Chapter Thirteen: Letting Go
The heart wont lie
Sometimes life gets in the way
But there’s one thing that won’t change
I know, I tried
The heart won’t lie
You can live your alibi
Who can see you’re lost inside a foolish disguise
The heart won’t lie
~Reba McEntire
Henry, Denali National Park
Five days later
Over the course of nearly a week, Henry recovered from the blizzard. Mary, Betsy, and the other kidnapping victims were kept in the competent hands of Dr. Forrester and Dr. Tate. On the third day, Betsy and the others were released. Charles Xavier paid to return the kidnapping victims out of his own pocket, happy they had all been recovered.
One by one they were sent back to relieved families, leaving the small Fairbanks hospital with a sense that all was right in the world.
Betsy, for her part, utterly refused to leave Fairbanks until Mary was released. The girl’s hypothermia was treated, and she found herself the center of attention. She refused television interviews to sit in her hospital room while the X-Men told her adventure stories.
Peter, Brian, Bobby, and Hank all opted to return to New York with Alison. The young singer had expressed much interest in the X-Men and the unflappable Xavier. A quick phone call from Wolverine ensured that she was welcome, even eagerly anticipated. Ororo, though she ached to speak with Charles, allowed Logan to make the arrangements.
The fifth day, today, Mary was released into her boyfriend’s care. Betsy, Warren, Kitty, and Wolverine accompanied the small caravan back to Henry. Ororo drove her friends behind the X-Men’s rental car, her hand grasping Mary’s until it went numb.
For most of the day, the group sat around Ororo’s cottage, each relieved that this part of their personal hell was over. As Logan and Kenny made plans for the unusual family to hit Dottie’s following a dinner of moose burgers and beer, Storm slipped into her bedroom alone.
She had done well in avoiding Wolverine as much as possible, but her eyes stubbornly refused to cooperate. No good would come of her endless pining. Logan, much to her chagrin, was to fly home with the X-Men the following morning. Charles wanted to regroup before they set out to locate the mutant-nappers.
Sparing no glance to the Northern Lights, Ororo fished through her closet for a tan halter-top and second-skin jeans. While she was half-inside the walk-in closet, she heard the bedroom door open and close.
“Don’t panic!” Psylocke said quickly. “It’s just me.”
On a sharp exhale Ororo chuckled. She was not so sure how her resolve to stay away from Wolverine would last if he were in her bedroom. Alone.
“What are you looking for?” her friend’s British brogue called when she poked her violet-brown head into the closet.
“My elusive brown boot,” Ororo offered. “I am hoping it has not become a chew toy for Andine.”
Betsy was on her knees beside Storm in an instant. They searched for the mysteriously vanished brown boot for at least five minutes before the telepath located it. After yanking it free of the suitcase it had somehow been caught under, she sat back on Ororo’s bed.
Unashamed in front of her friend, Ororo dressed quickly. In front of her polished mahogany vanity table, she snapped the halter’s wide collar around her neck and yanked on the jeans. As an afterthought, she looped a thick leather belt into the jeans’ belt hooks and fastened the handcrafted copper buckle.
Once she was sitting at the table, she pulled thick socks on and her brown boots. She happened to adore the boots, a birthday gift from Jean the year of her death. The heavy suede footwear bore four inch heels, topping Ororo’s height at just under six-feet. They zipped up her calf and looked pretty damn nice with a pair of jeans.
While she pulled a brush through her long, snowy hair, Betsy cleared her throat.
“So,” the woman started without any preamble. “Who are you dressing for? Yourself or Wolverine?”
“Myself,” Ororo replied, having expected the interrogation. This was, after all, the first time she and Betsy had been alone.
“Uh-huh.” The woman clucked her tongue against her teeth. “So, want to tell me what happened in those few weeks between coming home and Logan returning to New York?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s just too damn bad, innit?” Betsy drew her knees up to her chest. “Spill, luv.”
Ororo, deciding to leave her hair down, had already begun applying eye makeup, so she waited several moments before replying. She should have known Betsy would not let her escape without some sort of explanation.
With a sharp sigh, she shrugged one shoulder, watching her friend in the vanity mirror.
“I am a woman, Elizabeth,” Storm said quickly.
“Uh, that I noticed.”
“He is a man.”
“I definitely noticed that, on more than one occasion.”
Scowling at her friend’s girlish giggle, Ororo continued.
“We slept together, perhaps even began to respect and genuinely like one another,” Storm fought to find words. “But he lied to me, the entire time.”
“About Charles?” Betsy frowned, obviously troubled by this.
Ororo knew she was scanning her mentally. Years ago, she had given the young telepath an open invitation to her mind whenever they were alone. Though Psylocke trained with Jean and the Professor, it was her unlimited access to Ororo that truly taught her how to hone her power.
What was she picking up now?
“Oh, Storm,” Betsy said quietly. “This isn’t even about his lying or Charles or anything you’ve convinced yourself of.”
Perhaps, Ororo thought, Betsy had learned a little too well. She nervously began to brush her hair again.
“This is about the kidnapping. You haven’t come to terms with the infertility.”
Ororo slammed her polished silver brush “ vintage from the 1940’s and a gift from Charles “ on the vanity table to hard it cracked. She stood abruptly, trying to adopt her signature calm throughout her body. She didn’t want a pity-pep-talk from someone that would never know how it felt. Betsy still had her ovum, her hope.
“Oh, hell no, luv,” Betsy said as she jumped up from the bed. “We’re talkin’ bout this now.”
“There is nothing to say.” Storm snapped.
“You resent the rest of the survivors at the same time you’re happy we can still have children. That’s normal and all, but you’re like an open wound right now, ‘Roro.”
“Betsy, this is something I am not going to talk about.”
Without warning, her friend was directly in front of her. Betsy’s violet eyes were flashing with anger, her entire posture defensive.
“I wish you’d been found just as fast, luv, but that’s the way it is,” she said quickly. “I know how bad you wanted babies, how much you still want them. It will take time for this to heal.”
“I know that.” Ororo said frostily.
“And the energy between you and Wolverine won’t just fade away because you can’t have children. You can’t just push every man away in the fear that your bareness will become a problem.” Betsy sighed, but her expression did not mirror sympathy or pity.
“If you want to lash out, do it. But don’t sit here and tell me that you’re shoving Logan as far away as you can because he lied. You’re the liar here, girl.”
Suddenly and without warning, Betsy reminded Ororo so much of Jean that heartache momentarily winded her. The skies rumbled ahead, even as Psylocke pulled her into a warm, strong embrace.
“I was so afraid, Storm,” she whispered quietly. “I was lying there with this man standing above me and all I could think was that you had been strong. You were the real survivor.”
Unable to reply, Ororo clutched her friend more tightly.
“I listened to everything, trying to make myself remember. I kept you in my thoughts as much as I could. I said to myself: ‘What did Storm do? How did she get through this without losing her mind?’”
“I thought about Warren, about the X-Men, and my brothers. I do not remember much, but I got a name. One name mentioned over and over again.”
Surprised, Ororo pulled back from her friend to blink at her. Betsy’s smile was slightly teary as she inhaled deeply.
“Sinister. Something about a Mr. Sinister. I don’t know why I remember that.”
Ororo frowned, the name meant nothing to her. Exhaling sharply, she nodded. “Perhaps that is the piece of the puzzle we needed.”
“You were saved for a reason, Storm,” Betsy kissed her cheek. “You were saved and that brought what they are doing to light. Now, we’ll find them, stop them.”
“The sacrifice still feels far, far too costly.”
“I know, luv,” Betsy nodded. “And it always will.”
~**~
Just outside of Henry
Mary was the belle of the ball, well into their foray at Dottie’s. Mutants, friends, and her attached-at-the-hip boyfriend surrounded the Inuit heroine. Logan refused to mentally make fun of the loyal, red-haired man, knowing how close to Ororo he’d remained for the first week after her recovery.
The tables the group had shoved together were littered with empty bottles, glasses, baskets of fried food and napkins. Mary and Kitty were engrossed in whatever they were talking about while Betsy laughed with Warren and Kenny. He had to admit, it was a nice sight.
From his perch on the barstool, he ordered another drink. Storm was on the dance floor, five meters away and two to the right. He irked him that he knew, almost instinctively where she was. Since that night out in the snow, when she’d stared at him across the frigid lawn, he’d tried as hard as he could to stop thinking about her.
Turning away from her was probably the single most difficult thing he’d done in his life. But her cerulean eyes weakened him with every second. He had only just caught himself from taking a step to her, wanting to hold her in his lonesome arms. Crawling to her would only tell her how weak he really was. He didn’t feel normal around her. He felt like he as flying and falling and the walls he’d so carefully erected to keep everyone out were down around his ankles.
He hated it.
But, at the same time, he liked the feeling. That was annoying as shit.
Ororo was currently cutting a rug with that kid Riley. His eyes drifted toward the line-dancing couple as the woman laughed. Riley was saying something to her, lost in the music blaring from the live band. He hated to admit it, but ‘Ro looked good enough to eat tonight.
Several men were eyeing her, many of the young bucks goading friends into asking her to dance. In her daringly low cut top and way too tight jeans, she was a tall, magnificent, beauty that begged for a man’s touch. White hair was limp with sweat, but her cheerful laughter drew in more attention than hair ever could.
The boys lounging at the bar beside him were each pointing, nudging one another every time Ororo dipped with her hands on her waist. She was showing so much skin that she momentarily knocked the boys stupid. Logan wanted to gut each of them for even looking.
But that was the point, he thought. Storm wanted to be looked at tonight. No woman dressed like that with the intention of becoming one with the wallpaper. Though her unusual dark skin, light hair, and flashing eyes made her stand out enough, her clothing and tactile manner were screaming for attention.
A long pull from his beer bottle calmed some of his frayed nerves. As the music’s tempo changed, Riley roped Ororo close, melding their bodies together so they swayed to the soft, slow tune.
The singer onstage was female and quite talented. Her raven hair and scarlet lips showed off that throaty voice. Logan let his eyes drift to her, trying to drown out memories of buzzing skin and smoky laughter.
The girl caught his eye and smiled.
“Logan?”
Without taking his eyes from the looker on the stage, he raised a brow. “Yeah, Bets?”
“Wipe up your drool and get ‘Roro. We’re going to give Mary her present now.”
“Kay. Just a sec.”
He leered openly at the female singer, which made her flush. A deliberately promising smirk made her hit a false note.
“For fuck’s sake, Wolverine!” Betsy hissed, following it up with a sharp slap on the back of his head.
“Exactly,” he countered, finally looking toward her.
Betsy smartly psi-slapped him. Logan grabbed his head, almost dropping his beer. “Damn it, woman!”
“Now that I have your attention,” she practically snarled. “Come with me or get another one.”
Grumbling, knowing that she would readily make good on that offer, Logan slid down from the barstool. They moved onto the dance floor together, Betsy breaking off to speak with the band leader while Logan advanced on Riley and Ororo.
“Hey,” he grunted. “Bets says it’s time to give Mary her appreciation.”
Blue eyes found his when Ororo raised her head slightly from Riley’s shoulder. “Oh, all right.”
He turned his back on the dancing pair to shove through the adoring-eyed crowd. When he reached the table, he threw himself into a chair and propped his feet on another. Mary shot him a glance that he avoided.
When Ororo, Riley, and Betsy finally gathered around, the telepath took a thin garment box from Warren. Though Storm sat between Mary and Kitty, Betsy remained standing. She cleared her throat politely, making their table “ and several others “ fall silent.
“Mary Kenoi, I owe you a debt of gratitude,” Betsy said in a ringing tone. “Though it was reckless, you risked your life to save several mutants you didn’t know. As a result, eight are home with their loved ones now, safe and sound.”
Logan tasted salt on the air and didn’t have to look around to know the women were crying. He took another long draw from his beer, ignoring them.
“For your heroism and bravery, you were awarded the Alaskan Medal of Commendation by the local police department, but we have something for you as well.”
She handed the girl the box and motioned for her to open it. Mary did so without pause, tearing the purple wrapping paper. When she lifted the lid, Logan watched her carefully from beneath the brim of his Stetson. Her eyes welled up with tears and her hands flew up to cover her mouth.
“By the order of Charles Xavier, you Mary Kenoi are an honorary X-Woman for life.”
Applause broke out among the mutants as Mary lifted the leather, X embossed uniform from the box. She hugged Betsy tightly, then squealed over her prize. Conversations immediately restarted, even as the mutants gathered more tightly around their hero. Logan suppressed a chuckle when Mary held the leather to her chest and made a semi-silly face.
“Whatcha think, Wolvie?” She asked over the music and voices.
“Looks good on ya, kid.” He replied, saluting her with his bottle.
A moment later, the band onstage shifted songs again. Logan raised a brow, hidden by his hat, when Betsy began to whistle innocently. The first few bars brought him back to singing in the truck, Ororo’s drunken car dancing.
He chanced to look at her, noting that her head was bobbing and she was staring at him.
“Hey, Logan,” Kitty said from the other side of the table. “Dance with me.”
The flash of Ororo’s eyes made him drop his feet to the floor. Logan deposited his beer on the table and leaned over, putting his hat on Kitty’s head.
“Sorry, little Kitten,” he said as he held a hand out to Ororo.
She took it without the slightest hesitation.
“This is our song,” she finished for him.
Logan led her onto the dance floor, barely listening as the X-Men began to whisper. He didn’t care who said what or why he felt the need, but this was a song he would forever associate with Storm.
“I have a confession to make,” she said quickly. Logan linked their hands together, taking her waist with his free hand as she clutched his shoulder.
“What’s that?” he asked quietly.
“I cannot dance, not this way.” She licked her glossy lips. Logan bit back a groan.
Her eyes locked with his and he smiled. “Just don’t look at yer feet, keep yer eyes on me.”
Storm nodded. “All right.”
He waited for the right moment, the right thump of the music before marching her backward. She stumbled once or twice, making him smile. But her eyes never left his. They moved with the crowd, their bodies a safe distance apart.
“We were all down at Margie’s bar, tellin’ stories if we had one. Someone fired the jukebox up, the song it sure was a sad one. A teardrop rolled down Bubba’s nose, from the pain the song was inflictin’. All at once he jumped to his feet, just like somebody kicked him.”
Storm was smiling. Not just smiling, full on, 1000-watt grinning at him. Logan raised a brow, then pushed her sharply away from his body. She spun out gracefully, rolling back into his embrace with her back to his chest. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, linking both hands with hers as they stomped in a tight circle.
She spun herself out the second time, then slipped into his arms the proper way. He steered them around the dance floor, not surprised when she stopped stumbling altogether.
By the time the female singer got to the bridge of the song, they were moving as one seamless unit. They pulled to a halt when the music called for it, stomping their boots together with every other couple of the floor.
The second time they slapped the instep of their boots, Logan pulled her back into his arms. She smelled of rain and soap with the gentle tang of sweat. That gorgeous body fit against his almost perfectly, though her boots made her nearly taller than he.
He wanted it to go on, to keep her smiling at him like that. In the back of his mind, he knew it would be over in seconds, that the moment would be broken. A part of him wondered if that was how his relationship with Storm would be from now on. A series of shared moments, when nothing was between them except heated air. The moment would pass and they would part again.
It seemed like a lonely existence.
The music ended, the crowd went wild for the onstage band as they announced they were taking a break. A disc jockey took over and the first notes of Travis Tritt’s “T-R-O-U-B-L-E” came from the speaker system.
Ororo leaned forward, brushing her lips “ which tasted of cherries “ against his. A shiver ran down his spine, making him gulp slightly. Neither of them was paying attention to the dancing couples or mouth-agape X-Men watching from the corner.
Her lips traveled to his ear, her arms sliding around him to embrace him tightly.
“Thank you for the dance.”
Before he blinked, she had left his arms and headed back to the table.
Logan scowled. She was too much, her effect on him too easy. Chewing on his own tongue, he scanned the bar quickly. A predatory smile eased over his lips when he spotted the raven-haired singer eyeing him from the bar. The come-hither in her stare was enough to get his blood racing.
He wouldn’t be lonely tonight.
~**~
Ororo watched Logan making an utter fool of himself on the dance floor. His hat was down low over his eyes, yet another beer hanging from the hand resting over the girl’s shoulder. He was smiling in a way that made Storm want to claw someone’s eyes out.
Jealousy, never an attractive emotion, consumed her. What right did he have plastering himself to a girl perhaps two years older than Kitty that reeked of cheap perfume? She ground the stem of her cherry between two fingers, glaring at Logan’s back.
They were gyrating against one another in a manner that was best kept to the bedroom. Ororo clenched her jaw until it hurt.
“Skank.”
Looking up sharply, Ororo found Kitty, Betsy, and Mary all glaring at Logan and his dance partner. Their arms were crossed and their faces betrayed the kind of violence she knew was on their minds.
“Look at her!” Kitty continued. “Could she be any closer?”
“She’s humping him,” Mary said indignantly, her tone colored by the alcohol consumed.
“Disgusting,” Betsy chimed in, slurring slightly. “Ororo, go get your man.”
“He is not my man,” Storm said coolly. “And you three are drunk.”
“So?” Kitty demanded. “Doesn’t make him any less a man-whore.”
Ororo rolled her eyes, looking to the males surrounding the women for help. They were busy constructing what looked to be a shot-glass tower, all of them shaking with tipsy laughter. Vexed, Ororo turned her back on them all, watching Logan against her will.
His flannel shirt was open, revealing his usual tank top. Tonight’s was gray, offsetting the blue material of his shirt. His jeans, complete with overlarge belt buckle, were tight enough to show off that delicious backside. Ororo wanted to touch him. Everywhere.
Knowing her inhibitions were lowered because of several tequila shots, four beers, and more whiskey than was legal did not make any difference to her. She made a noise like an angry cat, her nails biting into the wood of her chair.
Yes. Ororo Munroe was definitely jealous. If he was doing this on purpose, it was working.
She saw red when the girl pulled away, coyly nodding toward the other end of the bar. There was a storage room there, which was frequented by couples too hot to wait until they got home. Logan pushed his hat up with the neck of his beer bottle, letting the woman drag him by the shirt.
To her good fortune, her three friends were distracted. Glancing at them, Ororo waited for less than two minutes. When she was sure no one was watching, she slipped out of her chair and into the dancing crowd.
No one paid her any mind as she ducked around the bar and put her hand on the solid wood door that led to the storage area.
Before she turned the knob, she made herself pause. Through the alcohol-induced haze, she pondered her actions. Yes, she was jealous, but did she have a right to be? She was the one that pushed Logan away, that refused to beg him to be hers.
There was no rationale behind her actions. She wanted Logan, even if she could not tell him that, and she definitely did not want anyone else to touch him. Just the thought of him giving or receiving pleasure from another woman made her growl.
How could he dance with her, his eyes betraying everything he would not say, and then head off to have meaningless sex in a backroom? If she went in there now, she was making her intentions known. He would use it against her. The proverbial ball was in his court.
Ororo wrenched the door open. Tomorrow she could blame it on the whiskey if she truly needed to.
Stepping into the dimly lit room, Ororo took a moment to let her eyes adjust. There were cases of liquor obscuring her view into the back and a single, bare light bulb flickered above her head. Following a drunken giggle, Ororo eased toward the beer stacks, not immune to the irony.
A low, male groan brought her up short. That jealousy bubbling in her heart exploded and she came around a corner quickly. She crossed her arms at the sight that greeted her, swallowing the bile rising in her throat.
Logan was against a stack of beer, resting on an open spot among cases of Bud Light. The dark haired girl he’d spent the last two hours attached to was on her knees. The clink of Logan’s belt buckle was akin to nails scraping a blackboard to the weather witch.
As though expecting her, Wolverine raised his eyes to her, tilting the black Stetson back on his head.
“Hey, ‘Ro.”
The girl on her knees tensed, glancing at the intruder over her shoulder. Ororo’s eyes, however, were or Logan alone. She propped herself on a nearby stack of Miller and fixed him with a cool stare.
“Up to the same old tricks, I see.” Her voice was cold, even unfriendly.
“Don’t see a reason not to,” he answered her with a cocky grin. Crimson flooded her vision again when he motioned for the kneeling singer to continue.
“I think your playmate should leave.”
“Do ya?” Logan’s tone was taunting. “Who the fuck are you ta tell me what ta do?”
“I think Handsome’s right,” the girl said as his zipper was pulled down. “This is a private show.”
Ororo snapped.
In one stride she was across the space that separated Logan and his little harlot and the furious weather manipulator. Ororo grabbed the girl’s shoulder, lifted her from her knees and slammed her into the nearest wall.
She only noticed at the girl’s terrified expression that her eyes were glowing white. Thunder boomed and the woman whimpered. Ororo’s hold over her mutation was touch and go at the very best.
“Leave.” The one word was a deliberate growl, a challenge.
The raven-haired singer bolted from the room as though lightning were coming down on her from above. When the door slammed behind her, Ororo turned her eyes to Logan.
He was still lounging against the beer cases. His jeans remained undone, his belt lying limply to the sides. One brow was cocked as he took a slow draw from his now-warm beer.
“Ya just love ruinin’ a man’s fun, doncha?”
“You were making a fool of yourself with a child,” she snapped, not coming any closer.
If she were close to him now, this raw, primal need to make him her own would overtake what little good sense she retained. She wanted to shove him back and kiss him breathless, to ensure no other woman could ever replace her. The need to simply mark him was overwhelming.
To protect herself from him, she crossed her arms over her chest.
“Yer jealous.”
The simple truth in his words made her spine stiffen.
“Button your jeans.”
She turned to leave the room, only to be stopped by a wide hand. Logan gripped her arm hard enough to leave a bruise. She was spun quickly, landing with her backside against the stacked cases he had been leaning against.
Before she could protest, Logan’s mouth covered hers. Unwilling to submit, she kissed him back, her teeth clashing with his as they fought for dominance. His hands fisted in her hair and she lifted herself to sit completely on the beer case behind her.
“Ya ain’t leavin’ me like this,” he growled when they parted to breathe.
“You cannot have me,” she panted back even as her body screamed for more.
“Yer lyin’,” Logan replied gruffly. “Ya didn’t come in here jus’ ta get rid of the girl.”
Though Ororo shook her head, he merely smiled. She heard him inhale deeply before he removed his hat. Holding it up, he sniffed down her body until he reached the apex of her thighs. Ororo shifted when he buried his face in the front of her jeans.
“Yer body’s sayin’ what ya won’t,” he said when he straightened.
Ororo shoved her hand into his hair, the visual of him where she wanted him most was too much. It was wrong, she shouldn’t let this happen, but she barely had enough brainpower to care. She pulled him close, fusing her lips to his. His hat was tossed onto the cases beside them.
He fumbled with the clasp of her halter while her hands slid down his back, under the waistband of his jeans to grope his backside. The low groan she received for her attentions was lost in her mouth, but she smiled into the kiss.
The top of her halter came loose and Logan’s rough hands cupped her bare breasts as nipples hardened in the chilly air. She felt her eyes sting and the room’s temperature jumped sharply. He chuckled against her mouth.
“That’s it, darlin’,” he encouraged her, nipping at her bottom lip. “Melt me.”
This would not be slow or even intimate. She knew he would take what he wanted, pleasure on a carnal level that would leave her breathless. Ororo fell into it, sick of fighting what this man did to her. She knew that nothing would change in the cold light of day.
It did not stop her from hooking her thumbs in the waist of his jeans to tug them down. His thick fingers snapped her belt open. The buttons of her jeans popped loudly, even over the impatient grunts and groans echoing in the room.
He struggled to pull her jeans down while his scorching kiss broke. Ororo flattened her hands to the beer case she was seated on to lift her bottom. Logan yanked the garment down to her ankles. When her thighs were bare, she could feel his hard erection against her flesh. She gasped, reaching to cup him in her hands.
Logan swore violently, his hand fisting in her hair until she had to lean back. His mouth covered hers, tongue sweeping inside to stroke hers. Ororo reached down with one hand to unzip a single boot, kicking it off with the pant leg following. With more freedom to move now, she parted her legs, pulling her still mostly dressed lover closer.
Whiskey making her bold, she tore her mouth from his and panted against his lips.
“Fuck me, Wolverine.”
His eyes went wide and suddenly, both of his hands captured the tender flesh under her thighs. Frantic desire ran through her, her heart thudding against her chest. She wanted him inside, stroking her in all those ways only he could. The room was now sweltering, soaking their remaining clothing with sweat.
She threw her head back, smacking it on the beer case behind her when Logan entered her. Ororo felt her wet, inner muscles clamp down on him, even as Logan growled her name. Ororo felt her mutation slip a little more and the room was suddenly the center of the sun.
Neither of them cared. Logan set an immediate and bruising pace, his face buried in the sweat-slicked crook of her neck. Ororo’s hands smoothed over his shoulders, forcing his flannel shirt down so she could grip his wet flesh.
“Ya shouldn’t,” her lover gasped as he shifted. “Feel so damn good.”
“No one else would,” she shot back, surprised at herself.
Logan only pounded inside of her harder. She could feel him so deep, she wondered if he was rearranging internal organs. His hard body felt like bliss against her, making her crave more in a way that was terrifying. After another heartbeat of his punishing pace, he raised one hand to cup her cheek, holding her in place so he could kiss her again.
Ororo’s toes curled, her calves banging into the boxes. Their frenzy worked a case of beer loose and it crashed to the floor. Neither of them bothered to even spare it a glance. Ororo let her hands fall to his backside again, squeezing the firm flesh to pull him even closer. He growled her name, biting her lips as he jerked into her as though mid-seizure.
She could feel the fire building inside of her, one that was stoked with every thrust of his hips. He could make her go over in record time by his ferocity alone.
Fortunately, he decided to talk her to orgasm instead.
“Ya know what ya do ta me?” he said in that same raspy tone. “All I gotta do is smell ya an’ I’m hard.”
Ororo whimpered, meeting those obsidian eyes.
“I wanna be inside ya all the time,” Logan thrust forward sharply to emphasize his point. “Wanna feel ya hot an’ wet around me. I wanna smell how much ya want me, hear how yer heart starts poundin’.”
“Logan.” It was a half-groan, half-gasp as he hit just the right spot.
“Yer skin hums louder, makes it feel like everythin’s alive. Addicting, that’s what it is.” He fitted his lips against hers again before speaking against them. “I wanna feel ya cum around me. Now.”
A command. He had commanded her to climax for him. To her shock, she exploded almost instantly, her body shaking and tensing with it. He growled her name, swore harshly enough to make a sailor stutter. Ororo saw white lights behind her eyes as her lover strained forward, flattening her to the beer cases behind her.
He came inside of her, their fluids mixing until it coated both sets of thighs. She could not move, thinking simply not an option as she fought to control her mutation. It was difficult to breathe in the superheated room.
Ororo wrapped her arms around Logan, surprised when he did the same. They embraced, hard, paying no mind to the sweat. She clung to him, as though he would evaporate before her very eyes if she did not anchor him to the here and now.
“I want ya so much it scares me,” Logan admitted in a soft tone. Ororo closed her eyes, fearful that she would burst into tears.
“I thought I was alone in the fear department,” she replied against his shoulder.
They remained that way for a long moment, shivering in the sudden chill when Ororo finally got the elements to obey her. She could hear his heart begin to slow as he came down from the sexual high.
A pair of giggling twenty-somethings fell into the room a moment later, startling the couple still entangled on the beer cases. Logan shouted so profanely that it made Storm stifle a giggle in his shirt. The intruders beat a hasty retreat.
When he turned his attention back to her, she was suddenly aware that they had both sobered up. In an instant, just the space between two heartbeats, they were both surrounded by thick emotional armor. Ororo cleared her throat, not breaking their locked gaze.
“The others will be looking for us.”
Logan nodded, stepping back from her. She felt cold and bereft without him close, but she began to pull her clothing on anyway. The space between them erupted again. She was slightly ashamed at having let him ravish her in public, but she squashed it quickly.
“Nothin’ changes,” Logan said as he zipped his jeans and fastened his belt.
She paused buttoning the fly of her jeans to look up at him. “You are still leaving tomorrow.”
“Don’t got a better offer.”
He had thrown that out there on purpose. Ororo realized that he would still refuse to break first. Unless she told him, on no uncertain terms, that she wanted him to remain with her, he would get on the jet tomorrow and fly home.
Her pride clicked into place, icing over her wounded heart.
“I see.”
After fastening the collar of her halter and running a hand through her hair, she sat on the beer case to pull her boot on. The heavy, penetrating weight of Logan’s stare followed her every move, but she did not spare him another glance.
When she was satisfied with her appearance, she brushed past him. “Say hello to Marie for me.”
She thought she heard him call her name, so softly she chalked it up to her over-active imagination, as she stepped back into the bar.
~**~
Just after dawn
He had lain awake all night, going over the last month’s events in his mind. While his friends had all slept wherever they fell in Ororo’s cottage, he remained outside, thinking as he watched the Lights dance above him.
There was sorrow in the midnight blue and violent greens that snaked through the inky sky. Those Lights had been his prophets during his time in Alaska, he knew they what they were saying now.
When everyone rose, in various states of hangover, he let them gather their things. Andine and Eliar came out to sit with him as dawn stained the horizon. His eyes traveled over the dark tree line, to the snow blanketed yard until they reached the frozen lake. The beauty of this place still hit him where it hurt.
The others loaded their things into the jet, eager to head home. Mary, Ken, and Riley bid their goodbyes with bone-crushing embraces and exchanged phone numbers. Storm was likely to have frequent company in her invaded solitude now. Something told him it wouldn’t bother her.
He had come here to save her, and he thought he had. She was open to the X-Men, her family, once more. Maybe, someday, she’d find it in her heart to forgive the Professor his deception, to douse the bridge that smoldered between father and daughter.
The things he had seen, experienced in the vast wild of Alaska would be with him for a long time. From Moose hunting and dog sledding to finding out how it felt to let go. He knew she wasn’t going to break, he prepared himself for it.
Once the X-Men were ready to depart, he waited for them to file onto the jet. No one questioned him as he stepped back into the house. Clouds were forming already, blackening the few daylight hours Henry was allotted in winter. It wasn’t her storm; hers always smelled a little differently.
As though she were waiting for him, he found her in the kitchen. He did not bother removing his coat, but he did set the battered duffel bag beside the door. Their eyes met across the open living space. She had her guard down and he could see it, so he lowered his own cautiously.
“I want you to stay.” Her voice was strong, though her chin quivered.
Hope exploded inside of him, squashed quickly by what he remembered from the Lights.
“But you can’t.”
He closed his eyes for a moment to absorb the direct blow to his heart. When they opened again, she was still standing in the kitchen, watching him carefully. Logan took that moment to capture her in his mind.
She was wearing a thin sweater on top of a flowing skirt, both in a shade of true blue. All her long hair had been swept up from her neck into a loose ponytail. She was barefoot, which seemed right for some reason.
The memory of dancing with her the previous night came back to him. Ororo was perfect in many ways. He loved her forceful, sexual side as much as the simple, serenity he witnessed now. He loved her mulishness, her pride, her loyalty.
Simply put, he loved her.
“Why not?” He demanded when his voice decided to return.
“I know what would happen,” was the soft reply.
“Ain’t no one on earth can tell the future, ‘Ro.”
“I can,” she continued. “You would remain here, happy with me. You would work for Kenny or perhaps the Sheriff. The X-Men would come to visit and yes, we would be perfectly happy. But you would grow restless. Perhaps not at first, but in a year, maybe two. “
“’Ro…”
She went on as though he had not spoken. “I would encourage you to go, to find whatever it is you’re looking for. You would promise to return and after long, lonely nights, you would. But again, perhaps sooner, wanderlust would find you. It would happen again and again until your visits here were for only a night. Until you stopped coming back at all. I would lose so much of my life to waiting for you.”
It was truth. Cold, bitter, in-your-face truth. He couldn’t fault her logic or deny her words. His track record spoke volumes. The simple, inescapable reality was that no matter how he loved her, he could not deny his nature. More to the point, she didn’t want him to try. She loved him enough to never tame him.
“I love you,” Ororo said almost desperately. “I do not know how it happened, but it is the truth. I would rather say goodbye now, have us part with good memories, than resent one another in the future.”
Logan crossed the room quickly, coming around the sofa and breakfast bar in record time. She was waiting for him, enveloping him in a frantic embrace the moment he was within reach. His arms engulfed her slender shoulders as he kissed her hair. He knew, with neither of them speaking, that this would be the last time he held her.
So he held on a moment longer, pressing her humming body against his to capture it in his mind.
When he pulled back, he saw no tears in her eyes. He cupped her cheeks with both hands, lowering his mouth to hers gently. Their kiss was soft, gentle, almost heartbreaking in it’s innocence. He released her, meeting those striking eyes.
“Goodbye, Ororo.”
Her smile was filled with unspoken sorrow, but she did not seem to expect a rebuttal. Logan released her, stepping back and turning away. He moved to the front door, collecting his duffel bag and slinging it over his shoulder.
He cast one last, longing look at her before he opened the front door and stepped into the cold.
There were no questions when he entered the jet. He took his seat beside Betsy while Kitty and Warren piloted the jet. The duo warned that the take off could get touchy because of the small storm moving through the area.
A moment later, the clouds parted and the sun beamed down on them all. Logan glanced out of the window, spotting a slender figure standing atop of her home. Her dark arms were raised as the wind whipped her clothing around her.
The Blackbird soared into the sky, smooth as a hot knife through butter. Logan sat back in his seat, staring straight ahead of him. No one said a word to him, as though they could see his heart was breaking before their eyes.
He remained silent all the way back to New York.
