Chapter Five: Consequences
Typical and hardly
The type I fall for
I like it when the physical
Don't leave me askin' for more
I'm a sexy mama
Who knows just how to get what I wanna
What I wanna do is bring this on ya
~Pussycat Dolls
He wasn’t prepared for her. Not like this. Ororo smirked, blinking the sweat from her eyes.
Music blared from the mansion’s sound system. It pumped into the practice room loud enough to rattle the windows. The throbbing beat moved her sinuous body without the aid of a dance partner.
The Pussycat Dolls were normally not her first choice of music. Today, however, she felt like a great cat on the prowl. Self-confidence had been jolted through her previously waning system at Logan’s buckling the night before. Only that man could make her feel like a goddess and sex kitten all in one fell swoop.
She rolled her hips in a way meant to set a man’s blood on fire, using the chair she’d confiscated from the kitchen for balance. Ororo hopped onto it, dropping into a provocative crouch. Her hands fell to her knees, yanking her legs apart unhindered by the tight Lycra covering her thighs.
Lip synching with the music in the solace of her practice room, she jumped from the chair after swaying to a stand.
Her husband was in for it. He knew it. She knew it. All that was left to do was wait to pounce again. She threw her body back, curving around the back of the chair. Sweat slicked over her entire body, making the thin material of her clothing cling to her curves.
When she flipped the chair around, she tossed it somewhat haphazardly. It landed with a heavy wooden clunk in front of the door.
That happened to be the exact moment Logan, Warren, and Betsy were walking by. The trio was discussing school business, from the glance Ororo caught as she turned. She shimmed down into another crouch, bending to show off the curves she worked so hard to keep.
She wondered how long they would stand there, watching, before Logan snapped again.
~**~
His mouth hung open in complete and utter shock as his mug hit the floor.
There was his former wife, showing him exactly what he’d just walked away from. Coffee soaking into the hardwood floor, glass scattering, he had to blink several times. Aware that Angel and Betsy were just as dumbfounded, he continued to stare into the open practice room as Ororo seduced him.
She moved toward the chair “ and them “ with a challenging strut. The music pounded in his blood, but the words were lost on him. Ororo twisted her hips around just so, making him nearly grunt with restraint. She all but humped the chair as she slid onto it.
“Mother of God,” Angel whispered, crossing himself when Ororo pulled her thighs apart and yanked them back together, her torso moving in an inviting ripple.
Her hair fluttered in a tantalizing way as she ducked her head before bringing it back up sharply. One thing he had always loved about her was the play between that prim, proper lady and this demanding, borderline violent minx. She set his blood on fire even further as she spun on the chair, dropping down sharply and crooking a finger to whomever she was dancing for at the moment.
“I have taught her well, I see,” Betsy said with obvious amusement.
Angel’s coffee cup crashed to the floor at that particular mental image.
Ororo continued her seduction, the smile on her face and fire in her eyes making Logan’s teeth hurt. Wench knew exactly what she was doing. He’d let it slip the night before. By giving in, he had told Ororo all she needed to know. Now that she was confident he still wanted her “ as though anyone in their right mind could not want that-- she held all the power.
Yes, he wanted her. As her song finished and she kneeled into a challenging yet submissive posture, all he could think of was stripping that tight black material from her legs and burying himself inside of her. Whatever had possessed her the previous night now took him and lust sang through his body.
“Very nice,” Betsy applauded Ororo.
“Um…I have to…right.” Angel made his stammering excuses and beat a hasty retreat down the hall.
Betsy giggled. “I think you’ve gone and made him blush, ‘Roro. Hell, I almost want to shag you against a wall.”
Logan turned sharply to her as Ororo’s smoky laughter bounced around the practice room.
The violet haired mutant shrugged, indicating to the coffee spilled on the floor. “Might wanna take care of that, Logan.”
As she moved away, Ororo came up to the door. She’d pulled on a light hoodie, black to match her revealing Lycra. “Yes, I think you’d better.” She brushed against the bulge in his trousers as she squeezed past him.
Logan had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning. His hands clenched and released, wanting to drag her beautiful body back to him, to take her right there on the practice room floor.
When his former wife turned down the corridor leading to her office, he gave in to the pull. He was already screwed, why not get something out of it?
~**~
The office was filled with bright afternoon light when Ororo stepped into it. She left the door open, humming to the music now stuck in her head. Logan’s reaction to her daringly seductive dance left her with the giddy feel of feminine power.
No matter what he said, the man was still hot for her. The previous night still played havoc on her system, flooding her with heat when she thought of his body so vigorously claiming hers. She had gone there for sex and came away from it with more than that.
It was no surprise that she had gone to him. Ororo still thought of the man as her husband, her mate. When the prodding of desire began to inflame her, seven months of celibacy weighing in, she had gone to him. She felt, no matter what he said, that he would want her.
How right she had been.
So lost was the wintry mutant in her thoughts that she did not notice when Logan appeared at her door. She stuffed her hands into the high pockets of her hoodie, moving around her desk to glance at the schedule Marie had placed there some time during her…workout.
Only when the door slammed, and locked, did she look up.
“Wolverine?”
He came across the room in two strides, knocking over the lamp perching innocently on the edge of her desk. Ororo felt the flicker of fear and the siren call of lust when he shoved her high backed leather chair out of the way. His eyes were aflame with swirling emotion, each deep and so consuming she could hardly name them.
Not a single word passed between them. He took her by the front of her hoodie, drawing her close. When she was flush against him, his mouth claimed hers with little tenderness. Ororo responded eagerly, taking her hands from the hoodie to grasp his hair a little too tightly.
A low, feral growl erupted from his throat and he pushed her away from him. Annoyed, Ororo opened her mouth to protest, only to find that Logan had divested her desk of half it’s contents. He’d made them some room.
“Just sex.” He snarled to her, yanking her closer. “You’re just a good fuck.”
Ororo knew better, so the words did not hurt her. She allowed him to lift her, placing her ass on the edge of her desk. “No, Logan. I am a great fuck.”
“Cocky bitch.”
“Asshole.”
He silenced her with another kiss. His tongue forced itself inside of her mouth, his teeth clashing against hers as they fought for dominance. Ororo wondered, somewhere in the back of her mind, if perhaps this wild, uninhibited side of her was not Wolverine’s influence.
Perhaps it was just hers.
She pulled at his tee shirt, not bothering to take it off. The second his skin was revealed, her hands dove in to touch, scrape and tease him. Logan peeled the Lycra from her legs, tossing her sneakers over his shoulder when he found he was forced to remove them.
Her panties, on the other hand, got caught around one ankle and stayed there. Ororo unzipped her hoodie, nipping at Logan’s chin hard enough to make him growl. Like her, he only revealed enough of her skin to get the treat inside.
Ororo fought with his stubborn belt buckle, wrenching it off with the resonating clash of leather snapping together. His worn denim jeans came down just passed his backside, until his already engorged cock sprang free of its confinement.
As she took him in her hand, stroking him with the familiarity of a wife, Logan threw his head back, groaning loudly. His fingers parted the wet folds at the apex of her thighs, dipping inside to collect the already gathering beads of moisture that betrayed her lust.
Without warning, he pushed two thick fingers inside of her, making the woman hiss and squirm on her desk.
“Ow,” she grunted reproachfully.
Logan smirked down at her, pulling his hand back before thrusting it forward again. Hard. “Stop complainin’.”
“Shut up.”
He drew her legs apart roughly; one hand holding her hip while the other plunged inside of her again and again. Ororo’s hips thrust into his hand in time with his movements. She bit her lip, feeling the wetness pool between her legs.
A glance at Logan nearly made her come by itself. She quickened her strokes along his hard cock, making his hips rock into her hand. They both panted and sighed, each enjoying the bout of delicious torture they had not engaged in the previous night.
When he seemed to have had enough, Logan eased her back on the desk, taking her hands so she would release him. Ororo arched her back against the cold, polished wood of her desk, displaying her body for his feasting eyes. Her former husband captured one hard nipple through the thin material of her workout bra, the rough cloth making her tingle as he wet it thoroughly.
He stepped between her thighs, leaning over the length of her body. Ororo brought her legs up quickly, offering him the full pleasure of her flesh. Logan took her in one instant, seating his thick erection inside of her without pause. Ororo’s head fell back, falling over the edge of the desk as he set an immediately bruising pace.
Clenching around the cock inside of her, Ororo groaned, careful to not say his name yet. Such vulnerability too soon would undo all of her hard work. Logan’s jaw clenched when she reached up to drag her tongue along its whiskered edge. His thrusts were punishing, making the woman beneath him writhe and squirm like some wild thing. He’d always feared the beast inside of him, but she reveled in it.
Her questing tongue finally located the hollow of her love’s ear and she whispered huskily.
“Did you think you would find someone else? You cannot replace me, husband.”
Logan shook his head, as though trying to drown out the truth of her words.
“No one in this world will ever feel as good to you. You fit inside of me, honey. I was made to wrap around you.”
“Stop,” he nearly pled. “Shut up.”
Ororo squeezed her inner muscles, intentionally making him groan with pleasure.
“We mated for life, Logan.” She admitted, throwing caution to the winds. “We are still mated.”
Something snapped inside of him then.
He flattened Ororo to the desk, taking her hands in his and shoving her thighs up to her chest. She clawed at his shoulders when he reared up, moving more deeply inside of her. Logan’s face was twisted in pain and pleasure. He seared his mouth to hers, taking her breath away with the sheer, animalistic ferocity behind it.
There was the sense of familiarity in his sudden, consuming passion. Logan thrust his hips with the grace of the primitive and the fury of a man possessed. Ororo’s breath was pushed from her lungs with every forceful stroke, her nails digging into his slick shoulders until she drew blood.
Logan’s hands gripped hers to the point of pain, his every thrust dangerously rocking the desk beneath them. Ororo felt the heavy wood shift as Logan’s cock delved deep inside of her again.
The sound of flesh striking flesh melded with Logan’s feral grunts and Ororo’s throaty moans until the room was filled with it all.
Glass shattered on the hardwood floor. Logan’s vicious thrusts had caused a paperweight to topple to the floor. When he released her hands, she reached out for something, anything to hold on to.
She succeeded in dropping mounds of paperwork to the floor along with her stack of messages and container of ballpoint pens. Logan brought his hands to her breasts, massaging them brutally until she panted her husband’s name.
He swallowed her cries with another hot, wet kiss a beat later. The winds screamed outside, the temperature of the room jumping several degrees as Ororo’s abused body reached its inevitable climax. Shivers ran the length of her body, centering on the place where her body joined with Logan’s.
Strong, masculine arms stretched with taut muscle as he gripped the edge of the desk and shifted his weight. Ororo dragged hungry hands over his familiar flesh with all the insatiable lust of a starving succubus. She pulled her head up, meeting Logan’s hot gaze with one of her own.
“Look,” he growled.
She needed to explanation. Her eyes, as though drawn by his guttural voice, drifted down body until she could watch his slick, hard cock slipping in and out of her. She tightened around him at the erotic image, thrusting her hips up in a desperate plea for more.
He pushed into her harder, as though trying to get deeper. Ororo tore her eyes from the image of their joining to fall back against the desk as her climax crashed over her without warning or remorse. She gave in and whispered his name as though it were a prayer.
Ororo thought she heard him whimper as he exploded just a beat later. He crushed his mouth to hers, taking as much from that instant as he could while his body stiffened and flexed into his former wife’s.
When the need to breathe overrode anything else, Ororo reached up to touch her husband’s face. His dark eyes glittered in the afternoon light, but she watched as he covered up his emotions. A quick, lopsided smirk came over his beautiful mouth.
“Always a pleasure, Storm.”
Too shocked to actually respond, Ororo was left on the desk, half naked, while her whistling husband gathered his things and left her office. He had the decency to not slam the door behind him.
“Oh, you bastard.” She muttered, half-amused by the situation. Ororo shrugged at her decimated office before pulling her panties up.
At least she’d given him something to think about.
~**~
In the night, a lone woman tossed and turned on her bed. The sheets became tangled in her sweat-soaked legs, her face a mask of pure pain.
Lost in memory and dream, she could not find her way back to the real world. It was as though something were keeping her under the water, unwilling to let her breathe.
She was somewhere unfamiliar, in a place that filled her with fear. There was blood covering the steel beneath her feet, the echo of an animal’s primal scream.
A voice so filled with fear that it sounded alien called out for her missing friends.
“Storm? Wolverine?”
Gnashing noises came to wafting toward her, through the bodies of dead men slashed by an impossible foe. She slipped around the corpses, fear tearing her heart asunder. Whatever had happened here would not be allayed any time in the near future.
As the mutant rounded a corner, she came upon a horror unlike any she had ever seen.
“Oh, my God!”
He paid her no mind, crouching over the limp, bloodied form at his feet. She moved cautiously toward them, wondering what in the name of hell had happened. The man before her snarled loudly, a warning to stay away.
Worry, though, clutched at Psylocke’s heart.
Wolverine made a mad dash, coming at her on all fours. Psylocke gasped, terrified of the feral look in his eyes. She erected a psi-shield at the last, possible moment, repelling the Wolverine easily. She exhaled sharply, centering her mind so that she could reach out for his.
Rage and pain had taken his mind completely, reverting her dear friend to the beast he always feared. Psylocke covered his tortured mind with his, knowing what pain he would truly feel when she brought him out of this.
She wondered, for a moment, if it was more merciful to simply leave him this way.
Deciding it was not, she prodded his mind gently. He allowed her in, recognizing the feel of her psychic presence. Psylocke flooded his wounded mind with the sense of himself, reminding him of who and what he was.
“Bets?”
Smiling at the growling, slightly animal voice, she continued. After several, long moments, she felt her Logan snap the Wolverine back into his cage.
“Welcome back,” she greeted as he stood up from that primal crouch.
To her dismay, the first thing he did was look around. “Hey, where’s my wife?”
Betsy did not have the heart to tell him. Her eyes, however, cut to the body lying so helplessly on the floor.
Logan whipped around, his hands shaking with the terrible truth as his eyes found the crumpled form of his beloved wife. A scream of unbearable pain tore from his throat, the utter pain nothing compared to what she could feel was soul-crushing guilt.
“What have I done?” He shouted to the echoing room.
He rushed to the fallen form of Storm and pulled her close. “Oh, God. Baby, wake up.”
At the sound of his voice, Storm began to flinch away, trying to weakly fight him back. Betsy stepped in, then, encouraging Logan to get the Blackbird. His wife would need a doctor.
She tried to not notice the way his eyes had hollowed as he rushed from the room…
“We can’t leave her like this.”
“I can’t. I won’t.”
Logan took her arms, meeting her eyes with his. “We have to. She can’t hardly breathe without reliving it.”
“She has to work this out on her own, just like you do.”
“I almost fuckin’ killed her, Betsy. How’d you work that one out?”
“You have to let the mind heal itself,” she countered. “If I go in there and start erasing things, I may do more harm than good.”
Logan turned away from her, staring at the woman lost in her own mind. Her face bore the unmistakable grimace he wished he could wipe from her face.
“Betsy, please. I can’t…she looked at me like I was evil incarnate.”
“She’s just afraid…”
“I’m beggin’, Bets.” Logan pled. “She can’t live with this. Hell, I can’t, but I will.”
She regarded him silently for a few moments, knowing what this was doing to him. Their minds were still linked, which she had explained was to keep him from returning feral before they got home. All of his self-loathing and fear was coming to her in waves.
Psylocke turned to Storm, delving into the surface of her mind. There was fear and sadness and disbelief in her mind. Betsy wondered if, perhaps, this would end her dear friends’ marriage.
The romantic in her would not allow that. She moved to the bed, placing one hand on Storm’s forehead.
“I’m only doing this because I love her. This is unethical and just plain barmy.”
Logan’s relief came to her in a flood. “Thanks, Bets.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” she muttered, dropping her consciousness into Storm’s. “I’m pretty sure this’ll come back to bite us in the arse.”
~**~
She woke up with a start, breathing heavily with a sob caught in her throat. These memories did not surface often, but they hurt her deeply when they did. She could still hear the screaming in the back of her mind, what she and Logan had done bringing about the guilt she carried since that terrible day.
Betsy looked forlornly around the room, aching for the comfort of a man’s embrace. She wished, for what seemed like the millionth time, that she had the courage to go to Angel’s room, to plead with him to hold her.
…the screaming wasn’t in the back of her mind.
“Blimey! Storm!”
She was off her bed in an instant, not bothering with her bathrobe. The door banged against the wall of her room as she fled through it. She noticed Logan rushing toward his wife’s room at the same instant, the two of them nearly colliding with Piotr and Kitty when they reached the master suite’s door.
It wasn’t unusual for Wolverine to be found prowling the grounds at night, usually when he was restless. Betsy wondered, as they piled into Storm’s room, if he had known something was about to happen. He was a little too prepared sometimes.
Storm was sobbing like a brokenhearted child on the floor beside her bed. Her delicate hands held her face as she wept, the blankets torn from the mattress as though she had tumbled from the bed.
Logan was the first to reach his estranged wife. “Storm?”
The wintry mutant threw herself in her husband’s arms, wetting his tee shirt with her tears. Betsy held the others back, surprised that Ororo reached so easily for his comforting embrace.
“I had such a terrible dream. It was so real.”
The violet-eyed telepath froze as though ice had been poured into her veins. No. It wasn’t possible. It was just a coincidence. Yes. That was it.
“Shh. It’s ok. It was just a dream.” Logan soothed the trembling figure in his arms.
“You had gone feral and attacked me. Psylocke had to bring you back and…you were heartbroken.” She sniffled loudly, clutching at Logan’s shoulders. “There was so much blood…you begged me to wake up.”
Betsy felt the tears fall from her eyes. Somehow, in the dead of night, Psylocke had linked her mind with Storm’s, sharing that awful, hideous memory with the one person they tried so terribly to protect.
Logan turned to look at her, grief and fear naked in his eyes. She knew, in that moment, what was to happen next.
“You…you begged Psylocke to wipe the memories. You told her I couldn’t live with it…” Storm, trailed off, pulling away from her ex-husband.
Psylocke was close enough to them both to see the sorrow in Logan’s eyes when he caught his wife’s cerulean gaze. Storm paused, her tears still spilling down caramel cheeks. Her mouth parted slightly and one hand came up to cover it, as though shocked by whatever she saw in Logan’s eyes.
Psylocke closed her eyes, stepping backward hesitantly until Angel caught her. He rubbed her arms soothingly, but said nothing.
When her eyes opened again, Logan was clinging to his former wife as though she would vanish before his eyes.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered, paying no mind to the others. “I’m so sorry, ‘Ro.”
The other woman scooted back, leaving her ex-husband’s arms as realization dawned on her.
“No. Goddess above. No.”
