Logan's fists connected repeatedly against his opponents face and torso; each forceful punch an attempt to rid himself of the lingering tension leftover from his roadside romp with Storm. Try as he might he couldn't shake the persistent niggling twinge of his conscience. The look of confused hurt on her face ate at him, made him want to hurt someone.
So distracted by the guilt, he felt none of his usual satisfaction when his brutish challenger hit the makeshift mat with a dull thud, unconscious, and clearly defeated. With a popping crick of his neck and a roll of his muscular shoulders Logan shoved his way through the circle of cheering onlookers, grabbing his discarded shirt and making his way towards the front bar to collect his winnings.
"Sal." Logan grunted, sitting on a red leather covered stool.
"You're in rare form tonight." Sally Jameson said, handing him his cut of the take.
Logan took the cash and shoved it in his pocket, reaching for the beer she extended out to him. "Hnh."
The brunette inclined her head. "And in a mood I see." She grabbed a piece of terrycloth from beside the cash register and ran it under the faucet beneath the bar. She squeezed it, before she reached for Logan's hand. "C'mere. You're all bloody." She swabbed his knuckles.
He let her wipe the other man's blood from his hand, swigging his beer.
"So, let me guess. A woman?"
Logan scowled, the motion etching grooves along his mouth. "When isn't it?"
She gave a wry grin. "Good point." She tossed the rag in the trash. "It's not that redhead again, is it?"
"No." He swished the amber liquid around in the bottle. "Not her."
"Oh, so someone new then?"
He took a long drink. "Why you so nosy?"
She shrugged. "Born that way." She leaned against the bar top, studying him.
"Stop it." he groused.
"I worry about you." She said quietly.
"Don't." He finished his beer, wiping the back of his hand against his mouth.
"Can't help it. A man saves your life, you kind of care about him." She argued with a gentle punch to his arm. "Even if he doesn't like it."
A few years back on a similar fight night Sally had been walking to her car after a double shift when three men had jumped her. Their intentions had been clear immediately. They were not after her money, but wanted something far more depraved from her. She hadn't even had a chance to scream when one of them punched her so hard it knocked her silly. The men had taunted her as the circled her fallen form, kicking and punching her repeatedly. Two of them carried knives and she knew, just knew that they meant to kill her when they were done.
She had begged them not to hurt her, thinking of her baby girl at home with their neighbor who would be left with no one if she was killed. They had laughed drunkenly, uncaring, delighting in her cries. Their laughter had been short lived when from out of the shadows Wolverine had appeared. No warning or mercy was granted by him and although the men were left alive, they were forever, painfully reminded of their erroneous ways by their sudden lack of male equipment. Never again would they harm a woman in the way they had wanted to harm her.
Sally had been hospitalized for three days after the attack but the night she returned to work Logan had been in the bar and she had recognized him immediately, despite his gruff, "You got the wrong guy, lady."
Eventually, due to her dogged insistence that she wasn't stupid and knew who he was, they had struck up conversation and ultimately he'd even shared her bed from time to time, but nothing ever came of it. He was a loner, she'd come to accept. Never to be tied down by any one woman, which was why seeing his expression as grim as it was surprised her.
Sally fished another beer from the fridge she kept stocked just for him. "This woman is different," she stated, a bit envious of the mystery woman's ability to affect Logan so intensely.
Logan cradled the new bottle between both hands, his face shadowed. "All frails are the same."
She laughed, walking away to tend her other customers. "Keep telling yourself that, grumpy," she called over her shoulder. "Who knows, maybe one day you'll believe it."
He sat silent, contemplating his beer.
Ororo stomped through the halls of the Xavier Institute, her riding boots leaving small puddles in their wake. No one dared speak to her, the threatening look on her face preventing even the smallest peep from fellow residents. She reached her bedroom and slammed the door with jarring force. She leaned against the painted wood, her chest heaving with barely contained emotion. She was far less angry than she would have liked to be, and instead more hurt than she would readily admit.
What in the world had happened? One moment she and Logan were grunting and humping, having a grand ole time, she thought, and the next he was pulling away from her and looking at her like she was some sort of diseased hooker that he could no longer abide to be with.
She closed her eyes tight, fighting against a fresh wash of tears. No! No, damn it, she would not cry. No way in hell. She took a deep breath and straightened, resolve firming her features.
In three quick strides she crossed her room to her closet, jerking it open determinedly. No way was she sitting at home in her room, languishing morosely over some guy that obviously didn't want her. That wasn't Ororo Munroe's style. She reached into the back of her closet, pulling out her duffle. She unzipped it; her over plump lips curving up. "Not my style at all," she murmured withdrawing the well worn Stetson she housed there.
Twenty minutes later Ororo was once more marching down the halls of the Xavier Institute; this time instead of black riding boots she was wearing silver high heels. She strutted with a purposeful sway to her hips, her mood lifting with each bouncy step.
She thumped on Scott's bedroom door twice. "Scott?"
She heard a thud and giggle. Giggle? She rapped again. "Scott?"
The door cracked open and Scott poked his head out, his chestnut hair stood up disheveled about his head. "Hey, Storm. What's up?"
She caught a flash of red wavy locks over his bare shoulder. She gave him a thorough once over. "You are, obviously," she said dryly.
He rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, well, Jean and I are-"
She held up her hand. "I don't even want to know, big guy. I just need your X-Wing pass-code."
"Huh? Why?" For the first time he really noticed her appearance. Long legs were exposed by a daringly short skirt, and a barely there sequined top revealed an ample amount of breast and abdomen. Her hair, always wild, looked tousled, soft and inviting. To put it plainly, she looked like sex.
He winced at the flash of pain that wayward thought got him. He sent Jean a look over his shoulder. She pouted, patting the bed, mouthing, "hurry up."
Storm drew his attention back to her. "I'm heading up to Boston."
"What happened?" His features tensed and his voice hardened.
"Nothing happened, Scott. I just want to go." She really didn't feel like rehashing her rejection.
He looked skeptical and ready to argue.
"Look, either you give me your code, or I steal the plane. Those are the options." She placed her hand on her hip, her expression letting him know she meant it.
He frowned, regarding her tilted chin and glittering blue eyes. Something had happened, he was certain, no matter what she said. "Hang on, I'll get dressed and come with you."
"No." Ororo shook her head. "Not tonight."
He raised a questioning brow over his wrap around visor.
She smiled, a bit playful, a bit sad. "I'm feeling rather unpredictable this evening. I really wouldn't want to do something that would hurt our friendship."
He shook his head. "You couldn't."
She touched his bare chest boldly, uncaring that Jean was in the room behind him. "Yes, Scott," his name was a breathless whisper. "Tonight, I could." She wanted to feel desirable, sexy, appreciated. She couldn't risk being close to Scott, a man she admired, respected and found more than a bit attractive. Despite their earlier assessment that no lust flowed between them, they were indeed only human, and a few drinks and need on both their parts could seriously damage their strong friendship.
He swallowed hard. "Yeah, alrighty then." He cleared his suddenly too dry throat. "Alpha 2105."
"Thanks." She leaned up and kissed his cheek. He watched her walk down the hall. When he closed the door he barely dodged a flung pillow. "What?" he asked, holding up his hands. "What was that for?"
Jean scowled. "You know what!"
He shrugged. "Can't help it, Jean. I'm a guy and she's--"
"Working my last nerve! How dare she come to your room looking like a…a stripper and you expect me to not say anything? Especially when you are broadcasting you appreciation." She gave his crotch a pointed look.
Scott felt heat flood his face, but rather than be embarrassed he shrugged it off. "Jean, I'm in here with you, not her. You know I’ve noticed you keeping your distance from Storm lately and the whole bad influence stunt with Xavier was pretty damn childish. So, tell me truthfully, what's your real issue? That she's my friend…" He sat on the end of the bed. "Or because Wolverine wants her?"
Jean gasped. "He does not!"
Scott chuckled, allowing a bit of bitterness to tinge his words. "He does, and I'm betting that he's the one who will be showing her his appreciation.”
She looked momentarily taken aback, but covered it well. "Well, what do I care? Better yet, what do you care?"
"I care because Storm is my friend and I don't want to see her get hurt. You may care because if he's busy making love to her, then he's not with you." Scott's smile was brittle.
"Scott, I would never…"
"Save it, Jean." He said softly, holding up a hand. "I've known for awhile." He felt strangely liberated.
"Scott." She paused, searching for words as she searched his face. This conversation had taken a very unexpected and dangerous turn. Her eyes welled with tears. "Please." She reached for him. No longer denying it she said, "Let me make it up to you. I swear, I'll make it up to you."
He took her hands, holding her gently away from him. "I'm not blaming you entirely, Jean. Obviously I can't give you everything that you want or need. It may be best if we stop pretending I can."
"That's not true!" She rose to her knees, her eyes beseeching. She was beginning to panic. She couldn't lose Scott. She wouldn't. "Scott, I love you."
He cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking away her tears with aching tenderness. "I believe you." He said softly, sincerely, a catch in his own voice. "But I can't--"
"Scott." Jean pulled him closer, interrupting, not wanting him to finish. "Please, let's make things right. We belong together. You know this."
He sighed heavily. "I used to think so."
"We do," she implored. She kissed his lips softly, then again with more determination. "We do."
Scott closed his eyes. "Jean."
"Love me, Scott." She brought his hand down to her breast. *Love me*
He groaned, covering her with his taller frame. "This won't fix anything," he said, but the resolve was already leaving his voice.
"Shhh." She ran her hands over his chest, thumbing his nipples so they hardened. She ran her hands down his torso, opening the front flap of his boxers, stroking his erection. "I love you." She positioned him between her thighs. "Love me, please. Just love me."
With a shudder he entered her. "I love you too."
"You always will," she vowed, crying out when he began to move.
"I always will," he repeated.
The Rebellion was packed to capacity when Ororo arrived. She maneuvered her way through the dancing crowd, scarcely restraining the urge to use her winds to part the offending bodies like Moses did the Red Sea.
After several 'excuse me's and 'move it's she finally reached the bar, where she was greeted by a grinning Lorna Dane. "Hey there, Ororo!" The pretty green haired mutant was wearing a black shirt, knotted at the waist. The word "Rebellion" was printed in bold across her chest. On the back it read: " Defiance of authority: opposition to accepted moral codes, or social conventions. Rebel, motherfuckers, rebel!"
Ororo smiled at that. Leave it to Alison to put the damn dictionary definition on the shirts. "Hey, Lorna." Ororo leaned against the bar, shouting over the music. "Al around?"
Alison, dressed in the same tee as Lorna and black leather pants, stood up from behind the counter where she had been refilling the peanut dispenser. "Right here." She looked her friend up and down. "Wow, someone is in a dangerous mood tonight. Nice hat, by the way."
"Thanks." Ororo smiled devilishly as she ran her thumb and forefinger along the rim of the stolen Stetson.
"Sweet Jesus." Ali crossed herself.
"What?" Lorna glanced between the two, her mint brows quirking.
Ali gestured to Storm. "I know that look. It means a serious dose of trouble and more than likely the night will end up with her and me outrunning the cops."
Lorna grinned, drawing a beer on tap. "Sounds like a good time." She handed the beer to the bearded customer, who rewarded her with a ten dollar tip. She smiled cheekily pocketing the bill. With her good looks and radiant smile, Lorna was sure to make a swift killing behind the bar.
Ali laughed. "Go easy on ’em, Dane.” She pulled out a shot glass, pouring Ororo's favorite tequila. "So what is the plan tonight, O?"
Ororo took the shot, downing it in a rapid swallow. "To have fun," she said with an attempt at lightness, but Alison caught the dark undertone. Ororo was good at hiding her emotions, but not so good that Ali couldn’t detect the wrongness about her.
"Uh-huh." Ali refilled the glass, watching as Ororo pounded it down without blinking. "Something tells me this night will be interesting to say the least."
"One can hope, Ali." Ororo gestured for a third. "Where's the band?"
Ali poured. "Getting ready."
"They any good?" Down again.
"Yes.”
“Who are they again?”
“Killer DJ."
Ororo slammed the glass back onto the bar. "Good. I feel like dancing."
"Grab a fire extinguisher, Lorna." Ali recommended, her aqua eyes twinkling.
"What? Why?" Lorna turned from her line of customers.
Ali smiled mischievously. "Because Munroe's on fi-ah!"
Bzzzz. Bzzzz.
Logan glanced at his pocket, his cell vibrating. He flipped the phone open quickly, recognizing one of the house lines from Xavier's; maybe it was 'Ro.
" Logan?"
Nope. "Jean." He shifted in his seat, unable to ignore the flare of disappointment he felt. "What's up?"
"Where are you?" she demanded, hushed.
"Out. Why the hell are you whispering?"
"Because Scott's sleeping."
"Wore him out did ya?"
"And if I did? It's not like you care," she hissed, but there was a hint of hope in her voice .
"Yer right, I don't." He watched the fighters circling one another across the room in the roped off ring with mild interest. "What do you want, Red?"
"Are you fucking Storm?"
Logan's face darkened. "Is that why you called? To ask who I'm fuckin'?"
"You are, aren't you?" he could hear the anger in her voice.
"What the hell do you care, Jean? You're fuckin' Scooter."
"When were you going to tell me?"
Logan chuckled without humor. "I hadn't planned on it, seeing as how it ain't any of your business."
"Not my business?" her whisper was shrill. "You and I had sex less than a week ago."
"And?"
"I can't believe you would hurt me like this, Logan."
"I really don't give a shit what you believe," he countered, but felt a slight stitch of guilt at his harsh tone. He had already hurt one woman today, he really didn’t feel like making it two, but truth be told he just wasn't in the mood for this drama. He found it hard to believe he ever was willing to play such foolish games. He raked his hand through his hair, sighing into the phone. "Look, Jeannie, I'm not in the mood for this shit right now."
"Fine." He heard her close a door. "But don't expect me to be around when you're tired of your new plaything."
Logan switched ears, his mouth thinning. "Plaything? I thought 'Ro was your friend."
"So did I." He could almost see her pout. "But I guess she feels otherwise."
"Playing victim are we, Red?"
She gasped. "I am not playing anything! I'm the one being used and mistreated. She treats Scott better than she treats me! She has him completely snowed into thinking she can do no wrong. And you…she knew about you and me, but that didn't stop her from making a move. You all used me," she said softly, her voice cracking.
He hated when she cried, it made him feel like a brute. Jean had a knack for seeming impossibly fragile when it suited her. "We used each other, kiddo, and before you get all weepy, do me a favor and remember one tiny little detail you seem to like to omit."
"What's that?"
"You chose Scott."
"I know." She said morosely. "And I do love him."
"Well, good then." Logan was growing exceedingly weary of the conversation. "It's settled. You love Scooter. Wonderful."
"But, Logan, I love you too."
"Don't." His voice was hard. It disturbed him how much it meant to him that someone said those words. He'd been without that kind of tenderness for so long and he craved it desperately. Jean knew that and too often used it against him, but for some reason tonight the words sounded hollow to his ears; untrue. "Jean, you and Scott are what you should be focused on. We had some good naked fun together that we both enjoyed and neither regret so let's leave it at that. It was fun, it was good, it‘s done."
"I'll always care about you, Logan." She whispered.
"And me you," he said. He meant it. Jean would always be dear to him, even if she was a pain in the ass from time to time.
"Friends?"
"Course."
"Good. Then as a friend I think you should know Ororo's sleeping with someone besides you."
The room instantly narrowed, darkening to a hazy red hue for Logan and his blood ran cold in his veins. "Who?" Whoever it was, was fucking dead!
"I don't know, but she showed up at Scott's room and demanded the X-Wing. She was barely dressed. Skimpy clothes, looking like…well, let's just say she looked ready."
Logan's hand tightened on the phone. "Where?"
"What?"
"Where was she taking the plane?"
"How should I know?"
"Find out."
"How?"
His voice was a snarl. "Scott." Scott would know. Ororo trusted Scott. Logan felt like punching something again.
"I am not waking him up just to find out where Storm went." She used her stubborn voice.
"Fine, then read his fucking mind."
"Lo--"
"Do it!" he growled into the phone.
"Ok, ok. Hang on." She put the phone down. A moment later she picked it back up. "All I got was Boston, maybe the Academy or that bar…nowhere specif--"
Logan pressed END. He knew where she was.
Lorna moved her hips back and forth to the measured beat of the band, nodding her head and serving drinks, bouncing around behind the bar. She was really enjoying herself. Ali and Ororo were a riot. Between their jokes, often lewd, and their playful banter it was clear that their friendship was built on a strong, unbreakable bond.
She glanced up towards the stage where Ororo was currently dancing, her body undulating and moving sensuously to the slow bass the band was giving her. The long legged vixen was working the crowd of mostly males and some females like a pro. Money literally littered the stage.
"She's really good," Lorna remarked to Alison.
Ali nodded, nursing her beer. "She should be. I taught her."
"Really?" Lorna gave Ali a speculative look.
"Yes really." Ali laughed good naturedly. With her hard ass chains and leather look it was understandably difficult to picture her writhing and swinging around a pole like a sex kitten, but before she adopted her midnight locks she'd had honey tresses that fell to her waist, little money and a desire to eat, so she'd taken up stripping. It had paid the bills, put food in her belly and made her some interesting friends. But that had all been before Art; before everything had changed. She closed her eyes for a moment, fighting to keep the memories at bay. After a calming breath Ali opened her eyes, seeming to any that saw her to be as relaxed as ever. “Whoo hoo! Shake that ass, Munroe!”
Ororo crawled across the stage, swinging her head around, causing damp tendrils of her hair to cling to her sweat slicked face and bosom. She felt invigorated and intoxicated. She rolled back, writhing in a sexy shimmy that earned her several bills tossed onto the stage. She made no move to collect the money, however, because this wasn't about that. This was about her feeling confident. Logan's rejection had shaken her solid foundation and left her questioning herself.
Something she had fought all of her life to be able to do was to be comfortable in her own skin. Seeing as how she was black with white hair and blue eyes, long legs and had been gawky for most of her life, strange looks were often tossed her way; it had taken her years to become les self conscious about her appearance, and even longer to become a self assured woman confident in her sexuality.
In the span of a few moments Logan had undone all of that and made her, once again, feel inadequate and unattractive. It was a hurt that went deep; deeper because it came from Logan, and deeper still than she wanted to think about for that same reason.
His opinion of her shouldn't matter that much. It shouldn't make her want to cry thinking that maybe a woman like Jean was more to his liking; a woman that would never think to initiate sex on a motorcycle. Proper, demure, easily dominated. The thing was that she had wanted him to dominate her, and for a split second he had, but then he had pushed her away and shut himself off. It was humiliating to think how close she had come to letting him see how much he meant to her. She would have gone submissive for him. What that meant, he could never know.
Shaking herself to rid those unwanted thoughts Ororo moved across the stage, taking the toe of her foot and placing it under a very attractive patron's chin, tilting his head so that he had to look at her. He licked his lips. She leaned over the stage, eliciting hoots and hollers from her audience.
Across the club Ali began clearing off the bar top, taking the glasses and bottles, handing them to Lorna and instructing she put them on the floor, ignoring the complaints of the drinkers. Lorna raised a brow, asking, "What are you doing?"
Ali glanced over her shoulder towards the door, a semi curve to her lips. "A bar-fight just walked in."
Lorna stood on tiptoe, peering in the direction Ali gestured. "Oh, my," she breathed, her hand fluttering to her chest.
Logan’s broad, muscular frame filled the threshold, his grizzled face was a mask of scarcely controlled rage, his lips curled back revealing long incisors and his hands flexed at his sides. His slate steel eyes never flickered or strayed from their target.
Ali jumped on top of the bar and shouted through her megaphone, " Heads up, O!!"
Ororo snapped her head up, her blue eyes finding Logan's nearly black ones across the room unerringly. She froze, momentary fear clutching her heart. She had never seen a man look so savage before. “Shit.” she breathed, for lack of anything else that came to mind.
He started towards her.
The urge to flee was near overwhelming, but she refused to be cowed, instead she rose to her feet, her hands on her hips, facing him boldly. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, feigning confidence that she did not truly feel.
Logan damn near lost the tenuous grip he had on his control when Ororo stood, staring at him, daring him with her eyes to come and get her. Did she have any idea how volatile he was at that moment? How every second on the road had been hell for him, thinking that she might be moaning beneath some other man, that someone else was making her weep with pleasure. He growled in his throat, the sound rumbling in his chest.
He snarled viciously, shoving several people aside.
“Hey, pal!” A larger man whirled, swinging a beefy fist, clearly displeased at Logan’s rough shove.
“I ain’t yer pal!” Crack! Logan never even broke stride, his fist smashing against the other man’s mouth. One of the man’s friends jumped onto Logan’s back, punching him in the head only to fall away quickly, yowling in pain and holding his busted hand.
“Fight!” The cry went up and like a match on tinder the bar erupted into an all out free for all brawl. Chairs and barstools went flying, fists and feet kicked and punched. Logan spit a mouthful of blood onto the floor after one of the fighters landed a sucker blow to his face with a chair.
Some of the women screamed, running from the club while the men belted it out. A few stayed in the tussle, dishing out some high heeled punishment of their own. Tables were flipped onto their sides and glasses flung.
“Oh, my God!” Lorna’s eyes widened. “What do we do?”
Ali’s laugh was downright overjoyed. “Every bar needs a good Christening!” She reached under the counter where she kept “Ole Faithful” a baseball bat she’d had since she was 12 years old. She crouched low and then Supermanned herself off of the bar top, landing smack dab in the middle of the battle royale.
Logan ignored most of the hits he took, keeping his eyes on Ororo. She was in a dangerous position, he knew, on that stage with a fight erupting on the floor. She made an enticing attraction for many of the drunken brawlers. He didn’t know if she was aware of the--”Fuck!”
A hand snaked out from the crowd, grabbing Ororo’s ankle and jerking roughly. That one hand was quickly joined by numerous others, seizing her and dragging her from the stage into the fray. Within a second she disappeared from his view, swallowed up in the skirmish.
“’Ro!” Logan’s trek became even more determined. “Move! Now!” -SNIKT- He sliced through two pool sticks and a flung barstool.
“Munroe!” Ali yelled, swinging her bat. She kicked a groper in the nuts, swearing and laughing at the same time. “Munroe!”
Ororo couldn’t breathe. So many people were clutching at her, groping, tearing at her hair and clothes. She could feel the tension mounting, feel the pressure building. Something somewhere had to give. “Let go!” she ordered, her eyes snapping white. She didn’t want to hurt these people, but she would. Her palm busted a nose and her knee struck soft tissue. “Hands off!”
Logan could feel the hairs on his body rise up, taste the acrid Ozone building in the air. “Christ.” Thunder cracked over head.
Ali smashed her bat into the front window. “Yo, Storm! Clean house!”
Cool air touched Ororo’s skin. She hadn’t heard Alison’s shout, but she felt the wind and that was enough for her to regain composure and focus. She pushed away another set of hands, using bits of electricity to drive the point home.
Ali dove behind the bar, wrapping her arm around Lorna as she did. They pressed their backs to the wall as the glasses began to rattle. Ali turned to Lorna. “You may wanna cover your ears.”
“Shit.” Logan dropped back, sinking his claws into the floorboards as bodies lifted and were tossed about overhead, flung through the now open window by raging winds. He winced as a table rolled across the room smacking him in the head. He internally debated the haphazardness of that smack versus any deliberation on Storm’s part. He met the glowing white gaze of Storm rising to her feet across the room. Seeing her slight smirk he knew the table upside the head hadn’t been all that accidental.
“Nice!” Ali stood, clapping her hands. She turned to the stage where the four band members still sat, their mouths slightly agape and eyes wide. “So, what do you say to next weekend?” They scrambled off the stage running for the door. “So that’s a no then?” She called after them.
Ororo smoothed her skirt and adjusted her shirt, doing her level best to ignore Logan, who was still coming towards her looking like he wanted to rip the room apart.
Sirens blared in the distance. “You weren’t kidding,” Lorna murmured as she stood, brushing scattered peanuts from her hair where the bowls had tipped and dumped.
“Nope.” Alison replaced Ole Faithful back into its housing. “Come on, Lorna, let’s go meet and greet the boys in blue.” She gave Logan a brief look, then Ororo. “Those two need a minute.” She gave Ororo a wink and a thumbs up as she passed.
“Ali--” Ororo began but was cut off.
“What the fuck was that?” Logan demanded, finally reaching her, gripping her arm and hauling her up against him.
“Let go.” Ororo’s eyes were like ice. Ignore the hard chest and broad shoulders, she mentally instructed. Ignore the dark eyes full of intensity. And definitely ignore that stupid flutter in your stomach; probably just gas anyway. Ignore, ignore, ignore.
His face was implacable, as was his grip.
“Go away, Wolverine.” She tried without success to yank her arm away.
His fingers tightened, biting into her skin. “Damn it, ‘Ro. What the hell were you trying to accomplish?”
“I wasn’t trying to accomplish anything,” she lied. “I was just dancing, having fun. Not that it is any of your damn business.”
“It is my business.”
“No, it’s not!”
He pulled her tighter. “Is.”
She gasped when his hand slid along her back, over her short skirt, cupping her ass. “Stop it.”
“Why?” His smile was cruel. “You seem to enjoy flaunting your ass. This is the kind of attention you want, right?”
She flushed furious red. “Back off, Wolverine.” She shoved at him. “I’ll fry your hairy ass, I swear to God I will.”
“I’ll heal,” he snapped back. “You wanna play strumpet, Storm, then you gotta face the consequences.”
“I am not playing anything.” She retorted, her breathing shallow. “It’s you that seems to like the games.” She looked away, hating that her hurt was showing.
Logan’s grip softened, his eyes searching her face. “I’m not playin’ games with you, darlin’.”
She ignored that comment, instead her inner thoughts rolling in turmoil. How dare he show up, manhandle her and act like he had any say over what she did. He had no right to look at her like that; like he gave a shit. She knew better. “What are you even doing here?” she demanded angrily.
Just how exactly he planned to answer that was taken out of his hands when Alison and Lorna returned through the door, running full tilt. “Move it!” Alison shouted.
Lorna waved her hand, the tables and chairs sliding across the room, barricading the door and open window.
“What is it?” Logan asked, immediately in ready-mode, placing himself in front of Storm.
“Some group of anti-mutant wackos just showed, followed the cops in.” Ali stated, distaste coloring her words. “Fuckers are armed.”
“Armed?” Ororo questioned, shouldering Logan.
“To the teeth,” Ali confirmed. “The cops bailed.” She wrinkled her nose. “So much for protect and serve, huh. Guess if you’re a mutie than you’re on your own.”
“How many?” Logan asked, his quick mind already working through attack/counterattack scenarios.
“A fucking lot,” Ali replied, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
Ororo moved around Logan, touching her friends arm. “Ok?”
Ali shook her head. “I am not losing this place,” her eyes shone. “We worked so hard.”
Logan’s ears twitched, picking up at least a dozen voices. Young. Inexperienced. He could take ‘em.
As if sensing his thoughts Ororo turned towards him. “We can’t risk killing them.” As much as they may want to. Mutant relations was fragile as it was. Killing humans was a big no-no, even in self defense.
“Come out and play, Muties!” Bullets struck wood, sending them to the floor.
“Damn it.” Ali covered her head, barely avoiding the Budweiser clock as it fell from the wall.
“Can I at least hurt ‘em now?” Logan demanded.
“No.” Ororo lifted her head from beneath her arms, her eyes were swirling from cerulean to arctic white. “What do you want to bet that grapefruit sized hail deters these redneck assholes and sends them home crying to mommy?”
Thunder echoed, loud and frightening, causing the people outside serious apprehension. Lightning streaked from the heavens, lighting the night sky bright as day. “Leave now!” she called. “Before you really piss me off!” Hail began to fall, small pellets at first, tinking against the vehicles in the parking lot, but soon dull thuds and breaking glass were heard as the frozen pellets increased in size and velocity.
“Some days I just love you, Munroe.” Ali smiled gratefully when the men began entering their cars, cursing and squealing tires.
“You know they’ll probably just come back with more people,” Lorna pointed out, getting to her feet slowly. “Ms. Frost says that for every step towards tolerance we make, someone is eager to shove us back two more. Makes me wish--” Lorna gasped, her body jerking forward as a bullet tore through her back, spraying blood across Ororo’s face.
“Lorna!” Ororo caught her before she hit the ground. “No, oh, no!” She placed both hands over the oozing wound. “Lorna!”
Lorna’s hands curled around Ororo’s. Her green eyes blinked rapidly, pain etched on her pretty face. “Ow.” she tried to joke.
The smell of gasoline filled their nostrils. “Shit.”
Logan moved to the barricaded window. He peered through the crack out into the parking lot. Four cars, a jeep and a van. Headlights out on all of them. They were pouring gasoline and kerosene from the ajar vehicle doors, the slight incline of the drive allowing the liquid to race down and pool against the building. “We got flame!” He shouted as a match hit the pavement, igniting the trail.
Ali raced to the back, grabbing fresh towels. She dropped to her knees beside Storm, pressing the wound.. “Oh, Goddamnitalltofuckinghellfuckingmotherfuckingbastards!”
Ororo let Ali take over trying to staunch the bleeding She held out her hand, gesturing for Logan’s cell. He tossed it to her. She pressed the circled X near the CALL button, dropping the phone beside Alison. “The X-Men are on their way.” She turned towards Logan, their eyes holding. Any issues between them would wait until later. “Now we hurt them.”
-SNIKT-
