Wolverine stood alone in the center of his darkened bedroom, an acute silence all around him. He listened carefully, but there wasn’t a sound in the mansion, all of the other occupants apparently asleep.
He gazed through the seemingly black glass of the window that separated him from the night as he considered his current state of mind. Confused. Angry. Frustrated. Yup, that about summed it up. He puffed at the cigar hanging from his lips, and a brief orange flare smoldered in the rain spotted reflection cast in the glass.
He and the others had returned only an hour ago from a reconnaissance mission in Syracuse, monitoring a group of suspected anti-mutant militia. It was on the plane ride home that it happened.
Another nightmare. This one so real and so tangible he woke with the feeling of bile in the back of his throat and his knuckles aching to release his claws, his six best friends, an urge he had barely contained. His first and only thought upon waking had been to kill. The desire nearly overwhelming him, and he was taken aback by how long it had taken him to reign it in.
In the dream he had been tormented and tortured, all of which was familiar territory to him. But then it had shifted and he had been making love to Storm. No interlude, no sweet foreplay, the dream had jumped and he was fully immersed in an erotic fantasy where she was riding him, moaning his name, crying out as she came. Then, just as suddenly she was pulled from him, screaming and screaming and holding her stomach, three deep puncture wounds oozing crimson through sable fingers.
“Motherfuck--!”
Rogue had cast him a worried glance when he had bolted upright in the black leather chair directly behind Storm, but she had refrained from comment, sensing his agitation and need for space.
It had been the third nightmare that week to feature an erotic play date with his wintery teammate, and he found those far more emotionally jarring than any of the others before. In recent months Logan had become increasingly attracted to Storm. Her quiet demeanor and purposeful avoidance only intriguing him. She was nothing like he had first thought. Underneath the cool shell, lay a warrior’s heart and a fighter’s spirit. She showed it time and again in battle, and when those she loved were threatened.
The first time it snowed in July he had been confused, then amused to learn one of her precious plants had died. Who knew she was so emotional?
It was his thoughts of and his fear for her that prompted tonight’s little adventure.
After the mission’s debriefing with Xavier, Wolverine had hung back. He had stayed behind because recently he had begun wondering if the bald man he’d come to trust could give him any insight into the latest series of chilling dreams. Vivid walks through nightmarish realities he couldn’t remember and at times desperately wanted to forget existed. And sexual escapades with a woman he barely exchanged full sentences with. A woman he found more attractive and fascinating every day… A woman he could… Stop right there, Bub. She’s outta yer league.
Xavier’s suggestion had been to relax, not to feel so much pressure to remember. Wolverine told him of an exercise Jean had been trying to teach him since her miraculous resurrection as the Phoenix. He explained to Xavier that she had told him to focus while he was awake on the fragments he could recall. To place himself back into the dream again, and walk through his own mind. Xavier warned him that this was a very dangerous exercise and that the mind was a map of infinite possibilities and without understanding it, a person could do far more damage than good. He warned Wolverine that for a man like him, who couldn’t remember his past, and had so many false memories implanted that the exercise could prove fatal. “Wait, Logan. It will come.” he had said.
Wolverine doubted the Professor knew the extent of what he was asking him to do. Waiting was no longer an option. He was growing more agitated and restless and dangerous by the day. And each time he woke the desire to kill was stronger and the desire to fuck equally as bad. Walking the minefield of his mind could indeed be fatal, but he was willing to try. He’d try anything to make the screaming stop.
With a nasal sigh he snuffed his cigar and prepared to concentrate, really concentrate. He felt a mild stirring of unease at what he was about to do. What if what he saw showed him to be the animal he feared he was. What if Stryker was right and he was nothing more than a glorified killing machine, a beast, a monster sent to prey on the innocent.
With a savage growl, Logan reminded himself that he wanted the truth, no matter what it was. That didn’t mean he would relish the sensations he would feel traipsing through his own personal Hell, but it had to be done. If the others were to be kept safe, then he had to get control of his dreams.
Logan sat in the center of his red and gold Oriental rug. He rotated each shoulder, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, inhale, exhale. Relax, Bub. Focus. Concentrate. He closed his silver and steel eyes, trying to bring forth his latest nightmare. Tanks and tubes and endless screams. His, he thought, but couldn’t be sure.
He felt excruciatingly vulnerable whenever he experienced small flashes from his past, and tonight’s deeper exploration would be far worse. He knew he could expect to question his own sanity before this was all over. He exhaled again, hating the sliver of fear waiting for him in the darkness of his mind.
But he had to take this chance, the need for answers outweighing his caution. Outweighing his supposition that he would go mad in the end, and have to be put down like a rabid dog.
Logan plunged himself into the deepest recess of his mind, and felt like he was falling into a whirling void. Suddenly, he was very cold, an abyss of dark emotion surrounding him. He grit his teeth and focused. Tanks, tubes and screams. His concentration became so intense he lost all awareness of his surroundings, a sensation similar to when he meditated, although there was no sense of relaxation, instead a gnawing fear in his gut. He was no longer in his room, but in a sterile holding cell, being pumped full of adamantium, fusing the weighty, indestructible metal to his bones. The metal burned. Something inside him screamed a warning to turn back, forget this foolish quest to remember, but he plunged on. He worked on instinct alone, not fully aware of what he was trying to accomplish in this internal investigation.
Carefully, cautiously, he began to tear down the barriers in his mind, dismantling the age old protectors of his past. As each imaginary brick fell away Logan became more immersed in the abyss, the void around him, losing himself in his own mind.
There were few things that Wolverine had ever feared in his life, but the feeling that descended on him as the bricks were cast aside was definitely one of them. His inner fortress was being laid bare and he could feel his control slipping, and he could hear the beast’s triumphant howl as he removed the walls. No. this was all wrong. Logan tried to pull his mind back, carefully relaying the bricks and trying to enforce the barrier on this particular wall. Whatever lay behind here was meant to be locked away.
Vibrations of awareness shot through him and for a moment Logan’s concentration wavered and the imaginary barriers shuddered as though hit from the opposite side and a slow, savage growl echoed in Wolverine’s mind. He didn’t recognize the sound as himself and for a moment he was certain madness had claimed him, all senses suddenly on overload.
“Logan?”
From out of nowhere that voice came to him. Sweet and melodic, like warm honey. Hunger rose in response to it. Hunger that was deep and dark and devastating, crumbling his already weakened defenses. -SNIKT-
“Logan, are you all right?” Ororo’s voice was a whisper of sound through his bedroom door, but it reached him through the endless darkness surrounding him. He heard a faint click and his nostrils flared as they caught the scent of jasmine and midnight with the underlying scent of earth and sandalwood. Ororo. Storm. Daughter of Nature.
She was in his room, right behind him.
No. Leave. Go back to your bedroom. For God’s sake, don’t come near me. Not now. Run.
But the words were trapped in his mind. He couldn’t speak.
“Logan? Is something wrong?”
Yes. Yes. Yes. Run!
The words wouldn’t come. Logan pushed himself to move, to come back from the abyss. He staggered to his feet, his normal grace gone in his shuddering need. He watched her walk towards him through the shadows of his room, and knew a savage despair. He couldn’t control the need in him. He was far too gone. He had unleashed something that should never have been set free.
Ororo tilted her head, studying him in the moonlight, her eyes soft with concern.
Longing, fierce and intense clawed at him. Mate.
“Are you all right? You’ve been withdrawn since the mission.” Ororo came to a halt directly in front of him. Her eyes flickered over his extended claws and the blood dripping onto the floor.
She was cloaked in a white robe, her hair of matching color was loose and gloriously wild as it tumbled down her back, her eyes were crystal clear, fathomless pools in the moonlight.
Logan pulled himself together with a giant force of will, finally growling thickly, “Go back to bed.” he retracted forcibly, wincing at the effort.
“There is something wrong, isn’t there?” She raised one slender hand to touch his face. He closed his eyes, inhaling raggedly. “Goddess, Logan, you’re burning up. I had no idea you could get ill. You should have said something earlier.” She moved closer.
“No.” he croaked. His careful control was balanced on a knife’s edge and her close proximity was dangerous. “Leave.”
She smiled at him gently. “Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t do that.” She took one of his hands in her own. “Let’s put you to bed, and I’ll get you some water.”
“I. Am. Not. Sick.”
She paid no attention.
Logan was helpless to resist the gentle tug of her hand, she drew him to her like always. Lately he’d found himself watching her, his gaze drawn to her as though mystically bound to her. She was life and beauty and perfection. Everything he didn’t deserve. He had heard her jokingly referred to as a Goddess by Scooter and Jean, and he saw no reason to believe otherwise. No mere human could be so breathtakingly beautiful and still have such a pure, untainted soul.
“Here we go.” She guided him to the bed. Ororo pulled back the covers, exposing her back to him and Logan was enthralled by the nape of her neck, revealed by the sliding of her winter hair over one shoulder as she bent. He was certain he had never seen anything so frail as her tender, exposed neck. He took a step forward, unable to control himself, his hand outstretched to…what? Touch her? He didn’t know. He stumbled against her.
Ororo grunted a bit under his weight, but laughed lightly. “Now I know something is wrong with you.” She reached out to steady him. “You usually move like a great cat, a jungle predator.”
She saw him as a predator?
“Always silent, always smooth. It’s a beautiful sight to see you in action,” she murmured quietly, almost to herself.
Had she just called him beautiful?
“In the entire time you’ve been with us, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you stumble. Until tonight.” she continued. “Don’t worry. I’m sure the flight just upset your equilibrium. I know how much you hate flying.”
This was the most he’d ever heard the resident weather witch talk. Logan’s brow furrowed as he scented…nervousness. Ororo was afraid. Not so oblivious, after all, to the savage battle he was waging within himself.
Ororo reached for him, attempting to help him onto the bed. Logan growled, fighting for self control. God, she was easy on the eyes. More inviting than any woman in history, he was certain.
Logan’s insides churned with raw need. A need he was beginning to see that was solely for the white haired woman in front of him.
“Logan?” Ororo tilted her face up to his, her spectacular catlike blue eyes shadowed. There was concern for him in her dulcet voice, and a tenderness he had never taken the time to notice in her forthright gaze. But he noticed now. She was worried about him, and all he could think about was what was under the robe she wore.
He could do nothing to stop the inevitable now, the tenderness in her eyes his undoing. In a few seconds he knew she would sense the overwhelming desire he felt for her. She would see the animal he was, his unnatural side, even though it felt completely natural to him. And right. Like nothing had ever felt before.
Ororo was fluffing his pillow for him and Logan closed his eyes, knowing what was to come. She would see his feral, and she would be terrified. She would pull away from him and run like he was some kind of monster. That thought set his teeth back and made his heart stutter. A fear like no other gripped him and knotted his insides. Why would her rejection of him matter? Why did he feel so vulnerable around her? Why was she the thought that plagued him most, even more than his dreams?
Jesus fuckin’ Christ, he was in love with Ororo.
He was doomed.
“Let me help you with your uniform.” Ororo’s hands moved lightly over his chest, seeking his zipper in the darkness.
He shook violently at the touch of her hands.
Ororo paused. “You’re shivering. Are you cold?”
“No.” he grunted. “Hot. Very hot.” And getting hotter.
“I’ll get you that water in a minute.” She returned to the task of locating his black zipper on his black leather uniform, in the dark. She bent her head, peering closely, her tousled hair tickling his whiskered chin. He inhaled deeply, taking her in. She was so very feminine and it riveted everything male in him.
Ororo Munroe, reserved and untouchable X-Man, was seducing him. She didn’t realize it, but she was, just as surely if she had shown up in his room in a red teddy and crotch less panties.
Logan groaned. “Ororo,” he breathed. Her name was a plea, a prayer, a curse. He wasn’t sure which.
The zipper slid and she pulled his top over his head, her fingers branding him as they inadvertently touched bare skin. “Are you still hot?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“I’ll get that water.” she said quietly, her fingers skimmed his shoulder.
Logan shuddered, harder now than he had ever been in his life.
“Sit,” she commanded softly. “I’ll be right back.” She disappeared through his door, heading down the hall. He could hear her take the stairs and then he heard clinking in the kitchen and the sound of rushing water as she turned the tap. Logan closed his eyes, rubbing the lids with his fingers.
Pull yourself together. Calm down. You’ll fuckin’ lose her, Bub.
“Here you go.” Ororo thrust the a glass at him.
Logan gulped it down in two swallows, wishing it were something stronger. Hell, anything that would take the edge off of the erection that was threatening to bust the seam of his uniform pants.
Ororo knelt in front of him, undoing the straps of his boots.
“’Ro…”
“Sshh. I know you lie to be independent, but let me help you. You’re obviously sick.”
“So they tell me.”
Ororo smiled a bit and he heard a faint chuckle from her. It was a nice sound and his cock throbbed. Jesus.
She rose gracefully and pushed him back onto the bed. “Goodnight, Logan.”
“Please,” he rasped as she turned to move away, unable to articulate more.
Ororo hesitated. “What is it?”
“I need you.” Had he just said that? Out loud? Fucking great.
Ororo blinked. “Is there something else you want?” she seemed confused.
“Yes.” he growled from the bed. “You.”
“Wolverine. You’re ill. You should rest.”
“I don’t get sick. You know that. I want you.”
Ororo went very still. “You can’t possibly…”
He leaned up on both elbows, watching her through hooded, predatory eyes. “Why can’t I?”
She shook her head. “I’m nothing like Jean,” she began.
“Bonus,” he grunted.
“We…we barely know each other,” she added.
“Makes it interesting.”
“Umm…”
“Runnin’ out of excuses, darlin’?” He flung an arm out, grabbing her wrist. “Touch me. Here.” He placed her hand over his erection.
She went stock still.
“That’s all that’s wrong with me. I want you so fuckin’ much it’s making me crazy. Make me sane. Make me whole,” he said. He moved against her palm. “I want ya so damn much.”
“Oh, Logan.”
She was going to run, he could feel it and he wanted to roar. He wouldn’t stop her though. This had to be her choice. “Don’t go,” he whispered.
Ororo straightened away from the bed, her eyes never leaving his.
She was leaving.
The white robe fell to the carpet.
Logan sat straight up in bed.
He drank in the sight of her like a parched man. Moonlight gleamed softly of the curves of her high, rounded breasts, the lush contours of her thighs and the soft swell of her hips. The snowy triangle that shielded her treasure captivated him and he swallowed hard. The white an erotic contrast to her dark skin that even his fantasies couldn’t have prepared him for.
She came to him.
Logan was stunned. He had been so certain she would run. He knew she could sense the feral in him, almost out now. Clawing at his insides, begging to be set free. But still she didn’t run. Even as his lips curled back in a snarl, she came to him.
She settled on him like warm, tropical rain. She brushed his mouth gently, almost tentatively across his. He growled.
The last remnants of Wolverine’s control vanished. She was his. He wrapped his arms around her, rolling, crushing her into the mattress. She gave a soft, startled cry and was clinging to his shoulders, her short nails biting into his flesh.
He reached down between her legs. “Ya’ve got ta be ready fer me, darlin’. Please tell me ya want this as much as I do,” he groaned, finding her folds slick with her personal dew.
“Yes.” She sounded as frantic as he felt, but not scared.
“Foreplay…?” he growled, jerking down his pants. He kicked them away from his body hastily, eager to feel her warm skin.
“Another time,” she gasped as he slid into her, pushing past the resistance of her delicate muscles. She bit her lips and he kissed her, his lips easing the hurt her teeth caused. His tongue swirled over hers, forcing her lips apart as he drank from her, tasted her, was enthralled by her.
“Tight,” he grunted. “So fuckin’ tight.” Logan groaned, the wonder of it all stealing his breath. She wanted him. Him. Animal and all. He moved within her, sinking deeper and deeper until he knew not where she began and he ended. Her long, beautiful legs closed around him and she scored his back.
“That’s it,” he encouraged as she lifted herself into his thrusts.
“Lo-Logan,” Ororo cried. She clung to him, her head nestled against his shoulder.
Logan slowed his movements for a moment, staring into her deep eyes. “Why?” he asked. “Why me?”
She smiled up at him. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Not really, darlin’.”
She lifted her head, her eyes locked on his as her mouth captured his. “That adamantium skull is mighty thick, huh?”
He grinned. “That ain’t the only thing.” He pushed forward to the hilt.
“Ohhh.”
“Why?” he asked again.
Ororo cradled his face. “I could love you.”
He nodded. “It won’t be easy,” he warned.
“Anything worth having,” she said with a smile.
“Is worth fighting for,” they finished together.
“You’re worth it,” she said with great certainty.
“I don’t wanna hurt you,” he said softly, moving again.
“You’re not a monster,” she said as if reading his mind. “I trust you.”
“Good.” He lowered his head, silencing any further conversation with hungry kisses.
Ororo panted and moaned, tossing her head back and forth across his pillows. In his bed. Logan grinned. Ororo was in his bed, moaning his name, her heat hugging his erection. God damn, life was good.
Ororo screamed softly, a passionate cry as she found release under his powerful strokes. The erotic notes echoing in Logan’s ear he increased his tempo, his hips slapping forward and his own orgasm blinding him.
The abyss of his nightmares wavered and vanished beneath the white hot intensity of the moment. No longer could the darkness touch him.
Whatever his future held, whatever mysteries his past held, he knew he wouldn’t have to face them alone.
He was safe. Ororo would be there with him.
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