, or the slender woman-child beautiful of Jean, but gorgeous. Breathtaking and mind-numbing.
Her skin was a flawlessly smooth combination of caramel and cinnamon. Her now closed eyes were, as he had just noticed, the colors of the purest sapphires, deep and true. He had been entranced by their seemingly endless depths. She had a slender nose, slightly turned up at the tip, and fine cheekbones. But it was her mouth that caught his hungry gaze and held it. Full to the point of being obscene, her lush lips begged to be kissed. Wide and full and slightly parted in sleep, revealing the perfect pearls sheltered within. She was exquisite.
He pulled his arm from under her and propped himself up on his elbow. His head was bent over hers before he himself recognized his intentions, and he touched his cracked lips to her wonderful mouth. He brushed against her lightly, almost tenderly, with each pass slightly deepening the pressure, melding his mouth to hers as if it was meant to be there.
Ororo sighed in her sleep, opening her lips under his. Wolverine cupped her chin, his thumb tugging her lips apart further, smothering her small moan with the swift invasion of his tongue. His hand tightened reflexively on her jaw as pleasure washed through him, more excruciating than the pain he had just endured. His tongue swept across her teeth and deeper still, tasting her, and being sure to drink his fill. He kissed her until he couldn’t say where one kiss ended and another began.
With a growl he ran one hand over her torso, cupping one perfect globe through the stiff fabric of her uniform top, teasing her nipple into an aching peak.
Ororo moaned, her eyes slowly blinking open, reluctant to wake from her dream. She sighed, momentarily unaware of what was causing her hazy pleasure. She focused sharply and turned her head away from his, shoving at his chest. “Stop it!” she snapped.
Wolverine smirked, his mouth touching her cheek as his fingers swirled against the tip of her nipple. “Ya don’t mean that. I can smell it on ya. You want me.”
Ororo punched him in the face. Although from the flat of her back and their awkward angle it was an ineffectual blow, it got her point across. “I mean it.”
Wolverine rubbed his jaw. “Ya hit like a girl.”
Ororo glared at him. “Move away from me.”
Wolverine caught the scent of ozone. The air fairly crackled with it. He rolled away from her, adjusting his tattered pants against the bulge there. “Happy now?” he grumbled.
No. Ororo barely bit back the reply. She staggered to her feet, moving to the opposite side of the cavern. She ran her hands over her front, smoothing away his touch.
Wolverine watched the motion and glowered at her. A tingle against his foot caught his attention. “Yer vest is vibrating.”
Ororo went to his side immediately, jerking the vest from beneath his foot.
Wolverine grunted. Good thing he was mostly healed. That would’ve hurt like hell otherwise. Bitch.
Reaching into the side pocket Ororo pulled out her communicator. “Cyclops?” she asked.
Static crackled, then, “Storm?… Hallelujah …Troops…took ’em out…injured… Where are…?”
“Cyclops, I can barely make you out.”
“Location?” he came back clearer.
“Waterfall. About four miles south, south west of the outpost.”
“We’re on our way…Wolverine…?”
Ororo glanced over at the man in question. “Alive.” She shut the comm. off, shoving it back in the vest before sliding it on and snapping it in the front.
Wolverine watched her calm efficient movements and he had the urge to bare his teeth at her. How could she just brush off what happened, while he lay on the floor, his body still rock hard and raging.
“Professor X wants you back on the team.” Ororo said making a show of adjusting her vest. “We are to extend the offer to you.” She was relatively confident that he would refuse the offer, after all if he had wanted to be an X-Man, he would still be there. She had said as much before they had left for the Amazon to rescue him.
Wolverine cocked a brow. “Ya want me back, eh?”
“Xavier does. Personally I hope you decline and then find the nearest short pier and take a long walk.” She created a small rain cloud over their fading fire. The flames went out with a momentary hiss of complaint and a billow of gray-white smoke.
Wolverine rose slowly, his dark gaze not leaving hers. “I guess this means the honeymoon’s over,” he commented as he heard the scream of the Blackbird closing in on them.
Ororo grimaced. “Time with you is more like purgatory, Wolverine.”
He flashed his teeth. “Well, get ready fer some hell, little girl. I’ll be takin’ Ol’ Chuckie up on his offer. So, come on, Sugarplum, get yer panties outta their bind and let’s get ourselves back ta New York.” He strode from the cave, his arrogant swagger taunting her.
Ororo watched his back angrily as she slowly counted to ten, then fifteen, then twenty. “Asshole.”
From his short distance away Wolverine sent her a feral smile, telling her that he heard her muttered comment.
The Black Bird, the X-Men’s primary jet, hovered in the sky overhead, unable to land near the waterfall. The side hatch hissed open. “Well, where’s the damn ladder?” Wolverine mumbled.
“We don’t need one,” Ororo said quietly, her eyes glowing faintly. Summoned by their mistress the winds increased, lifting both Storm and Wolverine from the ground.
“Christ!” Wolverine’s claws popped in automatic response.
“Relax.”
“I ain’t much fer flyin’.” he grumbled. A gentle swell of wind sent him through the open hatch. “That’s a new trick,” he commented.
Storm lowered herself to the jet floor, closing the hatch behind her. “We’re in, Scott.”
Wolverine gave his surroundings an instinctive perusal. A small table lay under a large silver lamp, two harnessed seats were directly to his left and cabinets of medical supplies lined the walls.
“Take your shirt off.”
“Huh?” Wolverine’s brows rose.
Storm gave a small huff. “Your shirt. Remove it so I can take a look at your wounds.”
“Where’s Jeannie? Ain’t this her thing?”
Ororo straightened to her full height, her blue eyes snapping. “Marvel Girl is up front, co-piloting the plane, with her boyfriend, but if you would prefer someone else, Kurt Wagner is an excellent medic. I’ll get him.”
Wolverine snagged her arm as she tried to maneuver her way around him. “You’ll do.”
Ororo narrowed her eyes. “Shirt. Off.”
Suddenly Wolverine’s eyes took on an entirely different gleam than before. “I’ve never been one to refuse a lady.”
A short derisive snort was Ororo’s only response to his statement. She turned away from him quickly, her breath catching when she realized Wolverine had torn the remnants of his tee from his body. Taking a deep, steadying breath she turned to face him, her composure once again placid. She instructed him to lift his arms so that she could see the full extent of his injuries.
Wolverine sucked in a breath while her slender, strong fingertips probed around his almost healed wounds. “We should clean these out.” She leaned past him, her shoulder brushing his chin and on impulse he leaned forward, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply.
Oblivious to his sniffing, Ororo moved with practiced efficiency. A quick jerk opened one of the drawers behind Wolverine revealing a clear bottle of alcohol, tape and gauze strips. “Some of these look pretty bad.” She pulled on the purple medical gloves and laid out her supplies.
Wolverine sat back, caught off guard by her voice. He glanced down at his chest and shrugged. “Been through worse.”
Storm shook her head, unable to imagine living with such horrific acts done to her. She immediately quelled the surge of sympathy she felt towards her former teammate. Xavier had offered him a home and made him part of a team, and how did Wolverine repay them? By tossing one of their own off of a sheer cliff. Whatever horrors had been done to him, there came a time for him to accept responsibility for himself.
“Easy there, darlin’.” Wolverine jerked against the alcohol soaked pad Ororo placed over one of his still open wounds. “Leave ‘em. They’ll heal.”
With a snap, Ororo removed her gloves, tossing them into the receptacle. “Fine.”
Wolverine snatched her wrist, his thumb skimming the pulse at the base. “What’s yer issue with me, princess?”
Ororo met his stare coldly. “I don’t trust you.” She yanked her hand away and walked through the sliding door that led to the cockpit.
Smart girl. Wolverine smirked, his eyes glinting silver.
