The sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs along with the aroma of eggs and bacon tempted her to peer her eyes over the edge of the quilt, however. Scott, across the room, was quietly closing the door behind him, already dressed for the day in a pair of dark tan khaki shorts and red Nike tee-shirt, fresh from the shower. “Good morning, sunshine,” he said with a smile when he noticed her bleary eyes.
“If you say so,” she mumbled, tousling her sleep mussed hair as she sat up fully. She yawned loudly, stretching her arms over her head. “What time is it?”
“A little after 9.” Scott maneuvered around the counter, revealing a small tray laden with an abundance of steaming food. He placed it on the table, saying, “I didn’t know how you wanted your eggs, so I just scrambled them. Hope that’s alright.”
Ororo, stomach rumbling voraciously, rose and made her way to the table, where pancakes, scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, orange slices and coffee all begged to be eaten. She picked up an orange slice biting it with relish. “You made all this?”
“Yeah, went up to the main house a little while ago, figured you’d be hungry.” He went to the small cupboard and pulled out two mugs. “You like your coffee black, right?”
“Uh-huh.” Ororo shook her head, a wry smile on her face. “Lemme see if I got this straight; you’re gorgeous, intelligent, unfailingly loyal, a dynamite kisser and you can cook?” She gave him an incredulous look.
Scott flushed slightly but chuckled good naturedly. “Uhm, yeah, I guess.”
Ororo dropped to one knee, quickly grasping his hand between her two. “Scott Summers will you marry me?”
A throat being cleared loudly interrupted the duo before he could respond. They both turned towards the door where Jean stood, looking uncertain, displeased and jealous all at the same time. Her emerald eyes flicked over Ororo’s kneeled form, taking in the fact that she was wearing her pajamas and had obviously just awoken.
Ororo stood, meeting Jean’s gaze directly. “Morning, Jean.”
“Hello, Storm.” Jean’s voice was anything but welcoming. “What are you doing here?”
“Proposing.” She grinned broadly.
Jean didn’t appear amused. “Did you sleep here?” she demanded.
Ororo, still holding Scott’s hand, laughed throatily. “I wouldn’t call it sleeping exactly, but this is where I spent the night, yes.” She tried not to laugh out loud when she felt Scott’s warning squeeze on her fingers before he released her hand.
“What is it you need, Jean?” Scott asked idly, pulling out a chair for Ororo.
Jean appeared momentarily flustered at his blasé attitude.
“Jean?” He pressed.
“The Professor would like to meet with you.” She blurted, directing her attention fully on Scott. “In his office.”
“’Kay.” Scott took the seat across from Storm, helping himself to the stack of pancakes. He motioned for Ororo to pass him the syrup, which she did, licking the stickiness from her fingers.
Jean stood motionless for another minute, watching as both Scott and Ororo continued to eat as if she wasn’t even there. “Now.” She added almost as an afterthought.
Scott sighed, folding his napkin over his lap. “I’m sure it can wait until I have finished eating.”
“But”“
“Growing boy, needs food, shoo.” Ororo motioned with her hands.
Jean’s eyes snapped angrily. Had Storm just shooed her? Away from her own boyfriend?
*Scott*
Knowing Jean as well as he did, Scott knew she wasn’t going to leave without him in tow. He took another bite of sausage, slowly chewing, before standing and tossing his napkin onto his plate. He gave Storm an apologetic glance, which she brushed off with a warm smile; letting him know without words that she would be around if he needed her.
“After you,” he ushered Jean towards the door.
“Oh, Scott,” Ororo called after him, lifting her cup of coffee to hide her impish smirk. He paused, as did Jean, in the open doorway. “I’m doing laundry later today; if you want I can wash your Snoopies.”
Jean’s outraged gasp was cut off as Scott closed the door, but not before shooting Ororo a look that promised retribution from behind his visor.
Ororo shoveled another forkful of pancake into her mouth, her eyes on the napkin on Scott’s plate. His crumpled napkin. She grinned. The boy was making progress. Happily she continued to eat, humming as she did.
Scott’s shoulders ached from standing so ramrod straight. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He was in Professor Xavier’s main floor office, being reprimanded for skipping out on curfew, which he had expected, with Jean in the room, which he had not, with the Professor waiting patiently with steepled fingers for Scott to respond to his last statement.
“You want me to stop being friends with Storm?” Cyclops repeated, his voice dull.
Xavier sighed, flexing his fingers. “It is not the friendship itself that I have issue with, but it is her influence on you that causes concern.”
Scott’s jaw tightened.
Sensing his young student’s rising ire, Xavier said soothingly, “Scott you are a responsible, reliable young man, and strong leader. You, yourself must admit that staying out all night, at a bar none the less, is severely out of character for you.”
Scott turned towards Jean who was staring at her feet, abnormally quiet. She refused to meet his stare. He turned back to the Professor. “This is ridiculous.”
Jean’s head snapped up. “Scott, come on. You are not the type of guy that runs off in the middle of the day and just shrugs off your responsibilities. You never have been.”
“That’s right. And I didn’t do that yesterday either. We were given the day off,” he reminded her.
“Yes, but curfew”“
“Is for children. I am a twenty-four year old man.” He once more addressed Xavier, “Professor, I am more than capable of looking after myself. Obviously you think so too, or you would not put me in charge of the X-Men.”
Xavier’s eyes sharpened. “And it is due t that responsibility to the team that you can not allow yourself to be corrupted.”
Scott spoke with his familiar calm conviction. “With all due respect, sir, I fail to see how my friendship with Storm is any more likely to corrupt me than, let’s say, living in and working for a school funded by dirty money.”
Xavier sat back in his chair, clearly startled by Scott’s rebuttal. “Son, I feel it prudent to remind you that I am the founder of this school, of the X-Men, and the sole person that you must answer to. I should not need to remind you that I can make you abide by my rules with a mere thought.”
Jean’s eyes widened. Scott’s narrowed behind his lenses.
“And I should not need to remind you that I can take your head clean off your shoulders with my optic blast. You were the one that told me that as X-Men our powers were never to be used against one another, that it was up to us to set a better example, to teach a better way. So, which Professor Xavier is the real one? The one willing to sacrifice and work for a dream, or the one willing to manipulate his students minds into submission when they fail to see his way as the only way?”
Tense silence filled the Headmaster’s Office as Xavier and Scott stared one another down. When Scott refused to bend Xavier asked, “Is she worth risking your leadership position over?”
Scott glanced at Jean, wavering for only a second, then, “Yes.”
“She means that much to you, then?”
Again, “Yes.”
“Why?” That was Jean.
Scott exhaled. “Because she does.”
“I think it would be beneficial to this conversation if you were to more completely answer Jean, Scott. She is, after all, the woman you have professed to love above all others. Is that now untrue?”
“That is between Jean and me, Professor. No one else.”
“Normally, I would agree, however, your personal relationship problems seem to be affecting your better judgment. Perhaps if you and Jean worked out the issues you two are having, then you would no longer feel the need to cling so tightly to the pseudo-bond you’ve forged with Ororo.”
Jean stepped forward, her eyes luminous with unshed tears. “You don’t need her, Scott. You have me. If you need someone to talk to…I’m here.” She reached for his hands.
Scott’s gut clenched with intense longing. Why? Why did she have to be so damn beautiful? So achingly perfect to him? He closed his eyes, wishing he could make the pain and love just stop so that maybe just maybe he could think straight.
Xavier rolled back away from the desk. “I’ll leave you two to talk.”
“Wait.” Scott halted him. “What about Storm?”
Xavier frowned, his expression nearly unreadable. “I am uncertain as to what to do about Storm. She has changed much since she was with us last.”
“She’s always been a bit wild,” Jean said. “Her past is shadier than any of ours.”
“True,” Xavier murmured thoughtfully.
“Storm is no more wild and far less shady than Wolverine. If he’s a welcome member of the X-Men, then I fail to see why Storm wouldn’t be as well.” Scott interjected.
“Also true.” The Professor mulled. “Do you truly believe that Storm can be relied upon, trusted, and a team player once again?”
“More than Wolverine can be.” Scott verified.
“Very well.” Charles acknowledged. “The reason I made you leader, Cyclops, was because you showed tremendous strength of character and sound judgment. I will trust you now in this. You have given me some important issues to think on.”
“After what she did for us and SHIELD, how could you think anything else?” Scott asked aloud.
“They say leopards don’t change their spots,” Jean murmured.
Scott frowned. “Yes, that‘s what they say.” He removed his hands from hers. “Some things never change.” He nodded towards the Professor. “If we are finished here, I have Danger Room scenarios that need run through.”
“See to it, then.” Charles agreed. Scott nodded, leaving the office.
Jean caught up with him in the hall. “Wait, Scott.”
He turned. “What?”
She slowed her jog, stopping beside him. “Don’t you think we should talk?”
“About what?”
“About us.”
His voice was hard. “Is there even an ‘us’ to talk about anymore, Jean?”
Her face crumpled. “Oh, God, Scott, don’t say that.”
His gut twisted. He loved her so damn much. No matter what, it seemed, he loved her. “Don’t cry.” Internally wishing he had more reserve, he reached for her.
With her face buried in the crook of Scott’s neck Jean smiled.
Ororo took two steps back out of her bedroom, scanning the hallway both ways before stepping back through the threshold, her mouth parted in confusion and silent wonder. Roses, of every shade, littered her room. On her bureau, on her bed, on her vanity, everywhere. She reached her dresser, lifting a blood red rose from it’s crystal vase container, stroking the satin petals. She closed her eyes, inhaling the sweet scent.
Gently she returned the delicate flower back to its vase. Hesitantly she approached her bed where atop it a long, wrapped white box lay. She chewed her thumbnail absently, wondering if she should open it. Chances were there was some screw-up and the flowers and gift were for one of the other girls.
To hell with it, she thought, plopping onto the mattress, scattering rose petals as she tore into the paper. It was a garment box, she noted, shaking it loose and opening the lid. “Oh, wow….” Laying atop a bed of white tissue paper was a lovely peaches and cream gossamer silk dress. Ororo removed it reverently, letting the billowy material brush against her arms as she did. It was so soft it felt like liquid against her skin. She pressed it close, standing and twirling in a circle, feeling suddenly very girly.
She was reluctant to let the dress go, but she did, laying it back across the box. As she did she noticed a small cardboard note attached to the hastily torn away paper. She peeled it off, reading and then rereading the masculine scrawl.
To replace the dress I ruined.
-Logan.
Ororo’s fingers trembled. She gazed about her room, her earlier wonderment dwarfed by the realization that Logan, the Wolverine, was the person responsible for the flowers and stunning and obviously expensive dress in her room. She pressed her hand to her mouth dazedly. She tried to shake off the giddy warmth flowering in the pit of her stomach, but she couldn’t. The idea of him taking the time to arrange the flowers and leave her a note was beyond anything she would have believed him capable of.
She touched the silky-smooth fabric of the dress again, letting out a soft sigh. It was quite honestly the most lovely garment she’d ever seen. She shouldn’t accept it, however, it wouldn’t be right to take such an expensive gift. And besides, technically it had been Lorna’s dress that had sustained the damage. Even more pertinent than that was the question of what he would expect of her should she accept his gift. What signal would she be sending to him? That she would accept his advances as well? With a resigned sigh she closed the box with the dress still inside.
With one last look at the box on her bed she headed out to find Logan and tell him she couldn’t accept the dress as a gift or a peace offering, or anything else it was meant to be. The kitchen and halls were empty when Ororo strode through the mansion. It wasn’t until she reached the main living area that she ran across anyone in the large estate. “Hey, Kitty.” She greeted the younger X-woman who was channel surfing lazily on the couch.
The petite brunette briefly smiled at her, her goldfish-like teenage attention quickly caught and diverted by a fleshy chest on MTV. “Hey, Storm.”
Ororo too paused, glancing at the male specimen on the tube, mentally disapproving the smooth, baby oiled chest. She preferred dark hair covered broad pecs and thick biceps that exuded power and possession. Instantaneously flustered she asked hurriedly, “You seen Wolverine?”
“Uhn-uh. Why?”
“No reason.” So I can tear his clothes off with my teeth. Ororo couldn‘t quite curb that thought before it surfaced, making her feel flushed. “Ok, well, if you see him, tell him I was looking for him.”
“Sure, sure.” Kitty waved a hand vaguely, her eyes glued to the television.
Twenty minutes and four more rooms later Warren finally told her where Logan had gone. “Wolverine and Colossus had a mission. Some drug runners to take down, I think. They should be home by dinner.”
Ororo, feeling frustrated, returned to her room, where, once behind her closed door, she alternating between pacing and staring at the garment box. Normally not a girl that put any stock into material things her immediate fondness and want of the peaches and cream ensemble had more to do with the man who had left it for her than the dress itself, she reluctantly admitted. The idea of wearing it, feeling the cool silk against her skin, and knowing that it was Logan that had given it to her, well, honestly it made her blood feel heavy.
She really shouldn’t accept it…should she? If she did accept it would he think he’d somehow won one over on her? Would he feel vindicated and ignore her? What?
A sharp rap at her door broke the silence of her room.
Startled, she whirled towards the door, breathing a relieved, “Hi,” when she saw who it was.
“Hey there.” Scott pushed open the door. He stopped, taking in all the flowers. “Wow. What happened in here?”
“You wouldn‘t believe me if I told you,” Ororo wrinkled her nose. She moved the box aside and motioned for him to sit. “So, how bad was Xavier?”
Scott rubbed the back of his neck, not meeting her eyes as he lowered himself beside her. He sighed heavily.
“Ouch. That bad? What’d he do? Garbage detail for a week? Upped your fiber intake? Tell me.”
He shrugged. “The Professor told me I couldn’t be friends with you anymore.”
Ororo blinked, momentarily dumbfounded. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” She didn’t really know what to say to that. The X-Men were everything to Cyclops and Xavier was his mentor. She could only assume that he would follow the orders he was given. “Well, it’s been fun.” She tried to smile, but couldn’t. It really hurt, the idea of losing Scott.
He scooted up next to her. “Storm.”
“Hey, I understand,” she turned her face away, her back stiff. “I do, really.”
A strong hand tugged her arm. “Storm.” I told him I wouldn’t give you up.”
Ororo swiveled around, taken aback. “What?”
A rueful smile curved his lips. “Turns out I kind of like having you in my life.”
Ororo felt the sting of tears in her eyes but she quickly blinked them away. “I like being in your life too, Scott, but I don‘t want to create a hardship for you though.”
“Glad to hear it, because the real hardship would be giving up the best friend I‘ve ever had.” He leaned back, letting the moment evaporate. “So, you want to tell me what’s up with all these flowers?”
Ororo, taking his cue that the former conversation was over, answered with a blush. “They’re from Wolverine.”
He gaped, not bothering to hide his disbelief. “You’re kidding.”
She shook her head, biting her lower lip. “Nope.”
Scott whistled. “You were right, I don’t believe it.” He took in the array of exquisite roses, mildly shocked that Wolverine had it in him. It was hard to picture the growly Canadian with the perpetual chip on his shoulder and abrasive attitude buying several dozen roses, much less arranging them around Ororo’s bedroom.
“That’s not all.” Ororo said softly, interrupting his thoughts.
Scott lifted a brow. “There’s more?”
She flipped open the garment box, showing him the dress within, her appreciation for the design radiating from her.
“Try it on,” he encouraged.
“I shouldn’t.” Longing was evident in her voice.
“Why not?”
“I can’t keep this,” she rationalized, her fingers plucking at the sheer material.
“Why not?” he repeated.
“Because.” She floundered. Why couldn’t she keep it again? Oh, yeah, wearing the dress was like giving Logan permission to come onto her, telling him that she welcomed his advances. She explained as much to Scott. She left out how very much she wanted his advances, but wanted them to mean something aside from the desire to screw her sideways, but she should have known Scott would see it.
He watched her face carefully as she spoke. “Uh-oh.”
“What?” Ororo shifted position, still cradling the dress to her torso.
“You have it bad.” Scott observed.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Shut up.”
“See.”
Ororo groaned, scrunching her hair in her hands in an exaggerated pulling out motion. “The man makes me crazy.”
“I hear you there.” Scott said empathetically. “Pisses me right the hell off most days.”
“Yeah.” Ororo nodded enthusiastically. “He’s so arrogant.”
“Grouchy.”
“Temperamental.”
“Violent.”
“Moody.”
“Insubordinate.”
“Sexy.” That one slipped out before she could stop it.
“Oh yeah, very hot.” Scott rolled his eyes.
Ororo blushed to her roots. “Jesus, I’m in so much trouble.”
Scott’s humor faded as he studied her face. “You really do have it bad, don’t you.”
“Oh yeah.” She didn’t bother to deny it again.
“Sorry.” He said with genuine sympathy.
Ororo sighed, leaning against him for a hug. “Yeah, me too. Life would be so much easier if you and I could hook up.”
“Yeah.” He kissed her forehead. “It’s too bad we like each other so darn much. Maybe if you were a bigger bitch, then we wouldn’t have become such close friends. I blame you.”
“You’re a big help.” She grumbled.
He chucked her under her chin lightly. “Look, I’ve known Wolverine for awhile now, and I can honestly say no one gets under his skin like you do. I’m not real sure that’s a good thing, but the way I see it is that if you both make each other nuts, then there has to be something there, right. Maybe something worth checking into.”
Ororo’s mouth dropped. “Scott Summers, are you actually encouraging me to try and snag myself a Wolverine?”
“No.” He clarified. “I’m telling you to do what makes you happy.”
“But you just agreed he makes me crazy.”
“Storm, sometimes I think that maybe for you crazy is happy.”
She snorted derisively. “You’re an ass, Summers.”
“I know.”
“You just want me to bang him so your girlfriend wo--” Instantly she cringed. “Oh, my God, Scott, I didn’t mean that.”
He tried to shrug it off. The hurt was evident, however, in the stubborn set of his jaw.
She leaned back, looking up at him, imploring. “I mean it, I’m sorry about that.”
He nodded. “It’s ok.”
“No, no it isn’t.” She felt like such a shit. “I’m so sorry.”
“Storm, stop coddling me.”
“Ok.” She held up her hands, recognizing an order when she heard one.
He nudged her towards the bathroom. “Now, go put on the dress. I want to see.”
She nodded, disappearing into the adjacent room. She came out a moment later, twirling in a circle. “Well?” The dress hung on her as if it had been made specifically for her. The bunched material at the top of the dress scooped down and framed her generous curves, revealing plenty of cleavage without being tasteless, the waistline, accented by a small satin ribbon, was tailored to her fit form, swelling at her hips. The asymmetrical layers of the skirt stopped just below her knees, the shadows of her legs visible through the diaphanous gradation of silks.
Scott laughed out loud. “Poor Wolverine doesn’t stand a chance.”
Ororo beamed.
That moment, several hundred miles away, Logan was himself wondering how Ororo looked in the dress he had left her. Just the idea of her wearing it was enough to make him heavy. One of the several gunmen circling him and Colossus took a blind shot, getting lucky, catching Logan in the leg.
“Fuck.” Logan cursed, dropping to one knee, more pissed at his own wandering mind than by the fact that he’d just been shot. He clamped his hand over his thigh, wincing at the brief pain. Blood spurted from between his fingers.
“Tovarich!” Peter Rasputin crouched beside him, his steel form ricocheting the rapid fire succession that trailed the first fired round.
“Relax, tin man. The ole healin’ factor’ll kick in in just a sec.” Logan stood, extending his claws with their trademark -snikt- of metal on metal. “These fuckers are starting to piss me off!” he growled as another bullet clipped his shoulder.
He moved with astonishing speed, a blur of black against the shadowed backdrop of the warehouse he and Colossus had raided. Leaping over a stack of crates Wolverine let out a blood chilling growl. The unlucky bastard behind the boxes barely had time to swing in Logan’s direction before he was dispatched by an adamantium laced fist to the face.
Logan whirled catching a whiff of one of the others trying to sneak up behind him. He grinned at the bearded, heavy set man with feral intensity. The man fired, missing completely as Logan was already in motion, rolling across the floor and taking the man’s legs out with a sweep of his own. He moved with precision, a quick penetration of blade at the right spot silencing his enemy eternally.
Logan had never been a fan of killing without justification. Granted, at times that justification had been a rather large paycheck, but it still bothered him to no end to kill indiscriminately. However, he had no qualms with these men. He could smell their rancor and it sickened him.
The crates beside him exploded with the impact of another drug runner’s limp body, courtesy of a throw by Colossus. Logan glanced up at his shimmering steel partner, exchanging wild smiles, both men enjoying themselves, probably a bit too much, but neither was overly concerned with it.
“They’re fleeing!” Colossus shouted.
“Not for long.”
The two moved quickly, taking the remaining men down in a flurry of rapid fire moves and punches. When the dust settled Logan and Peter were the only men left standing in the room. Logan cricked his neck, removing his “victory cigar” from the front, padded, pocket of his uniform; an addition made specifically for him.
Colossus rippled, flesh returning where only a moment ago overly dense steel had been. “It feels good to help stop a crime ring that I was once a part of.” His tone was satisfied, yet sad.
Logan clapped him on the back, his hand slapping leather. “We all have done shit we ain’t proud of, Petey. Don’t beat yourself up about it. Yer doin’ right now, and that’s what matters.”
Colossus seemed unconvinced. “Is that what makes you feel better about what you have done in your past?” It wasn’t snide or condescending, the big man honestly wanted to know.
Logan paused on an inhale, his muscles tensing. He exhaled slowly, his voice tinged with more regret than one man should be forced to bear. “Some things we can never make amends for.” He stomped his cigar beneath his boot, walking into the shadows.
It was just after dusk when Logan and Peter returned to the mansion from their South American mission. The debriefing with Xavier was succinct and to the point, both men eager to be thinking about something else.
Logan in particular. His hands flexed against the arms of his chair impatiently. Charles raised speculative eyes but refrained from comment. “Thank you both. That is all.” He dismissed them.
A quick shower and change and Logan was once more on the hunt, this time prowling the halls for a particularly elusive prey. He stopped outside her bedroom door, catching her scent mingled with the roses he’d had delivered. The combination was enticing, making his stomach tighten. His hand lifted, then dropped, then lifted again. This was flamin’ ridiculous, he cursed himself. He knocked. There was no sound from the other side, so he knocked again.
“She’s not in there.”
Logan’s shoulders tightened, his eyes narrowed as he turned. “Cyke.” He growled the greeting.
“Wolverine.” They eyed each other like two alpha males in their familiar testosterone tango.
“Where is she?” Logan finally asked.
“Why do you need to know?” Scott leaned his shoulder against the wall.
Deciding he really didn’t want to play a round of twenty questions with Scooter Logan gave a lip curl and snarl and started away. He was surprised when Scott’s hand shot out, stopping him with a firm grip on his forearm.
Logan’s growl was far less friendly as he said, “Wanna take yer hand off me, Bub. Before you lose it.”
Wisely Scott removed his hand, but said quite determinedly, “I’m only going to say this once, Wolverine. Hurt her again, and we’ll see if adamantium has a melting point.”
Dark eyes glinted with ferocity and an inkling of respect. Stubbornly, however, he returned, “What I do with ‘Ro is none of your damn business.”
Scott didn’t give an inch. “I’m making it my business.”
Logan stepped forward. “You sure that’s wise, Scooter?” His face was hard.
Scott straightened away from the wall, his jaw set. “I won’t see her spirit crushed by you.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean,” Logan demanded, his impatience mounting.
Scott’s voice dripped with repressed anger and hurt. “It means that if you have serious intentions toward Storm then you had better stop fucking Jean.”
That one caught Logan by surprise. Shit, had Jean told Scott? How long had he known? Did it really matter? It wasn’t like he was the one to blame. She came to him, he obliged. It was that simple. He didn’t bother to deny or confirm Scott’s statement, nor did he need to, both men knew he was screwing the redhead, but what he did say, defensively, was, “You got issue with me and Jean, fine. Take it up with your girl. Me and ‘Ro ain’t none of your concern.”
“I’m taking it up with you.” Scott’s hands balled at his sides. “And there is no you and ‘Ro.”
Logan growled. “She’s more than capable of making her own decisions.”
“Which one?”
“Both of ‘em.”
“You can’t have both,” Scott’s own anger was steadily on the rise.
Logan couldn’t resist the taunt made available, “Says who?”
Scott’s visor began to glow bright red.
-SNIKT- Logan’s smirk was a blatant challenge. He still had a bloody nose to repay.
“What the heck is going on here?” Jean strode hurriedly down the hall, her gaze swinging between the two men, neither one giving her so much as a glance. She stopped a few feet away, prudently keeping a respectable distance. “Stop it, both of you! I am so sick of you two fighting over me!”
Scott slowly powered down but he kept his eyes on Wolverine.
Logan retracted. He tossed Jean an almost apologetic look--almost. “Don’t worry none, darlin’. We’re done.” He gave Scott a meaningful look, his voice pitched low. “Alright, Cyke. We’re done.” There was a wealth of implication in that small statement.
“I hope so,” Jean said with a relieved sigh. She reached for Scott’s hand. “Ready for dinner?”
“No thanks, not hungry.” He shook her off, heading down the hall.
She looked ready to argue, but then decided against it. Something in Scott‘s expression told her it wasn‘t a fight she‘d win. “How about you, Logan? Want some dinner?”
“Actually, I got other plans tonight, Red.”
Over his shoulder Scott called, “Backyard.”
Logan tipped his head, acknowledging that for the time being Scott was not about to interfere with him and Ororo.
“What’s in the backyard?” Jean asked.
Logan’s grin was positively ferocious. “My dinner.”
The air was cool and smelled of rain, Logan noticed, stepping from the back porch and onto the steps. Twilight was always his favorite time of day, though he didn’t think he’d ever shared that little tidbit about himself with anyone. He inhaled deeply, picking up the subtle, but present scent of vanilla and roses on the air. He strode down the steps, following his faithful nose.
He rounded the corner of the institute and a small hill, coming to a worn path that led down to the lake at the far end of the Institute‘s property lines. His pace increased, the idea of Ororo in the water enticing him.
She wasn’t immersed in the water, however, he noticed. But he felt no disappointment at that. How could he when she looked so goddamn beautiful it drove all thought from his head save that one. Laying in his hammock, wearing the dress he had picked out for her, with her head tilted back so that her snowy tresses nearly brushed the ground as she swayed, Ororo was doing something he had never known she could. Singing.
Strumming an old acoustic guitar and singing quietly she seemed unaware of his presence and he had no desire to make her aware just yet. He was enjoying the view far too much.
Her voice was soft, smooth and sultry, filtering into the night air and his head with promises of rumpled sheets and sweaty nights. It wasn’t any song that he recognized, leading him to believe that maybe it was one of her own, which only enflamed him further.
Long nimble fingers suddenly ceased their strumming, a resonant discord hanging in the air. Ororo’s head titled a bit, her breathing slightly irregular, much like small game when scenting a predator.
He tried not to let that please him, but failed.
She crooked her head over her shoulder, her eyes shadowed.
He lifted one hand in salute, but stayed rooted where he was, deciding not to rush her just yet. He studied her expression. Proud. Defiant. Hurt. Scared.
“Hi.” Her voice was cautious but not unwelcoming.
“Evn’in’.” He continued towards her at a slow saunter. Easing his way.
Ororo couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Harsh features, shadowed by the early evening purples stole the air from her lungs. Logan looked raw and primal despite his cleaned up appearance. She blinked a few times, fully taking in what he was wearing. A stark white shirt, made more prominent by the contrast against his tan skin, was opened at the collar so that a patch of crisp black hair was revealed. The shirt was tucked into dark denim, held in place by brown leather belt with gold buckle; customary cowboy boots and a dark Stetson competed the look.
Good Lord the man was too sexy for his own good. She wanted to weep with it. No over dramatization there, her insides physically clenched, her throat became tight and tears stung her eyes. She took a calming breath. Okay, get it together, Storm. He’s just a man.
His sensual smile told her that he somehow sensed her thoughts. Sometimes she really hated his advanced senses. She swung her legs over the hammock, dropping barefoot onto the grass. She leaned the guitar against the trunk of one tree.
When he was a bit closer he gestured towards the instrument. “Didn’t know you played.”
She lifted one shoulder. “I was more or less forced to learn.”
“Strict parents?”
Her face clouded, then cleared. “No. I have a friend that insists music is the point of life. She takes great offense to anyone that views otherwise. It was important to her that she teach me to play, so I let her…” she trailed off, the closer he got.
“You sing nice.” His tone was husky.
“Thanks,” she whispered.
He was so close she could feel the heat from his body and smell the crisp clean scent that was his and his alone. Wild, earthy and male. It called to her. She took a step forward before she knew what she was doing.
He reached up, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering. “You look pretty.”
A person would have thought she’d never been complimented before the way her heart leapt and her face burned.
“You didn’t have to buy me the dress,” she stated in a rush. “Or the flowers.”
He frowned. “You don’t like them?”
“No, it‘s not that. I do. It’s just…”
“What?” He prompted, looking unbearably appealing with his dark eyes gleaming in the moonlight.
She took a deep breath, backing up a few steps. “It hasn’t changed anything.”
Logan remained silent, although his initial reaction was to reach for her the moment she stepped back.
She met his eyes. “I still don’t like you very much.”
His dark gaze flickered over her face and there was something dark and undefined in his eyes that made her shiver. “You don‘t really need to.”
“Oh.” Her brows came together.
He moved forward, deliberately crowding her body with his larger frame. “When we finally have sex, you’ll just have to pretend you do.”
Was that humor? She couldn’t be certain but there was a strange light in his eyes that very well could be a twisted sense of humor. “What makes you think I’m ever having sex with you?” she demanded.
“Let’s put it this way, you won’t be screwing anyone else. At least no one that will live long afterwards.”
The overly possessive tone in his voice should have sent her inner feminist into a frenzy, but instead she felt oddly pleased by it. Still, she argued, “You can’t just decide to own me, Wolverine.”
“The decision ain’t mine to make. It is what it is.” He reached for her finally, his hand capturing her wrist in an implacable grip.
She jutted her chin at him. “Is this the part where you club me over the head and haul me to your cave?”
He laughed, low and deep with a rumble. “Now there’s an idea, but no.” He tugged her into his arms. “This is where I dance with you under the stars.” He brushed his hand along her back. “Sing for me.”
She could hardly draw a breath, but Ororo Munroe had never backed down from a challenge in her life and Logan’s eyes challenged her, dared her to be with him. She had no words for a song, so she hummed instead, keeping the rhythm slow and simple. It only lasted a few moments before he drew her closer, folding his arm behind her, lifting her against the hard length of his body.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” he warned gruffly. “If you decide to fry me, make sure you hit somewhere unimportant to me.” He gathered her to him, his arms tightening around her waist.
Ororo lifted her mouth, meeting him more than half way, her body shaking the moment his lips touched hers. His tongue swept into her mouth as swift and sure as any hunter, devouring her. He tasted like cigar and sex, control and fury all blended together in an addicting cocktail. He was potent. The chemistry between them volatile and dangerous.
She moaned as the kisses deepened, becoming aggressive as he fed on her lips, over and over. She pressed her aching breasts into the hard heat of his chest, her nipples stiffened beneath the silk, protruding in invitation.
“I want you so much right now.” He bit her lip, sucked it into his mouth before meshing their mouths fully again. The temptation to rip her clothes off right there was damn near overwhelming. He bent forward just a bit, enough to use his weight to bend her body over his arm. He trailed molten kisses along the graceful curve of her neck, over her collar bone, eliciting a soft gasp, and down across the swell of her breasts. He carefully lowered the silk revealing a coffee nipple to his heated mouth.
Ororo’s fingers clenched in the cotton of his shirt, her head falling back as she delivered herself up like a willing sacrifice to his dark appetite. “Logan.”
His cock swelled at the sultry sound of his name on her lips. He took a ragged breath, lifting his head to her heavy lidded eyes. “I gotta make up for the other night.” His lips curved.
She wasn’t sure what he meant by that and never got a chance to ask. Logan swung her up into his arms, striding to the hammock. She eyed it and then him speculatively. No way was anyone skilled enough to have a rough and tumble on a hammock.
Seeing her look, Logan grinned. “This ain’t about me, darlin’.” He eased her onto the netting. “It’s all about you.”
“Wait--” Her breath left her in a rush when she felt his hands under her skirt, tugging at her panties.
“Hush.” He lifted her backside, divesting her of the soft pink undergarment. He leveled her a look heavy with intention. “Lay back, baby.” He removed his hat, placing it on the ground over her satin and lace bit.
“Logan…” There was a catch in her voice, a crack in her armor.
“Trust me.” His finger stroked her wet seam.
Her breathless gasp was all the encouragement he needed. He stroked her a few more times with his fingers, watching her face as his own darkened hungrily. She nearly came apart when he crouched low, spreading her legs apart to make room for his shoulders. He pushed his tongue deep inside of her in a slow stroke. Her fingers locked in his hair and she pressed forward into his mouth.
She tasted as sweet as she smelled and he couldn’t seem to get enough. He slowed his ministrations, ensuring her ultimate pleasure. He could feel her thighs tensing, her stomach tightening. She was close. He nipped her flesh, suckling her swollen clit into his mouth.
“Logan!” Her cry rent the night, sending the birds resting in the branches of the trees scattering into the sky. She rocked and moaned, her juices sluicing over his chin. He licked his lips, savoring the taste.
Dark eyes locked with blue and unspoken understanding surged between the two. Logan stood, unbuttoning his shirt. Ororo paused him, taking over the duty, her fingers shaking slightly. He placed his hands over hers. “’Roro.”
She took a steadying breath before she tilted her head, meeting his gaze.
“There’s no going back after this,” he warned. “For either of us.”
Somehow she had already known that. She pulled his head down to hers, tasting herself on his lips and whiskers. She kissed him with every ounce of desire she had pent up for him, until he groaned from it.
“Jesus,” he rasped. “Yer gonna kill me.”
She laughed huskily, the sound washing over Logan like summer rain.
He gripped her hips, pulling her closer. “I want to be inside.” The sound of his growl, the look on his face, the blatant hunger he had for her sent her heart into a frantic tattoo.
Their clothes came off in a flurry of hands, and kisses, the silk of her dress fluttering atop the dark denim of his jeans. Logan lowered her from the hammock to the grass effortlessly. The cool blades against her heated skin made her gasp at the erotic contrast. She widened her legs as he knelt between them. She moaned, feeling the large head of his erection at her entrance.
“Tell me you want this,” he coaxed. “Tell me you want me.”
She arched against him, aching. “I want you, Logan.”
He surged home.
Her fists ripped up blades of grass. She could hardly think anymore, her body not her own, consumed with sensation.
“You’re so fuckin’ tight, yer killin’ me,” he ground out.
She grunted, panting, “That’s the second time you’ve…ah..accused me of trying to kill you tonight.” She was certain he was wrong, after all it was him that was killing her. Stretching her impossibly wide. It burn, it stung, it felt so good.
He surged into her deep and hard, making her claw his back and cry his name. He grinned. God it felt good, better than good, beyond good, beyond words, being inside of her.
Her inner muscles squeezed tight. She was so hot, so wet and the sight of her, sprawled on the grass beneath him was enough to bring his orgasm achingly close. But her refused to give in. He owed it to her to make up for his blunder the other night.
He thrust harder, sweat forming on his head, spraying from his hair.
Ororo held his face, her fingers threading his muttonchops. “Don’t stop,” she pleaded.
He nipped her fingers, sucking one into his mouth. “No worries, darlin.” he rolled his hips forward, his balls slapping her ass. “We’re a long way from done.”
Her moan of satisfaction at that vibrated through him, making his cock swell even more. “Fuck, baby,” he growled.
“Mmmm.” She arched beneath him. “Logan, Logan, Logan,” his name was a mindless chant as her muscles tightened and intense heat coiled in her abdomen.
“Come on, baby. Come for me.” He urged, his voice a guttural command. He angled his hips, stroking deeper, thrusting harder. He didn’t want to ever stop, he realized. This was his idea of heaven. Pounding into Ororo, her slick heat enveloping him in a death grip. It was perfect. He reared back, watching her glowing face as she neared her pinnacle. He reached for her hands, moving them so that they covered her own swaying breasts.
She blinked up at him, immediately comprehending what he wanted. Logan, at times more animal than man, was still very much male and as such was very, very visual. She obliged his silent request, teasing her own nipples into taut peaks beneath his hooded, watchful eyes.
The feral snarl he gave her sent her over the edge. Her walls clamped down, tightening painfully around Logan’s cock, her hard spasms contracting and squeezing, milking him, demanding he follow her over the edge.
Logan groaned, feeling himself swell impossibly bigger still, his balls drawing up painfully and then he was surging hard, pistoning his hips forward, harsh grunts torn from his throat as he approached climax. His claws exploded from the backs of his hands, spraying blood, but he was oblivious to everything but the endless orgasm tearing through his body. A single note of raw ecstasy escaped from his throat as he poured into her, a merciless torrent of sensation that left him shaking and weak.
Ororo sobbed, clutching his shoulders, riding out the storm. She lay panting, her body still contracting with the aftershocks of her release. She lifted her hands to her face, feeling the tears on her cheeks. Another soft sob choked her.
Logan’s head snapped up from it‘s pillow on her chest. “’Ro?”
She tried to slap him away, but he was persistent, lifting her. He cradled her against his chest as she wept. His hands stroked her back, her hair, her shoulders. “Shh, it’s alright, baby. Shhh.”
Ororo couldn’t stop the tears.
Not knowing any other form of comfort, Logan began kissing her again. Slowly, gently, lifting her face to his, licking away her tears, tasting her pain. He eased her back onto the ground, laying down beside her and pulling her against his chest.
“I’m sorry,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Shush.” He stroked her tearstained cheek. He knew because he felt it too, the feeling of completion. Of home. He blinked back his own tears.
He kissed her endlessly it seemed, long after her tears had finally ceased, and deep into the night. When she tried to speak he silenced her with his mouth. Eventually she relaxed, curled against his side.
Logan’s heart beat steadily beneath her ear, lulling her. Soon her eyes felt heavy, too little sleep in the past two days taking its toll. “I don’t want to fall in love,” she murmured as she descended into the realm of dreams.
Still very much awake Logan heard her. He closed his eyes, blowing out a pent up breath. “Ditto, darlin’.”
