Chapter Five: Spark
The cheerful chirp of a nearby bird dragged her from the heavy, beautiful sleep she’d found herself in. Warm, bright sunlight poured in from her open windows, showering her with the glow of early morning. Somewhere out of doors the trees rustled their leaves together by means of a soft breeze.
Inside, Ororo fought the world’s urging to wake, wanting to drift back into that dreamless oblivion. Though she knew a headache was likely to pounce at any second, she enjoyed this moment between wakefulness and sleep. It was like being wrapped in a warm blanket, safe from the horrors another day might bring.
She shifted, murmuring sleepily at the feel of a masculine body behind her. It felt wonderful to wake beside someone, to have an anchor to the real world. There was something fitting about the contact between a man and a woman, something nothing else in the world could match. Oh, she had missed this feeling. That lazy, sated euphoria that overcame someone who spent the night actually sleeping.
Ororo batted her eyes open slowly, hating to leave this peaceful moment. A cursory glance about the room told her that everything was in order. The little voice in the back of her mind piped up, telling her in naughty tones that nothing would be amiss if her personal sentinel had really remained with her all night.
He had. She knew instinctively that he had slept beside her through the accursed darkness.
I’ll stay with you.
Ororo would never admit it aloud, but his whispered words and obvious restraint made her die -- just a little -- from the chivalry in his actions. The man may irritate her in the cold light of day, but that night he’d been exactly what she needed. Someone to lean on.
“Ok,” she heard the deep rumble of his voice, still drained with sleep. He sounded adorable and she almost hated him for it. “Sleep good.”
“Uh-huh,” Ororo replied for lack of anything else to say.
The arm thrown carelessly over her waist in the night flexed, bringing her closer. She felt Logan’s nose at the nape of her neck, his breath stirring the fine hairs there.
“You smell good.” He observed which made her smile.
Shifting her legs and flipping herself under the heavy weight of his arm, Ororo turned to face her companion. His eyes were open, zeroing in on hers almost the instant she was in view. That guarded look was replaced by one of innocent satisfaction. Ororo wondered when the last time he had really and truly slept was. Before Alcatraz? Alkali Lake?
Had he ever?
She wanted to lose herself in the moment, but her rational side kept tugging at her. She had a million things to do, dozens of calls to make, children to feed. Why was she loitering in bed with a man she wanted to kill or sleep with depending on the time of day?
Oh, but he was so appealing. That soft, sated smile bordered on contentment and made something in her chest purr happily. She wanted nothing more than to slip further beneath the covers and loiter with him some more.
“Don’t think,” Logan’s sleep-ridden voice cut into her thoughts. “Don’t overanalyze this. We got some sleep, lets leave it at that.”
“Logan…” she began, the buttoned up professor sneaking in to take over the woman.
“Hey, I just think it’s funny that I spent a whole night with you in my arms and I didn’t even try to cop a feel.”
Unable to resist the lazy rumble of his voice, the amusement dancing so nakedly in his eyes, Ororo ducked her head into the pillow, chuckling softly. For another moment, she could tuck the professor away, she thought. Just a moment.
He surprised her by reaching up, taking her cheek in one calloused palm. There was something about those hands, she mused. Rough, big, masculine. Without thinking about it “ or the ramifications of the action “ she leaned into the touch. The wide pad of his thumb traced the line of her cheekbone, his suddenly serious eyes locking with hers.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered in the sunny quiet as though he had only just discovered something precious and powerful.
Ororo couldn’t stop herself if she tried, moved by the intimacy of his touch, the honesty in his words. She reached out for him, tucking an errant lock of his dark hair back into its customary peak.
“So are you.”
She thought he might be offended or irritated by her comment. Not many men would appreciate being referred to as beautiful. But Logan merely smiled, a soft, pleased curve of his lips that made her ache to bite the corner of his mouth.
“You sober?” His question was low, nearly a growl as she shifted closer.
“Yes.” Ororo felt his grip tighten; saw the flash of something primal in his eyes and felt the same mirrored inside her. “Hell, yes.”
“Good.”
They met halfway, lips fusing together with heat that scorch the sun. Ororo’s hands flew to the wild mane of his hair, burying inside in some futile attempt to hold on to reality. His kiss seared her to the core, sending every nerve ending in her body up in flames. That wonderfully pliable mouth took hers without remorse or apology. She parted her lips, entreating him inside as he covered her body with his.
Both of his hands found their way into her hair as hers drifted down to his shoulders. His tongue swept past her lips, tracing the edge of her teeth before plunging deeper to duel with her own. Ororo leaned up, undulating into Logan’s hard body in an uninhibited quest for more.
Their mouths came apart only when air became necessary. Unable to remain idle, Ororo latched onto the flesh of his throat, rewarded when he groaned softly under the assault. Impatient hands traced her curves, pulling back the duvet and sheets until there was only clothing between them.
She licked his pulse point, smiling against the frantic tattoo of his heartbeat. Logan pulled away with a soft growl that ignited more than frightened her. He mimicked her actions, tilting her head to the side with a gentle nuzzle before feathering kisses onto the sensitive flesh of her throat.
Ororo groaned something that could have been his name. Goddess, it felt good. How could she have forgotten the way a man felt in her arms, touching her, fanning flames that threatened to burn?
“Ororo.” His tender rumble of her name sent a delicious shiver racing down her spine as he tugged on her earlobe with his teeth.
A knee came between hers, parting her legs so he could rest between them. Ororo dragged her feet up his calves as he settled between her thighs, tracing the curve of his backside until he jerked against her.
His hard, hot length pressed into her belly, making want flare and pool inside her. Their lips met again, more frantic and needy this time. Ororo’s thought processes stopped, her neglected body overriding her better judgment.
Of course it was the exact moment she made the unconscious decision to take Logan inside her body, damn the consequences, the unlocked bedroom door swung open.
Startled, the couple on the bed turned toward the intrusion, matching looks of complete irritation and hatred on their faces. Ororo felt shame filter through her lusty mind, knowing what a compromising position they’d just been discovered in. What had she been thinking? Oh, right, she hadn’t been.
Bishop stared back at the couple on the bed, something like mute shock in his eyes. Ororo winced inwardly, wondering what he thought of his hero now. No one spoke and the long, tense moment stretched between the trio.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Bishop said after a time. “It can wait.”
He turned on his heel and left the room in a flurry of dark leather and long hair.
Ororo nudged Logan, refusing to meet his eyes, in a silent plea to get him off of her. He remained quiet, shifting so she could slide out of the bed. Turning her back on him, Ororo moved toward the bathroom, her skin still tingling from the aftermath of his hands.
She didn’t bother to look up when the bedroom door snapped closed behind him.
~**~
So, it wasn’t a fairytale love story.
He stared down at his hands, studying them as if all the mysteries of life were contained in his dark flesh. The image of his parents locked in that borderline aggressive embrace threatened to break his heart.
Was he really the product of some lonesome romp? Is that why they refused to tell him about their lives before his conception?
All his life Bishop held the lofty ideal that his parents were the closest things to soul mates as mortals could get. His life, though torn apart by war, revolved around the simple truth that his parents loved one another, loved him, loved his sister. That love held them together when times were rough, as the battle dragged on.
His mission seemed to pale in comparison to seeing his parents as they were before his birth. The heated arguments, irritation that seemed to come off of them in waves was not his memory of these people. He remembered laughter, love, even passion to some extent.
Satisfied that he wasn’t going to start that temporal flux again as the skies outside remained clear and bright, Bishop sighed before he slammed his hand into the mansion’s intercom system, activating panels all over the grounds.
“X-Men to the War Room.”
Within seconds, Shadowcat and Iceman phased through the ceiling, landing neatly behind Bishop. The girl blinked at him as she took her seat, offering a gentle smile. Typical Aunt Kitty.
Colossus entered from the elevator a moment later, flanked by Storm and Beast. Bishop took a moment to capture the image of his mother as a young woman, noting the familiar smile she was giving his Uncle Hank.
He saw her in flashes here. Her strength was undeniable, her beauty unquestionable. The way she moved, how she fought, the damn stubborn determination…that was all Mother. It made him ache for the woman he had left behind, longing for her soothing embrace and the soft sound of an old lullaby.
Bishop didn’t care if he was a mama’s boy; most men didn’t have a mother half as wonderful as his.
She met his eyes without flinching, her cool dark gaze hiding anything that may have swirled beneath the surface. To his astonishment, she rewarded him with a small smile. Bishop felt emotion choke his throat, but he tamped it down.
“Where’s the fire?”
Turning toward the elevator once more, Bishop nodded to the man that would one day be his father. Logan had dressed since Bishop had last seen him several minutes ago and had a cigar hanging loosely from his lips. He wouldn’t change much in the next thirty years or so, though Bishop knew Mother would calm him.
She would never tame him, but something about her soothed his inner demons.
Logan caught Bishop staring, one bushy brow going up in silent question.
Heart clenching, though he refused to let it show, Bishop turned to the assembled mutants. This torture was slowly killing him. If he didn’t start getting more done, to get back to whatever future he would have, he actually might lose his mind.
Avoiding the curious stare from Beast, Bishop cleared his throat and shrugged out of his protective leather coat. He heard Kitty gulp and glanced at her. Oh. He’d forgotten about the scars, the tattoos. Well, she’d deal with it.
“I’ve gone through several of the files I needed from Cerebro,” Bishop began in a ringing tone. “I believe I have discovered the Brotherhood’s main headquarters.”
Of course, his mother spoke up first from her perch on the edge of the table between Colossus and Beast.
“Where?”
“An apartment building in New York City,” he replied. His dark hands gripped the back of a chair so he could lean on it. “Xavier had tracked several mutants to the area before his death and all reports from my timeline say they were close to the mansion around this period.”
“That’s what you’re basing this on?” Iceman cut in skeptically as he sat back in his chair.
Bishop ignored him. “My goal “ at least for this event “ is to get into the building, bypass the more powerful mutants and take out Pyro.”
The assembled mutants jumped collectively. Bishop did not bother to flinch. He knew that Pyro had once been one of them, a student of Xavier’s until he betrayed them. The boy was Magneto’s most dangerous disciple.
“Take out?” Logan questioned from his place opposite Storm. Bishop almost smirked at the man’s relaxed posture, the feet resting on the table.
“Terminate,” Bishop clarified coldly. “Kill.”
Storm cleared her throat, holding Piotr back with a hand to his shoulder. “X-Men don’t kill, Bishop. At least, not if we can help it.”
“Do I look like an X-Man?” Bishop fired back.
She glared at him, her eyes suddenly rimmed with white.
“Why Pyro?” Iceman cut in, effectively halting the building fire fight.
“In my timeline,” Bishop began, noticing the several pairs of rolled eyes without comment. “Pyro is one of our most deadly adversaries. Within days he will destroy part of the mansion, causing a death that was pivotal to the start of the war.”
“Who?” Beast questioned quietly.
Bishop didn’t have to respond. His eyes, of their own accord, darted to Piotr. To his dismay, the man was looking right at him. Storm’s hand gripped the young mutant’s shoulder more tightly, as though she could keep him from falling by sheer will.
“Pete?” Wolverine’s heavy boots hit the floor with an echoing thump.
His future mother stood slowly, meeting his gaze across the metallic table.
“Why Piotr?”
He clamped his mouth shut, unwilling to reveal the reasons. Thunder slammed against the windows, her eyes swirling white in an instant. The other mutants startled, but Bishop did not react.
“Wrong time, wrong place,” Bishop said at last. “He just happened to be there.”
Storm’s eyes slipped back to their cocoa color, but fire snapped inside the dark pools. Bishop winced inwardly, knowing that look. She was ready to crack the heavens and do some serious damage.
“Pyro is the key here?”
“Yes.”
“Then he’ll be dealt with,” Storm looked toward her X-Men. “Kitten?”
“Ma’am?”
“Get on your computer, see what you can find on Pyro and the Brotherhood’s movements.” Her orders were clipped, to the point, and left no room for argument. “Hank, get Angel and start a watch. Six hour shifts between you, Logan, Angel, Colossus, and myself.”
Bishop sighed, his fingertips biting into the back of the chair he’d been strangling for the last several seconds.
“I already know where they are and what they want.”
“I’m not taking your word for it,” Storm snapped. “You can help us or get the hell out of our way. But you’re not to leave this mansion.”
“I’m not one of your toy soldiers,” Bishop shot back.
She moved around the table, standing toe to toe with him again. Damn. She reminded him of his mother so much that he wanted to look away like a chastised child.
“I may believe you’re from the future; I may even want to help you.” Her tone was scathing. “But I will never condone killing without cause. You can’t condemn someone for something they might do.”
“He’ll do it.”
“The future isn’t set in stone,” she replied quietly. “You, of all people, should know that.”
With that, she faced the others, her leadership role reaffirmed. Bishop inwardly raged, knowing it was going to cost them for delay.
“You have your orders.” She shooed the X-Men out of the room. “Logan, perimeter check.”
“You got it.”
Ororo blinked as he left the room. She pointed the way he had gone somewhat dazedly, glancing at Bishop as the others filed out.
“Did he just…not argue with me?”
Bishop’s only reply with a knowing smirk. All right, so they had potential. That was something, at least.
~**~
After checking the perimeter once the children were in bed, Logan ensured Angel was on watch in the security alcove, monitoring all of the screens from the hundreds of cameras placed all over the grounds. The day had been long, but Warren was fanatical about his job here at Xavier’s. The kid was best for the graveyard shift.
Finding himself wide-awake, Logan made his way through the quiet mansion, deciding to give the new pool table a run for it’s felt. He closed the soundproofed doors, effectively locking in any noises so that he wouldn’t wake the children.
If someone had told him two years ago that something like that would concern him, he would have laughed in their faces. The Wolverine taking care of children.
He switched on the stereo equipment to the local country station, nodding in approval to the tune that wafted from the speakers built into the walls. The room was one of his favorites in the mansion. Though it was a game room, complete with a television and every video gaming console known to man, there was something homey about it.
The polished wood furniture had chips and dents from years of abusive children; plush green cushions were faded and worn. There was a foosball table, one for ping-pong, a chessboard, and various other games to keep teenagers occupied.
A hole-ridden dartboard was placed along the back wall, the standing line a few feet away. Storm’s choice for a new billiard table lay between, calling to Logan like siren to sailor. The woman had taste, he’d give her that much.
Strong, dark cherry wood flanked the deep emerald felt. Curved legs and carved feet propped up the beautiful table, making it fit in the general splendor of Storm’s grand piano in the corner.
“Now, that’s just sexy,” Logan said to himself with a feral grin.
After lighting a cigar and popping open one of the beers he’d stashed in the small refrigerator, he set up the balls in the rack. Nodding his head in time with a classic Garth Brooks tune, Logan pinched the cigar between his teeth while selecting a pool cue. Much to his surprise, he found one of dark cherry that looked to match the table. Unlike the others waiting innocently against the wall, it bore a carved handle.
His name was painted into the handle in elegant gold script. Surprised, Logan removed it from the holder, stroking the stylish piece almost reverently.
“Thanks, Storm.” He chuckled in the quiet, shaking his head slowly.
Settling the cue between his fingers, Logan leaned on the polished edge of the table. He lined up his shot expertly, pulling the cue between his fingers before slamming it against the white ball.
Crack!
Music to his ears. Logan hummed to the music, taking another long drag from his cigar before calling himself a shot. Five ball, side pocket. Crack!
Oh yeah, this was the life.
“Should I leave you two alone?”
Distracted by his pleasure at the table and Storm’s silent gift, he hadn’t smelled her coming nor heard the door slide open. Logan looked up from his position, finding her long, slender form over the edge of the table. Maybe he was slipping, getting soft. Why didn’t that bother him?
To his surprise, she was smiling at him, leaning in the doorway. He gave her a grin, smacking the pool balls so that they scattered. He took a moment to look her up and down, memories from their…whatever that was earlier fluttering through his mind.
She was dressed in her teacher’s clothes. Dark slacks tailored to her long legs, a white blouse that molded perfectly to her figure. He could see the edge of her boots under the hem of her pants and she’d pulled on her favorite belt, black leather with an “X” for a buckle.
“This is nice,” he said, giving no indication as to whether he was speaking about the cue or the table.
“I had it made,” she shrugged. “Charles always gave us a gift for our first teaching year. Thought I’d continue the tradition.”
Touched, though he didn’t want to admit it, Logan grunted.
Storm didn’t seem disturbed by this. She gently waved the thin stack of paper in her hands, coming fully into the room after closing the door to keep the music out of the main hall.
“I got your security briefing.”
Oh, hell, she wanted to bring that up now? He had been enjoying himself, too. Damn her for bringing it to him now. He didn’t want to fight with her tonight.
“Yeah? Whatcha think?”
As she moved closer, he caught a whiff of her perfume. Beneath the scent of fresh vanilla, he caught her fragrance. Rain and snow. How the hell did she manage that? Logan knew, with his eyes closed, every scent in the mansion and every person therein. Mutations even gave off their own scent, alerting him when someone was using their powers.
Storm’s was the faint linger of burning ozone. It would leak into the scent she always carried, reminding him of the way her eyes would swirl from dark to milky as she tapped into her power.
Why was he spending so much time thinking about this? Well, if she didn’t smell so damn good, he wouldn’t have this problem.
“Its interesting,” she said in a noncommittal tone. “And I enjoyed your budget breakdown.”
“Yeah, well,” Logan shrugged, making another shot before he straightened. “I wanted it idiot-proof.”
“Shut up,” she replied almost absently. “I’m approving it.”
Thunk! His cue sailed by the ball he was aiming at, dinging the felt as he stared up at the Headmistress in surprise. “Yeah?”
“Mmm,” she hummed. Something about that throaty sound made anticipatory lust stab at his belly. Not a good sign.
“Why?”
“Because the money is there,” Storm answered. She halted her movement across the table from him, crossing her arms loosely under her breasts. The action made delicate cleavage peek out from the neckline of her shirt, which momentarily distracted Logan.
“That ain’t the only reason, darlin’,” he said quickly. He folded his hands on the tip of his cue, the butt resting on the floor between his feet.
“I ain’t your darlin’.” The words were short, giving him the indication that she really didn’t like his endearment.
They stared at one another across the table for a long moment. Tension filled the space between them and Logan was reminded of the incident in her bedroom. She’d felt so damn good in his arms. Waking with her wrapped up beside him, her telltale scent filling his nostrils, he realized very quickly that he’d slept through the night.
No nightmares. No haunting screams. No Jean begging him to save her. Just Storm and her impossibly soft bed.
That kind of thing was addicting.
“I think Bishop isn’t telling us everything,” she said at length, breaking their uncomfortable silence.
“He isn’t.” Logan nodded, actually agreeing with her.
“I’m afraid for the children,” she admitted. “The last time there was an attack…”
“I was here.” He interrupted. “I’m here now.”
“I know,” Storm cleared her throat. “If you think these upgrades are warranted, I’ll call Forge in the morning.”
He kept her gaze, unwilling to let her flinch away. “They’re warranted.”
“Ok.”
Storm broke their eye contact and turned as if to leave. Logan felt his body tense, as though some unconscious decision had been made to give chase. He paused when she stopped. The impulse to catch her wasn’t altogether alien; he’d felt it before. For Jean.
“About this morning…” she began. Logan watched her toss her head slightly, shaking the choppy white locks from her eyes.
“Yeah?”
“I trust it won’t happen again?” Dark eyes met his across the table, guarded and unsure.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Logan replied before he knew what he was saying.
Her guarded eyes narrowed. “Why not?”
Logan shrugged one shoulder, not allowing her to break eye contact.
”I’m not Jean.” Her tone was slightly defensive, that uncertainty coming back into her chocolate gaze.
“Never said you were,” Logan answered quietly.
Silence. They stared at one another again, neither seeming to find the words to say what was on their minds. It was so much easier when he could just irritate her. But he knew now. Oh, hell, he knew how she felt. He could still feel the echo of her responsive body on his skin; taste the impossible sweetness of her mouth.
There was attraction, sure. He would never deny that Storm was beautiful, sexy. She had sensuality coming out of her ears. He’d been without a woman for a long, long time. Was it just frustration? Hormones?
Or was there something beneath the surface here? The very thought was terrifying and thrilling at once.
“I can’t do this. I won’t do this.”
She turned to flee, dropping his paperwork on the table. Logan dropped his cue onto the dark felt, coming around the table before he could tell himself to stay still. He should let her go. Everything told him to let her escape, to forget it ever happened.
Apparently his body was having none of that. His hand caught her wrist as she reached the door, whipping her around so that she nearly fell into his chest.
“Don’t,” she commanded hotly.
“Can’t stop,” he whispered back, burying a hand in her hair.
That hand fisted, bringing her up so he could cover her mouth with his. She melted like warm butter in his arms, parting her lips to invite him inside. Logan didn’t need to be told twice. He took her mouth violently, wanting to punish her for making him feel again.
Damn it. He didn’t want this.
Logan pulled away, fighting for breath and not daring to meet her eyes. His heart had begun to pound, his body tensing toward hers in a desperate attempt to get her hands on him. This wasn’t right. What the hell was he doing? He didn’t want to feel this again. The ache and pain that came from falling, from feeling.
“Too late,” Storm murmured.
This time, she kissed him. Logan inhaled through his nose, the damned scent of her making him harden even against his will. He groaned into her mouth when she wiggled against him, the delicious friction ending all thought then and there.
He lifted her effortlessly into his arms, stumbling blindly backward. His legs hit the pool table and he turned them around, setting her on the edge. This put her in perfect range for all manner of naughty things. His hands fell to her thighs, squeezing harder than was probably necessary. Her nails dug into his shoulders, her tongue dueling viciously with his.
When they broke away to breathe again, Logan found himself mesmerized by the dark fire in her eyes.
“Yeah,” he swallowed hard, reaching up to cup her face. “Way too fuckin’ late.”
~**~
Bishop closed the door to the Rec Room, shaking his head. He shouldered the plasma rifle, running a hand over his face in distress.
Come on, he thought with sorrow. On the pool table?
He’d only stopped at hearing their voices on his way out. When his mother insisted she was not Jean, Bishop felt his heart stop. Had Father been in love with the doomed Phoenix? Why had they never told him?
It was too much. Coming back here to a world that was so different from the one his cherished parents had always told him about was hard enough. Knowing his entire existence was based on hormones was even worse.
He resolved to deal with it tomorrow. Bishop slipped out of the mansion on silent feet, fading into the night as Wolverine would teach him to do years from now.
The mutant terrorist known as Pyro had a date with oblivion.
