Chapter Four: Weakness
You used to captivate me
By your resonating light
Now I’m bound by the life you left behind
You face it haunts my once pleasant dreams
Your voice it chased away all the sanity in me
~Evanescence
“I am sorry I could not return your call until today, my friend.”
“Don’t worry about it, Hank.” Ororo smiled into the receiver, standing on the balcony of her bedroom. “I know you are very busy.”
“I should never be too busy for you, my darling,” he countered effortlessly. Ororo could envision him, barricaded in his office, hanging upside down as he spoke to her. It was a warm, comforting image.
Since her induction into Xavier’s fold some years ago, Henry McCoy had been her friend. At their first meeting he had easily held his hand out to her, a simple smile on his peaches “and-cream face.
“I don’t know what to do,” Ororo admitted cautiously.
“Is there anything you can do?” Hank’s question, like the man himself, was layered with meaning. If she wanted to unravel it, she would need a lifetime. It was something she adored about her Henry. The man kept her on her toes.
“I wish there was,” the woman sighed. “I want my husband back, damn it all.”
Hank chuckled quietly, making her smile in spite of herself. “I know you do. But, my dear, is this healthy?”
“He still loves me,” Ororo defended with less conviction in her tone than she would have liked.
“Of that I have little doubt,” Hank replied easily. “Ororo, something did happen that drove Logan into this self-destructive path. The key to getting him back is finding out what the catalyst happened to be.”
Ororo pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head slightly as the building migraine began to overtake her. At least she was still without classes today. She did not think she could concentrate long enough to brush her teeth, let alone teach someone.
She could not deny what Hank was saying, even as the silence stretched between them. Logan did not lightly cast her aside, as many preferred to believe. She knew, with every passing day, that something had happened.
What, when, or why remained a mystery.
“Perhaps…” Hank began haltingly. “You should ask him about Tokyo.”
A soft frown crossed her lips and she pulled the cordless phone away from her ear to stare at it. Hank had strange ideas, at times, but he would never deliberately lead her to the wrong conclusion.
Tokyo had been a mistake, on all their parts. Psylocke, Storm, and Wolverine had flown directly into a trap set by the remnants of the defunct Weapon X project. Psylocke and Storm were easily separated from their male companion and then one another.
Storm had little recollection of events after she found Psylocke at the rendezvous point. She was told, much later, that the Weapon X militants had located the female X-Men. Psylocke defended a weakened Storm after she took a rather large support beam to the back of her head.
The blow effectively erased Ororo’s memory of the incident. In fact, it discarded all memories of the battle, the wake of it, locating Logan, and the visit to a Japanese hospital for treatment. She woke from a deep coma some two weeks later, completely unaware of what came to pass during her long sleep.
Psylocke and Wolverine quickly filled her in. Logan never left her side.
“Tokyo? Hank…” Ororo replaced the receiver to her ear with a toss of her head, making her choppy white locks bounced about her. “What does that have to do with anything?”
A pause. Ororo could read Hank like an open book, even when separated by so many miles and several weeks. “Henry Peter McCoy. Answer me.”
He sighed, a long-suffering sigh, before answering her. “I believe you should ask him, directly, about what transpired in Tokyo. Call it a hunch, my dear.”
Carmel fingers drifted up to her forehead, sliding beneath the light fringe of her bangs. She traced the long, jagged scar at her hairline, an odd shiver passing through her at the touch. Something about that scar had always bothered her, though she could never explain why to anyone’s satisfaction.
“Ororo?”
“Yes, I am here,” she answered. Shaking herself back to the present, Ororo picked up her coffee cup, sipping the rich, grounding brew. The bitter taste brought reality back to the weather-controlling mutant.
“Are you all right?” The question, so sweet and innocent in it’s simplicity, lanced Ororo’s carefully guarded heart.
She felt her infamous self-control waver, just slightly. It was enough to send the heavens rumbling and the wind whistling through the grounds. Inhaling deeply, soothingly, she reigned in her mutation.
“No,” she answered honestly. “No, I am not all right.”
Henry sighed, the sound teary even over the impersonal line of a telephone. “I am sorry, my dear. I wish I could do more for you.”
“You already have, Blue-Man.” She replied gently.
“Ambassador?” Ororo heard the unmistakable voice of Hank’s assistant come through the line, as though he had just walked into the room. “You’re running late again.”
“Yes, yes,” Hank replied testily, his voice muffled as though he had covered the receiver. “I will be along in a moment.”
Ororo chuckled silently, smiling fondly at the mental image of her dear friend snapping at an intruding assistant. He really was just adorable.
“I will let you get back to saving the world one board meeting at a time,” Ororo teased.
“Oh, do shut up,” he shot back, affection in every word. “Call me tonight?”
“Always.”
She clicked the phone off, leaning on the balcony beside her coffee. Her soft satin wrap whispered with every movement as she carefully laid the phone on the solid stone railing. It was still too early for many of the others to be awake, so the grounds were blissfully silent.
The lonesome caw of a far off bird mingled with the throaty quacks from several ducks that had landed on the nearby pond. Enormous, marshmallow-shaped clouds filled a true blue sky, though Ororo could already feel the call of a brewing tempest in her veins.
Tonight nature would rage against the mansion, fighting against the building that jutted out of the earth so proudly. Black sky would be devoid of twinkling stars, winds would scream and rain would pelt the land. Oh, she could feel that savage beauty. She wanted, desperately, to call it to her now, to get lost in the heady sensation of her element.
Thinking of nature’s ferocity usually brought about thoughts of Logan. This morning happened to be no different than any other. The faint memory of ecstasy beneath the monstrous swirl of a rainstorm flitted through her mind.
She had taken Logan that night, on the sopping earth of the forest. He’d been unable to believe that she, usually so buttoned up, could truly let go in the open like that. It was one of their first nights together and she quickly taught him why they referred to her as Storm.
With the itching memory of Logan’s strong hands on her skin, the impression of his lips on her throat and phantom feel of him inside of her, Ororo’s heart rate quadrupled. Irritated and suddenly aching for physical contact, she collected her coffee and the telephone to head back into the bedroom.
It was time to start her day. Pete would be waiting for her.
~**~
Her heeled dance shoes made clicking noises on the hardwood floor as Pete expertly whipped her into a tight spin. She flung her body back, trusting the young Russian to catch her. He did so, bringing her easily into his sensual embrace. His face was scant centimeters from hers, his eyes intently burning.
The man could make passion out of nothing without batting an eyelash. Ororo felt her pulse quicken against her will, thinking for the millionth time that young Kitten was a lucky woman indeed.
Ororo hooked one of her long legs around Peter’s hip, sliding provocatively from his front to his back, where she molded her body against him. His hand gripped her thigh tightly, the other going up to his neck to take her hand.
They moved as one seamless unit across the floor, neither of them bothering to check the mirror to ensure their stance was correct. The dancing duo could feel in every pulse-pounding beat that they were dead on.
Peter and Ororo always performed better with an audience, after all.
Her partner tore her from his back when they reached the edge of the floor. He crushed her to his chest, their legs entwining seductively. From the outside looking in, it truly seemed as though Peter was about to take her, hard and fast, right there on the floor.
That, of course, was the whole idea.
The dance finished with a flare. Ororo dropped to her knees in seeming submission, allowing Peter to lean down to her, his hands framing her face.
Applause broke out immediately, accompanied by wolf-whistles and good natured jeering.
Peter took Ororo’s hand, effortlessly helping her stand so they could bow in unison. Her smile was immediate and true. Nothing in the world compared to dancing with Peter. They were a match, like a pair of comfortably worn in shoes. There would never be romance between them, but their chemistry on the floor was unmatched.
She adored her partner. When Charles had first suggested to a fourteen year old Windrider that ballroom dancing would help her adjust to life in the United States, she had scoffed. But just two lessons later, she was addicted. Her natural grace was easy to integrate into the sensuous movements, the emotion she was allowed to portray without devastating weather complications was a high she could never quite duplicate.
Scott was grinning from his place at the back of the practice room alongside Psylocke, Shadowcat, and Leech. The quartet was the usual audience and could nearly always be found watching the dancing pair at some point during the day.
“That was awesome,” Scott complimented as the dancers approached.
“Uh, yeah,” Kitty said, a hungry look in her eye. “You guys really nail those Latin dances now, don’t you?”
“It’s enough to make anyone right randy,” came the English-accented voice of Psylocke. “Is it hot in here?”
“Hey, hands off, purple girl,” Kitty replied on a laugh.
Peter wrapped his girlfriend in a warm embrace as Leech smiled softly at Storm.
“That’s so cool,” he said softly. “It’s like watching poetry.”
“Why, thank you, handsome,” Ororo responded. She batted her long lashes and put a hand to her sweaty breast in a perfect imitation of a Southern Belle Simper.
While Scott and Jimmy went out to the garage to tinker with the cars, the others trooped into the kitchen. Peter took a bottle of water from the refrigerator for Ororo, handing it to her as she passed to sit at the table. He took one for himself as well, watching as Betsy and Kitty sat with her.
“Who’s hungry?” He asked after checking the clock.
Betsy reached up and pinched her arm. “He is drop dead gorgeous, a completely brilliant dancer, and he cooks. Is there nothing he does well?”
Kitty crossed herself, laughing merrily. “No, not really.”
Ororo rolled her eyes. “He can’t carry a tune to save his life.”
“HEY!” Kitty and Peter said in unison, making Psylocke howl with mirth.
Storm blew her partner a kiss. “How about Piotr’s Famous Grilled Cheese and Tomato Soup?”
“Ooh!” Betsy raised her hand. “One for me, luv!”
“And me!” Kitty did a little dance of joy in her chair.
“Four of Piotr’s Famous coming right up,” the Russian said, turning toward the stove before opening various cabinets.
Ororo laughed into her hand when both of her companions tilted their heads when Peter bent at the waist to locate a decent sized saucepan and skillet.
“You two are terrible.”
“What?” The brunette waggled her eyebrows. “I’m allowed to look.”
“Enough staring at my ass,” Peter said without turning around. “Except Katherine, of course.”
That, of course, only made Psylocke laugh harder while Kitty positively beamed.
The girls sobered a few moments later, listening as Peter hummed while cooking them all lunch. It was one of those lazy, calm and familial afternoons that Ororo felt she missed during her messy divorce period.
Some of her good humor fled at the thought of her divorce. She had made it through the entire morning “ after her call from Hank “ without dwelling on her singleness. Now, though, the hurt came rushing back, replacing her happy, sated mood with dour depression.
“Come on, ‘Roro,” Psylocke said suddenly, her face crumbling. “Don’t start thinking like that.”
“Betsy,” Ororo sighed.
The violet-haired telepath held her hands up in defense. “You’re the one projecting on a loud speaker. I can’t help what I pick up.”
“What are you picking up?” Kitty demanded.
“I’m sorry,” Ororo shook her head. “I did not realize.”
“For what?” Kitty tried again.
“Don’t you dare apologize,” Betsy cut in. “I know you’re hurting, even if you won’t talk about it.”
“What are we talking about?” The third woman attempted cutting in a third time.
“I do talk about it,” Ororo defended herself somewhat lamely.
“To who?” Betsy sat back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Hey! Let me into the conversation, dang it,” Kitty sulked.
“Psylocke was picking up my depression over the divorce,” Ororo finally addressed Kitty.
“Oooh,” Kitty replied with sudden understanding. “Gotcha.”
Any further conversation was halted by the appearance of a blonde-haloed Angel in the doorway to the kitchen. Ororo smiled to him warmly, cutting a glance to the now silent Psylocke.
In his years at the school, Angel had shed most of his timidity. He, rather swiftly, became an integral part of both the school and the X-Men. His kindness and patience were not dulled by psychological abuse at the hands of his father, but strengthened his resolve. The X-Men now had a champion. Angel lived, breathed Xavier’s dream.
Ororo credited him with saving the team after Charles’ death at the hands of the mad Phoenix. Had he not walked into the office at that precise moment, she might have given in and closed the school. In one instant, Angel reminded her of the dream, gave her the strength to step in and take the torch from her deceased mentor.
She watched, with an ache in her heart, as Angel’s eyes drifted through the room and sought out Betsy. As though he were drawn to her, he spoke to Storm without taking his eyes from the violet-eyed mutant.
“You’ve got a phone call.”
Betsy, whom had gone completely and totally silent at Angel’s appearance, raised her eyes to his slowly. Kitty nudged Ororo as the two seemed to forget there were others in the room….or on the planet for that matter.
“Oh?” Ororo asked, watching them carefully.
“Yes.” Angel said softly. “Someone named Kate Jennings.”
“All right, I’ll take it in my office.” Ororo stood, telling Peter to keep lunch warm for her.
“Good afternoon, Kitty, Peter…” Angel greeted belatedly. “Elizabeth.”
“Hi, Angel,” Kitten said brightly.
“Cheers, Warren.” Betsy said, not commenting on the fact that he used her full name, which she normally despised.
Ororo paused as she was leaving the room, staring at Angel and Psylocke. There was something in that gaze, something so raw that it was sweetly heartbreaking. She wondered, somewhere in the back of her mind, when Angel had fallen so hard for the telepath. It was common knowledge, at least to those closest to Betsy, that she harbored feelings for the winged mutant since her first day at the mansion.
Though she wanted to be cynical and sarcastic, Ororo could only sigh to herself.
May the Goddess bless and keep them. Give them a long, happy life together.
She fought her own grief as she headed to her office to take that damned phone call.
~**~
Aerosmith blared through the house’s speaker system, making the windows rattle with every gut-clenching guitar solo. Alone in the home he had shared with his wife, Logan stretched his arms above his head, readying himself for the workout he typically engaged in.
He still hadn’t gutted the house as he’d planned. Something like nostalgia kept her things scattered through the home. While Steven Tyler screamed about love in an elevator, Logan positioned himself in front of the punching bag he kept in the bedroom.
After the first few blows, the stand-alone bag swaying with every hit, he began to feel somewhat better. He knew better than to watch when she danced with Pete, especially in that fiery, challenging Latin style they had gone to Columbia to learn.
She inflamed him, even through the self-loathing and hatred. He had wanted to take her so badly that he left the school several hours early, just to get his shit straight.
It wasn’t like he’d gotten any in a while. In fact, he hadn’t been decently laid since the last time he’d taken Ororo to bed. That, to his dismay, was nearly seven months ago. Frustration was starting to take its toll. All he had to do was glimpse her and he found himself ready to pound her into the floor, wall, or any other available surface.
He sniffed carefully, suddenly annoyed with himself. Damn, he was still scenting her on his clothing. Not even dousing himself in soap and cologne could mask her scent.
No…wait. That was actually her.
Logan spun away from the bag, his eyes darting to the skylight. He’d closed it a while ago, when the rain and thunder began. At first, he thought he’d been smelling things again, but a beat later, two Carmel-colored legs appeared through the open window. Rain soaked the carpeting, but apparently she didn’t care.
Ororo landed gracefully on the floor in front of his bed, her eyes immediately shifting from white to blue. She was sopping wet, her white sundress sticking to her dark flesh in ways that definitely made it hard for him to breathe. Her hair was matted to her face.
Damn, if she wasn’t the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“What the fuck do ya want?” Logan demanded, channeling his sudden lust into anger.
She said nothing. For a moment, Wolverine wondered if he had lost his mind “finally. Was he hallucinating? Had his perverted mind thought her up so he could get himself off to memories of the way her willing, naked body felt wrapped around his “again?
Ororo moved closer, causing Logan to tense. He didn’t want her here. He was too raw, too open to fight her off. It was better if she ran the other direction, found some nice, stable dork and settled down.
He did not retreat as she came closer still, her wet body dropping rain all over his floor. When she was close enough, he caught the fury and lust in her gaze. At that moment, Logan knew true and overwhelming fear.
“Get out,” he ordered her sharply. “Go home.”
“No,” she defied him.
“What do ya want? Leave somethin’ here?”
“What I want is very simple,” she answered, standing close to him now. Close enough that the scent of her desire and need nearly took his knees out. He was hard almost instantaneously, the ache inside of him almost unbearable.
“I want you to take me to bed,” she finished.
Oh, she was gonna be blunt like that. Logan’s mouth twisted into a grimace that was part restraint and part give.
“You’ve lost your damn mind, Storm. Go home.”
Her stance changed so slowly, so fluidly that he almost missed it. A slow, seductive smile spread over her plump lips. That toned, lithe body shifted closer to him, until he could feel the undeniable heat of her skin.
“You do not want me?” Her question was measured, her tone an enticing purr. She reached for his hand and he was powerless to stop her.
“No. I don’t.” He denied while his body screamed.
His hand suddenly found purchase on the smooth, wet flesh of her thigh. Ororo’s hand guided him, raising their joined fingers until she forced him to cup her slick heat. Logan’s eyes threatened to roll back in his head, remembering so suddenly the exquisite torture of being buried inside her tight body.
“You don’t want this, Wolverine?” She questioned. The use of his codename made her game suddenly apparent.
This wasn’t a ploy to get him back. Ororo had been “ and by all evidence still was “ a sexual person. She tested the limits of his rapid-healing stamina more than once. She could be yielding and submissive or hard, demanding, dominant. This, obviously, was a dominant moment.
But he couldn’t let himself drown in her. If he did, there was no telling what might be revealed. He didn’t want to hold her, know her, sink into her and forget what he’d walked away from.
“No,” but his voice faltered. Ororo’s smile widened.
She rocked her hips, taking one of his fingers inside of her. Her low, breathy moan almost knocked him stupid.
“Fuck me, Wolverine,” she whispered under the pulse-pounding music.
Unfortunately, Logan’s brain decided to start working again at that exact moment. Using his anger and frustration as a shield, he said the first thing that popped into his mind.
“Hey,” he swallowed thickly. “If yer up for a quick and easy fuck, it’s Sailor Week in the city. Could find a coupla sailors to fuck your brains out on the dock. If you’re lookin’ to be a whore and all.”
For a moment, he was so ashamed of himself he almost cried. Hurt flooded her eyes and was gone in a heartbeat. Rage and lust came back over her and her smile turned into a scowl.
SMACK!
Ororo’s delicate hand struck him with the force of a hurricane wind. Even through his adamantium skull, he felt his brain rattle. His head snapped to the side and when he brought it back up he realized his hand had gripped her thigh to keep his balance. She would have bruises come morning.
She was glaring at him, anger and lust coming through in her scent until it surrounded him. He shouldn’t have provoked her, not when he remembered “ too late “ that Ororo in full on elemental rage was the biggest turn on in the world.
Her hand gripped his and she yanked it from her flesh. Her eyes were cold as Artic ice when he met them again.
“You know,” she said easily. “That is a damn good idea, Wolverine.”
To his utter shock, she turned to leave the room. Just the vague idea that she might take his “advice”, the mental images of some idiot boy groping her, making her moan…
Logan snapped.
Before she reached the bedroom door, he was on her. He grabbed her arm, spinning her until she faced him. He growled, low and dangerous, his face only centimeters from hers. He saw, too late, the understanding in her eyes.
She’d called his fucking bluff.
“You want me,” his wife whispered in that taunting tone he loved and hated equally. “Make up your damn mind, Wolverine.”
His hand shot up to fist in her hair, dragging her head back roughly. “My fucking name is Logan.”
He was lost and he knew it. Her challenge, the dominance she had so easily asserted over him won over his better judgment. When her hands came up to grip his shirt, he pulled her closer to capture her lips.
She was not pliable and willing, instead hard and demanding. Her lips parted at their first contact with his, but it was she who thrust her tongue into his mouth. She traced every inch of his mouth, stealing his secrets and laying him bare, raw to her.
Hands groped and pulled at his clothing. He fitted her against his chest eagerly, rocking his hard cock into her stomach until she groaned into his mouth. The need to devour her, to remind her of his status as her mate was blinding.
Her dress came apart with two tugs of his hands. He shoved it from her shoulders, not surprised to find she was completely naked beneath it. Ororo tugged his shirt from his chest, her nails scraping his flesh until he growled.
Their hands fought over his sweat pants, the two of them succeeding in shoving them down until he could step out of them. He wanted to take her right there, in the middle of the room that they had once shared. He needed to feel her, to remember.
Anger still filtered through and he pulled his mouth from hers without any hint of tenderness.
“You know,” he grunted, cupping her ass so he could lift her effortlessly. “This don’t change a damn thing. Its just sex.”
Her eyes seared him like liquid fire. “Barely.”
Oh, she was paying for that one.
Without any warning, Logan shifted her. His eyes stayed on hers while he slammed her down on his aching cock. Her wet body enveloped him quickly, her heightened lust making it easy to bury himself to the hilt.
She wanted to be fucked, he’d give her that. His hands gripping her backside roughly, Logan lifted her again. Ororo gasped when he slammed her back down. She fell into rythym with him, arching her hips and using her heels on his thighs to rock up and down on his cock.
Logan caught one of his swaying nipples in his mouth, flicking his tongue over the coffee colored peak. She groaned, arching her back to offer him more. He swirled his tongue around each pebbled nipple in turn, slowly backing her toward the bedroom wall.
Their thrusts were hard, furious, screaming with rage and hurt. He didn’t know what would happen come morning, but just being inside of her again was driving him wild. For all his posturing and lies, he still loved her. She was still very much his wife.
And now she knew that.
He shoved those thoughts aside, pinning Ororo to the wall so he could move faster. Harder. Deeper. His hands, no longer occupied with keeping them upright, fell to her thighs and lifted them, opening her to him completely.
Ororo’s hands smoothed up his arms, slipping in the sweat now coating them both. Unable to stay passive, she dragged her nails through his hair, making his hips jerk at the contrast in sensation.
“This what ya wanted?” He demanded before claiming her lips in a bruising kiss.
“No,” she denied half-heartedly, tearing her mouth from his.
“Bullshit,” he thrust hard, punishing her for her venomous words.
A gust of wind and Ororo’s sudden weight shift landed them both on the carpeted floor. The impact broke them apart and for several moments they fought one another, rolling over and over until she had effectively pinned him.
She took him back inside of her on a moan, her hands clutching the bare skin of his chest until he swore she drew blood. He, in turn, grasped her hips, stabbing upward into her as she rode him without mercy. Logan watched her move above him, in rapture at the sight of this enraged goddess working his body so completely.
Her mouth fell open a scant second later, her entire body shivering with the onset of climax. Logan growled, wanting to join her.
“Come on, girl,” he rasped, that telltale tightening pooling in his belly. “Finish it. Go on. Finish it!”
Ororo screamed into the howling winds, her body clamping down on his and forcing him over the edge into bliss.
“Flamin’ hell!” He shouted, almost howling into the night as he came inside of her, holding her still to ride out the waves of it.
Unlike the other nights together, she did not collapse onto his chest and snuggle as close as she could. Ororo, her eyes still rimmed with frost, swatted him cheekily on the stomach, making him flinch.
“Thanks.”
With that, she stood, leaving him bereft and gathered her shredded clothing. Logan could not even stand as she gathered the winds around her and left their home the way she had come.
Logan lay back on the carpeting, surrounded by her scent. He lifted his head, then slammed it into the floor.
“Fuck.”
