The heady scent of fragrant oils hung in the air creating an abundant perfume that both soothed and invigorated. Ororo stood slowly, rivulets of violet and rose scented water sliding down her silky skin. Two female servants rose from their kneeled position beside the oversized tub, moving forward to help her descend the steps and towel her dry.
Although having received treatment similar in Khan’s palace it was still a slightly unnerving position for Ororo to be in, having people seeing to her every single need. A third servant knelt on bended knee in front of her, a long purple dressing gown laid across her extended arms.
The garment was lifted by the first two women and they set about slipping the soft material over her head. Once donned in the light negligee Ororo was led from the bath to her bridal chamber, where she was to wait for her husband’s arrival.
As inlaid golden doors parted, revealing a candle lit room, Ororo faltered in her stride. The room was exquisitely beautiful, decorated luxuriously with candles and flowers, but Ororo’s eyes were drawn to the room’s sole furnishing. A large, opulent bed in the center of the room. It was clear the room was designed for one purpose and one purpose only. The consummation of marriage.
Forcing air into her weighted lungs she stepped across the threshold determinedly. Her handmaidens followed her in, lighting incense and making certain everything was just so. “Please,” Ororo turned to them. “I am fine. Thank you. You may go.” With several bows the servants backed from the room, closing the doors quietly behind them.
As soon as she was completely alone Ororo moved towards the bed, a lump forming at the base of her throat. Tonight T’Challa would make her his wife in every sense of the word. She should be feeling nervous, which she was, but on top of that lay the grave burden of guilt.
Ororo closed her eyes, trying not to think of the previous night, but unable to prevent the memory from surfacing in the turbulent waters of her mind. I want ya ta remember this, ‘Roro. Never forget this night. She could still hear his gruff rasp in her ear, could almost feel him inside of her. Her stomach tightened to the point of pain and she doubled over. Goddess, Logan…How could she have done that to him? To T’Challa? What kind of woman was she?
How was she going to face T’Challa tonight? It had been hard enough to stand beside him and listen to everyone praise him for his choice of bride, telling her what a wonderful person she was. She was so wonderful that she betrayed her husband the night before their wedding. She cringed.
She was married now, and she had meant every vow she had spoken. She was T’Challa’s wife and she would be loyal and faithful and bound to him for as long as she lived, but deep inside of herself there lived a part of her that she feared would never be completely free of Wolverine.
“Ororo?”
She whirled, her hand flying to her chest. “T’Challa. You startled me,” she whispered, watching him emerge from the flickering shadows. He was clad only in black silk bottoms, his upper body bared and she couldn‘t help but admire the way the candlelight played off of his smooth chest and contracting muscles. Unbidden an image of Logan’s broad, hair covered chest came to mind but she forcefully shoved it back down.
His mouth lifted. “Then we’re even.”
Ororo stepped away from the bed, towards him. “How so?”
“You…take my breath away.” His dark eyes were full of hungry male appreciation as he took in her slender silhouette. He reached for her, pulling her into his arms. “I’ve waited for you my whole life,” he murmured as he lay his mouth to hers.
The kiss was slow and sweet and dark with sensual promises. His mouth moved over hers languidly, silkily, as if they had all the time in the world to savor this one moment. It was an artful kiss, layered with love and tenderness and infinite patience.
Ororo broke away. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t stand in his tender embrace and let him love her after what she had done to him. “T’Challa…” she began brokenly. “I can’t…I…” She looked at him and felt tears stinging her eyes.
T’Challa rested his forehead to hers, his large, warm hands cradling her jaw. “What is the matter, my love?”
“Don’t…” She tried to pull away but he was having none of that, holding her fast.
“Please, Ororo. Tell me what troubles you.”
The gentle concern in his voice was her undoing. With a heartfelt cry she whispered, “I’ve betrayed you.”
Aside from the subtle tensing of muscles beneath her hand he made no outward reaction to her declaration. His silence was condemnation in her mind. “I’m sorry.” She said closing her eyes. “So sorry.”
T’Challa took a deep steadying breath. “Continue.” He still didn’t release her.
Ororo shook her head. “The details don’t matter, but the fact remains I took your faith in me and I abused it. I am unworthy to be your queen. I am irredeemable.”
He let out a slow breath. “Irredeemable? For giving into the feelings you have for Wolverine? That’s a bit excessive.”
There was a sad humor in his voice. “T’Challa?” She opened her eyes, staring questioningly up into his. A horrifying realization came over her. “You knew,” she gasped.
“I suspected.” He confirmed. “Your feral friend is stealthy, but not even he can go undetected in my home.”
“What?” Ororo was baffled. “But…but then why?”
“Why what?” His gaze was deeply intense.
Her mind was in turmoil, scattered on the winds and chaotic. “Why marry me?” she asked finally.
He cocked his head. “I could ask you that very question.” He searched her face. “In fact, I think I will. Why did you marry me, Ororo?”
He deserved the truth, no matter how harsh it sounded. “Because you love me, and he doesn‘t.”
He closed his eyes, an imperceptible wince crossing his handsome features. “That I do.” His thumb caressed her cheek. “And what of you, Ororo. What of your love?”
She captured his wrists in her hands. “My heart is now yours, T’Challa. I made those vows sincerely. Whatever happens from this day forth, I am bound to you. Given the circumstances, I would understand if you did not believe that, but I speak the truth.”
He nodded slowly, his face drawn. “I believe you.”
They stood in the candle lit silence of the room, neither one knowing exactly what to say to the other. “So,” Ororo whispered, breaking the silence. “Where do we go from here?”
Elsewhere
The underground club was dimly lit and smelled of smoke and sex, but Logan didn’t care. All he cared about was the shot of tequila in his hand and the warm fog of forgetfulness that was slowly surrounding him. He grit his teeth as the woman fondling his cock took him deep in her mouth. “Not like that,” he growled. “Slower.”
The dark skinned beauty smiled, flicking her tongue along his tip. “Like this?”
“Better,” he grunted, swallowing his shot and slamming it onto the table. He closed his eyes, trying to lose himself in the wet recesses of his paid companion’s mouth. With his eyes closed tight he could almost imagine it was Ororo’s sweet mouth that he was in. “Fuck.” He grunted, his fingers tangling in the woman’s hair as his hips surged off of his chair. “’Ro.” He groaned. “Deeper,” he demanded, not opening his eyes.
The whore made a small noise of acquiesce, bobbing her head up and down voraciously.
Logan groaned long and low, picturing Storm’s mouth on his cock, her soft pink tongue rubbing his engorged head. He could almost see her cerulean eyes hazy with passion as they had been the other night, could almost hear her frantic cries as she rode her orgasm. With the memories of Ororo calling his name echoing in his head, Logan spilled his seed into the waiting whore’s mouth with a shudder. It was an empty release, devoid of any real passion, despite his best efforts. Blindly he reached for the tequila bottle, pouring the fiery liquid down his throat.
“Here,” he grunted, handing the woman extra cash as she rose from her kneeled position on the satin pillow at his feet.
“Thank you,” she smiled politely, placing the bills in her skimpy top. “Will you be needing further services tonight?”
Logan downed the last of the bottle, dropping it onto the floor beside the four others. “Ya never know, darlin’. Ya never know.”
His bitter laugh sent chills of unease up the woman’s spine. When he had entered the establishment a few hours earlier she had been thrilled that he had selected her for his pleasure, even more pleased when she realized his wallet was as thick as his crotch. Within minutes of his company, however, she sensed a dark ferocity in him that made her uneasy. Like she was small game animal in a lion’s den.
She cleared her throat. “What is it you would like?”
Another short bark of laughter that was borderline growl. “Ya know of anything that can make a man forget the woman he loves--” He stopped. No.
No, no, no.
He shook his head, trying for the first time in the past several hours to think with a semblance of clarity. Did he just say what he thought he said? Did he just admit to a prostitute that he was in love with Ororo?
His rather expensive companion was staring at him questioningly. “Do you speak of drugs?” she asked not following his rather random train of thought.
“Huh?” He blinked bloodshot eyes. “No.” He scowled. “Look. We’re set.” He stood, buckling his jeans.
“But, you have paid for the entire evening,” she protested mildly, but Logan could sense her relief.
“Keep the money.” He grabbed his hat from the table. He needed some air.
Once outside Logan leaned heavily against the building‘s back wall. His heart thudded dully within his chest, his jumbled drunken thoughts trying to fixate on Ororo. Just the thought of her eased and inflamed him. He saw her in his mind clear as day despite the alcohol induced fog. Do you ever want more? He wanted her, he realized with a jolt. He wanted her so much he ached with it.
Jesus Fuckin’ Christ. He was in love with Ororo. He loved another man’s wife--again. He would have laughed if it didn’t hurt so damn much.
Wakanda
Where do we go from here?
Ororo waited with pent breath for T’Challa to speak.
Slowly he released her from his gentle but firm hold and stepped away from her. “Life is a series of choices, Ororo, and I made mine, but I can not make yours. I am going to my chambers now, where I will remain. From there the choice will be yours. Join me and begin our life together as husband and wife, or leave.”
She bit her lip, watching the planes of his face. “Leave?”
He nodded grimly. “Our marriage has not been consummated. By Wakandian law it is still non-existent. If I am not the man you wish to be with, then please, go. I asked for a chance to earn your love, Ororo. I will not beg for it.”
“T’Challa…”
“No. Don’t speak. Think about what it is you truly want, Ororo, and decide. Once and for all, decide.” He touched her damp cheek. “Even knowing that you were with another changes naught about my feelings for you.” Without another word he turned and strode from the room, his back straight and head high.
Reeling from the days events Ororo sank to the carpet, pressing her palm to her forehead. Goddess, what now?
Did she leave? Return to the X-Men? Chase one man’s dream and another man’s heart? Or did she take what was so generously laid out in front of her?
She raised her legs, curling her arms across her calves and resting her chin atop her knees. She loved Logan, this she knew. Had loved him forever it seemed. But then there was T’Challa. With his warm smile and laughing eyes, his kind heart and easy charm. Always making time for her. Always telling her how he cared for her. There were so many things about him that were unexpected. Like the way his mouth tilted when he was wryly amused, and the way he said her name when they were alone, or the way he made her feel so loved and cherished.
She sighed. His arrogance and self assurance bordered on cocky consistently, but as Gambit once told her, it wasn’t bragging if you could back it up, and T’Challa most assuredly could back up anything he said--or was rumored.
Over the past several weeks she had become immersed in Palace life, included in political meetings and her council sought whenever T’Challa had a difficult decision to make. T’Challa not only treated her like he treasured her, but he treated her as his equal.
But then there was Logan. A feral with a heart of gold. A prickly, gruff man with a soft center and unwavering loyalty and honor. His dedication was beyond measure and Ororo knew this first hand. She watched him make trips to Japan for Amiko. Watched him take on the Hand with Elektra. She herself had faced his claws on more than one occasion when she threatened something he held dear, such as Charles or Jean.
It was that same honor and dedication that he devoted to Mariko, and to an even greater extent Jean. He loved completely. It was who he was. Logan was incapable of half way measures and partial passion. It was all or nothing with him.
Ororo smiled ruefully. All or nothing--and she knew she didn’t have all.
She rubbed her temples wearily, T’Challa’s words coming to her. “And what of your love Ororo?” What of her love? she mulled.
She’d spent so much time trying to rationalize the choices she was making she hadn’t stopped to listen to what her heart was saying anymore. She couldn’t remember the last time she truly listened to her inner self and made a decision solely for her own happiness.
Still Elsewhere
Logan slowly sank to the ground, leaning his head back against the bricks, a litany of swears pouring from his mouth. He wiped his hand across his mouth, wincing as he did, the smell of sex still strong on his hands.
He had come to this place in hopes of wiping Ororo and their one night from his mind, and instead he had come to the realization that he was in love with his snow haired best friend. Ironic.
They had been friends for far too long not to love her to some degree but he had been blissfully unaware as to the true extent of those feelings until she was no longer his. His hands fisted on the ground beside him as he thought of her now, with her husband. Unsolicited images rose up in his mind’s eye of Ororo with T’Challa and his claws exploded into the sand.
“’Ro.” His voice was ragged and worn from the smoky room and from the emotions he was fighting so hard to keep in check.
Wakanda
The door opened easily beneath her hand.
Ororo hesitated only for a moment. This was the right decision. It was the one her heart had told her to make. With resolution and a lighter heart Ororo stepped through the doorway.
“T’Challa?” The room was completely dark. “Are you here?”
From the darkest corner of the room his smooth voice came to her. “You know, I really didn’t expect you to come here.”
She turned towards the shadows, walking decisively forward. “I know.”
There was a ripple of motion as he stepped forward, his face revealed by the filtering moonlight through his domed ceiling.
“T’Challa!” Ororo whispered, startled, reaching for his tear streaked face.
He caught her hand before she touched him. “I need to know why you are here, Ororo.”
She smiled tenderly up at him, laying her hand against his cheek despite his restraining hold. “Because I want to be.”
“You are certain? Because I do not think I can take another round of this--”
“Shut up, husband, and kiss me.” Despite her bold façade she was shaking, wanting him, no needing him, to see the truth in her eyes. The truth she herself had just discovered. She loved him. In ways she had never before realized until forced to confront her inner self.
He was not Logan, nor did he need to be. T’Challa was his own man. The man that made her weak in the knees with heated looks, but also the man that she could rely on to be there whenever she needed him to be. The man that saw her worth waiting for, worth fighting for, worth marrying, but more than that, he was the man that she saw worth fighting for, worth being with, worth building a life with.
She almost wept in relief when his arms circled her and he lowered his head. “As my wife commands,” he whispered. His lips were heated silk on hers, sinfully erotic and smooth. At the gentle nudge of his tongue she parted her lips, sighing as he delved deep, curling his fingers into her hair and suckling her tongue.
“You taste so good,” he murmured against her mouth. “Feel so good.” His warm hands grazed the stiffening peaks of her breasts through her shimmering nightdress. He traced a path from her lips to her neck, slowly as though savoring her taste and texture.
Ororo closed her eyes, shivering as he gently nipped her shoulder, sliding thin straps down her arm. “T’Challa,” she breathed, cradling his head as he drooped the bodice, his hot mouth capturing one sensitive nipple and sucking. Her breath left in a rush. Goddess, he made her tremble and he’d barely touched her.
“Come, wife.” T’Challa stood, swinging her up into his arms.
“Where are we going?” She curled against him, kissing his cheek, chin, neck and ear.
He groaned softly, turning his face to once again devour her mouth in a scorching kiss. “To the place I’ve dreamed of making you mine.” He kicked open the bedroom door, dismissing the guards that approached. “We’re going to the garden,” he told them. “See that we are not disturbed for anything.”
Palace Gate
Logan rolled along the ground, sinking his claws deep to stop his momentum. He grunted, rising to his feet. Goddamn Wakandian guards were tough fuckers.
“Look, I don’t wanna fight you. I just want to see my friend. Tell Ororo that Logan is here.” He held up his hands, retracting his claws.
“Come back tomorrow.” One of the guards spoke, holding his small sword out, pointing away from the Palace. “Tonight there will be no visitors.”
“I ain’t a visitor,” Logan growled. “I’m an X-Man.”
The tall guard cocked a brow as though to say, “Yeah, and?”
“I just want a few minutes with ‘Ro.”
“You will address our Queen properly.” The soldiers began to close ranks.
A low growl escaped. “I didn’t mean no disrespect. Just tell her I’m here.”
“The King gave strict orders that he and his bride were not to be disturbed.”
Logan grunted under the force of that emotional blow. “I’ll only take a minute.”
“No, you will not. You are leaving.”
Sensing another attack Logan shifted position, readying himself. “I ain’t leaving.”
Garden
Flesh met flesh eagerly.
Ororo moaned her husband’s name as he moved along her body, touching, kissing, caressing every inch of her exposed flesh.
“You are so magnificent,” T’Challa told her, his thick voice laced with reverence and desire.
Ororo gasped, feeling his hand between her thighs, stroking her pooling center.
“Spread your legs, my love.” T’Challa crooned. “A little wider. Perfect.” He rubbed his thumb in a smooth circle over her sensitive nub while her slowly sank two fingers deep inside.
“Oh.” Ororo arched into his hand, her eyes going white. He was supremely skilled, making her body sing and beg at the same time. “Please,” she rasped.
“Not yet.” her husband’s wicked smile made her stomach contract deliciously. “We have all night, Ororo. I intend to use it.”
He circled his thumb faster and Ororo quivered, drenching his hand as she came. Thunder boomed in the garden and T’Challa grinned. So much for a controlled environment, he mused as the first drops of rain hit his fevered skin.
Palace Gate
Flesh met flesh eagerly.
Logan slammed his fist into yet another guard’s face, smashing bone and spilling blood. He didn’t care. At the first crack of thunder he had lost his composure.
Ororo was in that Palace. He was getting in there.
He had just finished with one man when another was on him. He lunged, his volatile emotions taking some of the practiced beauty of his samurai training away, making him more vulnerable than he usually was.
This fact was made evident as the long tip of a spear tore open his jugular.
As he dropped to the ground, holding the spouting wound Logan cursed himself. He should have seen it coming.
“What shall be done with him?” A female voice asked. A Dora Milajae.
Logan grimaced. Taken down by a flamin’ chick.
“He claims to be a friend of the Queen.”
“How so?”
“Claims he’s an X-Man.”
The Dora said something that Logan didn’t catch, followed by, “See that he gets immediate medical attention. In the soldier’s quarters.”
Logan growled, feeling hands on his shoulders.
“He smells like a whorehouse.”
He flinched. Jesus. What the fuck was he thinking? How could he face Ororo with the smell of booze and another woman on him?
Thunder crashed over head.
One of the guards spoke with admiration. “Looks like T’Challa is fulfilling his duties to our Weather Goddess.”
The Dora smiled. “He is certainly gifted in the arts of pleasure. Our Queen will be a happy Queen.”
Logan lashed out with his foot, dropping the Dora. “Okay, I’ve heard about enough of that shit.”
She glared at him. “You vile trickster.”
“Naw, just a real quick fix.” He placed a claw to her throat. “How about you?”
The tattooed woman met his gaze unflinchingly. “Go ahead. To die is no fear of the Milajae.”
“Take me to Ororo.” At this point he didn’t give a fuck if a whore was riding on his back. He needed to see ‘Ro. To tell her that he loved her. He needed her to know.
“Our Queen is not to be disturbed.”
“I ain’t askin’.”
“Friend or no friend, you overstep your bounds.” Quicker than anyone he’d seen in a long time the Dora whipped open a small powder packet and tossed it into his face.
Logan sputtered, wiping at the burning substance. His face felt like it was being peeled away and his nose burned painfully, blood began trickling in thin rivers into his mouth.
“Contact the X-Men. Have them send someone to pick him up in the city.” The Dora said. To Logan she commented, “A special Wakandian blend. You probably feel like you are deaf, blind and mute. In fact you are. Your senses will be effectively shut down for an extended period of time. It will not kill you, though before it is over you will wish it had.”
“No!” Logan tried to fight the pain lancing through his body. “No!”
Garden
“Yes!” Ororo’s head was thrown back, her mouth open on a gasp of utter pleasure as T’Challa lanced her body again and again. “Goddess, yes!” She clutched his shoulders, her nails raking his back as she clenched around his thick shaft, her orgasm hitting her violently for the fourth time.
T’Challa ground his hips into hers, his mouth latched onto one of her jiggling breasts. “Beautiful,” he groaned, lifting his head. “So perfect.”
Sweat slicked with his face contorted in pleasure T’Challa was quite possibly the most breathtaking specimen of man Ororo had ever seen. She cried out as he surged, filling her to bursting, his full eleven inches inside bordering on pain.
“I love you,” he rasped, spreading her legs wide and pressing against her slick clit. “So much.”
“T’Challa!” She was splintering.
“Ororo.” He kissed her, holding her close as he found fulfillment in the tight embrace of his wife.
Tears blended with rain as husband and wife basked in the afterglow of their lovemaking.
Much Later
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d vomited. He wasn’t even aware that he could. Logan clutched his gut, tequila and JD spewing forth as his body purged itself of whatever toxin he’d been doused with.
Could be worse, he thought. He could’ve gotten passed the guards and found Ororo--and seen the cause of all the thunder.
Unsolicited an image of her with T’Challa rose up in his mind.
“Stop it,” he growled at himself, to absolutely no avail.
She had every right to be happy and married. It wasn’t her fault that he was too fucking thickheaded to realize that he loved her. Fuck, even knowing that, he wouldn’t have married her. Not now at any rate. He had too much of a score to settle with the fuckers that ruined his past. He couldn’t drag Storm, or anyone else into his shit pile.
He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, feeling better almost immediately. Good ole healing factor.
Where was he again? Oh, yeah. Storm was better off with T’Challa. Even if the man grated on every goddamn nerve he had.
Yeah, just keep telling yourself that, Bub.
He tried to focus on his still blurry surroundings. Where was he? The space was sparse, but comfortable. Was he still at the Palace?
“You going to make it?”
Logan jerked. “Panther.”
“Evening, Wolverine.” T’Challa leaned in the doorway, bare-chested clad in black silk pants. “This is the second unexpected visit you’ve paid to my home.” T’Challa’s voice was silk over steel. Smooth yet unyielding. “I think we both know the reason why you’re here.”
Logan groaned. Perfect. So the Black Panther knew of his previous visit? Had Ororo told him what happened?
“I know about you and my wife.” Panther stated as if reading his mind, adding emphasis on the wife.
He should feel a twinge of regret, Logan mused, but he didn’t. Not one iota. He stared at T’Challa, waiting.
“Cyclops is sending Shadowcat and Beast to get you. They would have come sooner, but they needed clearance from Val Cooper.”
“Hnh.”
“She doesn’t know you’re here, if you’re curious.”
He tried to feign indifference but he couldn’t. “Why not? Afraid of what will happen if she knew?”
T’Challa shook his head. “No. Ororo made her choice. I just didn’t think it needed to be rubbed in your face.”
Logan growled. “She wasn’t aware she had a choice.”
“You don’t give her enough credit, Wolverine.” T’Challa nudged a small basket on the floor with his foot. “Fresh clothes. You wreak of booze and women.” Distaste colored the Wakandian King’s voice. “How you could touch her and then another is beyond me,” he stated. “You are an even bigger fool than I gave you credit for.”
An angry snarl formed on Logan’s face. Like he didn’t already know that. “Anything else?”
T’Challa stepped forward. “Yes. She is my wife now, Wolverine. I will not make the mistake Scott Summers did and allow you to disillusion yourself with hopes of what will never be. I understand you and Ororo share a history and a family, but that is all you share.”
Logan glowered. “You done?”
“Yes.” T’Challa stepped into the faint rising morning light. “I must return to my bed, and to my wife before I am missed.” He turned slowly, intentionally allowing Logan to see the still crimson scratches marking his back. “Safe journey, Wolverine.”
Logan was thankful that the door slammed shut, lest the Black Panther see the look of utter anguish that crossed the world’s deadliest mutant’s face.
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