a/n: so - x-men (movies) was the first fandom i've ever written for, and you never forget your first. i'm back to this for like a split second, and it's been so long i've no idea if i got it right - but, i needed a little Jean/Logan in my life.

She told herself – it wasn't Jean who cheated on Scott so callously: it was her. It was the woman who whispered in the dark corners of her mind, the woman whose eyes glowed, when provoked or aroused or unleashed, as molten pools of untamable fire; it was the woman who was carnal, primal, unafraid, who anchored her to life in a preternatural way that only old souls and those in touch with the astral plane could understand – no; it wasn't Jean Grey who stole from the bed of the goody guy into the den of the animal –

It was her – it was Phoenix.

Jean told herself – she couldn't reign in the bird of prey and power inside her; she told herself she was in her thrall – but she knew Phoenix answered to Jean and Jean alone: that they were one and the same, two parts of a supernova whole that blazed and boiled and bided time – she was nuclear at the core, animal at heart – sinew and feather and skin and soul – and that power in her soul, that incomprehensible strength and raw evolutionary superiority – it was drawn to others of its kind – and that was what he was –

Logan, Wolverine – he was brute strength and bared teeth, canine and wild – but there was a balanced tameness to him, too; he was like her, akin to her, controlled on the surface, burning beneath – his mutation kept him alive, adapted him to chance and change – like hers – and he struggled with immortality as she did – his was physical; his life healed effortlessly before his eyes – hers was intangible: she knew in her subconscious something impossibly iron anchored her to this realm, to this earth, something so evolved it was beyond comprehension – beyond the Professor's, beyond Scott's –

Scott, Scott – Scott was soft arms and loving smiles; charm and grace and chivalry – good at heart, good in soul, brave of mind – and yet he feared her: he wanted part of her in a cage, part of her subdued, controlled – not out of subjugative maleness but out of worry for her, for her life, for her sanity – Scott did not understand that she was not insane, she was not fragile: Phoenix was dangerous when she was held back, when she was told no, when she wasn't honed – and used – and satisfied –

She was like Wolverine; and Phoenix sought Wolverine and Jean knew it was because part of her sought Logan – thus when the Wolverine howled for her, she flew to him – she didn't know if Scott knew, or if he was ruby blind to the decadence of her affair – but she knew when she was with Logan – when her flames and feathers were in the hands of his rough fur and steely claws –

She was free.

She could rake at him, claw him, bite; the wounds of passion healed on him and glistened, bare and naked, begging for more – and he could lick her skin and take her body and give her what Scott was so afraid to awaken: he could make Phoenix burn and shimmer: light up in her stomach, spill through her veins, immolate her from nose to toe – Wolverine didn't apologize when he knocked her head into the bedframe: he growled – Phoenix didn't feel guilty when her red hands burned his skin, she screamed with the ethereal pleasure of it –

In the messy mating ritual between struggling man and woman, caged instincts were freed and the wild things met, and it wasn't love, it wasn't affection – not for the animals, for the canine and the avian, but it was liberation, abandon – satisfaction in its most base, sated form –

She told herself – it was Phoenix – but in her ear, the Wolverine always growled –

"Jean."

sigh - i love them together so much.

-alexandra
story #206