Disclaimer: I do NOT own anything. No X-Men, no characters, no movies, no
actors, no nothing. I am not doing this for any kind of profit or personal
gain. So please, Marvel and 20th Century Fox and anyone else, don't come
knocking on my door, because I feel a great swell of pity for the soul who
comes to my house looking for trouble (or money for that matter).
Author's Note: So you've probably read or at least totally skipped all those fluffy Logan/Jean romance stories (yep, I'm a L/J shipper). This is basically a ***parody*** of those. I thought it would be funny if Jean finally caved and gave into her feelings for Logan, but Logan didn't feel the same way. For Wolvie's little monologue I used all those lame romance reality TV shows (like The Bachelor, Joe Millionaire, etc. etc. etc.) as inspiration. It seems like those women all say the same corny things. Anyway, if you can make it past the mushy ooey-gooey sweetness alive you will be richly blessed for your endurance and patience because it ends in a very funny way. If you like Wolverine at all you will like this story.
The full moon broke through the windows of the mansion and spilled onto the glossy wood floor of the corridor in glowing geometric shapes. The whole place was as still and silent as the night itself. Should you have examined the numerous paintings and portraits adorning the rooms of the great building, you would have surmised that even the human subjects themselves were sleeping, so lifeless it appeared.
Then-a bedroom door opened. From the folds of shadows slid a woman with passionate red hair and a satin robe that matched her flowing, rippling locks in both movement and color. She made absolutely no sound as she strode down the hallway. She had only one thing on her mind.
Upon reaching a certain door, she stopped and cautiously opened it. It made a low creaking sound that immediately drew the attention of the object of her purpose.
"Jean," he exclaimed as he sat up in his bed, the white comforter sliding down his fuzzy but broad and sculpted torso. He regarded her with puzzled yet utterly awake brown eyes; she looked him up and down with hungry green ones. She knew what they both wanted.
Jean dashed over and on to the bed and knelt beside him. "Logan."
The whisper barely escaped her quivering lips. "I choose..." he heard inside his head. But she did not finish the sentence.
Her mouth fell upon his then. Her soft hands drifted about his shiny hair, coarse beard, strong jaw, brawny neck, and heaven-sent chest. Jean's crimson tresses fell around him in a silky curtain as if to hide the actions of her fiery mouth. Her tongue rampaged through his mouth, wrestling, wrapping, and exploring in the farthest recesses of the Wolverine's sweet maw.
When she finally pulled away for a pause and a bit of air, Logan stared at her in disbelief. She was about to go in for a second shot when he stopped her. "Look, Jean," he began, "we need to talk."
She automatically sat up again, and her emerald eyes searched him for what might come next.
"Look, Red, you're nice and pretty and smart and all, but....where is this relationship going? Where is it right now? I'm really looking for a commitment. I want someone I can settle down with, someone I can share the rest of my life with. I need someone with goals, ambitions, and dreams. Someone who shares my interests and will always stand by me no matter what. I don't think we're right for each other, Jeannie. I mean, I'm not enough man for a wild and crazy girl like you. I don't really think you know what you're looking for, and honestly, you're just not my type."
He stopped to let the words sink in. She had averted her eyes and was gazing blankly at the designs carved into the bed's walnut headboard. Her shoulders slumped.
"Of course we can still be friends, if you want. You know I care about you, and . . . . I've had a nice time. But I don't think your future will lead you down any paths with me. In fact, let's keep our romantic futures totally separate," he concluded.
She slowly turned to look at him. He was examining his fingernails and the places between his knuckles where the indestructible blades always burst forth from.
He looked up at her and smiled his classic Logan smile. "So, hun, no hard feelings? Oh, good. I knew you'd feel the same way," he chuckled as he tousled her hair.
Logan stretched his arms out to his sides and yawned. Jean watched as every muscle rippled and flexed beneath his skin. He sighed. "Well, kiddo, you'd probably better get back to ol' Scooter. He'll be wondering where you are, and you certainly don't want to put him under any undue emotional stress-the poor kid. 'Night, Red."
With that Logan turned onto his side and yanked the white comforter around his mighty chest and over his shoulders. Within a few minutes Jean heard snoring and grunting sounds. She sighed and rolled off the bed. At the door, she turned and took one long look at Logan as he smiled and mumbled in his sleep. She shuffled back down the corridor. The mansion was stiller than ever.
Author's Note: So you've probably read or at least totally skipped all those fluffy Logan/Jean romance stories (yep, I'm a L/J shipper). This is basically a ***parody*** of those. I thought it would be funny if Jean finally caved and gave into her feelings for Logan, but Logan didn't feel the same way. For Wolvie's little monologue I used all those lame romance reality TV shows (like The Bachelor, Joe Millionaire, etc. etc. etc.) as inspiration. It seems like those women all say the same corny things. Anyway, if you can make it past the mushy ooey-gooey sweetness alive you will be richly blessed for your endurance and patience because it ends in a very funny way. If you like Wolverine at all you will like this story.
The full moon broke through the windows of the mansion and spilled onto the glossy wood floor of the corridor in glowing geometric shapes. The whole place was as still and silent as the night itself. Should you have examined the numerous paintings and portraits adorning the rooms of the great building, you would have surmised that even the human subjects themselves were sleeping, so lifeless it appeared.
Then-a bedroom door opened. From the folds of shadows slid a woman with passionate red hair and a satin robe that matched her flowing, rippling locks in both movement and color. She made absolutely no sound as she strode down the hallway. She had only one thing on her mind.
Upon reaching a certain door, she stopped and cautiously opened it. It made a low creaking sound that immediately drew the attention of the object of her purpose.
"Jean," he exclaimed as he sat up in his bed, the white comforter sliding down his fuzzy but broad and sculpted torso. He regarded her with puzzled yet utterly awake brown eyes; she looked him up and down with hungry green ones. She knew what they both wanted.
Jean dashed over and on to the bed and knelt beside him. "Logan."
The whisper barely escaped her quivering lips. "I choose..." he heard inside his head. But she did not finish the sentence.
Her mouth fell upon his then. Her soft hands drifted about his shiny hair, coarse beard, strong jaw, brawny neck, and heaven-sent chest. Jean's crimson tresses fell around him in a silky curtain as if to hide the actions of her fiery mouth. Her tongue rampaged through his mouth, wrestling, wrapping, and exploring in the farthest recesses of the Wolverine's sweet maw.
When she finally pulled away for a pause and a bit of air, Logan stared at her in disbelief. She was about to go in for a second shot when he stopped her. "Look, Jean," he began, "we need to talk."
She automatically sat up again, and her emerald eyes searched him for what might come next.
"Look, Red, you're nice and pretty and smart and all, but....where is this relationship going? Where is it right now? I'm really looking for a commitment. I want someone I can settle down with, someone I can share the rest of my life with. I need someone with goals, ambitions, and dreams. Someone who shares my interests and will always stand by me no matter what. I don't think we're right for each other, Jeannie. I mean, I'm not enough man for a wild and crazy girl like you. I don't really think you know what you're looking for, and honestly, you're just not my type."
He stopped to let the words sink in. She had averted her eyes and was gazing blankly at the designs carved into the bed's walnut headboard. Her shoulders slumped.
"Of course we can still be friends, if you want. You know I care about you, and . . . . I've had a nice time. But I don't think your future will lead you down any paths with me. In fact, let's keep our romantic futures totally separate," he concluded.
She slowly turned to look at him. He was examining his fingernails and the places between his knuckles where the indestructible blades always burst forth from.
He looked up at her and smiled his classic Logan smile. "So, hun, no hard feelings? Oh, good. I knew you'd feel the same way," he chuckled as he tousled her hair.
Logan stretched his arms out to his sides and yawned. Jean watched as every muscle rippled and flexed beneath his skin. He sighed. "Well, kiddo, you'd probably better get back to ol' Scooter. He'll be wondering where you are, and you certainly don't want to put him under any undue emotional stress-the poor kid. 'Night, Red."
With that Logan turned onto his side and yanked the white comforter around his mighty chest and over his shoulders. Within a few minutes Jean heard snoring and grunting sounds. She sighed and rolled off the bed. At the door, she turned and took one long look at Logan as he smiled and mumbled in his sleep. She shuffled back down the corridor. The mansion was stiller than ever.