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Xavier Institute
Boathouse


Thin ribbons of pink mixed in with the steaming water swirling down the drain as Wolverine scrubbed his chest roughly, washing away the stink of those he had killed. He hung his head forward, the hard spray sluicing through his thick ebony hair, plastering it to his scalp, his mind in turmoil with the things Smith had told him before he died. Logan gave a jerk and shake of his head, splashing water against tile and glass, barely repressing the growl of frustration he felt building in his gut. He twisted the handles of the shower, cutting off the spray and sliding the foggy glass partition open, reaching for his towel, knotting it around his waist with a quick jerk.
The house was dark, only the faint flickering of fire light dancing along the walls, making the deep wood glow with a golden hue, offered any light as he made his way down the hall. He smelled her instantly. Ororo.
'Ro's scent was different from anyone else he’d ever known. It was earth, and flowers, mixed with freshly fallen rain, tinted with a hint of vanilla and sandalwood. It was innocent and pure, compelling and distracting and it wasn’t entirely human. Xavier had told him that Farouk believed Ororo to be a genuine Goddess incarnate. Knowing her like he did, Logan believed it entirely possible.
Ororo lay curled up on their couch in front of their small fireplace, her head pillowed on her hands, her breathing deep and even, letting him know she was asleep before he saw her. She shifted a bit, the silk of her short robe sliding open to reveal the gorgeous contours of one thigh. Logan smiled down at her. He liked the way she looked; so peaceful while she slept, her long black lashes dark crescents against her sable cheeks, her full lips parted as soft breath passed, the long silken strands of her damp snow white hair hanging over the arm of the couch, nearly touching the oriental carpet, curling slightly they dried.
He bent and scooped her up into his arms, cradling her to his chest as he strode up the stairs to their bedroom. Instinctively she snuggled closer her lips teasing his collar bone. He groaned softly at her touch, his blood thickening and pooling in his groin. He gently settled her on the center of their bed, her blue eyes blinking open. “Hey, darlin’.” he said softly, stroking his thumb across her cheek.
“Hey,” she whispered, her voice still rusty from screaming and sleep. She rubbed her knuckles down the side of his face, her smile tender. “Sorry I fell asleep on you.”
“Don’t be. Ya’ve had a helluva day.”
Ororo was quiet for a moment, her light eyes darkening slightly. “It could have been worse.”
Logan knew her thoughts were on Scott, who at last check in was in stable condition, but was still in surgery having several bones reset and internal bleeding stopped. He lifted her hands in his, his gaze on the white bandages wrapped around her wrists. He felt an angry tic begin in his jaw as he remembered seeing her bound to a metal slab, Sabertooth sniffing at her like a dog in heat. He turned her hand, kissing her knuckles, his tongue flicking out to lick at her. Ororo shuddered, his touch both sexy and intimately tender. “I’m sorry we didn’t get there sooner, darlin’.”
“Logan, it’s not your duty to pull my butt out of the fire every time I get in trouble.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, ‘Ro, it is.” He rubbed her bottom lip with his thumb. “Yer my wife.”
She closed her eyes. “Mmm. I do like the sound of that.” When she reopened her eyes she found his gaze suddenly hot, dark and intense. Ororo ran one hand through her semi-dry hair, the action lifting her breasts against her light pink satin and silk robe.
“Do ya now?” Logan rumbled, his fingers moving along her thighs, massaging tense muscles.
“Yes,” Ororo breathed, her entire body tingling at his touch.
“Yer the only thing that matters ta me, ‘Ro. It’s my job ta protect and cherish ya, ta keep ya safe and happy.” His dark eyes burned into her blue ones.
“Oh, Logan…” She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, circling his neck with her arms. “The things that you had to do because of me…I’m so sorry.”
He was a bit taken aback by her soft words and he tensed. “Don’t blame yerself fer the deaths of the fuckers that kidnapped you and Cyke, darlin’. Death was no less than what they deserved.” He tilted her chin up. “It bothered ya, what I did ta them,” he said gravely.
Ororo nodded. “Yes.”
Logan felt his gut clench. “I tried ta tell ya, ‘Ro, I’m a killer, it’s what I’m good at. It’s the only thing that I’m good for.”
He tried to pull away from her, but she restrained him gently. “No, it’s not.” She touched his face with one hand, lightly dancing her fingertips along his jaw, and over his mouth. He reacted unconsciously, nipping her fingers, pulling her index finger between his teeth, brushing it with his tongue, making her gasp with surprised pleasure. His now black eyes smoldered at her, a blatantly sexual look. “Killin’ and fuckin’, then,” he corrected.
Ororo tilted her head to the side, a small smile playing with her lips. “Is that what we do?” She moved to her knees, sitting in front of him. “We…fuck?” She let the word fall between them on a husky whisper.
He remembered how hurt he’d been the night she had tried to turn the beautiful act of them joining together into that vulgar term. “No.” he growled.
“No,” she agreed. “We are two halves of one soul, Logan. The things you are capable of, are indeed frightening.” His gaze flicked away and she caught his jaw in her hand, turning him back to her. “But I am not frightened of you.” She explained. “It only frightens me because I know it eats at you. You pretend not to care, not to feel, but I know that each death weighs on you.”
Logan sighed. She really was so innocent. No, the deaths didn’t weigh on him. He’d spill their blood and gut them again, a hundred times if necessary, without a second thought. They didn’t matter to him. Their lives were worthless to him. He was a cold and ruthless killer, but his beautiful wife refused to see that about him, and a part of him prayed, to whatever deity still listened to the prayers of soulless killers, that she never would.
Deciding he no longer wished to speak of death and killing, he bent his head, nibbling on her neck. “Take off yer robe, angel. I want ta feel ya against me. I’m so hot and hard fer ya, I think I’m gonna explode.” He moved his mouth up to her ear where he rumbled, “I need ta taste ya, wet and wild and hot fer me.”
Ororo’s body thrummed to life at his gruff admission. She loved him like this, the way he looked at her like she was the only woman that existed on the planet, the way his breathing hitched in his chest as she disrobed, the way his eyes got impossibly dark.
“Lie back, baby. Grab the headboard, sweetheart. Don’t let go.”
Ororo did as he requested, her heart pounding in her chest. She wrapped her finger around the curve of their headboard, completely stretched out before him.
Logan tossed his towel aside, revealing that he was already hard and thick, aching for her. “Open yer legs fer me.”
Obeying Ororo slid her legs across the comforter in a slow, sensual glide, her insides clenching as she watched his reaction. His jaw hardened, his breath hammering out of him now, his upper lip curled slightly back, revealing flashes of white. “Tell me what ya want,” he demanded, his voice thick with lust.
“I want you to touch me, Logan.” She ran her tongue over her lower lip, desire making her tingle. “I need you to touch me.”
He leaned forward, his hands traveling up her thighs, stroking her smooth skin. His fingers teased her damp curls, making her hips arch. “Don’t let go of the headboard, love,” he said, flashing her a devilish grin. He watched her intently as he slid one finger into her velvet sheath, stroking until her core was hot and wet. He pushed deeper, enjoying her gasps of pleasure. “I know yer tired, baby. You just lay back and let me make ya feel good.” He withdrew his finger, licking her juices from his hand.
“Logan,” she moaned, the sound of rain pattering on the windows filled the room.
He smiled, lowering his head to where his hand had been only moments ago. “Just feel,” he rumbled, then his mouth clamped on her, his tongue stroking her inner folds. He probed deeply, then withdrawing slowly, again and again, making her mindless with pleasure. He loved the way she tasted, like ambrosia. Hot and sweet and spicy and natural. She writhed under his torment, her hips bucking against his mouth, making him grin wolfishly. He felt her orgasm coming and he lifted his head to watch her, stroking it out of her with the head of his engorged cock. “That’s it, angel. Come fer me.”
Unable to hold back a minute more Logan thrust his hard, aching shaft deep inside her moist passage. “Ahhh, hell,” he groaned, her inner walls clenching him tightly. Home. That was the feeling he got being inside of ‘Ro. It was like coming home. Where he belonged.
His movements were long, hard strokes, driving deeper and deeper into her with each one, friction and tension mounting. He felt the endless pressure of her muscles locking around him, blinding him with ecstasy, his body driven to heights of pleasure he had never imagined. She released the headboard, wrapping herself completely around him, locking her legs around his back, lifting into each thrust. “Christ, ‘Ro!” He roared as he came, white hot bliss spiraling through him as he pumped furiously, emptying himself, heart and soul into her sanctuary.
Ororo was exhausted, unable to even lift her head, feeling the delicious ripples of her body, still locked tight around Logan. He rested his head in the groove between her neck and shoulder, breathing her in, smiling as he felt her slowly loosen her hold, her arms falling limply at her sides.
Logan nuzzled her, unwilling to move from his resting place, holding her close, never wanting to let her go. His mouth found hers, his tongue dancing, teasing, probing deeply, loving her, reassuring himself that she was home and safe. “I wish I was different fer ya,” he whispered.
Ororo shook her head, her eyes passionate. “I only want you as you are.” She blinked again, her eyelids heavy with satisfied exhaustion.
He found her mouth again tenderly. “Let’s get some sleep,” he murmured. He didn’t bother with the blankets, since she never got cold and he rarely did. He rolled, pulling her with him so that she was sprawled across his chest. She cuddled as close as she could, a smile on her face as she drifted to sleep once again.
“You’ll always be safe,” he vowed quietly. He would make certain of it. She was a strong fighter, a solid leader and a mutant with powers beyond anything he’d ever seen before, yet he couldn’t shake the need to protect her. It wasn’t a want, or a male macho thing. It was a physical need, to know she was safe, to hold her, to love her. It was like nothing he’d ever felt before, he was sure of that. He cherished her. He bent his head, brushing soft kisses along her brow, stroking his hand along the smooth curve of her spine. He ached for her. Even after just having her, his body even now feeling the aftershocks of a release that was mind-blowing, he still ached for her. She was too good for the likes of him. She put the needs of others above her own needs, she sought only to defend and protect. She was compassion and he was a predator, a hunter, a killer.
She nuzzled him in her sleep and his entire body went taut, his arms circling her fiercely. She was so beautiful, so perfect. He would never get used to the fact that she chose him, that she loved him. He closed his eyes, inhaling her unique scent, thinking how she saw only the good in him, hadn’t condemned him even though he knew she had been afraid of what she had witnessed today, and more afraid of what she hadn’t. After what he had done to her, she more than anyone had reason to fear him, but she didn’t. She gave herself to him, loved him, and tried to protect him. He was humbled by that.
He curled against her protectively, falling to sleep with the love of his life in his arms.
~~~
The soothing scent incense reached his nostrils. He slowly opened his eyes. He was seated on the floor, legs crossed, wearing a black kimono. The room he was in was small and bare. Only his ornately decorated, curved blade lay before him on the floor.
“Logan-san?”
He turned towards the voice. Soft and sweet, gentle and demure. In the open doorway she stood, black hair piled neatly on her head, large comb holding it in place, the beads making small noises as she moved. She glided towards him slowly, her eyes downcast, her hands clasped in front of her. He rose as she approached.
Frail. Enchanting. Refined.
“Mariko.” She takes the breath right out of his lungs. She lifts dark eyes to his, a slight smile on her lovely face. Gentle, demure, porcelain. She was so fragile, so delicate, broken so easily. He cupped her face gently in his palm. “I’ve missed ya,” he whispered.
“And I you,” she replied. “Will you be staying?” Her voice is tentative, as if uncertain she wishes to hear the response.
Warmth. Longing. Affection.
He pulls her close, wrapping his arms around her, his heart beat echoing in his mind. “Yes, M’iko. I’ll stay with you. Always.”
“I am glad, my husband.”
~~~

Logan stirred. As dreams went he’d had far more nightmarish, but few that left him with the terrifyingly unsettled feeling this one left him with.
Logan stretched, his fingers absently finding the silken strands of Ororo’s hair. She smiled softly at his touch, even deep asleep responding to him. Gently he extracted himself from the bed, standing quietly beside her for a moment. For the first time in his life he was indecisive. He wanted to wake her and talk to her about his dream, tell him about Wraith’s claim he had a wife somewhere, but then again he didn’t. He padded across the floor, opening the window, lifting his head to inhale the night air. The wind carried a multitude of scents on it. Rabbit, deer, fox and human.
He glanced over his shoulder at his sleeping wife. God, he loved her. He couldn’t lose her. Needing some space he leapt from the second story window, landing noiselessly on the balls of his feet. He moved easily, unhurried, a creature of the night, his muscles rippling with power and strength. He could hear the sounds of the night, the insects flitting in the air, the water of the lake lapping the pebbled shore, the snap of twigs as forest creatures skittered as he approached. Wolverine scented the wind, following his instincts, running naked through the forest behind the estate, leaping over branches, kicking himself off tree trunks, becoming one with the night.
But no matter how hard, or how fast he ran, he couldn’t escape the hazy remnants of his dream. He had been in Japan, of that he was certain. The woman in the dream had referred to him as her husband. She had been so elegantly refined, quiet, shy even. Beautiful, too. He crouched beside a tree, breathing heavy, sweat glistening in the moonlight over his broad shoulders. He grimaced. The woman in the dream most certainly didn’t seem the type to appreciate this feral side of him. Who was she? Was she really a long forgotten wife? Was she still waiting for him? Was she even alive?
“Logan?”
He turned, looking up. Ororo hovered behind him, buoyed by her winds, her pale hair dancing around her bare shoulders. She was just as naked as he was and his white teeth gleamed a predator’s smile “Run with me?” he growled.
Immediately Ororo dropped to the ground, her eyes dancing into his. She was thrilled by this. Whatever was bothering him wasn’t making him turn away from her, or push her away. Instead he beckoned her into his world, a realm of night and shadows, of predator and prey. As soon as her feet touched soft brown earth she ran, racing through the dense vegetation, Wolverine ran beside her, close and protective. Ororo had never felt such excitement, the wind sang through the trees, the night itself calling her, stirring her blood. She felt wild, no longer human. Absolutely free. She ran fast, swerving in and out of the trees, leaping over brush. Wolverine kept pace alongside her, occasionally reaching out and touching her as if he needed the contact, or tot turn her in a direction he wanted to go.
After awhile he began to nudge her back the way they came, back towards their home. Ororo laughed happily, earning a flash of white from him. “Race you,” she challenged, breaking into a sprint. He overtook her easily, catching her about the waist and swinging her around. She laughed helplessly as she tumbled to the ground, sheltered by his strong arms. She was pressed against his chest, leaning over him with his arms locked around her waist when they stopped rolling in the damp grass. She shivered as he pulled her down for his ravenous kiss. Wolverine brought forth something untamed and wild within her, a wild nature that rivaled his own. In all of her twenty-three years nothing had ever made her feel the way she felt when she was with him.
She leaned back from him, and felt a rush of liquid heat flow through her at the sight of him. Goddess, he was a wild thing, uninhibited and so completely sensuous. So male. So very carnal. Ororo felt herself go weak with need. She belonged with him. “I love you,” she whispered.
Without a word he rolled, parting her thighs and sliding into her in one sinuous movement. He said her name on a growl, softly teasing her ear with his lips.
Her body was still thrumming from the thrill of racing in the woods and she was undone almost instantly, moving wickedly against him, moaning his name as waves of ecstasy crashed over her.
Logan grunted, cupping her tight backside in his hands, driving into her. He bit her shoulder, drawing blood, growling as he came. Fuck. He had wanted it to last, but with her clutching him, her pleasured tremors squeezing him, it was impossible.
He gathered her in his arms.
“You don’t have to carry me,” she protested as he walked towards the house.
“Hush.” he said with a rumble. He carried her back upstairs to their bed, this time settling her under the covers, slipping in beside her. She was asleep almost instantly and he smiled into her hair.
Logan lay awake for a long time, watching through the bedroom window as the dawn crept forward. He instinctively pulled Ororo closer. Morning. How he hated morning. When he became Wolverine and she became Storm and the weight of the world settled upon them once again.
His wife slid one hand along his chest, curling her fingers into the crisp hairs covering him. She mumbled something, incoherent, but he caught the words love and Logan and he felt his heart kick. He looked around their room, at the pictures on the wall, the painting of Ororo that Peter had done for her birthday, a beautiful piece of work, Logan admired. In the portrait ‘Ro was soaring in the clouds, a long diaphanous gown molded to her legs, her hair fanned out behind her. It captured the free spirit that was Ororo. Along that same wall were several pictures of him and her together, and a few of the team together. On the nightstand sat a couple of books, one open, facedown. The sounds of the boathouse settling creaked through the dim early morning and Logan smiled. Domesticated. He had thought that marriage would make him domesticated, tame him a bit. He bunched his fingers in Ororo‘s hair. If anything, he’d become more feral, more animal. She brought out something dark and dangerous in him, his animal instinct to mate and protect. She was his life. Nothing else mattered but her. Nothing.





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