She wasn’t messing around, Logan thought, narrowly dodging the heel end of Ororo’s black boot. They’d been sparring for more than an hour, with neither one willing to give so much as an inch. With reflexes beyond even the most advanced predator Logan reached out to snag her ankle…and missed. He blinked twice, watching with a mixture of fascination and irritation as Ororo once more back flipped just out of reach of him.
When she finally stopped a few feet away from him, she stayed crouched, watching him, a smile on her flushed face. She was enjoying herself and it showed. That smile alone made him want to lay down and give her the victory, but it simply wasn’t his nature. Logan fought to win. Period. With a feral grin of his own he stalked towards her. “Fancy gymnastics are pretty, but useless in a real combat situation,” he informed her.
“Funny,” she responded mildly, her grin widening, “seems to be working just fine with you.”
He snorted. He gave a roll of his broad shoulders, his chest muscles flexing beneath his ribbed tank. “I’m just gettin’ started, darlin’.”
Ororo flapped her fingers in a yapping imitation. “Talk is cheap, Logan.”
“Keep pushin’,” he warned with a flash of incisors.
“Some days, you have no sense of humor. Kurt was much more fun to train with.”
Logan’s gray eyes narrowed dangerously, glinting silver. “Is that who taught you all the tumbling crap?”
She arched her back, flipping end over end in a slow walk over. “He was the Incredible Nightcrawler after all.”
“Hnh.” With a quickness that belied his three hundred pound frame Logan leapt at her.
Instinctively Ororo wanted to call for her winds to keep him aloft, but the agreement between them specifically stated that she was to take him down without powers. Relying on some unnamed, ingrained instinct that Logan would never willingly hurt her, she stayed her ground, allowing him to collide with her.
“Shit.” Logan swore as he plowed Ororo into the Danger Room floor. They lay sprawled across the tile, both a bit winded from the collision. “Way to evade, Storm,” he grumbled, lifting his head.
She shrugged. “So, I was a little slow.”
He chuffed. One thing he knew for certain was that Ororo Munroe was never slow. She was quick, decisive and dangerous. A born strategist her thinking in the Danger Room was rivaled by only one person, and Scott was long dead.
Logan knew that she could have easily moved out of his way. Why she didn’t was deliberate, he was sure. His thoughts were distracted by the play of her fingers in his sideburns. He let out a breath, leaning his cheek into her palm. He rumbled low in his throat, pressing closer.
She raised one eyebrow, noting his immediate erection.
He gave her an unapologetic look. “Can’t help it.”
Taking his face between her hands, she pulled him closer. “That’s ok.” Her lips teased his. “It’s the same for me.”
His rumble turned into a full on growl. He lowered his head to claim her mouth and caught her breathless gasp in his, enjoying the way she was so open in her responses to him.
Ororo lifted one sculpted leg, swinging it over Logan’s hips. She rocked beneath him, her movements pure invitation.
“’Ro…” he groaned, nuzzling her throat, inhaling her pleasant scent.
She tilted her head, relishing the tickle of his whiskers contrasting with the silk of his lips. With a sinuous flex of muscle she rolled them over, straddling him. She gazed down at him, her heart thundering at the passion she saw reflected in his molten eyes. Fingertips bit into her hips through the leather of her uniform as she undulated, riding him through their clothing. “Logan…?”
“Yeah, baby?” he rasped.
She licked his bottom lip, moving in a slow up and down that made him grunt. “I win.” With very deliberate movements she leaned back, winked at him, then rose to her feet.
Logan stared at her like she had grown three heads. “You cheated.”
“All’s fair in love and war.” She danced away from him, her laughter taunting. “I expect your class syllabus by weeks end.”
Logan rolled to his feet, moving up behind her, halting her with one thick arm around her waist. He drew her back against him, bending forward, his breath stirring the small hairs beside her ear. “Just so long as I’m the only opponent you use that little trick on.”
Ororo’s entire body shuddered at the possessive tone in his voice. She pushed back against him, her body pliant. “Why? Would you be jealous?”
He turned her in his arms, his face hard, his gaze intense. “I’d kill.”
He meant it, she realized, startled. “Logan--”
“It’s who I am, ‘Ro.” He caressed her cheek, but his expression remained unchanged. “I can’t help who I am.”
“I know,” she assured him, and she did know. There was something undeniably primal and raw about Logan, that no amount of civilization was ever going to erase. It was one of his most appealing traits, as far as she was concerned. Her fingers massaged the nape of his neck, feeling damp tendrils. “We could use a shower,” she changed the subject.
Logan lowered his head to kiss her again. He didn’t think he’d ever get enough of kissing her. “Your room,” he suggested hungrily.
“It’s the middle of the day. The students--”
He silenced her, capturing her words on his tongue. “You head up first. I’ll be a few minutes.”
She hesitated.
Logan rotated his hips, pressing against her. “Or I could say fuck it and strip you naked right now. Matter of fact, that sounds damn good.”
“My room,” she relented, body throbbing. “Ten minutes.”
“Five.” He growled, kissing her again. When they broke apart Ororo wasn’t sure she’d refuse him if he offered to tear her clothes off right then. She made her way hastily from the room, running her hands over her hair to smooth it, hoping she appeared semi composed.
In the foyer, arms crossed over her chest, Raven Darkholme’s blue eyes followed the well muscled form of Logan as he disappeared from sight up the stairs, mere minutes after Storm. Raven could practically smell the sex on them. So, that was the Wolverine’s new fetish? No longer into fiery redheads, it seemed the feral had taken a liking to a chillier type of woman.
“It’s not polite to stare.”
Raven turned. “Says who?”
Marie looked the dark haired woman up and down, noting her meticulously put together appearance. Tailored white blouse and short black skirt, coupled with a sleek hairdo and five inch heels. She could have stepped straight out of a magazine. Raven was beyond beautiful, but the malice in her eyes cautioned Marie that looks were deceiving. “Says everyone.”
“Everyone says a lot of things they know nothing about, now don’t they.”
“He ain’t ever gonna want you.” Marie stated point blank.
Raven’s blood red lips parted in a sickly sweet smile. “I guess the same could be said for you as well. No more buddy-buddy with Wolverine, hm? It looks like Storm has him all to herself now.”
It wasn’t a bulls eye easy to miss, yet no one else in the mansion had seemed to get to the heart of her irritability quite so accurately. “It ain’t like that.”
“No?” Raven moved around the younger woman, her tone mocking. “Don’t tell me you never entertained the idea that you would be the one to get through to him. To tame the Wolverine. I can see it on your face.”
“I don’t want Logan like that,” Marie denied. And that was true. Once upon a time she had a crush on the hero that had saved her, but that felt like a lifetime ago. Now, it wasn’t about that. The simple truth was, at one point she had felt that Logan was the only person that truly understood her, and now, with her and Bobby on the brink of ending and Logan with Storm, she felt more alone than ever.
“Of course not.”
“You just stay away from Logan,” Marie warned.
“Or you’ll what? Look at me hard. You’re powerless now, remember?”
Marie stepped forward, her fist clenching. “I bet your nose breaks now.”
“Marie?” Bobby strode down the hall, regarding Raven warily. “Everything ok?”
Marie took a step towards him. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Just setting a few things straight.”
Raven laughed throatily, moving away from them. “If you say so.”
Marie watched her go, a sick feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach.
Two days after the Danger Room session and impromptu shower, Logan sat cross legged in the garden behind the Xavier estate, brooding. At least that was what everyone else assumed, in truth he was merely reflecting. Something he did on occasion, a practice that held roots he could not place.
Leaning back so that his face was tilted towards the sun he closed his eyes, allowing his mind to drift to where it always seemed to lately: Ororo. Just her name sent waves of warmth coursing through him. An ache that was almost unbearable accompanied that warmth. It was indescribable, but he knew it was now a fundamental part of who he was. She was now a part of him. The how and why of it seemed not to matter.
Logan had never really understood love. Never really known it in his life. He had never thought to find it until he had come across Jeannie. She had been the light in his turbulent darkness, something he could hold onto as he tried to find himself. She had changed his life by allowing him to dream of possibilities where before had been bleak existence. And though he had loved her, deeply, it wasn’t the same kind of emotion he felt for Ororo.
Whether or not he loved Ororo was a matter of opinion, he supposed, refusing to label it. He wanted her--always it seemed-- but more than that he wanted to simply be with her. She made him laugh. She teased him. Made him feel welcome in her life. Made him feel whole. It was a rare thing for someone to gaze at him without fear. Even Jeannie, who he would never have harmed unless called for, had always held a part of herself back when regarding him. Like a person does when in a yard of pit bulls.
Not that he could really blame any of them. He had given more than good reason for a number of people to fear him, including those that lived at Xavier’s, and truth be told, he’d probably give them a dozen more reasons to be afraid of him.
“Contemplating the meaning of life?”
Logan opened one eye a bit startled. He had not sensed the other man’s approach. “You’re a sneaky bastard, Fur-Ball.”
Hank laughed, a deep sound that echoed. “True enough. Mind some company?”
Logan shrugged indifferently. “Suit yourself.”
“Very well.” Taking a squatted seat to Logan’s left, Hank plucked a long blade of grass. He twirled it between his thumb and index finger idly.
Logan wasn’t fooled. He opened both eyes, sitting straighter. “What’s on your mind?”
“Ororo.”
Well, that was blunt.
“What about her?” Logan asked, immediately defensive.
“I have known Ororo for many years. She is family to me. I will not see her hurt.”
“Is this some sorta big brother talk? ‘Cuz ‘Ro’s a grown woman, McCoy. She has her own mind.”
Hank smiled, his teeth gleaming bright against his indigo fur. Before answering he adjusted his massive frame to a more comfortable position. “Her mind is astute as ever. It is her heart I am concerned with.”
“And you think I’m gonna break it?”
“The thought has crossed my mind.” Hank met Logan’s eyes squarely. “She is not like Jean.”
Logan flinched. “I’ve never compared the two.”
“No?”
Logan thought of his recent musings and swore under his breath. “Not in the way you mean.”
“Regardless, the fact remains that Ororo will never be Jean.”
“I don’t need her to be.” Logan growled, growing irritated. “She’s fine the way she is.”
Hank tucked the blade of grass between his lips. “I could not agree more. Ororo is a fine woman, indeed. I hate to see her cast in someone‘s shadow, even if that shadow is our beloved Jean.”
Now Logan was truly getting pissed. Pointing his index finger at Henry, he leaned forward. “She’s in no one’s fuckin’ shadow, Fur-Ball! ‘Ro fuckin’ eclipses everyone else. Period. We clear?”
Hank grinned, un-intimidated. “You are not telling me anything I did not already know. I just was not sure you were aware of it.”
Logan snarled. “I’m fuckin’ aware.”
Hank simply chuckled.
Ororo Munroe was beginning to hate Raven Darkholme.
Before her animosity had been based on distrust and past experience, but now, the woman was wearing her last nerve.
“I bet he is an animal in the bedroom. All grunts and growls.” Raven was murmuring, sipping her water as though it were a $100 a glass flute of champagne. “Bet he can go for hours too.”
Doing her level best to ignore the brunette, Ororo bent down to remove her cinnamon rolls from the oven. She waved a hand over them and puff of cool air caressed the steaming rolls.
“I suppose I’ll find out soon enough,” Raven continued despite Ororo’s seeming uninterest. “I can hardly wait.”
The pan clattered to the stove top, Ororo barely containing her angry commentary. Instead she bit her cheek and took a deep breath through he nose, counting to twenty.
“You can tell me,” Raven added in a confidential whisper. “One woman to another.”
Ororo whirled, her lips compressed to prevent a series of cuss words that would make Logan flush. “Find someplace else to be,” she ground out tearing off her oven mitt and tossing it onto the counter top.
“Am I bothering you?” Raven inquired innocently.
“Go away.”
“Touchy subject?” Raven took another sip of her drink. “Tell me, Storm, does he ever call out for the redhead? You know that was who got him the hottest. He couldn’t keep his hands off of me when I looked like her.”
Ororo had heard quite enough. Without so much as a blink to indicate her movement she lashed out, palm flat, dead center in Raven’s chest, knocking her off her stool. At once Raven was back on her feet with a balletic grace that had nothing to do with her lost mutant gift.
“Bitch.” She snapped, swinging her fist towards Ororo.
Ororo evaded, barely, feeling a light breeze whistle past her ear. She tossed Raven a glowing glare. “You really wanna play rough with me?” she demanded.
Raven paused, taking stock of her odds against Storm. In hand to hand alone, she was relatively sure she could wipe the floor with the weather wielder, but against her powers? Not a chance. “Don’t you ever touch me again,” Raven hissed. “I am under UN protection, and so help me I will report this to McCoy’s superiors.”
Ororo didn’t give an inch. “Go ahead. let’s see where they stick you.”
Raven glared.
Ororo smiled.
“Everything all right in here?” Logan strode through the back door, his eyes taking in Ororo’s stance, immediately sensing the tension in the air.
She barely spared him a glance. “Yeah. Just peachy.” With that she waved her hand, blowing open the swinging door with a thwap and left the room.
Logan turned on Raven.
She gave him a secretive smile. “Sensitive little creature, isn’t she?”
“What’d you do?” he demanded.
“I did nothing.” Raven countered, picking up her spilled glass. “She attacked me.”
“Hnh.”
“Hand me a towel would you?” Raven tugged the neckline of her shirt down, revealing ample cleavage. “I’m all wet.”
Logan didn’t miss the double entendre. He tossed her the hand towel from the sink before walking through the swinging door in hopes to catch up with Ororo and find out what had happened in the kitchen.
In her office Ororo sank down intro her plush leather chair, rubbing her temples. Greta, now she had a pounding headache. A sharp rap on the door announced Logan’s arrival scant seconds before he entered the room uninvited.
“What the hell happened back there?” he wanted to know.
Ororo didn’t lift her head, continuing to rub her temples. “Nothing.”
“Don’t give me that. You knocked her on her ass. I wanna know why.”
“Maybe I needed a Home Ec. instructor.”
Logan smirked at that. “Uh-huh.” He walked around the mahogany desk, coming to stand directly behind her chair.
Ororo tensed momentarily when she felt his hands on her shoulders, then let out a sigh of bliss as his thick fingers began to work the knots she had there. “Mmmm.”
Logan enjoyed that sound. “So tell me, darlin’. What really happened.”
Ororo leaned forward to give him better access. “Lost my temper,” she muttered.
“Why?”
“Do we really have to talk about this?”
Logan shrugged. He supposed not. He wasn’t really the type to pry, just so long as Ororo was alright, then he’d let it go. He squeezed her shoulders, before moving away from her.
Ororo opened her eyes, muting her disgruntlement. Logan tossed her a devilish grin over his shoulder, locking her door. “What are you doing?” she asked, already breathless.
He turned back towards her, removing his shirt and kicking of his boots. “I can’t give you a proper massage with all these clothes interfering.” He drew her out of her chair, tugging her white cotton top over her head. “Skin on skin is so much better.” His pants dropped next, along with his boxers.
He buried his face in her neck. “You always smell so damn good.” He kissed her throat, pushing her slacks down over her hips.
Ororo relaxed beneath his wandering mouth and sure hands. She traced her fingertips over his weathered features, lingering over the crook in his nose and the stubborn line of his jaw.
With a grunt Logan lifted her onto the edge of her desk. “You’re so damn sexy.” His fingers caressed the slick heat between her thighs. He didn’t want to wait, wanted to hear her moan his name in that throaty way she did when he took her. He stepped between her legs, his eyes glittering with raw possessiveness. With her name on his lips he thrust forward, burying himself deep.
“Logan!”
God, just like that, he thought, his heart clenching. He began to move, every thrust a declaration to the emotion he refused to name. She surrounded him, her hands on his shoulders, legs around his hips, mouth on his neck, her scent mixing with his. She gripped him with her inner muscles, pulling him deeper and deeper, all the while staring up at him with those dark chocolate eyes, rimmed iridescent blue. He could drown in those depths, he thought.
He shifted slightly, putting himself at an angle to rub in all the right places. He pistoned forward, making her cry out his name in an ache of longing that had tears pricking his eyes. He watched her face as he traced her body’s contours with his hands, as he moved, as he said her name. She gave herself up to him with a soft cry and a boom of thunder that melded with his harsh yell. He emptied himself into her, pouring everything he was into her, body, heart and soul.
Ororo trembled, feeling the difference in their lovemaking this time. She didn’t know what to make of it. When he didn’t release her, she whispered, “Logan?”
He lifted his head from her breast, his eyes shadowed. “Again,” he growled.
Bolivar Trask was a patient man.
Victory often times required a near infinite amount of patience. However, seeing the beginnings of his dream coming to life made him all too eager for its completion. He watched as mechanical arms moved, whirred and welded. Soon, he thought, nearly rubbing his hands in anticipation. Soon.
A vibration from his front pocket tore him away from his internal thoughts. “Trask,” he answered. “You’re sure?” He listened. “Excellent. Keep me posted.” He hung up. If everything went according to plan, no one would stand in his way. No one.
In less than a year he would see the fruits of his labor and the eradication of vigilante mutant groups. He would have a force of warriors ready to stand guard. He would have his Sentinels.
