Verse: AU W&TXM
Rating: K
Characters: Ororo, Logan, Jean (minor)
Pairing: Ororo/Logan, Jean/Scott (mentioned)
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The lights overhead the bustling ballroom dimmed into a faint glow and a small orchestra began playing a soft waltz that urged most couples off their feet into the center of the room. The lulling music wafted through the large ballroom that had been a severely underused portion of the mansion. Not anymore, for at least the evening, due to Scott Summers and Jean Grey’s wedding.
Clad in a silken ocean blue strapless dress, Ororo Munroe sighed as she took a sip from her half-empty white wine glass. Her eyes followed the dancing movements the guests of the reception exhibited, only provoking another sigh.
“Sitting alone is no fun, Ororo,” Jean chimed, stepping towards her friend, wedding dress and all, and sitting in the other chair opposite of the weather witch.
Ororo smiled and rolled her eyes, “Then what do you suppose I do, Mrs. Summers?” She put a special emphasis on the address, grinning as the redhead beamed gleefully.
“Can you believe it?” The bride asked after a moment of passed silence. “I’ve been dreaming of this day since I was a little girl.”
“Hmm,” Ororo hummed thoughtfully, “Don’t we all?”
Jean frowned at her friend’s melancholy tone, “What’s wrong, ‘Roro?”
Brushing a dangling white curl from her face, Storm’s eyes wandered back to the dancing crowd in front of her.
“It is nothing,” she stood from her chair, leaving no room for argument from the telepath, “I think I’m going to get some air.”
With that, Ororo left the ballroom in a graceful rush, heading towards the main balcony on the West side of the mansion that served as her own personal miniature garden.
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“Gettin’ away from it all, eh, ‘Ro?” His gruff voice directly behind her startled Ororo out of her reverie. Gasping, she spun on her heel to face Logan, her hair furiously whipping about her face.
Logan nearly regretted surprising her, for a moment, and he tried to think of a way to make it up. She was still staring blankly at him. Now, that wouldn’t do.
“Mind some company?” He eased the tense mood and casually pushed himself from the doorway to join her.
“Not at all,” Ororo murmured politely, tucking a white wisp of hair behind an ear. She sighed, long and slow, watching the sun sink into the lake.
Logan leaned up against the rail beside her and she drank in a long sideways glance of him. Of course, he had not attended the wedding reception, for the most obvious reasons and with what lingering belligerent lust of a certain wedded woman. Ororo chose to ignore that thought. His attire consisted of the usual faded jeans, snug around his legs. A white wife beater hid beneath his open-zipped worn leather jacket and a pair of cowboy boots donned his feet. Deep set brown eyes, framed by straight lashes, seemed to be staring into the empty nothingness that was the sky. His dark and wild hair looked as though he had run his calloused hands through it a hundred times over and ten-fold, but the stubborn two peaks at the ends still remained. Logan’s face was free of any scars, yet a worry line or two creased it’s way into the edges of his eyes or between his brows.
Ororo’s eyes further traveled down the length of his jaw and cracked lips. A thin film of stubble covered his cheeks, giving him the fine image that screamed “scruffy to the touch.” Some unexplainable force caused her hand to twitch just barely on the railing, aching to touch his cheek.
They were polar opposites in appearance and personality, no doubt about it. But, beneath the gruff and regal exterior, they were both connected. Connected as children of nature.
“Logan?”
“Yeah?”
“Would you like to dance with me?”
He blinked several times at her forwardness; that was usually his forte. “’Ro, you know dancing isn’t my--”
She gently waved a delicate chocolate hand, “--I didn’t mean it like that…”
An unexpected powerful breeze swept across the balcony, nearly pushing Logan over the railing and her eyes swirled into her signature milky white. Languidly increasing winds surged around Ororo, freeing her white tendrils bound in an elegant bun. Silver-strapped heeled feet hovered just barely an inch from the ground, her dress whipping back and forth like an undecided banner.
She wanted to soar in the skies, but not alone. He would join her this time, buoyed by her unrelenting winds, welcomed into the world that he, among many others, had been denied. She offered him the route, the passageway to that unspoken world of freedom, of flying. And she would accompany him. Together, they would dance to a song that only they knew.
She, the goddess. He, the animal.
More of an expressed analogy than ever, she reached her hand out to him; to connect with him.
“Dance with me.” It wasn’t a question.
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