Chapter One: Punk. Rocker. Mutant. Babe.
I like smoke and lightning
Heavy metal thunder
Racin' with the wind
And the feelin' that I'm under
Yeah darlin' go make it happen
Take the world in a love embrace
Fire all of your guns at once
And explode into space
~Steppenwolf
For a little under a year, a mutant known as Wolverine found sanctuary in the grounds of a sprawling mansion. Westchester, New York played host to a wealth of fantastical freaks known as homo superior. A man named Charles Xavier created this haven, taking in the weak and ragged, the powerful and angry, any that required protection and knowledge from a world seeped in hate and anger.
For his part, Wolverine – better known as Logan to the occupants of the mansion – wasn’t quite sure how he felt about the placidity of Xavier’s Institute for Higher Learning. Logan himself thrived on chaos, on violence. Running about with a group of school kids and their slightly elder teachers didn’t exactly groove with his well-ordered thought process on how the world worked.
In fact, Logan came to this place determined to murder the wheelchair bound Xavier, completing a mission his former superiors demanded of him. But when he came face to face with an unafraid and immensely powerful Xavier, the man offered him a choice.
I can help you, Wolverine. Together, we can piece together what they stole from you…if only you join my X-Men, train them to defend themselves.
He still had doubts about his free will in joining this group. Xavier had, after all, been struggling to survive at the time. Perhaps the enormously gifted telepath had simply nudged him into accepting. Either way, he was still here, eleven months later. And, to his continual shock, he liked it here.
There were perks, of course. Besides the warm bed and constant supply of Molson, Logan had the distinct pleasure of a woman willing to hop into the aforementioned bed with him. His fire-haired girlfriend kept him on his toes, even if her sometimes-girlish behavior could grate on his nerves. She possessed a soft heart and quick mind, two things that Logan found inherently attractive.
Her killer body wasn’t so bad either, particularly when she tucked it into that fit-like-second-skin leather uniform all X-Men wore into the field. Jean Grey, a former medical student still working through her internship, became just one more thing tying Logan to the expansive mansion and Xavier’s kooky dream.
Of course, there were downsides. Teaching. Oh, how Wolverine loathed teaching. It wasn’t so much the position of authority – which even Xavier had to admit was laughable – but the fact that nothing he said permeated through the thick, stupid skulls of the children he taught. Logan often likened many of his Shop and Defense classes to screaming down a well and expecting an answer.
Training the X-Men yielded slightly better results. The ragtag group of mutant vigilantes was earnest in wanting to learn the various forms of fighting locked into Wolverine’s mind, but several had neither the patience or will to follow through. Iceman, for example, preferred his brash American boxing and Angel, ever the pacifist, fell back on quaint, graceful French kickboxing.
Logan washed his hands of both, deciding that they were better off with what made them comfortable. Beast needed no help, with his preternatural feline grace and impressive acrobatic skills. Jean was just…hopeless. No matter how often he tried to teach her complicated Japanese fighting styles, she would fall back on her mental powers and forget every damn thing she learned.
He taught her self-defense basics and backed away very slowly.
Two, however, were the light of Wolverine’s teaching life. Spunky, vibrant Shadowcat and the Asian beauty Psylocke proved more than capable and willing to learn. Logan took several hours each day to train them together. They proved alike in many ways, but differed when it came to weapons.
Shadowcat preferred none, using her agility, grace and speed to fell much larger opponents. While Psylocke could do the same, she desired steel blades. Katana, to be precise. Her mutation, though similar to Xavier and Jean in mental prowess, also gave her what they fondly called “psi-blades”. Twin blades of pure mental energy erupted from her hands, which went a long way in forming a bond between she and Logan.
Though his blades were six strong and made of near-unbreakable adamantium.
Drawn back to the present, Logan watched as Psylocke completed her kata, the woman bowing low in respect as she finished. Her palm flattened against a fist, even as her chest heaved with ragged breaths of exertion.
“Nice,” he grunted, which made her smile winsomely. “Form’s comin’ along.”
“It’s a fair cop, guv,” she replied, the slow British drawl still odd from that olive skinned form. “How’s the Kitten doin’?”
At her reference to Katherine Pryde, or Shadowcat, Logan jerked one shoulder. “Better. She’s quick and that’s a plus.”
“Too right.” Psylocke clasped her hands over her head, stretching like a cat. The beautiful woman, Logan thought, could tempt a priest willingly into hell. Miles of golden skin, long, smooth muscles, slender curves and a set of wickedly plump lips. He gave her a once over, feeling his balant maleness perk up when her bosom swayed as she moved.
The most shocking features – and ones that betrayed her as a mutant – were come hither eyes the perfect shape of almonds and that long, silken hair. Both came hued a dark, deep violet. Though the features should have looked odd, they were strangely fitting on the woman. Her manner and movement were of one confident in every aspect of her body, smoky sexuality and womanly wiles.
Thank God she was a rather proud lesbian or his relationship with Jean might swirl the drain. Something about Psylocke could make a man sit up and beg. Not to mention the fact that she liked girls came across to many males as a distinct challenge.
“You kiss Jean with that on your mind, luv?” She laughed lightly, dropping him a wink.
Not bothering to be embarrassed that her continual psi-scan picked up his thoughts, Logan smirked wickedly. “You sure you don’t wanna tumble, Bets?”
Betsy Braddock paused, giving him a speculative look. “If I wasn’t taken, I might be tempted.”
Logan’s brow rose. “You so taken, where’s your girl at?”
One delicate shoulder rose in a half-shrug. “Called last week from Calcutta, only God knows where she went after that.”
“What the hell kinda relationship is that?”
“A grown up kind,” Psylocke shot back with humor. “Sometimes you need to get away. I do it, Jean does it, we all do. She goes with her friend, yeah, but I know she’ll always come back.”
Intrigued by this, Logan rolled his shoulders, taking a step toward her. Psylocke unashamedly pulled her sweaty tank from her chest, standing proud in naught but a sports bra that left little to the imagination.
“How do you know that?” He questioned softly, wondering how anyone could have that kind of faith or trust.
Betsy batted her long, violet-tipped lashes at him. “Look at me. Who wouldn’t come back for this?”
At that, Logan threw his head back to laugh. Betsy’s somewhat arrogant and occasionally acidic humor might offend many, but he found it refreshing. There were no pretenses with Betsy, only harsh and brutal truth.
Noting that she fidgeted with the plain gold band on her ring finger – her symbol of commitment she once told him – Logan touched her hand. She smiled tightly, sadness coming over her eyes for only a moment.
“I didn’t mean to make ya sad,” he apologized softly.
“You didn’t.” Betsy tossed her head. “I miss her and I wish she’d get that arse home. I’m dyin’ for a good shag, let me tell ya.”
“Don’t we all,” he replied sagely, slinging a companionable arm around her shoulder. “Lets go see what Slim’s got on the grill. I’m starving.”
“Let me shower first.” She ducked out from under his arm, dancing away lightly. “Go give Jean a snog. It’s been three hours, she might end up in a coma.”
“Ha-fuckin’-ha.” He tossed back at her as she ducked into the showers.
Maybe life wasn’t so bad at Mutant High, Logan thought as he left the training room. He decided to follow Psylocke advice, bellowing for Jean as he hit the upper levels of the mansion.
Not so bad at all.
~**~
Summer gifted the mutant school with an absence of most hormone-impaired teenagers and thick, balmy nights. Though the air could turn sticky, Logan much preferred the warm laze of afternoon, when the day wound down and night had not yet begun.
Typical in the year since he’d come to this place, Logan found himself on the back deck just before twilight, engaged in a nightly spring and summer ritual. The X-Men lounged in various chairs and rockers, letting a sweet breeze slip over them. They’d gorged themselves on a meal grilled out back, complete with beer for the grownups and soda for the younger group.
A sort of freedom came over the X-Men when the kids were gone. Xavier relaxed the rules, allowing the adults to live like adults for a few weeks. There was probably more bedroom-swapping than he strictly expected, but what could he do? Ground them?
Logan sprawled on a long chaise, Jean settled between his thighs with her back to his chest. He could smell the sweet melon of her shampoo mingled with her musky perfume. She idly sipped at a beer, drawing patterned in the holes of his jeans with long fingernails. He enjoyed this time of day, but there was something to be said about the night. Especially when Jean slipped out of her room to bounce on him for a while.
Psylocke, Angel, and Iceman occupied a wide glider, limbs thrown over one another almost carelessly. A bond existed between those three, something he glimpsed his first day in the mansion. Usually they could be found together, playing cards or shooting pool in the Rec Room when they weren’t out painting the town red.
Betsy did not hide her status as homosexual, and he figured that was why her two companions never lost themselves in her good looks and flirtations. It was easy to flirt back when it was safe and nothing was safer than a committed lesbian.
Scott Summers, also called Cyclops, held a cellular phone to his ear. Another ritual, Logan thought somewhat snidely. His girlfriend kept the boy on a two-foot leash and frequently jerked it as though to ensure he still had it fastened. Every night at exactly the same time, she called from Boston. Lord help Slim if a female voice giggled at him while she was on the line.
Because she smelled good and he was feeling tactile, Logan reached down and shifted Jean between his legs. She smiled up at him, her classic beauty momentarily stunning him. So, she wasn’t the wildest woman around, she kept him steady. No, he deliberately did not think boring, no matter how often that thought crossed his mind.
Jean and boring became four-letter words recently. Logan figured his nomadic side was simply rearing it’s ugly head, making him itch to just get on his bike and go. If he mentioned that though, Jean cried. One thing Logan could not stand was making Jean cry. Just the tremble of her chin could make him kick himself in the ass to a mantra of “I’m an asshole”.
Colossus and Shadowcat left for the evening, off to an opera showing in New York City. Logan liked them both, even if love and affection nearly oozed off of the couple. Kitty needed someone calm and true; Pete really needed to lighten up. Good match, he thought while toying with the end of Jean’s ponytail.
“Oh, hey,” Iceman said suddenly, reaching into his pocket. It wasn’t an easy feat, with Psylocke’s head in his lap and his own feet tucked under his backside. “I found something today.”
“What?” Angel asked, leaning over as much as he could with Betsy’s legs in his lap. The girl sprawled over the two of them like furniture and neither seemed to mind.
Bobby Drake managed to get a crumpled paper from his pocket at last, handing it to Angel so he and Psylocke could look at it.
Immediately, both broke into fits of hearty laughter.
“Wanna share with the class?” Jean asked testily, as though she felt left out of the bonding moment.
Psylocke tossed the paper at her, which Logan now realized was a photograph. Jean smoothed the creases gently, her mouth forming a thin line at the people in it.
There was a blonde, he noticed immediately. Thin, and dressed a style that Logan could only call “punk”. Her long hair had tips of deep black, her eyebrows pierced twice. She had her mouth open, as though screaming with the music from a band in the background. Her hand, upon which every finger bore a thick ring, reached for the camera in a rocker’s “devil” sign. She was pretty, Logan thought, despite the heavy makeup. Straight features and pale, pale skin.
Her free arm draped around another woman’s shoulders. This one Logan blinked at. Her skin was darker than her companion’s, but still a light shade of cocoa. Huge blue eyes peeked out from a fringe of snow-white hair. Her lips were full, lush and painted “You want me” red.
Both women looked free, happy, and likely to cause no end of trouble.
“Who’re they?” Logan asked curiously, wracking his brain to recall if he’d met this dynamic duo.
Cyclops, whom had leaned over to see once his call ended, smirked. “Storm and Dazzler.”
“Storm and Dazzler?” Logan repeated in confusion.
“Our very own hellions,” Jean offered. His sensitive ears picked up the light annoyance in her tone, but he chose to ignore it.
“They’re X-Men,” Iceman offered.
“Where are they?” Logan questioned, remembering several mentions of them over the year he’d been at the mansion. No one ever spoke of them in present tense…
“They’re off,” Cyclops paused as though searching for words with a grin on his face. “Doing whatever it is Storm and Dazzler do when they’re together.”
Now intrigued, Logan arched a brow as Scott took the photograph, smiling somewhat sadly at the pair. Logan glanced to Jean, whom shrugged one shoulder and indicated to his head. She wanted to speak silently and because the curiosity was killing him, he nodded.
Storm was Scott’s girlfriend until last year. Her quiet mental voice explained. It ended well enough and they were still friends, but she left right after.
Why? He asked, not sure why it mattered.
Jean gave a mental shrug. I don’t know. They don’t always offer us an explanation for taking off.
“And then, next thing I know, we’re going down I-90 at 140 an hour with a trail of cops behind us. Man, I thought the Professor was going to peel the front of my head off.”
Drawn out of silent conference with Jean, Logan looked up as Drake finished yet another of his amusing tales. In his months at the mansion, Logan had heard hundreds, but what impressed him the most with he’d never, not once, heard Iceman repeat himself.
“Then there was the time Storm and Cyclops ended up in lock up overnight,” Angel chimed in with a grin.
Cyclops groaned, handing the photograph back to Bobby. “It sounded like a good idea at the time.”
Even Jean laughed at that. Logan wrapped his arms around her and looked directly at Iceman.
“Ok, this I’ve gotta hear.”
Drake grinned wickedly.
~**~
He shouldn’t be thinking about her.
Cyclops finished his flight simulation for the Blackbird and pulled the comm. device from his ear. Letting out the annoyed breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, Scott glanced around the Danger Room’s mock up of the jet’s cockpit and sighed.
With his eyes firmly closed, he slipped the visor up and jammed his fingertips into tired eyes. Last night’s dinner turned into a show, each X-Man sharing stories of Dazzler and Storm until the night wore on and exhaustion set in.
Psylocke glanced at him several times through the evening, sympathy written clearly on those delicate features. She missed them, too, he thought feeling like an ass. If he hadn’t decided Storm was bad for his leadership role with the X-Men, if he hadn’t just tossed her aside after two years, perhaps she wouldn’t have found it necessary to take off with Dazzler into the proverbial sunset.
No one blamed him outwardly, but for weeks the accusation was in every eye. Until Wolverine showed up, trying to murder their mentor, he’d been the asshole of the school. Storm and Dazzler were a team like no other and when they graced the mansion with their presence, it came alive. With them gone, it seemed somehow muted, somehow distant.
Cold.
They’d called last week, he remembered. Drunk and giggly, they left him a message on his private line, butchering Steppenwolf’s brilliance after what sounded like several bottles of whatever it is they drink in India.
India? What the hell were they doing in India?
He’d gone with them once, Scott sighed. Spur of the moment, minutes after their diplomas were hot in their hands, Storm asked if he wanted to run away for a while. He agreed without thinking, letting Storm whisk him off to Columbia for two months. Ali and Betsy went along as well, the four of them bashing around Bogotá as though they had not a care in the world.
Those were the days. Before responsibility set in, Scott could be impulsive, too. He’d reveled in it when dating the untamable Storm. There was nothing he wouldn’t try, no thrill too much. Perhaps the adrenaline high made him feel worthy of that woman, if only for a moment. He wasn’t, he mused, slipping his visor back on. Scott didn’t think any man was good enough for her.
Calling out the deactivation code for the Danger Room, he left the training with his head still muddled. Even a hot shower and fresh set of clothes didn’t help him reign in his thoughts. His girlfriend would beat him senseless while shredding his mind like lettuce if she busted him. For some reason, any comparison between her and Storm sent her into rage.
“Hey, Slim.”
Looking up as he entered the kitchen, Scott found Wolverine and Jean enjoying a few minutes alone and immediately hated himself for breaking up the moment. It could be damn near impossible to get ten minutes alone during the day, especially with training and the gearing up for a new semester.
“Logan,” Scott nodded. “Jean.”
“Hi,” she beamed, lighting up the room with it.
Deciding to grab a drink and head for the hills, Scott moved toward the industrial size refrigerator. He needed to go through several things for his English classes before his girl called to complain about her own. Wouldn’t that be fun?
Before he could put his hand on a bottle of water, he heard the unmistakable roar of an engine drifting in from the front door. He froze immediately, listening as people stepped into the halls at that signature noise.
“Charger,” said Wolverine as he stood, tilting his head as though listening intently. “1970. Holy shit. Who drives one of those?”
Ororo. Scott thought the name, pushed past the pain in his heart.
Without waiting for an answer, Logan strode from the room. Scott followed with Jean, trying to pull himself together as the engine revved again. Iceman, Psylocke, and Angel hit the hallway from the staircase a beat behind Logan, the group trailing outside as though called by the song of that sweet ride.
“Holy shit,” Wolverine breathed when he stepped onto the porch. “That’s a fuckin’ car.”
Bold and glossy black, Storm’s beloved Dodge Charger screamed American muscle. She’d redone most of the work herself, from engine to body. He’d helped her when able, but left the flawless paint job to herself and Alison Blaire.
The driver killed the engine, then stuck her entire head and torso out of the open driver’s side window. She sat on the edge, tossed her friends a grin and winked.
“Well, hello.”
The passenger door opened as Betsy pushed past Logan and Scott. Blonde and thin, Alison jumped from the vehicle. She’d pulled on a pair of faded fatigues, topping it off with a tight tank and battered combat boots. Her long hair was down, dancing on the summer wind as she shoved thick black sunglasses over her forehead.
“That’s one sexy bitch,” Ali announced loudly, crooking her finger. “Come over here, baby. Give me a snog.”
Betsy grinned and moved forward quickly. She laughed, launched herself into Alison’s arms and planted a wet, noisy kiss on painted lips. Ali’s hands found purchase on Betsy’s barely-covered ass, squeezing tightly to hold her in place. Scott glanced at them, so used to the sight that he scarcely noticed.
Scott turned back to Storm, whom looked at Ali and Betsy with a roll of her eyes. She let Iceman yank her the rest of the way out of the car, hugging him tightly before Angel demanded his turn. She looked so damn beautiful.
Tight jeans that conformed to every blessed curve, a midriff-baring top that proudly proclaimed “Tie me up, I’ve been naughty”. Her long snowy hair had been cut recently, sitting on her head in a sassy, smooth cap. Her boots were just as battered as Ali’s, but hiked up her height several inches with a chunky heel.
“Logan?”
Jean was trying to get her boyfriend’s attention, her mouth pressed into a petulant pout. Scott looked to the man, not surprised to see he wasn’t staring at the two beautiful women kissing nor Storm’s exuberant hello to her friends. He gazed adoringly at that sexy black car.
“Jean, right now, you could strip naked and sit on his face and I doubt he’d notice.” Scott chuckled, indicating to the car. “He’s in love.”
The red head crossed her arms over her breasts and frowned. “It’s just a car.”
“Bite your tongue,” Scott and Logan spoke in unison, making her roll her eyes.
“Scottie-bear!”
As though she’d finally noticed him, Storm turned and bolted for him. Because she was his friend first and would ever be, he opened his arms to accept her embrace. She smelled of sandalwood and rain, fit into his arms just as he remembered. Damn, had she always been this gorgeous?
“You look good, kid,” he teased, kissing her forehead.
“Don’t I always?” She tossed back, kissing his cheek fondly.
“It’s the Scottie-bear!”
Ali finally unlatched herself from the woman she loved and bounced toward him. Ororo moved away, letting him embrace his other friend quickly.
“They call you “Scottie-bear”?” Logan was laughing. “Can I call you that?”
“I tried once,” Jean interjected as though wanting his attention back. “He threatened to optic-beam me.”
Logan snorted, covering it ineffectually with a cough.
“Who’s this?” Ali turned to Logan, sizing him up quickly. “Wow. Aren’t you Mr. Tall, Dark, and Can I have a spanking?” Psylocke slapped her lovingly on the shoulder in retaliation.
He arched a brow at her. Scott swore Jean snarled.
“You must be Wolverine,” Ororo interrupted before blood spilled. “I’m Storm and the one with a big mouth is Dazzler.”
“Hi,” Logan grunted, looking around both women to the car. “That yours or your boyfriend’s?”
Storm scowled, looking over her shoulder at the car she loved as a mother would a child. “Mine. All mine. And no, you can’t drive it.”
As though to drive her point home, she stuffed the keys into her pocket, giving him a sly wink.
Scott happened to be looking at Logan when his eyes focused on the woman. They widened slightly, his nostrils twitched, and something like interest sparked there. Ali shoving Betsy against the nearest pillar, ravishing the violet-haired telepath as though she were dying of thirst, thankfully distracted Jean. Jean blinked at them, never comfortable with her two friends as a couple.
So Logan’s casual perusal of Storm’s generous curves was something only Scott noticed. Storm met his gaze without faltering, without shame. She knew there was a lot to look at when someone first met her. Even without her cerulean eyes and snowy hair, the woman could knock a man blind at first sight.
Something told Scott this entire thing might not end well, judging from that look in Wolverine’s eyes and Jean’s well-known jealous streak.
At least, he mused, life at Mutant High was about to get more interesting.
