Chapter Five: Bad Form
And when you walk up on the dance floor
Nobody cannot ignore the way you move your body, girl
And everything so unexpected - the way you right and left it
So you can keep on taking it
~Wyclef Jean (Shakira’s Hips Don’t Lie)
Logan speaks:
I still think about that night, standing on the edge of the school grounds. Her eyes were bathed in moonlight, desire and need crashing with the lingering sting of betrayal. It was all I could do to keep from falling to my knees and begging forgiveness.
Hey, give me a break. I get poetic when I think about the events leading up to falling in love with her. Its not every day a man finds out his heart up and took off, finding a new home in the hands of a woman that hated his guts. Doesn’t mean I won’t still gut someone for poking fun at me. Keep that in mind, eh?
Anyway, like I was sayin’. After that night, I started paying attention to her. I mean, I’d watched her before, but it was like wakin’ up. I couldn’t. Stop. Staring.
She noticed. Never said a blessed word about it. Through the years, I’ve had time to reflect on everything that happened. I came to the conclusion that Prita’s moving into ‘Ro’s heart wasn’t an accident. Fate had given us our own personal Cupid.
Doesn’t mean the road to bein’ together was easy. She might have made it harder. ‘Course, when it comes to ‘Ro and me, we usually don’t need help in that department.
~**~
A week passed after Prita’s trip to the emergency room without much to shatter the lives of the X-Men. The Professor’s condition steadily improved, under the watchful eyes of Big Blue.
Logan was happy to see the school year end. The mansion was devoid of any excess mutant students, many of them having returned to their families for the summer. Those that remained were either abandoned, runaways, or wannabe X-Men.
As he left his rooms following a shower “ training sessions with Cyclops tended to be eventful “ Logan did a quick check of the grounds, ensuring none of their hormone-impaired youths were getting into too much trouble.
An impromptu competition was being waged, rather loudly, over the X-Box in the main parlor, where Rogue was keeping little Prita busy. Logan knew Ororo had slipped into the Danger Room with Hank and Jubilee some time ago. She’d spent days muttering about her battle instincts getting rusty.
“Hey,” Logan greeted over the encouraging shouts of the remaining half-dozen mutants surrounding the television.
“Afternoon,” Rogue replied with a cheerful grin.
He moved to his young friend, an easy smile covering his mouth when he noted Prita making what looked to be some sort of fort out of small wooden blocks. The toddler’s tiny, beautiful face was screwed into an expression of deep concentration. She did not even look up as she took the blocks Rogue handed her one by one.
“What’s goin’ on here?” Logan asked as he perched on the arm of the sofa, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Princess Prita is studying to become an architect, what’s it look like?”
“She’s got a good handle on those, don’t she?” he nodded with a hint of admiration.
“Seems like,” Rogue chuckled as Prita demanded another block from her distracted partner with a curt gurgle.
There was no denying that the child had wormed her way into Logan’s heart. He had a soft spot for children. They were so innocent, so trusting, and unfailingly honest when it came to their feelings. Prita demonstrated this whenever Bobby or Peter attempted to hold her. She was somewhat picky about those she kept close.
As though she had only just noticed him, Prita looked up, meeting Logan’s eyes and breaking into a wide grin. He had to return it, finding the sight of her four little teeth more effective than armor-piercing bullets.
“Whatcha got there, darlin’?” he questioned, sliding from the sofa to the floor in front of her.
Immediately, Prita rattled off in her form of baby-speech, pointing to several areas of her block fort as though describing the armaments to him. He knew better than to exaggerate his reactions; Prita tended to scowl when someone lavished her with praise.
“Ah don’t get it,” Rogue said quietly.
“What?” Logan grunted, his eyes on Prita.
“She likes you, more than any o’ us,” the girl said with a hint of jealousy.
“I’m prettier than you,” he countered, ducking to avoid the expected swat.
“It’s kinda sweet,” Marie went on. “Ah’ve never seen ya so at ease.”
“Maybe it’s cause I know she won’t hurt me.”
“Holy hell, Logan,” Rogue said, holding back laughter. “That was almost profound, should Ah go get Hank. Maybe you’re comin’ down with somethin’.”
“Shaddup, Marie,” he chuckled, tossing a block at her.
A moment later, the telephone rang. Logan ignored it, hearing one of the students grab the receiver between bouts of cheering.
“Hey Rogue, it’s Nightcrawler for you!” Artie shouted over the din.
“Ah hell,” she sighed sucking her lip between her teeth.
Logan glanced at her. “Somethin’ wrong?”
“Ah can’t take the call is all,” she shrugged, looking broken hearted. “He can’t always call an’ all, bein’ at the monastery, but Ah can’t go off an’ leave Prita.”
He rolled his eyes, nudging her gently. “Go take your call. The Elf will be all weepy if ya don’t. I’ll look after the girlie here.”
Rogue’s eyes reflected relief, though she chewed on her lip with faux concern. “Ya don’ mind?”
“Naw,” Logan shook his head, collecting the pile of blocks from her lap. “Go on. We’ll be fine.”
“Thanks!”
The girl leapt to her feet, tearing off toward the kitchen where she wouldn’t be overheard. Logan chuckled, shaking his head in despair as Prita requested a block from the cache.
For several minutes, he played with the darling child, carefully fixing weak points in her grand fort to ensure it wouldn’t fall apart on her. She kept that studious expression on her face, reminding him of Ororo when she was working out a puzzle.
He tried, he really did, to keep thoughts of the child from bringing out thoughts of her mother. It proved futile time and time again. Since that night, watching her watch him from the window, she’d run through his damned mind so often, it was surprising he didn’t call Chuck by her name.
Trying to see her as though Jean had never colored his vision wasn’t easy. He still found himself comparing the two when he studied her magnificent features. It always filled him with shame, but he doubted that Jean would ever be completely forgotten.
Jean had been the first woman to awake something inside of him. Pieces of his soul he’d never remembered having roared to life when the gentle woman reached for him. He’d latched on to that kindness, reveled in it to the point that he wasn’t completely sure he wanted to let her go. He would always miss her, mourn her on some level.
But could he move past it, to see Ororo as she’d wanted him to?
Memories of his first trips to the mansion flooded him when he least expected it. Things long lost in the hollows of his mind. The first time he met the weather witch was a common culprit. She’d looked upon him with that detached interest, though he remembered her smile when he asked Chuck if they called him “Wheels”.
Another was her challenge, just after Magneto kidnapped Rogue from the train station.
At least I’ve chosen a side.
Hadn’t she always smiled at him? That soft, slightly amused curve of her lips when she found something he had said or done entertaining. Hadn’t she always been there when needed? Her fierce devotion to her students, the X-Men, the dream was admirable. He remembered that it was Ororo who heeded his impassioned pleas to return to Alkali Lake.
She’d been standing right beside him when they found Jean’s body. Her hand had come to his shoulder, even as she screamed her horror and pain. Always there, on the fringe but never center stage.
It was through these snatches of memory that he realized he’d seen her long before that lusty romp in her bedroom two years prior. Jean, as usual, had simply muddied the waters too much for him to pay attention.
That wasn’t the case now.
So engrossed was Logan in his thoughts, he barely noticed the elevated voice levels of the teens surrounding the television. He looked up, blinking through his confusion at being brought forcefully from his musings.
He caught Prita in his arms when a violent shove sent Artie careening into the baby’s play area, destroying her little fort with clumsy feet.
“HEY!” Logan shouted, covering the baby’s ears. “Be careful, you little twats!”
“But, Logan…” Artie immediately began to make excuses.
“But nothin’,” he cut the boy off. “There’s a baby in the house now. Try to be a little friggin’ considerate!”
As if on cue, Prita slapped Logan’s shoulder to get his attention. He looked down at her, his heart wrenching at the look on her beautiful face. She pointed to her ruined masterpiece, tears slipping down her dark cheeks.
“Did they break your fort, baby girl? Little bastards,” Logan glared up at the boys, noting each of them looked downright ashamed.
“We’re sorry, Prita,” Artie reached down as though to hold her.
Normally, the child seemed to like the amphibian-tongued mutant, but in the aftermath of her shattered toy, she clung to Logan and screamed.
Shushing her quickly, Logan bounced the girl in his arms as he stood. He reached over, smacking the back of six post-pubescent heads.
“Cover your ears, Princess,” Logan muttered, gesturing to her ears.
Two chubby hands instantly clapped over her ears, giving Logan free reign with which to verbally ass-ream the idiot boys that made Prita cry. Each of them was dead silent, accepting the punishment without so much as a whimper.
As Logan carted the broken-hearted child out of the room, he ordered the boys to clean up their mess and then see Scott for evening chores. A droned chorus of “Yes, Wolverine” followed them out of the room.
“Come on, baby doll,” Logan bounced Prita in his arms. “Don’t you worry bout them, I’ll take ya out to the lake and show ya how to make a sandcastle.”
~**~
Several hours later, Logan trekked back to the house, Prita sleeping on his shoulder. They’d spent the entire afternoon building not only a castle made of sand, but soldiers, canons, horses, and a moat.
She’d cheered up only seconds after the incident, but as he had nothing else to do with his time, it wasn’t a hardship to spend a few hours hanging out with a toddler. Prita had laughed when he reenacted a battle “ complete with sound effects “ for her benefit. She’d curled into his arms as the fingers of duck played across the sky, both of them content to just sit in silence.
As they made their way back to the house, Logan spotted the lean line of a woman awaiting their arrival on the porch. He waved with his free arm, keeping Prita steady with the other. Ororo waved back, though she stayed where she was, waiting for them to reach her.
She was smiling when Logan took the steps carefully, not wanting to jostle the exhausted child. Storm’s hair was pulled back from her face, still damp from a recent shower. Her impossibly long legs were covered in worn jeans and a t-shirt bearing the infamous “X” logo stretched across her breasts.
Her feet, much to his pleasure, were bare to show off painted toenails.
“Have a good time?” she asked in the curious tone adults use around slumbering children.
“Yeah,” Logan smiled, patting Prita’s back. “She’s fun.”
Ororo chuckled softly. “Yes, she can be. Did you make a sandcastle?”
He nodded, that warm, fuzzy feeling rolling in his chest. “Horses and soldiers, too.”
“She loves to build,” the serene mother winked at him. “I heard about the altercation in the parlor.”
Logan raised a hand in self-defense. “Hey, I told her to cover her ears before I started swearin’.”
For some reason, that made Ororo laugh. She chuckled quietly, motioning for him to hand Prita to her. After some careful juggling and a completely “ well maybe not completely “ innocent brush against Ororo’s breast, they’d successfully transferred child to mother.
“Thank you for looking after her.”
“Anytime,” he stuffed his hands into his pockets, fearful that he might give into the urge to cup her cheek. “I like the rugrat.”
Ororo paused, then nodded slowly, her soft, delicate hand rubbing her daughter’s back. Her sapphire blue eyes locked on to his and for a long, breathless moment, neither of them spoke. It reminded him of the other night, her watching him so intently from the window. He wanted, so desperately, to know what was going on in her head.
“I--” She faltered.
“Whatever you wanna say, just say it, ‘Ro.”
She took a deep breath, her heart thudding so loudly in her chest Logan was sure he didn’t need his mutated ears to hear it. After a moment, which he was sure contained a mental pep talk on her part, she spoke again, her voice stronger.
“I do not think it wise for you to spend so much time alone with Prita.”
Confused, hurt, and instantly on his guard, Logan crossed his arms over his chest and grunted.
“Why?”
Ororo looked unsure for only a split second. “She is at an impressionable age and any male figure bonding with her as you do will…”
Logan frowned. “You think she’ll think I’m her dad?”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t want that.”
“No.”
They fell into an uncomfortable silence, broken only by Logan’s labored breathing. He wanted to be close to Prita. He needed to be closer to Ororo, though why remained a mystery.
As if reading his thoughts, Ororo cleared her throat.
“There is no future between us, Logan,” she said softly. “I do not want to confuse an innocent child because of our mistakes.”
Clenching his teeth so hard they hurt, Logan nodded quickly. “Fine. Do what ya want.”
He’d intended on a dramatic exit, complete with a slam of the sliding kitchen door. He’d planned to stomp through the house, directly up to his bedroom, snarling at anyone unfortunate to cross his path. He’d wanted, very much, to let Ororo know that her stubborn request wasn’t going to change anything.
That, of course, became a non-issue when Scott poked his head outside with a wide, oblivious grin.
“Hey, you two up for a Grown-Ups Night Out?”
~**~
He sat alone at the very back of the booth the group had commandeered, shrouded in darkness. The curl of his cigar smoke was lost in the shadows, his presence easily forgotten among the throngs of gyrating bodies and sickeningly lovey couples.
But Logan knew Ororo could feel his eyes on her.
Once or twice she’d looked over toward the booth, her eyes drifting over his hiding spot as though searching for the gaze that set the fine hairs on the back of her neck to attention.
His gaze never left the swells of her body, though dozens of people attempted to obscure his view. The tinkling chimes and Klaxons blaring mingled with the sultry throb of the music to which Ororo moved her body. Male voices chanted in a language he couldn’t quite place, but the beat was one made to dance to.
She’d definitely been drinking, he mused as she waved her arms in the air, her body pressed against Scott’s. They danced in perfect time, as though they’d done it a hundred times before. Ororo was mouthing the words to the music, a song she obviously liked.
There was a gentle sway to her body that betrayed her tipsy state. Scott’s hands were in safe places on her hips, but Logan still ground the end of his cigar between his teeth.
Yes, he was jealous. He couldn’t get the image of her naked, writhing body out of his mind. He wanted her that way again. He didn’t have any right, he knew that. It didn’t make the desire clenching in his stomach any easier to ignore.
As the Klaxons and chimes continued, Logan inhaled another lungful of smoke, glaring at the dancing pair so captivating his attention. When Renee appeared, laughing into hysterics, to collect her lover, Logan hoped Ororo would return to the table.
Instead, she simply continued on, both arms weaving like snakes above her head, hips swinging from side to side. Her wrists were decorated with several bangle bracelets, which made her jingle as they’d driven to the small nightclub just outside of Westchester.
I shouldn’t want her like this, Logan chided himself. She’s nothin’ but rude, unless I’m hangin’ with Prita…God, why can’t I just forget about her?
He was still angry at her request that he keep his distance from her daughter. There was still the bitterness of betrayal between them. None of it mattered as he watched her dance. Those impossibly bright eyes scanned his hiding place again, without warning.
Logan leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table so she would see him. He noted with a hint of pride that her swaying form faltered for a split second. Her eyelashes lowered quickly as the pace of the music changed.
A seductive, vibrant Latin beat replaced the chimes. Ororo instantly broke into a smile, her eyes not leaving his as she sang to the tune. Lust flared between them and for once, Logan was certain it was not one sided.
He ground his cigar out on the table, sliding out of the booth before he could second-guess himself. Ororo had turned her back, but she still wove her body to the music. Her hips swung with mind-numbing speed, her control over the muscles in her abdomen almost alien.
When he reached the dance floor, she turned back to him. Her chin lifted in defiance, as though daring him to pick his way through the crowd to her.
Without really meaning to, he accepted the silent challenge. Grinding bodies were easily sidestepped, his leather jacket removed and tossed onto the floor, forgotten.
Ororo’s eyes kept his gaze even when he lashed out an arm, capturing her waist easily. Her body instantly flattened against his, moving them both to the sexy throb of the music. Logan didn’t think about the fact that he hated to dance, that the woman in his arms was a constant annoying enigma.
Instead, he flattened one of his palms against her back, supporting her as she tossed her body back, revealing the long, lean lines of her torso. He pulled her back up, grinding their flesh together. Her legs entwined with his, her soft form thrown almost carelessly over his.
She didn’t speak, but he could see the hint of fear in her eyes, easily drowned out by the courage of one too many drinks and the easy lust of music. Both of her hands came up to wrap around the nape of his neck, pulling him closer until their foreheads touched.
“You do not dance,” Ororo whispered under the thump of bass.
“I don’t,” he replied, inhaling the honey-rain scent of her.
“I am not going to kiss you.”
“Liar.”
A firm yank on the back of his neck brought his lips to hers. He took the invitation without a thought to the consequences. She could be too drunk to know what she was doing, this could end up a repeat of the incident two years ago.
Frankly, he didn’t give a good goddamn.
His free hand slid to her cheek, cupping it to hold her in place while he ravished her mouth. His tongue swept inside of her parted lips, tasting the alcohol and tang of something to acutely her own that he groaned. Their bodies never ceased swaying to the music, their lips locked together in passion.
Unlike the last two times he’d kissed her, she started it. Her hands began to smooth over his clothed flesh, igniting little fires all over him. Did she have any idea what she did to him? If so, did she revel in the power?
Tugging her a little closer, he could feel the heat of her body, smell the immediate and devastating effect he had on her. She could deny it all she wanted, but he knew she still loved and wanted him.
Someday, he’d take her again. They’d find themselves in a tangled, sweaty mess on his bed, and replace the memory of betrayal with something more pleasurable.
But not tonight.
Roughly, Logan pulled away from her, panting for breath and cursing himself.
“I wish we could make up our fuckin’ minds,” he growled, turning his back on her and leaving the dance floor.
He ignored the entreating call from Scott as he pushed his way out of the club. After stopping to ask the bouncer to call him a cab, he moved into the chilly night, standing on the curb and cursing himself.
The sidewalk was lined with hopefuls eagerly seeking entrance into the nightclub. Apparently, Ororo was oblivious to that fact or too far-gone in rage to care when she appeared in all her leather-clad glory to face him.
“I wish you would stop confusing me!”
Her shouted accusation silenced the line of club-hoppers. Logan whirled to face her, trying to avoid reacting to those kiss-bruised lips and tousled hair.
“You’ve always been fuckin’ confused!” he roared in response. “Ya love me, but ya hide it. You fuck me, then take off. You want me. You don’t. How do you even fuckin’ function with your head so far up your ass?”
She clenched her hands in fury. “You are no better! You love Jean. You mourn her, yet you take me into your bed. You define yourself by who you hurt. I cannot help it if I love you, if I want you, Logan. I wish to all the gods in heaven that I could stop.”
“Then stop!” he thundered, taking a menacing step toward her. “Or you’re gonna end up right in my bed again an’ this time, I won’t be keen on lettin’ ya go!”
“Perhaps if I fuck,” she relished the word and his shock at her use of it. “you again, I will finally get you out of my system.”
“You think so?” he snarled, not caring when Scott appeared at his side, trying to calm him. “Let’s give it a shot, darlin’. Maybe if I can have ya screamin’ my name like a wanton slut again, I’ll get YOU out of MINE!”
“Logan, stop,” Scott plead, trying to restrain him.
Ororo gave a sharp laugh, shrugging her arms from Kitty’s grasp. “Wanton slut? Trust me, Logan, you were not that good.”
He made a quick lunge, wanting to shut her beautiful, destructive mouth by force. Scott moved directly in front of him, scowling for all the smaller man was worth.
“That’s enough,” he commanded quickly. “Get in that cab and go home, Logan. We’ll be right behind you.”
“She--” Logan began, gesturing to the fuming woman.
“I know, but this isn’t the time and it’s definitely not the place,” his friend soothed.
Logan turned away violently, moving toward the cab waiting for him. Scott opened the door, spoke to the driver and then shut Logan in.
As the car pulled away from the club, Logan thrust his hands into his hair and snarled to himself. It was going to be impossible to live with her now. Something had to give.
