‘I can do this…I can do this…’
Ororo crept along the mostly deserted alleyways of New York’s less aesthetically pleasing neighborhoods. Her steps weren’t always sure, but she kept close to the walls, just in case she needed some physical support.
It had been almost two days since Forge had admitted he didn’t have the medication to control her Feeding urges. She’d spent the first day completely holed away from everyone, suffering in silence at her modest apartment home only a few blocks away from the club. As the moon shone on another night of torture for her, the cravings became unbearable.
‘All I need is something small…yes, something small…hell, a rodent would do…’ her tortured body was pressing her mind toward action, as she searched the deserted alleyway like a derelict. There was a part of her that knew from the moment she stepped out of the sanctuary of her apartment what she intended, and that part of her was more than slightly ashamed. With a heavy heart, Ororo remembered the last time she stalked the streets, choosing instead the upscale neighborhoods of Manhattan and surrounding areas, where she was sure she could focus solely on the criminal element. Here, however, among the people she strived to protect on a nightly basis, her sense of guilt was a little less tolerable.
‘These people count on you for protection’, she reasoned with the small part of herself that was still in control, ‘You can’t Feed on Them! That’s wrong!’
Just as that humbling thought passed her mind, the sound of someone approaching pricked her delicate ears.
Crouching low, Ororo hid easily in the darkened alley, waiting to appraise the possible candidate. Her heartbeat quickened as the approaching footfalls became louder. Unable to stand the suspense, she slid along the wall in the shadows, angling her lithe body to get a first glimpse of the target…
“When I see what I want
I’m gonna take it.
If it’s against some law
You can bet I’ll break it.
My need to feed
Gives me the will to survive,
I gotta find it fast
To keep me alive…”
Her breath caught at the image of the street walker, evidently some drunken fool barely able to keep his or her posture straight with apparent inebriation. The short figure was draped in a hooded jacket for the chilly night, mumbling to himself (she assumed by the body posture it was male) as he hurried down the street.
Even though she could smell the odor of alcohol rolling off the man’s clothes, Ororo wasn’t concerned about the tainted taste it would give the blood. ‘Beggars and Choosers’, as the saying went. Following the man at a respectable distance, she evaluated his condition, stalking him like the prey he was…
Hunger,
I want it so bad I can taste it,
It drives me mad to see it wasted
When I need it so bad that it’s burnin’ me…
I’m hungry..!
I’d do anything to get it and feel no regret
Time is running out and I ain’t found it yet…
And it’s burnin’
It’s burnin’
It’s burnin’ me…”
As she closed in on him, her mind swirled with the euphoric delight of a Feed after years of denial. The addictive nature of her condition carried Ororo’s steps as she floated on a light, silent wind toward the unsuspecting man.
Alone on the street, she still kept to the darkness as she assumed the man’s shadow. Only two steps behind him, she reached a shaky hand out to close around the back of his hooded neck.
“Gotcha.” A hand with the grip of a vice closed around her wrist, the pain shocking her out of the trance momentarily as she recognized the hooded figure.
“L-Logan??”
He held on to her wrist, never alleviating the pressure, as he watched her with clear eyes. His charade became painfully obvious to her, as he took in her dark attire and stealthy disposition. “What’re you doin’, darlin’?”
“I”I”“How was she going to explain this..?
Wolverine took one sniff of her, and drew his own conclusions. She smelled exactly as she had when he’d infiltrated her office at the Xile; or on that street corner with the mugger: hungry.
The predatory scent was overwhelming, and one that someone like Logan couldn’t help but identify with ease. “Ororo?”
She trembled before him, from both the Need and the guilt fighting within her to consume what little sense of control she had left. Her eyes asked him what her words could not. Help me.
With no more questions, Logan slid out of the heavy old hooded jacket, draping it about her shoulders. Something told him this woman wasn’t the type to ask for help easily, and that was definitely something he could relate to. He took her by the arm, and ushered her down the street.
---
Back at the Hell’s Kitchen apartment…
Logan didn’t bother turning on lights as they entered the quiet apartment, pulling Ororo’s trembling body after him. While she stood rooted in place, visibly ill, he locked the door behind them, and then gently slid the hood from her shoulders. “Hey, it’s alright…you can stay here for a minute, ‘til It passes. My buddy prob’ly won’t be back ‘til the mornin’.”
She shook her head, trying to stave off the inevitable nausea as it crept up her esophagus. “It won’t just pass. Not this time.”
“What’s that suppose to mean?”
“I…I’ve gone too long…without my medication…I NEED BLOOD.” She said it almost as a whisper, the agony plain in the expression she gave him.
Logan was going to ask another question, but realized the look she gave him begged not to.
Swallowing several times, she asked, “Where is your bathroom?”
Pointing, he watched her quickly disappear, closing the door quietly behind her. Logan stood in one place, watching the light beneath the door. His unparalleled auditory senses picked up the action going on within, and he suddenly turned from the hall facing the bathroom. ‘Shit, what the hell have I gotten myself into?’
It was awhile before she reappeared, minus the dark long-sleeved shirt she wore previously. She didn’t explain what happened to it, and he didn’t ask, as she crossed her bare arms over the white tank top beneath. Her eyes seemed to ask him ‘what now?’ and Logan motioned her over to the couch, where she curled up on her side, shaking. Dragging over the small waste basket he’d set up for Remy a few days ago, Logan then took a clean blanket and covered her with it.
“What else can I do?”
She shook her head, evidently unable to speak without fear of vomiting. As he reached an unsure hand down toward her shoulder, the low rumble of thunder nearby stopped him, as did the sudden chill in the air around them. As large drops of rain pattered against the panes, the small living room lit with an eerie light from the lightning outside. Logan could’ve sworn the sudden storm was right on top of them. He took an inadvertent step backwards when the hackles on the back of his neck rose. Ororo looked up at him. “I’m sorry.”
He looked down at her, as if suddenly realizing she was in the room, then knelt by the couch. He tried to keep the startled expression off his face when he saw how much of the rich brown coloring had left her face, leaving her with the appearance of death warmed over. “You’re doin’ that, outside?”
She nodded weakly reaching out to him and licking her lips several times in preparation of speech. “Hurts…so bad…Please, just…”
Logan’s eyes softened at the unfinished request, as he took her quaking fingers away from his wrist and held them firmly. The slight electric shock he received didn’t seem to bother him a bit. “Now, we ain’t goin’ down that road, ‘Ro. There’s got t’be another way o’ lookin’ at this.”
Moaning deeply, she rolled to the edge of the cushion and let her head fall toward the waste basket as whatever was left of her stomach contents came forth. Afterward, she resettled on the couch, tears down her cheeks as she sobbed weakly.
Logan brushed her hair out of her eyes, noting for the first time it seemed longer than the last time he’d seen her. Absently he guessed that sort of personal up-keep was the last thing on one’s mind going through the sort of hell she was in right then. His mind churning for ideas, he looked over his shoulder at the raging tempest outside, then back at the deteriorating form on his couch. He was sure, if he did nothing, she probably wouldn’t last the morning. Nodding to himself in decision, Logan rubbed her hand to get her to look at him. “Ororo…I think I can help…”
He definitely had her attention then, as she struggled to see his image without getting nauseated. “Wha…? How?”
“You know I’m a mutant just like you. Well, part o’ my mutation is a healin’ factor. Now, I ain’t positive this’ll work at all, but if you took some o’ my blood…” he paused when she began to shake her head vehemently.
“What?? I cannot do that, Logan… I won’t. Do you realize what you’re saying? I could…could ‘turn’ you into this..! Is that what you want??”
He took a deep breath, dismissing her concerns but only partially, to get his point across. “Listen fer a minute, b’fore ya say no. Now, this vampire-thing, it’s like a virus, right? I mean, it’s in yer system muckin’ things up.”
“Yes, that’s true…”
“Well, I don’t have to worry ‘bout that sort of thing. My healin’ factor should take care of it…uh, I think McCoy called ‘em ‘foreign bodies’?”
“McCoy?”
“Doctor friend of mine. You prob’ly recognize him as the big blue cuddly one.”
“Mm…”
“Any how, from what he’s told me over the years, my body can defeat near any
‘foreign agent’ introduced to it. Don’t see how this is any different.” He searched her watery blue eyes, recognizing a plea behind the fear.
“Logan…I…I don’t know what to say…I appreciate what you are offering, but…I just can’t be responsible if this doesn’t work. I can’t go down this road, not again. I’ve held this off for over four years…”
“Darlin’, pardon the observation, but it don’t look like you’re doing too good a’ job right about now.”
She continued to shake her head, suddenly racked with painful spasms, and huddled into a fetal position, closing her eyes to him and his offer of relief.
Taking the cue, Logan stood, lightly caressing her short tussled locks before retreating to the small kitchen table several feet away. He sat there, about to light a cigar (suddenly he really needed one) but thought better of it considering her agitated stomach. Sitting there in the dark, he listened to her ragged breathing; the soft moans as she fought control over her senses and her tortured body. He leaned over the edge of the table, looking at the opposite wall in the dark, trying instead to focus on the torrential storm outside. Vaguely, he considered how dangerous this power of hers was, and how much damage she was doing outside.
So deep in thought, Logan missed her as she stood on rubbery legs some thirty minutes later, and carefully crossed the short distance to him. Glancing up at her then, he met her gaze and recognized the conflict going on behind those cobalt irises.
Ororo didn’t speak initially, reaching out to grasp his t-shirt’s round collar. She paused, locking gazes with him for several seconds. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t. I’ll stop you before that happens.”
She nodded, not asking for an explanation of those terms, and knelt by his chair, so that her eye level was just below his.
The thunder and lightning crackled outside, growing even more intense if possible. Logan could sense the excitement rolling off of her, the prospect of releasing her pain so close. Detaching her trembling fingers from his shirt, he easily whipped it over his head, to allow her the easier access.
Ororo’s heart beat triple-time as she leaned closer to him, and sat there awestruck at the clarity of her senses; she could hear the thump of his pulse, see the vein she wanted. He was the picture of calmness, and it only made this encounter the more erotic for her.
“I know what you want,
I know what you need
Better than you do.
I know why you came,
I promise you.
I know where you go,
I know what you do
Better than you do.
When nothing remains
I come to you…
Sometimes she shines and I know
Beauty has her way.
With her hooks and her grace,
Beauty has her way.
Lights down, we drown, and I know
Beauty has her way…
This plain game
Beauty has her way.”
Logan sat as still as he could, trying not to break the sudden concentration she seemed focused on, and also attempting to quell the second thoughts threatening to creep into his mind. God, if he was wrong about this…
Aching canines finally thrust forward, and Ororo rested against his cheek, savoring the moment before impact, breathing deeply his scent, the sense of life in his form. “Oh, Goddess…” she moaned, rubbing her face against his neck, giving in to the arousal of feeling his blood pulsating.
“The trembling looks,
The concurrent touch
Everything to you.
And into your flame
I follow you.
Where all wishes twist,
And bitter they kiss
Everything to you.
And always in vain
I run to you,
Sometimes she shines and I know
Beauty has her way.
With her hooks in your face…
Beauty has her way…
I know what you want,
I know what you need
Better than you do.
I know why you came
I promise you…”
Logan’s hands gripped the table as he felt the sudden pinch, then more pain as the bite deepened and he could feel her canines drawing the blood from him. A small trickle escaped her suctioned grip on his neck, coursing down Logan’s collarbone. Ororo hesitated when she saw this, drawing back to watch the thin stream. Coming to her feet, she swung a leg across his lap, straddling him on the chair, and bent her head to run a warm tongue down to capture the escaping blood stain. Logan jumped slightly, his body reacting to both the physical pain as well as the unexpected pleasure of this new erotic gesture.
Ororo wrapped her arms around him, holding his neck steady with her hands carefully, enjoying the warm metallic taste as it flowed down her throat once more.
Unsure how to respond to this, Wolverine found himself embracing her slight, trembling form as she pressed against him. She was a refugee rescued from the desert and greeted with a feast, as she latched onto Logan like a woman starved. He could feel her caressing his neck, arms, the shadow of her fingers floating over his face as she made love to his veins that fed her.
After a few minutes of this, and it became apparent she had no intention of stopping herself, Logan gently but firmly detached himself from her, holding her wrists away from his body, and watched her face. Her euphoric expression was slow to fade as she finally came to the realization she was no longer feeding on him. For the first time since he’d met her, she gave him a grin showing sharp teeth, stained a dark red, and licked her full lips in obvious pleasure. For an instant her eyes clouded over a ruby color, then faded with the sounds of the storm outside. As Ororo slowly fought coming down from her high, Logan backed away from the table, attempting to stand but finding it oddly difficult to do so. His legs buckled beneath him, and he stumbled away from the kitchen, feeling ill.
“Jesus…” he choked on his own words as he felt the burning inside him, first around his face, then slowly traveling down his torso, scorching his chest. Gripping his heart, Wolverine staggered to one knee, falling close to the couch.
Behind him, Ororo turned and watched him. She felt a burning as well, but of a completely different nature, as she saw the man struggling…like fallen prey. Crawling over to him, she hovered above his stricken form for several moments, just watching, sort of reveling in the pain she’d inflicted on him. Reaching out, Ororo caressed his body as he groaned in agony, as if she were searching for another piece of ‘Grade A Choice’.
Sensing her out of sorts, Wolverine gathered his own. Hunched over, he held his burning innards with one hand as he raised his other just high enough she could see over his shoulder, and popped a claw.
Just as he expected, the gleaming metal startled her enough to re-evaluate her position. To get his point across, Logan turned and held the razor-sharp blade close to her, heaving in pain the whole time, and locked eyes with the dazed vampire.
For several moments the two uneasy companions stared one another down, then Ororo seemed to come out of whatever trance held her, and blinked several times, seeing the blade again, for the first time.
Convinced, Logan sheathed his internal weapon, turning and burying his face in the cushion of the couch, unsure whether he wanted to yell or cry. The heat and pain resulting from her bite was almost too much to bear, as he felt his body striving to rid itself of the poison. After a few more tense moments, it did. Violently.
Ororo cringed as his head suddenly came up off the couch and turned sharply, a thick, obsidian-colored liquid spewing from his mouth. It missed the waste basket completely, splashing the floor. After several more violent wretches (this time in the waste can), he rested his shoulder against the edge of the couch, breathing heavily.
Opening his eyes, he looked at the mess he’d made. “Ah…shit…”
While he sat there on the floor, she passed him, rummaging around the bathroom and returning with a damp old mop and several rags.
He watched her clean up the mess, as his illness faded with the passing minutes. Logan was amazed how ‘normal’ she appeared now; her eyes no longer blood-shot, the warm glow of her brown skin returned and the gale outside receding. She shook her cloud-colored locks away from her eyes as she came to sit in the corner of the couch behind him, drawing her legs up to her chin, appearing very much younger than she was. “Thank you…”
Logan roughly wiped his chin with the back of his hand, turning to gaze at her, inwardly amazed how different her disposition had become. The serenity behind those eyes was an unnerving thing, considering the road traveled. “How do you feel?”
She seemed to contemplate that question very seriously, her gaze falling away from his face for a few minutes until she was sure how to answer. “I feel…alive.”
Logan turned slightly, reading the guilt in her face at that admission, and gingerly covered her hand with his. Hours later, he still wasn’t sure whether it had been her hand or his that was trembling.
To Be Continued
