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Disclaimer: Don’t own, don’t sue.


Cheers to all my readers and reviewers---see, I can be quick when I want to be, lol!


Chapter.11.


As they came up underneath the slopping porch roof of room twenty two, Ororo reached up and fleetingly brushed a few stray snowflakes from Logan’s hair whilst he unlocked the door. Once inside, he flicked on the lights, which turned on the two lamps at the side of the bed, and threw the key with its large red plastic tag onto the nearest convenient surface. The motel room wasn’t too bad; simply and unattractively furnished but clean. In fact it looked like something of a time capsule from circa.1968.


Ororo threw her bag down, unbuttoned and shrugged off her coat and sat down at the foot of the bed; making it bounce up and down furiously on its weak springs. She leant back slightly, supporting herself with the flats of her palms as she looked up at Logan, stood directly across from her as he pulled off his jackets too. “Logan.”


“What?”


“The cut on your cheek---it’s bleeding.” She got up from the bed and went over to him.


Logan touched his hand to his face, instantly feeling a warm sticky texture beneath his fingers. He pulled them away and looked at the tips of his index and middle; covered with a dash of bright scarlet. Rubbing his thumb through the red liquid he made an unsurprised noise, “So it is.” He said flatly, throwing his coats down carelessly.


“Let me see.” She practically whispered as all her attention concentrated on the weeping gash. Touching tentatively at the area, she told him, “You know---you may need stitches in this.”


At that Logan snorted laughter and reached up to take her hand away, “Look darlin’, I’ve done worse things shavin’.”


Ororo chuckled whilst giving him a tight look, “Well, at least let me clean it up for you.”


He sighed, a little exaggeratedly, “Alright, alright,” he gave in, “if you insist.” Watching her as she went over to the tiny en-suite bathroom, he took his jackets off and sat down on the gaudily flowery bed spread, more-or-less where Ororo had been sitting before. He never took his eyes from her as she pulled the long white cord and the small room flooded with flickering bright light that took a while to steady itself. Once it had, its stark presence illuminated her perfectly, clad in tight light jeans and a snowy white sleeveless blouse that made her hair seem a little creamy by comparison. Or maybe that was just the light. He watched her with a keen eye as she was wringing out a cloth she’d been hold beneath the cold tap; her long slim arms tensing slightly as she twisted the dark blue flannel in her hands. The excess water dripped into the white porcelain of the small sink basin below; the heavy yet vacant sound echoing from inside the bowl and off the tiled walls of the closet sized room.


As she came back into the room, Ororo snapped the light cord off again and then flapped the wet flannel out before scrunching it back into a lose ball. “It’s cold,” She said as she gently wiped at the thin trickle of blood that ran down his face, getting lost in his dark whiskers, “but it should help to keep the swelling down.”


Logan let his legs part so that she could come in closer to him as her attentions moved onto the cut itself. Dabbing as light as she dared, she smiled a little as she felt hard, strong hands close around the tops of her thighs. She could feel the intensity of his gaze burning into her but she refused to meet his eye, concentrating instead on taking away the congealed blood on the gash. All was silent as she felt herself being pulled that little bit closer, a millimetre at a time until the end of his tilted back chin touched her torso beneath her breasts, just barely...The soft scent of her long hair wafted into his face, its very tips managing to brush against it as she leant over him. He inhaled deeply, letting out a low growl deep from in his chest as he slowly exhaled. Ororo’s mouth opened slightly in a silent gasp, partly at the sound that always started the heat in her but mostly because of the his hands gripped at her legs tighter. But she continued to administer her care most gently, refusing to be distracted by his touch, for now at least...Though soon enough he gave her little or no choice in the matter...


She gasped for real this time as he suddenly snatched the damp, chilly cloth from her hand and threw it aside. They both stayed motionless for a moment that seemed an eternity as finally Ororo met his gaze; fierce and hot in its smouldering desire. She pushed on of her legs forwards slowly until the top of her shin touched against his crotch. Instantly she felt the hardness of his erection pressing there and couldn’t help but teasingly rub her leg against it. Back and forth, back and forth---his growl was much more pronounced this time, its unknown, deep ferocity making Ororo’s stomach tighten and her sex tingle...Her hands dropped down to his shoulders as Logan pressed his face to her body, burying himself in the coolness of her light shirt and being immersed in the feel and aroma of her as she continued to move her leg against his groin---daring him into action. She could feel the heat of his ragged breaths on her skin even through her shirt.


He closed his eyes whilst resting on her and gradually moved his hands up her body, skimming over her arse and then bunching up the hem of her shirt at the back. After he’d pushed it upwards he slipped his hands underneath, growling again at the soft warm feel of her skin but this time passion overtook him as it oft had before and he caused Ororo to cry out as he leant back from her, quickly shifting his hands around to the front of her body and tearing open her shirt, ripping off every button in the process.


Yet another item of her clothing ruined through his primitive lust, but Ororo neither minded nor cared as he bore down on her breast, punishing her with biting more than kissing. She groaned erratically, stuttering out the passionate noises as her legs started to buckle beneath her and she sagged down, her knees catching on the edge of the bed just between his legs as he moved backwards and caught her to him. But not once did he break his attentions on her breast. It was only when he moved onto the other one that he was willing to do that. She gripped at his shirt and shut her eyes tight as she suffered the exquisite pain, desperately trying not to scream her ecstasy at his rough touch. In New York nobody ever paid any attention to her often blood-curdling screams but out here she felt sure they’d be noticed. So she tried to curtail them as best she could---but she knew she wouldn’t be able to do it for long as his hands moved from where they’d held tightly to her bare back and forcefully yank open her jeans, almost busting the zip.


Finally he took himself from her breasts and stood up with her in his arms, turning her down onto the bed or moreover throwing her down. He reached for the waist line of her jeans and ripped them from her legs in one violent pull; the force of it taking her trainers off too, falling back to earth with a muffled thud. After he’d pulled his shirt off he gave her a dangerously feral smile as he dropped down onto his knees in between her legs. Taking hold of her hips, he dragged her down the bed towards him. Quickly removing her knickers he took hold of her legs and hooked them over his shoulders before taking tight hold of her hips once more.


Ororo knew exactly what Logan was intending to do and she moaned breathlessly in anticipation of it but even more so as she felt his nipping kisses working their way down the inside of her thigh. She gripped at the bed spread, the quickening sound of her breaths the only sound in the room as he travelled higher and higher and higher...


“Logan...” She moaned softly as she felt his tongue flick out, lightly running over the rapidly wet lips of her vagina. Her hand stole down to grip at his hair and the other continued to fist wildly at the bed cover as he delved his tongue in deeper, quickly locating the clitoris. He swirled his tongue around it, whipping up her ardent frenzy, making her cry out breathlessly. She was in serious danger of climaxing there and then but he didn’t stop, instead drawing her erect clitoris forwards and taking it lightly in his teeth before sucking on it and then letting it go.


For a moment he withdrew his tongue---“No!---don’t stop...oh Logan don’t stop, don’t stop...” Ororo continued to whisper the mantra as she turned her head to the sheets at the feel of Logan resuming his attentions. He kept it up for a while longer, until she was fairly crying euphoria. But then, the action all of a blur to her in her blissful state, he’d withdrawn again pulled her down the bed and turned her body over so that she was bent over at the waist with him behind her. For a moment she tried to turn her head round to look at him over her shoulder but was stopped from doing so as she felt his hand roughly close around the back of her neck and pushed her back down so that she was laid with her cheek pressing down onto the bed---trapped between him and it. She remained motionless as she heard the tinkling of his belt buckle being loosened and the shift of fabric as his jeans fell down from his body.


Ororo sighed out a ragged sob as she felt his body pressing against hers---the hardness of his cock lying, for a moment, against her vagina as she ached to be filled by it. But instead it was rudely taken away and she felt the harsh penetration of two fingers and then three. Her lustful cries were muffled by the bed cover as he shoved them in and out of her, not taking long to get her back to the point where she was before. Her legs trembled and her hands dug further into the sheets as he cajoled her once more, every now and then letting the slick fingers slip out and caress her anus causing her another delight. Eventually the fingers stopped entering her sex and fondled only at the space between her firm buttocks. She was perfectly aware of what he wanted to do and felt the sudden urge to press herself against him, letting him know in no uncertain terms that she wanted him to.


But she didn’t need to a slowly Logan pushed at first one finger into her anus and when he’d manipulated it enough pushed another one in too. He wanted her to be dilated enough to take him that way. When he felt she was ready, he took his two fingers from the hole he held steadily to her hip whilst the other hand remained at her neck and gradually began to push himself into her.


Ororo held her breath as her body adjusted, the fact that she was still slick helping to ease him in. But once he’d taken his cock as far as it would go. Her entire body shuddered as she exhaled; her attempts to bite back a cry utterly useless. Slowly Logan began to pull back and then push forwards again; when her only reactions where positive moans of joy he began to fuck her harder. Holding firmly to her hip he pumped into her, the tightness of her anus and her more than obvious pleasure making it hard for him to hold on. He let out a furious growl through gritted teeth simultaneously taking hold of her long pale hair and yanking her head up from the bed.


Ororo fought to stop her legs from collapsing from under her as the pressure of her orgasm built inside her---her moans turning into virtual sobs as she screwed her eyes shut. The excruciatingly tight grasp he had on her hair, his fingers digging into her slender hip, the curious and wonderful sensation of this position...it all overwhelmed her and the moans didn’t take long too turn into screams. Full on screams that she had promised herself she would suppress but found herself powerless to, prompting Logan to let go of her hair---the expectedness of which almost caused her to topple forwards---but he caught her by clapping his large hand over her mouth to smother her cries. Cries of such abandon that they had caused him to forget about taking it easy and began to fuck her with untold ferociousness.


The sweat ran in rivers down both of their bodies and the point of no return seemed to be just around the corner on two counts. But Logan wasn’t finished yet---the paasion not quenched. Taking his hand from over Ororo’s mouth he put it to her other hip as he pulled his throbbing dick from her arse. This time she did collapse onto the bed; breathless and panting in a dizzy mess of tangled hair sticking to her sticky shoulders and face. The respite did not last for long though as he pulled her up from the bed and then hoisted her into his muscular arms compelling her to wrap her long legs about his waist. For the first time they kissed; clumsily and longingly---biting and fierce. As she felt him entering her once more---his thick cock pushing up into her hot, slick vagina---she bit his lip, causing him to make a passionately guttural sound.

Ororo felt the cold, hard slap of a solid surface against her backside as she found herself being sat on one of the bedside cabinets that where attached to the plain white headboard. The simple orange shaded lamp that had been there was knocked carelessly to the ground---shattering its bulb and extinguishing its light instantly. Both of their groans where smothered by their on-going kiss as Logan took hold of her thighs, lifting them up high about his midriff and began to shunt forwards quickly. As he fucked her again with little mercy, she at first grabbed onto his hair and then at his shoulders, finally settling on gripping at the thick calico curtains that hung down behind her, almost pulling them from their brackets in the process. She tried frantically to block out the sound of the entire headboard smashing against the wall violently; the lamp that sat at the other side rocking perilously on its stand and threatening to join the other in bedside-lamp heaven.


“Fuck---ah fuck!” It was the first thing Logan had said and even that was almost unintelligible it was ground out with such a throaty, low manner.



With her mouth still close to his she issued him with a breathy challenge, “Ahh---harder---har---.” She paused and bit her lip, moaning through it before repeating, “Harder Logan---harder---please, h-harder...” Never one to refuse his lover anything he quickly obliged, pounding her so hard that it shook the whole bed, made the banging of the headboard sound like a jackhammer drilling the road and caused Ororo to rip part of the curtain from its bracket for real this time with a loud rendering sound. With a series of last frenzied ruts the lamp at the other end of headboard finally gave in to the gyration and fell to the ground with a clattering smash which left them both crying out into the darkness as their orgasms finally tore through their bodies. Thunderous explosions ripped their worlds asunder as for a moment in time the only thing they where aware of was the sensation of each others bodies hot and wet, pressed together and for all they cared there could have been nobody else on the planet---and they would have been happy...


*


Logan moved finally, lifting his forehead from her chest, kissing at it lightly before pulling back and slipping his hands from her still shaking thighs up around her narrow waist. She was completely limp as a ragged doll in his arms as he rolled them onto the waiting bed, though she was still surprisingly light despite becoming a dead-weight in her pliability. He collapsed back against the cool cotton cover as she lay over him; both still panting despite the passing of more than five minutes since they’d finished fucking.


In a mixture of tangled, sleek limbs they listened to each others breathing, feeling concrete weights vying for control of their eyelids as their bodies continued to coarse with post-coition heat; throbbing and reeling in physical sensation. Slowly, Ororo moved soundlessly off Logan and down to his side, whereon he pulled her into the nook of his arm. Resting her cheek on his chest that had ceased to heave so much, she let herself be lulled to sleep by the feel and sound of his heart pounding; gradually getting slower and slower and slower...until her eyes fell shut and the true darkness took hold of her...


* * *


The moonlight cast everything in blue as he opened his eyes to see the round kitchen clock that had its numbers denoted by pictures of fruit instead of figures. He couldn’t make out what time it was even with the cold light that was illuminating the large kitchen fairly well. He moved and it was only then that he realised that he was sitting at the breakfast island that cut the kitchen roughly down the centre, dividing the cooking area from the space that housed the large oak table. Looking across at it he could discern a stack of old newspapers, curled up at their edges and tied up with white string, ready to be thrown out. There was a chopping board on there too; on it an apple that had been cut in half, only one of those halves remaining on the board. A long full kit bag sat next to that, its stiff looped handles sagging in on one another, offering meagre support.


He started to move again, pushing both hands against the edge of the island and slipping off the stool slowly. At the moment his mind was a blank as he focused on his surroundings rendered in black, midnight-blue and silver. His heavy boots tapped on the tiled floor as he moved at it cause him to stop suddenly in his tracks---he looked down at his feet. The gleaming Para-boots felt extremely light as he’d taken those few steps but he knew they were heavy---they should have been heavy...


In an instant he forgot them as he continued on, walking slowly past the large fifties-style refrigerator towards the open doorway at its side. He glanced back quickly over his shoulder at the silent room he was leaving behind; the windows where frosted up---it was cold; really freezing---but he couldn’t feel it. So he turned again and went through the doorway to find himself in the hallway. The stairs that hugged the wall to the right stood directly opposite him. A thick swirl patterned runner went directly up their centre, exposing a little white painted step at either side, glowing in the dark like beacons. He looked to the left of them; there was another door off down the wallpapered hall but it was closed. Thinking for a moment, he soon remembered that it led into the dinning room. There was no need for him to go in there---he had to go upstairs, that’s where he knew he had to be...


Without realising that he’d been moving he found himself at their foot, his hand poised on the large, rounded knob at the bottom on the balustrade. His eyes traced a lazy path up the staircase, following the line of the white wainscoting that was between the steps and the wall that had dark panelling until around halfway up whereon it turned into the wallpaper that covered the rest of the hall. Raising a tentative foot he stepped onto the first step---the sound it made echoed in the stillness causing him to hesitate and look up at his destination. He could see nothing though; it was as pitch at the top of those stairs as a moonless night. But the moon was out tonight...

The boots felt heavy now, as they should have been as he knew they were...As he made his way up his eyes dropped back down to the wainscoting, his concentration on it making him unaware of his progress and making him feel that he’d been traipsing this staircase forever---it felt as if he where walking an escalator that was going in the wrong direction, forever fighting against the tide. So he was surprised by the fact that when he did look up he was at the top. He turned and looked back down; their steepness suddenly looking like the terrain of a mountain. He pulled away from them quickly then, an abrupt dizziness overtaking him for a moment, forcing him to close his eyes. Lurching forwards he felt the steadying presence of a wall and promptly leant against it. He eventually turned his back to it and tilted his head backwards to rest against it. His breaths were coming in pants for some reason and it panicked him slightly for he had no idea as to why. A jingling sound started, far away at first until it came closer and closer...When he opened his eyes again to see what it was that he presumed was coming towards him he found that the hall was now lit by the same stark moonlight that had lit downstairs, but he could see nobody near him or coming up the stairs despite the continuation of the high-pitched noise as if someone where rattling a bunch of keys.


He forced his breathing to slow until it almost stopped and so did the noise too. Suddenly he felt compelled to look down at his chest---two silver dog-tags glinted back up at him. When he let out his breath they clattered against other, sounding for all the world like keys smashing together. Still staring down at them he pushed himself off the wall and instinctively looked down the hallway to the left of him. Briskly now he made his way to the door but stopped just short of opening it. His hand began to reach out, but he found he couldn’t touch the brass knob. As his hand hovered close to the dull round metal it started to shake, at first slightly and then as it crept towards the handle tremendously. He had to take hold of his wrist with his other hand in order to stop it. Finally he felt the cold touch of smooth metal touch his palm and began to twist, but as he did, the creaking sound of the door filling his ears everything faded into black...


*


He awoke from the darkness with a fierce start; a sharp growl escaping his lips. There was something soft at his back which he soon came to realise was the edge of the bed. He found himself sat on the floor, his legs spread flat in front of him and his hands resting at his sides; the rough texture of the carpet feeling prickly against them. But he could feel something else too...Looking up sharply there was a framed picture on the wall, a painting that he slowly came to realise he recognised; a woman and her child walking through a vast poppy field with another pair echoing them in diagonal symmetry further up the hill, somewhere close to Paris...Soft moonlight shone across it like a powdery veil at an angle, just missing the dresser table’s vacant top. The bulky dark piece of furniture was against the wall; a solid plinth below the picture.


The damp feel of old sweat being joined by new beads clung to his forehead. He moved his hand in a motion to wipe them away but stopped short as it came past his line of vision on the way up. Holding it in front of him, inches from his face a salty smell assaulted him so fiercely he wanted to retch and his hand was covered in patches of...black. Taking his other hand from the carpet he held that up with the other; that too was covered with the same conspicuous marks. Bending his fingers inwards in brushed them over each palm. They left light marks of bare skin in their wake; making two long lines through the dark...it was sticky and wet. That’s when he became aware that the rest of his body felt like that too---or at least the upper half. For a moment he dared not look down but eventually he began to...the wet darkness was there too...


*Drip...drip...drip...* The sound of a tap leaking onto carpet started on his right hand side. Feeling hot beads breaking out from every pore and on every surface he started to look to the side; his neck felt like it were made of stone as he tried to turn it. First he saw that the light bed sheets were dark too in random splotches, like massive ink blots and their wetness made them shine in the blue light.


* Drip...drip...drip...* First he concentrated on the black tears drops hitting the carpet below with a deliberate regularity; a fountain pen left to leak for the edge of a desk. Then just the tips of the long slender fingers; perfect nails stained---a hand held in a pensive frozen state...but it wasn’t pensive at all, because to have that is to have muscle tension and that can’t exists in dead flesh...


It flowed and it flowed, the drips became worse not better as he stared at her hand, hanging from the edge of the bed, her skin so drained that even in this light he could tell that it had paled. He wanted to look but he couldn’t---he couldn’t get past her hand. Her beautiful, graceful hand, stiff and lifeless...the blood wouldn’t stop dripping, it just...wouldn’t...stop...


* * *


Logan shot up from the bed growling with each laboured inhale. He ran his hand over his face, this time taking the beads away as they drenched him but more came in their stead so he left them. He leant his arms over his hitched up knees and looked down to his side. Ororo slept soundly at his side, curled into a foetal position, her hair in separated clumps, splayed over her and the flowery decorated pillow of the bed. He pushed forwards, feet hitting the carpet with muffled sound. It was only when he tried to stand up that he realised how much he was shaking. He waited for a moment, by the side of the bed, hands balled into fists sinking into the mattress at his sides, until he felt sure that his legs would carry him. Eventually, he ventured forwards, making his way around to the foot of the bed where his clothes were strewn over the floor. Quickly he pulled them on, and then took up his denim jacket, leaving his leather on the carpet.


Heading straight for the door, snatching up the keys, Logan suddenly stopped---hesitating close to it, his hand on the handle. He pursed his eyes as he ran his free hand over his face. Looking back over his shoulder he struggled to take his eyes to her. When he finally did he found he couldn’t keep his gaze on her for long. The defined, curving, continuous line of her glistening body, partially wrapped, sari-like, in the whiteness of the under sheet. He turned quickly, and shook his head as his face became consumed by a bitter pain that stabbed ice-cold tendrils straight through his heart. Before it overtook him completely he pulled open the door and then yanked it closed behind him, not caring, at that split second, whether it woke Ororo or not.


-TBC-





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