Chapter Six: Want
Smack!
Her back hit the felt hard enough to make the table groan. The clacking of the pool balls sent sprawling by a sweep of Logan’s impatient hand nearly drowned in the screaming winds. Their lips were still fused together as he spread himself over her, his legs effectively pinning hers to the edge of the pool table.
There was nothing warm or tender in his touch. Rough hands were on her to punish, consume, as though he wanted nothing more than to get her out of his system. She knew, with neither of them saying, that this wasn’t going to be romantic. She didn’t want it to be. Romance was for children and simpering singles. Logan wanted to possess; Ororo needed to burn.
He pulled her up again, his hands grasping the flimsy material of her shirt. With a hard tug, he yanked it over her head, dropping it onto the floor as her hands found their way back to his shoulders. Ororo pushed the open flannel shirt from his arms, breaking their air-depriving kiss to latch onto the salty flesh of his neck.
His hands left her flesh only long enough to pull his tee from his chest. Ororo leaned back on her hands, admiring the view he presented. Hairy, muscular, Logan practically oozed sensual masculinity. All man. Hard lines and dominance. Something in Ororo called to that, wanting to get lost in the feel of him.
But she knew it was akin to playing with fire. Attraction flowed between them, even in the light of day. This fatal step might drag her into something she didn’t want or need. She didn’t want to feel anything for this man, but she could sense something seeping into her heart, taking her piece-by-piece.
Her words came back to her from just minutes before. Too late. It was too late to stop it. Nothing could be done now. Oh, she could run. She could bolt into her bedroom and hope by morning it would blow over. Or… Or she could give in to the want, take whatever he would offer her and deal with the consequences in the morning.
Yeah. Ororo chose option number two.
Without allowing her thought process to kick in again, she reached for his jeans, tugging him closer with a yank on his belt. Logan fell over her again, his hands coming up to cup at her satin-encased breasts. In a flash, he’d undone the front clasp, pulling the straps down her arms so her chest was bare before him.
Dark eyes feasted on her bare flesh. Ororo took his momentary distraction “ reveling in the hungry look in his eyes “ to unclasp his belt and flick open the button of his jeans with thief’s precision. Logan’s beautiful mouth curved into an amused smirk.
She leaned up to capture those perfect lips, smoothing her hands into his jeans to squeeze his ass. He sucked in a breath, his body jerking into hers. Ororo nibbled on his bottom lip, shifting against the hard wood of the table until his hands fell to her hips.
He stepped back slightly, kicking his boots off and letting her do the same. His foot impatiently shoved the discarded footwear out of his way. Without waiting for him, Ororo sat back enough to unbuckle her belt. She lifted her hips to shimmy out of her pants and panties, noticing he dropped his jeans just as fast.
“This is insane,” he rumbled when they were naked. The hungry, almost violent look in his eyes sent fluid rushing to her center, her heart pounding madly in her ears.
“I can go, if you want me to.” There was a challenge in the husky timbre of her voice.
Logan slammed her back onto the felt, harder than before.
“No, you really can’t.”
His lips captured hers again in a kiss that ignited what little passion still lay dormant between them. Ororo groaned, the sound answered by his low growl. He wrenched her legs apart, settling between them until she could feel the hot, hard length of his cock against her thigh. She undulated into him, wanting to feel him inside of her, mortality be damned.
But Logan obviously had other intentions. He pulled her hands from his hair, pinning them above her head with one of his own. He released her mouth to suck one hard nipple between his lips, swirling his tongue over the hardened bud until Ororo could do nothing but toss her head back against the table. Mindless from pleasure as he lavished attention on one nipple and then the other, she panted his name like some wanton thing.
Her body thrummed for more. Fires she thought doused by the death of her family, the loss in her heart, roared to life under his bruising touch. He licked a long path down the valley of her breasts and lower, releasing her hands only when he had to.
She kept them above her head, grasping the opposite edge of the table desperately. When she felt Logan’s breath against her wet core, she gasped, her hips arching up in offering. Logan needed to further invitation.
His mouth covered her wet flesh, tongue tracing the lines of her folds. Ororo’s nails dug into the thick felt beneath her, a low groan escaping through clenched teeth. Logan’s wide hands held her hips in place as he ceased his slow torture, devouring her as though she would be his last meal.
Lightning raced through her body, snapping over and under her flesh as Logan’s tongue danced over her swollen clit. He growled again, suckling the tiny bud into his mouth and grazing it with sharp canines.
Ororo shattered. White-hot light erupted behind her eyes and she shook with the force of it. Logan continued his attentions until she whimpered, shifting her legs until he was forced to stop. Her body, on high alert now, quaked with the aftershocks. Goddess, the man had talent.
He covered her again, wrapping her in another of his drowning kisses. She could taste the tang of herself on him, the thrill of it heating her blood for another round. Feeling reckless, she rocked her hips against him, succeeding in rubbing his cock with her wet center.
Tearing her mouth from his, Ororo met Logan’s eyes, reveling in the desire reflecting back at her.
“Fuck me.”
The effect of her words was immediate. Logan captured her wrists with one of his again, the other gripping her hip hard enough to leave marks. He shifted his hips, burying himself inside of her easily. Ororo felt her body clamp down on him, drawing him deeper and deeper until she wasn’t sure he would ever be truly gone.
“Sweet Jesus,” he swore against her breast.
His pace was as punishing as his kisses. Harder with every thrust, faster, deeper…she’d never felt anything like it. Her hands twisted in his grip, her eyes drawn to his face. His eyes were on hers, his expression unreadable save for pure, animalistic pleasure.
Ororo brought her legs up, resting her bare feet on the edge of the table. The action allowed Logan deeper inside; they both cried out at the change in position. She managed to wiggle one hand free of his grasp, holding onto his shoulder as he took her.
“Goddamn,” he snarled, latching onto the flesh of her neck. “You feel…so…fucking…good.”
She gasped when he released her other hand, palming a throbbing breast and flicking his thumb over the dark peak. Ororo tilted her head to the side, allowing him to thoroughly mark her with his mouth.
“H-Harder,” she pled. “Logan…Jesus…”
“Fuck,” he grunted, rearing up.
Ororo blinked up at him as he grasped her legs, tossing them over his shoulders.
“Hold on, ‘Ro.”
He trapped her thighs with both powerful arms, his hips rocking into hers with more force than she thought was possible. Pleasure coiled in her belly as he stroked her, his balls slapping her backside with every thrust. Ororo pushed her hands into her hair, taking his wonderful abuse as she whimpered his name.
Logan’s breathing increased, his posture going rigid. Ororo slipped her own hand between her thighs, manipulating her clit expertly as Logan pounded inside of her. His eyes flashed with something dark and feral as he watched her, muscles in his jaw bugling.
She came again with winds screaming outdoors, her back arching off of the pool table and body shaking until she thought she would lose consciousness. Logan swore violently, releasing her legs and covering her quivering body with his. He arched harshly into her, spilling himself against her womb as they fought for stolen breath.
Her arms wrapped about his shoulders, legs circling his waist. Logan’s touch shifted from the brutal, punishment of just moments before until he was nearly tender. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, shivering violently.
“I don’t wanna let go.” He whispered in the sudden quiet. “Not tonight.”
“Don’t,” Ororo replied before she could stop herself. “Stay with me.”
Logan didn’t reply as they held one another amid the dying wind. Ororo didn’t think he could.
~**~
They were watching him carefully, trailing him as he traversed the highways between New York City and Xavier’s School. They had orders to take him out, to do whatever was deemed necessary.
He was a problem. They weren’t sure why, but he was a problem.
The man known as Bishop turned in the empty street, looking over his shoulder.
Pyro gave the command.
They fell on the scarred mutant without remorse or mercy. He was a traitor and would die a traitor’s death. The Brotherhood struck back at the X-Men.
~**~
She’d left his bed before dawn, following her daily ritual as though nothing had changed. He watched as she gave in to her morning run, three miles as dawn broke over the grounds.
She fixed breakfast, checked on the children, showered and changed. Nothing at all seemed amiss with her. That was irritating as shit.
Logan felt inside out and backward. He couldn’t get the sound, scent, feel of her out of his head. He’d taken her thrice more in the comfort of his bed, drawn sounds from that beautiful throat that he ached to hear again and again. Her warm, receptive body had been so damn right on his, waking beside her akin to bliss.
So why wasn’t she effected?
Grumbling, he stomped through mansion, lighting a cigar as he entered the foyer. Hank moved past him, shaking his head.
“Ororo said no more smoking around the children.”
“Ororo can blow me.”
He continued on, leaving a shocked Hank in his wake. Poor Beast, he’d make it up to him later or something.
As Logan reached the front door, all of three steps later, the memory of Ororo with her mouth around him, that dangerous glint in her eye, washed over him. He nearly stumbled, grabbing onto the door and clearing his throat quickly.
A glance around told him that no one had seen and he smacked his forehead gently on the wood of the door with a muted thunk. He was going to have to watch his mouth. Images like that were going to slowly drive him insane.
Through the night, he’d vowed that it would only be one night. He’d sworn to himself that he would resist her, send her away, not give in. He couldn’t handle having this ache inside of him, he didn’t want it. Feeling for someone brought nothing but pain, to both parties.
It didn’t matter that he’d slept so well with her in his arms. That wasn’t the point. Best to just leave it alone, let that amazing night be lost to the realm of memory. He could let go. He would.
He was lying to himself.
Logan opened the front door and stepped quickly onto the porch. Storm’s copies of the Tribune and USA Today were waiting for him. He bent at the waist to retrieve them, glancing at a headline about some random fire in Jersey. Logan shifted the cigar in his mouth, ripping the rubber band from the national paper and opening it curiously.
His sharp eyesight caught a movement at the mansion’s gates. Looking up, he noted three figures standing in front of the wide wrought iron. Something about the dark figures made his blood run cold.
A beat after he looked up, one of the figures shifted. The shape of a body flew over the gate, a dull thud echoing in Logan’s preternatural ears. He tensed, claws biting at the inside of his flesh. What the hell?
“A gift from the Brotherhood,” said a sultry female voice. “Think twice before attacking us again, X-Man.”
Bishop.
Logan felt his entire body freeze with the terrible truth. He dropped the papers, the rustle of the soft sheets dancing in the gentle breeze. A million terrible scenarios ran through his head in the space of an instant.
He was off the porch in the next heartbeat, the scent of blood reaching his sensitive nose. Horror gripped his heart and before he hit the ground, he screamed.
“STORM!”
Oh, God, the rage was terrible. It filled his throat with the coppery taste of violence, colored his vision crimson. He was going to kill every last one of those sadistic bastards. Logan hit the fence, screaming his pain through the wrought iron, heedless to Bishop’s lifeless body on the ground at his feet.
“W-Wol…”
At the choking voice, the fight left Wolverine so swiftly he was momentarily unbalanced. Logan pushed away from the gate, hearing the sounds of footsteps racing up the drive. Storm screamed for Beast, Kitty was crying, Peter metaled-up.
He kneeled beside Bishop, whom shook uncontrollably. The young mutant reached for his hand, grunting through the pain. His dark eyes, swollen from injury, met Logan’s. In an instant, Logan felt that connection and familiarity deepen. He knew this kid. Maybe they fought together, but he knew this determined mutant.
“Storm! Hurry the fuck up!” He shouted, shocked at how broken his voice sounded.
But she was at Bishop’s other side, her face torn by anger and fear. She spared Logan not even a glance as the younger man turned to her. He grabbed her hand, bloodying her flesh as she held him.
“M-Mother…”
Storm shook her head, whispering soothingly. “No, Bishop. It’s Storm. Hang on, sweetheart. Henry is coming.”
Bishop gritted his teeth, nodding. “S-Storm.”
Logan glanced between them, shaking off the odd feeling that passed over him at Bishop’s fevered slip. Poor kid. With so much blood loss and pain, Logan would probably be calling for his mother too.
At least, if he could remember her, anyway.
Hank appeared a moment later, shooing Ororo and Logan out of the way. He ordered Piotr to lift the wounded mutant, rushing him into the mansion. Piotr cleared the curious and frightened children with a single bellow in his native tongue.
When they had vanished into the house, Storm stood. Wolverine leapt to his feet, sniffing the air quickly. Her eyes were rimmed with white, rage clearly written on her delicate features.
“It was the Brotherhood, all right,” Logan informed her quickly. “Said we attacked them.”
“Damn him,” Storm sighed. “He went to kill Pyro.”
“And got his ass handed to him,” Logan shook his head, rolling his shoulders. The rage was returning, eking into his body until it threatened to take him over.
Storm, however, was already in her leadership mode. “Kitty?”
“Yeah?” The girl looked shaken, but she tilted her chin up bravely.
“Get me in a room with the Brotherhood’s new leader. It appears we have some things to discuss.”
“What about Future Boy?” Logan asked, cocking a brow at her. “Who’s gonna yell at him?”
The scowl on Storm’s face was positively terrifying. “Oh, don’t worry. If he lives, he and I will have a nice, long conversation.”
Logan paused as Kitty raced back to the house, pushing the children inside. Storm smelled of Bishop’s blood, her swirling eyes trained on the gate and all that lay beyond.
“You ok?”
Surprised that he asked “ and more so that she did not immediately snap at him “ he watched as she shook her head sadly.
“No.” She cleared her throat. “I want to know what in the name of hell is happening here.”
He shifted closer to her, finding her gaze in the morning light. “With Bishop? Or us?”
“There is no ‘us’, Wolverine.” Storm’s voice wavered, just enough that he knew she didn’t believe that. “There are bigger things going on.”
“Keep tellin’ yerself that, darlin’.”
With that, he strode back into the house, leaving her alone on the drive.
~**~
Magneto sat regally in his office, watching his assembled mutant team cautiously. They were proud of themselves; of the news they had brought him. He smirked inwardly. Oh, these children had learned very well in their limited time with him. These would be his tools against the X-Men against those responsible for his months as a human.
“What is this news, my children?” He asked of their leader.
Pyro, his proud and flourishing disciple, smirked wickedly. “We found out who the Bishop guy is.”
“Oh?” Magneto raised a silver brow.
“He’s from the fucking future,” Pyro blurted as though unable to control himself. “He says he’s from a time period where mutants and humans are at war.”
“Really?” Magneto sat up, intrigued by this. A glance at Psylocke made the girl nod.
“He’s legit, so far as I can read.”
“Why has he gone to the X-Men?” He asked, looking between Pyro and his lover.
“We’re not sure,” Psylocke answered quickly. “He has some sort of ties to them. He’s leading them toward a world without the Brotherhood.”
“Why?” Magneto demanded, sitting up fully.
“His mind is a jumble from the time travel,” the violet haired woman replied. “I do know that the war was started by something that happened between you and Storm. It ignited the tensions with Norms, started everything.”
Magneto sat back in his chair, mulling this over. So far as he knew, Storm and the other X-Men had no idea that his powers were returned. Weeks after the cure was so heartlessly crammed into his chest by that blue oaf, he’d begun showing signs of mutation once more. His power was limited, for the moment, but he grew stronger every day.
He could not risk confrontation, not yet. If something were brewing, he needed to know about it. What better way than to capture one with intimate knowledge of the future?
“Did you kill him?”
“No,” Pyro shook his head. “We returned him.”
“Good,” Magneto stood, pushing his desk away with a flick of his wrist. “Observe them, wait for an opening. Bring Bishop back here. We need to have a chat, he and I.”
“What about the X-Men?” Pyro asked heatedly. “They’ll interfere.”
“Avoid them,” was the clipped command. “You never know who may come in handy.”
“Right.”
Pyro led his team out, leaving Magneto alone with his thoughts. He moved to the dingy window, staring into the bright sunlight. Storm. Ah, he’d always felt that she would be a worthy adversary. When he and Charles started that blasted school, he could sense such power in their Windrider.
“What is it, little girl?” He asked the silence. “What will bring us to war?”
There was no answer, save the chill of foreboding that crept into his heart.
