Logan wanted to gut himself. He shouldn’t be giving her a choice, he shouldn’t lay out the option of leaving. He should just take the goods and shut the fuck up. He stared down at the woman in his arms, the silence of his bedroom deafening, waiting for her answer to his question. Every fantasy he had ever entertained about her flashed through his mind in the space of a heartbeat. When yet another heartbeat passed and she still had not voiced her reply he felt a tightness gather in his chest, his mouth suddenly too dry.
There would be no turning her away tonight. He didn’t have the strength or the willpower to try and play noble, but if she chose to go, he’d let her, he told himself. His fingers tightened reflexively in her hair.
He hoped he wasn’t lying.
Ororo couldn’t find her voice. Her brain screamed at her to Run! Run now! While you still can! Her body on the other hand was melting beneath his like warm butter. Seeing as how her vocal cords refused to cooperate, she answered him the only way she could. She pushed her hand through his hair, rounding the back of his head and pulling him down for a searing kiss.
She wasn’t going anywhere.
Logan groaned, some tension leaving his shoulders as he covered her mouth with his own. He prodded plump lips apart with his tongue, stroking teeth, entreating for entry. She responded immediately, allowing him unfettered access, which he took full advantage of. He was a hunter by nature, and he devoured his prey.
Long minutes passed before he pulled back. He leaned in, unable to relinquish his treat completely, nipping her bottom lip, wanting to look at her. Even in the darkness of his room her hair seemed to glow, it’s silver and white strands flared around her face. He brushed his fingers along its length, his gaze contemplative. She had changed much since their first encounter just over two years ago, but one thing had not changed; from the very first time she’d faced him down in the front foyer of the Mansion and he had heard the strength beneath the softness of her voice, he had been hers for the taking.
He never had a chance. He understood that now. There was no reason to keep fighting the attraction, he decided, letting the strands sift between his fingers, so that they came to rest against his knuckles.
A sliver of light from the moon slanted between the slats of his blind, spilling across her face. Her chocolate and caramel skin radiated vitality and warmth even in the cold light. She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. The only other woman to come close had been Jean.
Logan shoved thoughts of the redhead forcibly aside. She had no place here, in this moment. This was between him and ‘Ro. Whatever came of it or was destroyed because of it, would only be because of them--no one else.
“Just remember,” he whispered gruffly as he tugged at her light wrap. “You started this.” He pulled her closer, kissing her forehead in a nearly platonic manner, giving her one last chance to change her mind. “Tell me what you want.”
Ororo exhaled a sigh of pent up breath. She smiled up at him with that tantalizing smile of hers, one that bespoke of ancient femininity and rivaled the Mona Lisa‘s for its mystery. It was the smile Eve had bestowed Adam. Delilah to Samson. It was a lure, a promise of pleasures unknown and completely irresistible. Nope, he never stood a chance against her.
She kissed his chin, saying the words he needed to hear to waylay any guilt he might have felt in the morning. “I want you.” Her mouth moved lower, finding his rapid pulse. She nipped. He growled.
On that growl Logan gripped her head, tilting it back, kissing her with a sensual ferocity that left her panting and dazed. He shoved blue satin off of her shoulder as he ravaged her mouth, a soft rending sound filling the breathy darkness. “Sorry,” he mumbled against her lips, completely unrepentant.
Ororo didn’t seem to care. She pressed the flat of her palms against his back, holding him as close to her as the blanket/wrapper barricade allowed. Logan shifted, lifting his weight and tugging the twined blankets from around his waist, tossing them haphazardly onto the floor.
He slept naked.
Ororo gasped, feeling the hot, hard length of him jutting against her thigh. She rolled her hips, unconsciously seeking.
Logan dropped his head, trying to tether his reaction. He’d never been so worked up from merely kissing before. Everything about her aroused him; from sight, sound and scent to, above all, taste. He needed to slow down so that he could savor every nuance of this experience, yet at the same time he wanted to tear her clothes off so that he could bury himself inside of her. It was a dichotomy he had never before needed to address.
He opted for the former. Leaning back onto his haunches, Logan watched her face intently as the flat of his hand traveled from the hollow of her neck to the waistband of her smiley face boy shorts.
Watching him watch her was a completely erotic experience. His passion was nearly palpable, making her dizzy. Ororo bit her lip to keep from saying the words lodged in her throat. She wasn’t sure how a man like Logan would take to hearing that he was beautiful. But he was beautiful. His chest was all muscle, swirling dark hair and sun bronzed skin. His features, hardened by desire, were strong, noble, and breathtaking.
She followed him upwards, shrugging out of her wrap. He grasped the bottom of her Lycra cami, the look in his eyes heated. With a quick jerk her pulled the garment over her head, tossing it by way of the blankets. He pulled her into his arms, hot skin pressed flush to hot skin. The sensation was indescribably intense, yet it still wasn’t enough for either of them.
She threaded her fingers through his wild mane, tugging at him to get him to kiss her again. He didn’t need much urging.
The kiss was hot and wet. Consuming. She swore she passed out from the pleasure.
Logan urged her to her knees, sliding her shorts down past the gentle curve of her hips. He wanted to rip the offending material from her almost desperately. His desperation should have concerned him, but he was too far gone to care. He tried concentrating on working the underclothes past her knees but she was making it damn difficult to remember his own frikkin’ name, much less how to work his way around something as complex as cotton and elastic.
Butterfly kisses fluttered against his neck, their erotic effect exponentially enhanced by their innocence. He tilted his head to the side, giving her free reign. It was an act of submission that did not go unnoticed by the cognitive part of his brain, but the acknowledgement was quickly shuffled aside.
He didn’t want to over think anything about this night. It felt good. He let her. End of fucking inner dialogue.
He tried again to deftly slip her clothes off, getting caught under her impossibly appealing backside. He was usually a hell of a lot smoother getting a woman undressed. Nine times out of ten they were naked before they knew what hit them, but this was Ororo. And it was different.
The reasons behind the difference, like all of his rational thoughts, were heaved aside. He didn’t want to ponder the whys of anything. He just wanted to feel, and feel he did. He was on fire, pulsing, throbbing, aching, needing.
“How much,” a kiss, “do you like,” a stroke, “these, uh…” What the hell were they called? Damn he’d gone stupid. “Things,” he finished with a grunt.
Ororo blinked. “Things?”
He jostled the material in his hands.
“Hate them,” she blurted.
He smiled against her lips. She sounded as frantic as he felt.
-Snikt-
One lone claw on each hand slipped beneath the elastic, sharp as a razor’s edge, divesting her of the last remaining obstruction between their straining bodies.
“Sexy,” he whispered, gazing at her unabashedly. His hands reached up, cupping her full breasts. He didn’t know which turned him on more, her quick indrawn breath or the way her toffee colored nipples peaked against his thumbs.
Ororo trembled. His touch was exquisite torture. Her fingertips bit into his shoulders when he dipped his head, the tip of his tongue flicking her sensitive skin. “Oh,” she breathed, curving against him so that he could take a more ample amount of her flesh into the sinful heat of his mouth.
Her open responses drove Logan crazy. His head tilted back, his breathing labored. He knew his control was at the brink. He needed to breathe. To center himself.
“Logan?”
“Just need a sec, darlin’.”
She cupped his jaw, lifting his face. Her eyes glittered into his a moment before she crushed his mouth in a surprising display of dominance. “No.” If he paused then he would think and so would she, and she knew if she let her brain function for even one moment then she would bolt.
Slowing down was not an option.
They fell back onto the bed as one, causing the springs to groan in protest. He cradled her in his arms like she was breakable. The tenderness in his touch stole her breath.
Logan watched her eyes, so reflective of what she was thinking. They were dark brown, rimmed with frost. Like the rest of her they were exotic and unique. Carefully he nudged her thighs apart with his knee. If he saw one spark of uncertainty or fear, he’d stop. He swore he would.
She smiled up at him, tremulous but sure. It was possibly the most awe inspiring sight he’d ever beheld. He braced his weight so he wouldn’t crush her. A sub vocal growl rumbled forth from his throat, a sound of sheer male satisfaction at its most primitive. She was disheveled, naked and thoroughly aroused beneath him. She reached up to pull him down again, but he shook his head.
“Lemme see you.” He trailed the tips of his fingers over her cheek, along her ear, and across her collar bone on an unhurried journey, seeming to find every new hollow he located exceedingly fascinating.
Ororo moved restlessly against his questing digits. He trailed soft touches over her thighs, hips, navel, nearing the apex of her thighs, but never quite touching. She wanted to scream with frustration and wantonness. She literally ached for his touch; a dull throb that took over the whole of her body. When finally, finally, he delved between her legs and stroked her she nearly came off the bed.
She couldn’t remain passive. It wasn’t in her nature. She stroked his face, her thumb pressing over his lower lip. He bit the pad. She stilted her head, her eyes veiled. She slid her palm across his chest, the hair tickling her palm, before journeying down his abdomen. His skin was hot, filmed with sweat, but so enticing to touch. She couldn’t seem to get enough of touching him.
When she moved lower, following the line of hair from his navel his hand shot down, shackling her wrist, halting her. His teeth were bared in a grimace.
“Did I hurt you?” she asked, concerned that maybe in her awe she had let her powers slip and shocked him.
Oh, she’d definitely shocked him, but not how she feared. The muscles in his abdomen flexed in response to her questing fingertips. He swallowed convulsively and growled low in his throat. “No. You didn’t hurt me,” he finally responded.
“I want to touch you,” she whispered.
Logan grit his teeth, preparing himself for the acute pleasure he knew that her touch would bring. He released her wrist and she immediately closed her nimble fingers around his thick erection.
His indrawn breath told her without words how much he liked what she was doing to him. Encouraged by his throaty responses, Ororo let her thumb glide over the head, slicking the velvet soft skin with his own essence. She moved up, then a slow glide down, enamored by the pulse she felt, the thickness, the length. He was definitely…gifted in his endowment. She squeezed.
He grabbed her hand again, jerking it and its companion over her head. His tongue plundered her mouth, robbing her of breath and of coherent thought. She moaned his name, arching her back, pressing her breasts flat against his chest.
He shifted, his cock prodding her damp center.
Ororo curled her legs, lifting her knees. The ball of her foot stroked his calf.
“Tell me what you want,” he demanded, his voice gravel and silk.
“You know.” She cried out.
He shook his head. That answer wasn’t good enough.
“Logan,” she beseeched, lifting her hips.
“Tell me.”
He bent his head, laving one nipple. His teeth scraped the sensitive peak.
“Oh, Jesus.” Her fingers flexed helplessly above her head. “Inside. Now!”
Ororo’s passionate cry was his undoing. With a muted curse Logan surged forward, deep. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw tight. “Flamin’ hell.” She arched against him, crying out at the invasion but welcoming it wholeheartedly. Her passion more than equaled his. She was just as wild, just as uninhibited, just as raw.
Each hard thrust was met by eager hips and a pleasured moans. She was right there with him when he felt his climax coming. Soon, far too soon for his liking, but building with the force of a tsunami. He released her wrists in order to gather her close, burying his face in the crook of her neck. Each pump of his hips was harder, faster, deeper. His grunts became frantic, harsh, almost like growls.
Her hands clasped his back, sliding on the sweat. Her voice was in his ear, saying his name like he was her savior.
He needed to see her eyes. For some reason he needed to see.
Their gazes locked and held with heavy familiarity. “Let go,” she whispered, holding his face between her hands.
He closed his eyes and let himself go. Freefalling over an invisible ledge.
She rode it with him, her muffled cries echoing his savage roar.
Logan collapsed, rolling to the side. His breathing was still staggered and labored when he asked, “You okay?”
Ororo was also still reeling, aftershocks running along every nerve ending in her body. Did he have any idea what he had just done to her? How amazing that was?
“’Ro?”
Realizing she hadn’t answered she offered a soft, “Yeah, I’m okay.”
Logan nodded once. He kissed her hard on the mouth before getting up from the bed and heading to the bathroom. Once behind his semi closed door he slapped his hand against his forehead, expelling a breath. Fuck.
He splashed water onto his face, trying to clear his head, but no matter how clear it became he couldn’t bring himself to feel a bit of remorse or guilt about what had transpired in his bed.
Ororo felt bereft by Logan’s abrupt departure. She hadn’t expected him to pull her close and cuddle her with romantic words, but his sudden absence made her feel uncomfortably vulnerable and self-conscious. She sat up, searching the floor for her silk wrap. Tonight was driven by lust, nothing more. For her to hope otherwise was complete romanticized foolishness on her part and could only lead to heartache. Best to accept the situation for what it was. No matter what, she told herself, she would not bother with self pity.
She slipped her wrap across her shoulders, standing to tie the sash. She didn’t hear Logan walk back into the room.
He watched her bend and pick up her torn shorts and flimsy camisole. His hands opened and closed at his sides. He wasn’t sure what the hell to say to her, but he knew he didn’t want her to go. He should let her. He should turn around and open the door for her. He should tip his head, give a hearty “thanks for the good time” and call it an evening. There was no point in prolonging the inevitable. Best she leave and give him his space.
“So now you run.”
Ororo turned on him, her eyes frosted over, concealing their true color. “I’m not running from anything--”
“Good.” He draped his blanket over the bed, flopping down onto the mattress. His next words went against everything he had just told himself. “Then get in bed.”
She gave him an incredulous look. Clearly she had misheard him. “What?”
He scooted towards the side of the bed, grabbing her wrist. They engaged in a brief tug-of-war with her arm. He won. She tumbled unceremoniously across his chest. He stretched, pulling her more fully against him. He nuzzled her neck. “How come you smell so good?”
She tried for indifference and failed miserably, her body curling into his, legs entwining. “I bathe.”
“Hnh.” It was more than that. He caught the scent of her cleansers. He could probably even identify soap, shampoo, lotion, conditioner, and perfume by name brand, but none of those smells were the enticing ones. It was her natural fragrance that drew his nose to the crook of her neck for another inhale.
Ororo couldn’t stop touching him. The feel of his hard muscles beneath her fingertips drew out her inner girly-girl. His body was warm and hairy and sexy.
“Better than my fantasy,” he murmured against her skin.
Ororo raised a brow. “You thought about this?”
He shrugged. “I’m male.”
“So I noticed.”
“Did ya now?” His smirk was cocky.
She rolled her eyes.
“What about you?” he asked.
“What about me?”
“Ever fantasize?” He slipped his hand beneath satin to touch her breast.
She shuddered. “No.”
His voice dropped to a rough whisper. “No?” He flicked her nipple. “I can smell a lie, y’know.”
“Yes, all right. Yes.” She confessed on a gasp.
He levered himself up on one elbow, his wolfish smile white in the dark. Her confession pleased him. “Tell me. Tell me the naughty thoughts you had about me.” His teeth captured her earlobe.
She gave him her ‘have you lost your mind look’. “Everyone fantasizes,” she tried to deflect.
“Tell me.”
“Why?”
He swirled his tongue along the back of her ear. “So we can act them out.”
Her eyes widened. Her response was drowned out by her own pleasured moan, his mouth and tongue working their magic.
As he lay her back against his pillows Logan thought to himself that tomorrow would be soon enough for regrets. Tonight was theirs. There was no past, no future, only the here and now of the moment. He could live with that.
Ororo didn’t know if she could.
“The media hasn’t lost its flare for the dramatic,” Henry said by way of greeting the following morning.
Ororo, clad in a dark blue shirt and black slacks, and perched on one of the large windowsills in the common room gave him a quizzical look.
He handed her the morning paper.
She did not have to look far to gain the answer to her unasked question. The front page headline read: Mutant Defender or Obstructer of Democracy? Has UN Ambassador Dr. Henry McCoy Overstepped His Position? With wary eyes Ororo skimmed the article, her only comment about the less than tasteful read, that referred to mutants in a range that covered ’unfortunate’ and ’misguided’ as well as ‘loathsome’ and her new favorite ‘vigilante’, was, “Oh, look. They put in a nifty little poll.”
Henry took a seat on the couch. “It was only a matter of time before news of my relocation hit the papers, but I had not anticipated it this soon.”
Ororo made a rather unpleasant face. “I have no idea how you stomach politics.”
“Some days, my dearest, Ororo, neither do I.”
Ororo was nearly finished with the article when Logan entered the room. She felt his eyes on her before she looked up. She lifted her gaze slowly, arrested by the dark intensity she found in his.
“Good morning, Logan,” Hank boomed. “It’s good to see you up and about. How are you feeling?”
Logan only had eyes for Ororo. “A bit worn out to tell the truth, Fur-ball.”
Hank nodded. “After the ordeal you’ve been through that is to be expected.”
Logan’s mouth curved in a devilish smile. He just couldn’t resist irking the shit out of her. “And what an ordeal it was.”
Ororo resisted the urge to throw the morning paper at him. She was saved from anymore double entendres by the appearance of one winged Angel in the doorway.
“Hey.” the blond Adonis greeted, lifting his hand.
Ororo smiled warmly. “Good morning, Warren.” After Alcatraz and the reconciliation between his father and himself, Warren had not stayed in the Mansion, wanting to remain in the home he had grown up in. However, that did not mean he was not welcome to visit, attend classes or use the facilities. “You’re early.”
He looked a bit flustered, as he always did faced with Ororo. “I’m sorry. I can wait.”
“No, no. it’s fine,” she assured him, hopping from the sill. “Give me a minute to change and I’ll meet you on the front lawn.”
Over the past few months Ororo had begun training with Warren, teaching him how to ride the currents. Granted, she had the advantage of being able to see the wind patterns around her, but he could feel them.
He was becoming quite adept at sensing the changes, so today she thought she’d throw a little moisture into the equation to step things up a notch.
She handed Henry his newspaper. “Will you be around for the day?”
“I have several meetings to attend, but I shall be back around six o’clock.”
She nodded. “All right. See you this evening.” She kissed his blue cheek. “Logan,” she greeted as she passed the feral.
“’Ro.”
They caught one another’s eye. The smiles were instantaneous…and very telling.
When Ororo had left the room Hank murmured idly, “Looks like you two are working past your differences.”
Logan shot him a look. “Me and ’Ro ain’t got no differences.”
“Good Lord, boy, your grammar is appalling.”
Logan cocked him a warning look. “You call me boy one time too many and you’ll have a severe speech impediment after I cut out your tongue.”
“Violence is always the threat by those without the intellect to solve problems rationally.”
“’People sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf.’”
Henry raised a surprised brow. “George Orwell.”
Logan shook his head, his brow furrowed. That quote came out of nowhere. Well, not exactly nowhere, it came from the murky recesses of his mind that he could not call upon willingly. The quote felt very much like it was part of a doctrine of sorts, one that he had been very familiar with. He realized Hank was still staring at him. “Probably read it on a fortune cookie.”
“Indeed.” Henry was unconvinced.
Logan didn’t feel like being gawked at. With a flick of two fingers he turned and left the common room.
On the couch Henry tapped his fingers against his leg, running the quote through his head, knowing he had heard it before. Recently. Then he remembered. “Trask.”
A chilling disquiet settled over the blue mutant and he shivered with cold despite his thick layers of fur.
“I appreciate you taking the time to see me, sir.” Bolivar Trask shook hands with eth aging, but still fit, man in front of him. The small restaurant the two men were meeting at was clean and minimally staffed.
Judge Petrie nodded his head. “I read the fax you sent. Very interesting stuff you’re proposing, Trask.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Judge sipped his Mocha Java. “Everything looks good on paper, but funding--”
“Already taken care of, sir.”
This was an unexpected bonus for the Judge. “Impressive.”
Bolivar had no use for flattery. He needed a judge as powerful as Petrie in his pocket. Warrants, arrests, files. All needed to be taken care of and the fewer people he had to involve the better. “I was sorry to hear about your daughter.”
Petrie’s face hardened. His daughter, Melissa, had recently celebrated her thirteenth birthday. A few weeks after the adolescent’s rather large birthday bash the young girl had started showing discoloration around her face and neck. Lumps forming. Scales. She was a mutant. Horrified by this the girl had killed herself by stepping in front of a train.
She had lived for ten hours. Eight of which the Judge had been bedside. It had not been the train that killed his daughter as far as he was concerned, but the mutant disease that had infected her.
He lowered his eyes, swallowing hard, the loss current--only four weeks past. When he looked up again he found Trask staring at him with quiet intensity. The large black man had always reminded Petrie of a jungle cat. Silent. Patient. Deadly. He shivered.
Trask was a force to be reckoned with and Petrie would much rather be on his side than opposed. He sipped his frothy café once more. “So, Trask. Tell me about these robots of yours…”
