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Title: Tryst and Contention

Author: Eightcrayondon

Pairing: RoLo

Rating: PG

Summary: Storm and Wolverine share a complicated romance. First RoLo. Beware fluff, melodrama and subtle grown up situations.

Disclaimer: Marvel owns all known X-Men characters, I make no profit from this story or the use of the characters. Just tooting my own horn but I do have a 1986 Cadillac with a radiator and oil leak.

Ororo Munroe had not known how truly lonely she was until that night when Logan came to her loft and without warning took her into his arms, kissing her. His kisses were hard and unrelenting, she could almost cry in the wake of his caress. He pressed himself against her and she shivered, recognizing his enthusiasm.

They lay in her apartment, his fingers running through her silver hair; his touch incited a relaxation in her; she had never known anything like this, not with any man. She lay on top of him, still close to one another, looking in to his pale brown eyes. He smiled a little, touching her face with his cold hand; she rested her face in the nape of his neck. His breath came in short gasps and he squeezed her shoulders, grunting quietly.
The skies outside cracked open, pouring rain and she squeezed him back.
“I love you ‘Ro,” he said. His voice was shaking and his bearing juvenile. He felt it too, as though he were fifteen and this were the first woman he had ever held this close.
“No you don’t,” she replied, looking into his eyes and resting her head on his chest once more.
“I love you, Storm!” he said, grabbing her shoulders once more and pulling her to him to looking at her closely.
He whispered his affection once more.
“As I do you,” she says, pulling his head to rest against her chest. She was avoiding the word “love“ and implied responsibilities. She was only able to whisper the vow while alone on the nights since their tryst but she had not yet allowed the to word part her lips in his company.
She feared that he mistook her need of secrecy as shame; she loves this man leaps over bounds, however, she doubts his feelings for her. In the past Ororo had seen Logan fawn over other women; there have been few and far occasions where he has shown anything beyond the intentions of close friendship toward her.
For all of her life Ororo Munroe has been among the best in most of her endeavors but when it comes to relations of the heart she has found herself inept. How could she answer Logan’s frustrations? How could she tell him of her concerns or her fear of submitting every molecule of herself to him without giving offense?
She has already given inches and miles of herself to him, she is taken by his gruff charm and his calloused hands against her soft skin do not repel her, for her they are testament to who he is: A man who has lead a life of privation, not unlike her own, who shows the world this unpolished and brusque exterior yet on the inside he is soft and loving. She has come to know him to be far gentler than she in some matters, but unafraid to make difficult decisions. While Logan is known by most for his temper, once it has passed there is no one she would rather have close to her.
They meet at Harry’s again, as they have been in three months since the encounter and he caresses her knee under the table.
“Do you love me, ‘Ro?” He asks, teeming with fear that she will tell him no, that she will stand from the table and say that she has nothing in her heart for him.
“Yes,” she responds, without looking directly into his eyes but at his face; her cheek twitches a little.
“Liar,” he whispers, like spit, turning his eyes to the table and moving his hand from her knee to the tabletop. He holds them together, clinched, glaring ahead and tapping his feet rapidly against the brick tile.
“When have you known me to untruthful, Logan?” She finds speaking his name bittersweet. Her hands shake so she hides them in her lap.
“Darlin, there ain’t no other explanation!” His tone is exasperated and yielding.
She reaches for his hand but he pulls it away. He feels like a woman, shaking inside heartbroken and pathetic because of a broad. She isn’t just any woman though, this is ‘Ro, a woman that he fears is too classy, too beautiful and too smart to demean herself to loving him.
“I am confused Logan,” she says looking to the table. “Every pore in my body, everything in me feels hampered by this uncertainty.”
She hesitates.
“I am bottled by these contentions, unable to even focus on the most mundane things. I fear that once I say that I love you, and I do, that I will have lain myself bare for you and I cannot deceive you and say that I do not have reservations about your feelings.”
His expression is hurt. He doesn’t speak but his eyes present his questions to her.
“Logan, we have known each other for years and I trust you in many things but I have seen your love for women and your affections for me seem novel.”
“I loved you, ‘Ro, from the second we met,” he says, looking at her, wishing that he were suave, that he knew the way to endear himself to her, to prove his affections. He wished that he had her knack for words, that he could speak eloquently and that she would know that he loved every mannerism in her. That he could make her aware that her confrontations were met with obedience because he could not find the will in himself to meet her challenges with the same brutality that he would that of another’s.
He would tell her that he had loved Jean and Mariko and others but none of them have humbled him in the way that she has. That he has never been taken with anyone in this manner. How could he express that when he touched her, that when they kissed it was as though it were a gift that he knew he did not deserve but needed nonetheless.
However, he is not that man, words and romantics were never a guiding part of his life. His declarations to her alone were far out of character and putting himself on the slab anymore would only lend to his embarrassment.
He slides his body away from her, to leave the booth but she grabs his arm.
“Please don’t go,” her face is tear stained; her voice thick and muddied with sadness.
He slides hurriedly toward her, swelling inside because while this is not what he wanted from her it is far more than what he needs.
“I won’t go nowhere,” he says, holding her in his arms, touching her hair once more.





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