Knowing that no studying would be done on such a glorious morning, Charles had given them the day off. A rare event that was immediately and gratefully taken advantage of. Footballs and Frisbees were tossed back and forth across the front lawn. Bathing suits were donned and loungers such as Kitty and Rogue sunned by the pool, Colossus helped some of the younger students set up a volleyball net and a game of ’mutantball’ was being organized by Bobby and Warren. Xavier’s was thrumming with happy activity.
The hard slam of a beer bottle against wood cracked loudly across the front porch drawing Kurt’s glowing amber gaze away from the chess pieces he had been studying carefully and up towards the feral mutant in the doorway, a thunderous scowl on his already hard face.
“Guten morgen, Wolverine,” Kurt greeted, his accent turning the ‘w’ of Logan’s codename into a ‘v’.
Logan grunted absently in response, his dark eyes locked intently onto the occupants of the front driveway. He propped one booted foot against the table on which his nearly finished beer rested. He leaned forward, one elbow propped on a denim clad knee as he watched the activity in the front yard, his scowl deepening further still.
Ororo, dressed in a white bikini and bright orange sarong, looking as radiant as the sun, was listening to something One-Eye was saying as he hosed suds off of one of three large black Hummer SUVs the pair were washing.
In response to whatever comment Cyclops had made, she tossed her soaked sponge at their team leader, who ducked and shifted the hose so that he sprayed it full force in her direction.
A quick evasive sidestep and a blast of wind turned the spray back on the wielder, who gave a startled bark as his face was drenched, causing him to drop the hose.
Ororo quickly snatched up the watery weapon, and wielding it like a six-shooter she drawled out, “Do you yield?”
“Yes, yes,” Cyclops shook his wet hair, laughing. He pulled his soaked tank over his head revealing a rock hard abdomen and smooth chest. “I surrender.”
Ororo nodded, satisfied. “Good.” She moved around the Hummer, her hips an artlessly sensual sashay in her sarong. She lifted her hands near Scott’s tall frame and Logan scented the rising Ozone from where he stood as she turned the winds around her and Scott into a microburst of heated air, drying them almost instantly.
“Back to work,” Scott said nudging Ororo‘s shoulder with his own. He picked up the offending sponge that started the impromptu water fight from the pavement. “We make a pretty good team,” he commented, studying the gleaming vehicle.
Placing her hands on her hips Ororo studied their handiwork as well. “Yeah, not too shabby.”
Logan growled under his breath, hearing every word of the conversation as if the two were standing directly beside him instead of fifty feet away in the drive.
Kurt following Logan’s steady gaze murmured an impartial, “Ororo and Scott seem to be spending a lot of time together lately.”
Another noncommittal grunt. “Hadn’t noticed.”
In truth he had noticed and it irked the shit out of him. Ever since their return from sea two weeks ago Ororo and Scott had become rather chummy. It started with Scott helping her get settled into the mansion again by taking her shopping for clothing and furniture. Apparently some random amusing shit must have occurred on their little trip because when they got back they were both laughing about some man in a chicken suit outside of a video store. It made no sense to anyone who heard the story, inciting the old cliché line of ,“You had to be there” from both X-Men.
Then came the Danger Room workouts. Being team leader Cyclops was given the responsibility of working Storm through all of the DR modifications that had been made in her absence. Although Scott had been ordered by Xavier to run Ororo through her paces it did nothing to alleviate Logan’s irritation over it. He couldn’t explain exactly why it bugged the fuckin’ shit out of him, but it did.
What annoyed him the most, though he’d never admit it, was that Scott’s and Ororo’s building friendship hadn’t remained confined within the extra DR sessions, but had expanded beyond that.
He remembered waking two nights ago, hot and thirsty in his room, a disquieting dream about a past long forgotten disturbing his slumber. Pulling his red boxers on he had wandered downstairs for something cold to drink. Finding a beer in the back of the fridge he had downed it in the kitchen in hurried gulps, hoping the familiar tastes of the present would help keep the past at bay.
He had been on his way back upstairs to his room when he had heard the faint murmur of voices coming from the entertainment room.
Sliding open the dark oak doors had revealed Ororo seated comfortably on a fluffy recliner, looking impishly sexy in her X-tra large tee shirt and boy short underwear, munching popcorn while Scott lay on the couch, his head on the armrest, catching flung kernels in his open mouth.
“What’re you two still doing up?” He had asked, sounding much too much like an irate parent for his liking.
“Watching Mystery Science Theatre 3000,” Ororo had informed him without looking up from the flickering screen.
Logan had stood behind the couch for a full five minutes with his arms crossed over his bare chest, watching what appeared to be lame puppets and bad jokes absorb the attention of the room’s other two occupants. Both Ororo and Scott found it all intensely amusing, chuckling quietly and mimicking lines between each other. It was annoying as all hell to stand there while they bantered back and forth, for the most part ignoring him.
Twice, however, he had caught Ororo’s eyes stray towards him and that was what held him there.
After a time Scott had sat up, holding his temple, flashing an apologetic look at Ororo. “Jean’s awake.”
She had chuckled softly and mouthed “Go get her, tiger.”
Logan, never one to miss an opportunity had taken Scott’s vacated seat. He lounged lazily against the couch cushions, watching the television without interest, instead wondering if Ororo’s curled legs were as soft as they looked. His fingers had twitched in response to his thoughts.
Not long after Scott had left the room, Ororo had gotten to her feet and placed the green, ceramic popcorn bowl on the coffee table. She moved to walk past, muttering a soft goodnight, but Logan had snagged her wrist as she did. “What’s the rush, darlin’?”
Her blue eyes were almost amethyst in the dark. “I’m tired, so I’m going to bed.”
Logan brushed her pulse point, feeling it leap beneath the pad of his thumb. “You ain’t all that tired.” His voice was a sexy rumble of sound. With a quick jerk he had her toppled over him. Gripping the back of her head he began threading his fingers through her long, free flowing hair.
She made a small sound when his lips claimed hers, but he silenced any words she may have wanted to say with the slick invasion of his tongue into her popcorn flavored mouth.
He remembered all too well the way his gut had clenched the moment her posture had relaxed from stiff to pliant and the surge of heat through his body when he felt her hands clutch his shoulders. He had growled something unintelligible against her plump mouth, pulling her flush against him so that she could feel how hard she made him. He had trailed biting kisses along the sweet curve of her chin up to her ear where he had rasped, “Let’s take this ta my room.”
As if he’d flipped a switch her passion filled eyes snapped back to arctic blue and pushed back eyeing him warily. “Your bed is not that cold, Wolverine.”
Her cryptic words were nothing compared to the perplexity of her next actions.
Slowly Ororo had moved so that she straddled him, holding his attention with her icy gaze. She moved slowly across his lap, the thin barrier of their underwear doing little to hide the heat both were giving off. She undulated her hips in a slow circle, making him groan, long and low in his throat. His head dropped back against the cushions of the couch, his glittering eyes heavy lidded.
His fingertip bit into her thighs reflexively. She smiled a smile that had turned his insides; it was a smile that said she knew things that he never would. With another groan inducing roll of her hips Ororo had leaned into him so that their lips touched as she spoke, so much like that night at the Blazing Saddles that Logan almost smelled the musky aroma of sensual incense in the air.
“You couldn’t handle me,” she had whispered with a sultry flick of her tongue across his upper lip, abruptly dismounting, leaving the room and him. Logan had sat hard and aching on the couch for a good twenty minutes after she had left.
Now, watching her playfully elbow Cyclops as they moved onto the next vehicle to be washed, something twisted in his stomach. Something ugly and unfriendly…and dangerous. Like Scooter could fuckin’ handle her, he thought savagely.
As much as Logan had chased Jean, when she had decided to be with Scott it hadn’t bugged him this much. It had barely bothered him at all, to tell the truth, maybe because he still got in an occasional romp, but, even if that were to stop he didn’t think he’d care. At least not enough to feel like he wanted to gut someone, the way Ororo all buddy-buddy with Scooter set him on edge.
Logan crossed his other arm over his knee, thinking. It wasn’t like One-Eye had a thing for Storm, he mused, because all Jeannie had to do was enter the room and Cyclops, as always, was all about her.
Hell, Jeannie seemed completely unperturbed by the whole thing, taking advantage of the extra DR sessions Scott had to give Ororo to get in some extra little workouts of her own.
Logan felt his mouth twist sardonically at that. Here he was irritated with Scott for spending time with ‘Ro, a woman that he had no claim over, while he was fuckin’ his girl. It was ridiculously backwards logic, but it didn’t change what it was.
He had Jeannie. He wanted Ororo.
The hair on the back of Ororo’s neck stood on end as goose-bumps rode up her back and down her arms, making her shiver, a clear indication that Logan was nearby. She paused in her “wax-on” impersonation, her sunglass shielded eyes scanning the grounds for any sign of the man who had tormented her sleep for the past few nights.
“On the porch,” Scott said from his crouch beside the tires, where he was diligently working on the rims.
Ororo swung her head towards him. “Huh?”
“Wolverine. He’s on the porch.” He jutted his chin in the mansion’s general direction.
“Ah.” Ororo leaned across the hood, asking, “Jean’s telepathy rubbing off?”
“Nope.” Scott dropped his scrub brush back into the bucket, standing. “You just get this expression on your face when Wolverine’s around.”
“Really?” She scrunched her nose. “What kind of expression?”
Scott rubbed the back of his neck and the corner of his mouth twitched. He shook his head as though to say ‘never mind’.
“Come on, out with it,” Ororo demanded with mock sternness.
The ruby lenses of his wraparound glasses caught the sunlight, sparking fire. “Like a deer that knows it’s being hunted,” he replied finally.
Surprised by the accuracy of that statement and how closely it mirrored how she felt where Wolverine was concerned Ororo was quiet for a moment. “Well, then.”
“Look, Storm, I didn’t mean to overstep-”
She waved her hand. “You didn’t. Trust me.” Turning, so that the porch was within the scope of her view, she asked, “Does he make you feel like that?”
“No.” Scott replied easily. “But then again, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to get into my pants.”
Ororo smirked, lifting an eyebrow. “Just pretty sure?”
He tossed his towel at her. “Damn sure,” he corrected.
“Uh-huh.” A flash of burgundy caught the corner of her eye and Ororo turned so that she faced the front porch directly. Jean, dressed in an elegant green one piece, was strolling along the cobblestone walk, holding a towel and a folded lawn chair in her arms. She stopped below the railing, tilting her head to say something to Logan, who smiled his feral smile and leaned against the white banister, a mostly empty beer dangling from his fingers. His dark eyes raked over the redhead blatantly. Logan was many things, but shy and subtle were not among them.
Ororo directed her gaze back to Scott who stood very straight, and very still, watching. He made no sound or gesture that would indicate that Jean talking with Logan bothered him, but Ororo felt it. Like a cold draft, the hurt radiated from him.
Mentally shaking himself and looking away, Scott said flatly, “Let’s get back to work.”
That simple request revealed to Ororo a startling facet of Scott’s personality. Scott, overachiever, workaholic, stick in the mud, uptight dick head, used work as a diversion and a coping mechanism. His anal retentive attention to detail may very well be a characteristic he would always carry, but his seemingly cold indifference was nothing more than a front.
Determined to not let Jean and Logan ruin Scott’s morning, Ororo shook her head. “No, Scott.” She dropped her sponge to the pavement. “No more work today.”
He caught the hard tone in her voice. “You okay?”
“Fine.” She smiled reassuringly. “Better than okay. I feel like flying.”
“Sure. You go ahead. I’ll finish uuuuuu---whoa!” The rest of his words were lost as Ororo spread her arms, commanding the winds to obey and bow to her will as she lifted them both off the ground. “Storm!” Scott flailed for a moment.
Ororo moved in closer, wrapping her arms under his and linking her fingers behind his back. “Relax,” she encouraged, her blue eyes fading white behind polarized lenses. “Trust me.”
Scott nodded. “Alright.” Unsure of exactly where the appropriate place was to put his hands he settled for her shoulders.
She waited until his breathing slowed, and he was more comfortable being thirty feet in the air. “Ready?” she asked, her tone carrying a hint of amusement.
“Let’s go.”
“Hang on.” Tilting her head back, she lifted them higher into the sky until they hovered several hundred feet over the mansion.
Scott shouted excitedly as Ororo twirled them in a diagonal freefall. His happy, genuine laughter echoed across the courtyard, drawing several speculative gazes to the skyward pair.
“What the hell?” Logan swore, leaping the banister and stalking into the front lawn, watching with narrowed eyes as Ororo spun Scott away from her only to catch him with an upward gust and drop him again. Like a fuckin’ Scooter Yo-Yo, he thought with a snarl.
Jean followed Logan across the lawn, her own emerald eyes snapping with a mixture of amusement and concern. “If she kills my boyfriend, I swear I will mind wipe her and make her think she’s on a reality tv show for the rest of her natural life.”
“He ain’t complaining,” Logan pointed out.
“He wouldn’t,” Jean retorted. “Scott is too nice for his own good.”
Scott wrapped his arms around Ororo as they spun twister-fashion across the sky. “Yeah, Scotty boy is a real fuckin’ saint.” No way was that man not thinking about how good Ororo felt in his arms, Logan fumed. He knew from experience how fucking good she felt. His earlier assumption that Scott didn’t find Ororo attractive was quickly being eroded.
Jean tilted her head. “What the heck is your problem?”
“I ain’t the one with the problem, Red. It's your boyfriend up there.” With that Logan did an abrupt about-face, stalking back towards the mansion and his case of beer.
Jean watched him go, confused by his anger. Sometimes that man was impossible. She returned her attention to Scott and Ororo, but Logan popped into her mind intermittently. Was he jealous? She wondered. And if he was, should she be?
A quick surface psi-scan of Scott’s mind told her that he was simply enjoying the ride Ororo was providing for him. Nothing more. Satisfied, Jean turned away, intent on finding Logan and soothing away whatever was making him so grumpy, and perhaps being soothed herself. Whenever Logan was well and truly pissed, he was dynamite in the bedroom. It was a lure she couldn’t quite resist. Another quick glance towards the sky, caused a guilty wrench in her heart. She quickly looked away.
The entire walk through the mansion’s corridors she inwardly swore at herself, repeatedly; calling herself a whore and slut, but fifteen minutes later her inner berating did nothing to prevent her from tumbling into Logan’s bed and moaning his name in helpless wantonness.
She shouldn’t be doing this, she thought even as she encouraged Logan’s hungry kisses. She loved Scott, she truly did. A gasp and a moan. It was wrong. She spread her legs. So wrong. She clawed his back and died a little inside as he filled her in ways she believed Scott never could.
She hated herself some days. She really did.
Ororo sat at the kitchen table, quietly feasting on a stem of grapes, a fashion magazine laid out in front of her. She idly turned the pages, not really reading or even paying attention to the photo-shopped women pouting sexily for the Maytag man wearing Calvin Klein underwear with washboard stomachs. She chewed absentmindedly, swallowing reflexively, her mind a million miles away. Well, more like a staircase, a hallway, and two bedrooms away, but definitely not on the Elle spread.
After her impromptu flight, Scott had gone to talk with the Professor about adding some new Danger Room programs, incorporating teamwork while flying. She had teased him about never having his mind on anything but work, to which he had surprised her by teasing back, “If I didn’t think about work, I’d be thinking about how close I am to you, and that could get awkward.”
Surprise, surprise, Scott had a sense of humor and self mockery. It was good that he had fun, Ororo thought with a trace of sadness. He deserved it. She had never really paid Scott much mind when she had first joined the X-Men, and even less the more she was on the team. He was so wrapped up in Jean and she with Logan that it was a nauseating spectacle to watch, so she hadn’t. Instead she had spent her time with Kitty and Henry (whom she really should call and see how he was doing over at Emma Frost’s Academy) and fighting her own attraction to Wolverine. She snorted a bit at that. Nothing like fighting a losing battle, she thought, remembering the brief sting of hurt she had felt earlier, returning to the mansion after parking the washed cars in the garage.
On her way up to her room Ororo had caught sight of Jean leaving Logan’s room with her hair mussed and lips puffy. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had transpired behind the closed door.
She sighed heavily before popping another grape into her mouth. If she was smart, she’d mind her own damn business and steer clear of the Scott/Jean/Logan train wreck, but, having seen new sides to Scott lately, she couldn’t. She couldn’t sit back and wait for him to realize that he was being screwed over by the woman he loved. It wouldn’t be fair to him if she did that. She was his friend, and that meant something to her.
“What’s got yer panties in a bunch?”
Ororo jumped, swinging her head around. Logan leaned casually against the doorframe, watching her. Her breath caught, as it had the tendency to do where Wolverine was concerned, in her throat. Dark, wet hair was slicked back from a clean shaven face and thick, roped arms were crossed across a white Xavier Tee, stretched to accommodate broad pectorals and wide shoulders. His eyebrow rose at her open mouthed perusal and she flushed.
“What?” she snapped, wincing at her own pitch. The urge to fan herself had to be forcefully quelled.
He smirked, his gaze flicking towards the window and the once blue sky beyond the glass, now darkening with angry clouds.
Cursing mentally, Ororo took a calming breath and searched for inner serenity. Within moments the clouds scattered and the sun once more flooded the kitchen. She gave him a, ‘There, happy now?’ look and returned to her grapes.
She nearly spit one across the table into his smug face when the chair across from her scraped the tile and he sat down, rocking the chair back on its hind legs and propping his feet up.
“What’re you reading?” He lifted the magazine by the corner, curling his lip in distaste when he saw the title.
She closed it abruptly. “It’s Kitty’s,” she replied automatically. “My Scientific America isn’t here yet.”
He shrugged. “Neither’s my Playboy. Think the mailman has some weird fetish?”
Try as she might, she couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her. Their mailman was a thin, frail looking man who was surely decades past retirement. “Doubtful.”
After a short silence and uncomfortable stare by Logan, she demanded, “What?”
“You gonna tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“Woman,” he growled. “Are you dense. I asked what was bothering you.”
She met his hard stare with one of her own. “Right now, you are.”
His lips curved.
Damn it, no man should be that preposterously sexy. She slammed her hand against the table.
He chuckled.
“Ass.” She cursed aloud.
“Anytime,” he drawled, lowering his feet and leaning towards her.
She could smell the clean scent of his shampoo from his recent shower. Ororo rose to her feet hurriedly, moving to the sink to deposit her plate, hoping that he wouldn‘t see any of the lingering hurt she felt. “You’d think one woman a day would be enough, even for you,” she retorted brusquely.
Logan winced internally. Shit.
Seeing an opportunity for a bit of pettiness, and not “too big” to take advantage, Ororo stepped back to the table and murmured saucily, “You could probably learn a thing or two from Scott. Now he knows how to treat a woman.”
Logan shot to his feet, his eyes snapping. “If he knows so much about pleasing women, why the fuck is his girl still panting after me?”
Ororo cocked her head, seemingly contemplating that. After a pause, she leaned closer, whispering, “Pleasing the body is easy, Wolverine. I good showerhead can take care of that better than most men. Pleasing the heart, well, that’s an altogether different sort of pleasure for a woman.” She pat his back platonically as she passed. “You’ll understand someday, whenever you decide to grow up and be a real man.” Once through the door she said softly, knowing he could still hear her. “Like Scott.”
She smiled with satisfaction when she heard an aggrivated snarl and round of “flamin’ fucks” from the kitchen. Her steps took on a lighter bounce and outside a rainbow spread over the mansion.
“Hey, Storm.” Scott rounded the corner, heading her way.
“Hey.” She greeted, still smiling. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. Gonna grab a sandwich.” He started past her.
“Oh no. You do not want to go in there right now,” she laughed, tugging his arm.
“Huh? Why not? I’m hungry.”
“Come on. Take me to town and I’ll buy you some Burger King.”
A sucker for a Whopper, Scott followed. He tossed a curious glance over his shoulder when he heard the distinct sound of a plate smashing against the wall. He opened his mouth to ask, but Ororo silenced him.
“Don’t ask.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Laughing, linked arm and arm, the pair set out for town under the feral sheen of glittering black eyes and a deeply troubled set of green ones.
