Title: Palermo Red
Disclaimer: None of the awesome people belong to me. Bummer.
Feedback: totally makes my WolverineMuse do the happy dance. Naked. Heh. The good. The bad. The ugly, welcome… Flames are an invitation for Karma to kick some ass.
Summary: Boots. A blindfold. A man. The price of playing this particular game is steep, but the Wolverine loves a challenge and the Rogue can't resist a dare. W/R
Author's notes: Set in the Serendipity universe. This one is definitely not for the vanilla folks. Just sayin'. It's adult in theme and content and pretty firmly in the BDSM camp. You have been warned! The Wolverine strikes me as a naturally dominant guy and the Rogue strikes me as someone who is reckless enough to be willing to indulge certain proclivities, given the right incentive. If that makes you uncomfortable, stop reading now. If you're still here, then by all means, let the games begin! Heh. This one has four parts and is a little different from my usual in terms of style. You'll see what I mean when you get into the meat of the story. It has an unusual flow, but hopefully it'll work for what I'm after. Let me know, hey? The Rogue definitely takes a walk on the wild side here, but the Wolverine finds his boundaries pushed in ways he didn't expect as well. But then, isn't that how all the best games are played? Onward!
Palermo Red
[Chapter 1: The Boots]
It began with a flip comment. Some offhand wisecrack about dominatrix boots. Silly words I tossed back at Logan one night when he was shining me on somethin' fierce. He calls me sometimes in his downtime between jobs. I was just teasin' him in that way we seem to have with each other that's somehow both prickly and comfortable. His response was immediate and though it made me laugh, it touched off something inside me I'm still not sure I totally understand.
"Oh, Christ... dominatrix boots. Would ya? Could ya? Heh."
Sweet smokin' Jesus. That dirty chuckle gets to me every damn time.
More to the point, I lack the skill to articulate what those words made me feel. It was something beyond playful teasin'. Beyond the warm flutter of desire. Beyond the sexual thrill of the unknown. Even beyond the giddy high we were still riding after our last dirty little encounter. Actually, it felt very much like that night we made the choice to become lovers; a choice I knew would have serious, lasting repercussions. Do I retreat or do I delve headlong into deeper intimacy?
I wish I could say the choice was an easy one, but I suppose it wasn't so much a choice as it was an automatic, instinctive response. In my heart-of-hearts, I can't deny him, and the real truth is that I have absolutely no desire to do so. I still sometimes run afterwards, but the initial impulse is always the same. I wondered exactly how big a smirk was on his face when I gave him my answer.
"Good girl." Now that's just playing dirty. He knows what those particular words do to me. "What size shoe do you wear?" An interesting question. I answered him, wondering what he had in mind. "I guess all that's left now is seein' if you'll really go through with it, kid."
Hmmm... Go through with what? God. Our games. How I love them. "Yeah? You darin' me, sugar?"
"Bet your ass I am." His voice held a hint of something that I couldn't quite put my finger on. There was an edge to his words that carried with it a frisson of danger. It excited me. "Not sure if you're up for the challenge, though." He does know how to push my buttons. I'll give him that.
"You send them and I'll wear them for you, cowboy." Anywhere he liked. My heart beat faster at the very thought of it.
"No." No? "Darlin', that ain't the way it works. I'll have 'em with me next time you come see me."
"Yeah?"
"Oh, yeah."
"Hmm... so you wouldn't want to send them beforehand so I could meet you somewhere already wearing them?"
I love how he never makes anything easy for me. He says the only easy day was yesterday. I agree. It's kinda just how we are. Our history's pretty rocky. We've been lovers for the last year, but we're not together. Not like that. We don't do hearts and flowers. Neither one of us is really the relationship sort. Generally we consider it a win if we've spent any length of time in each other's company without things getting bloody. Our dustups are pretty legendary. It's probably a good thing that Logan never really came back to the school after Japan.
He's got an apartment where he crashes in the city for downtime between missions when he's stateside and I've heard he bought house upstate, but none of us have ever been there. The Wolverine's pretty damn protective of his privacy.
"Nope." He was emphatic.
Okay then. If he was going to up the ante, so was I. "So, you tell me then exactly what it is you'd like." Because I know how to push his buttons, too.
"Really?" A hint of pleasant surprise in his voice, although it lost none of its edge. "You think you could do it?"
A direct challenge more than a question, really. His carnal experience far outstrips mine and I knew I was playin' with fire, but it didn't keep me from responding in the affirmative. He knows I can't resist a challenge. And for all the screwed up shit between us, he also knows I trust him.
It's a dangerous combination.
Though his words intrigued me, it was the tone in them that sent tingles of apprehensive excitement racing under my skin. It was thick with sexual promise and the heady sense of 'We'll just see if you can hold your own with me, little girl,' but there was a darker feel to it too. Not malevolence exactly, but it was infused with a feral power he normally kept well leashed with me. With most women, I would imagine. Unapologetic primal dominance.
Interesting. I didn't think he ever really let the Wolverine out to play.
"Okay then. I want you to come in my house. Go into my livin' room. Strip... and put the boots on." A thousand miles apart and he gave me a full body blush, just like that. He paused, read somethin' in my soft intake of air and continued. "And then put on the blindfold and wait there for me."
An intense wave of heat shuddered violently through my body.
"Call it a symbolic gesture of trust. You trust me by wearin' the blindfold. I trust you by wantin' you with me in my home." Home. That word was deliberate. His smoky voice rasped softly into my ear. "Don't worry, darlin'. You'll get to see it all. I'll take the blindfold off... eventually."
Oh... God.
~ooOoo~
MARIE: [It took a bit of finessing, but we managed it. All our schedules allowed us was a single night, but in some ways that was better. Opening up his private sanctuary to me was a big deal and I didn't want him feeling like he was revealin' too much too fast. No, this was better. We would have this night first and then maybe more nights later if we managed not to kill each other. This one night would be a taste of things to come. An exchange of intimacies. He would share the secrets of his home, and in return, I told him to ask one of me... something he felt was worthy of the ones he would be revealing. He didn't disappoint, nor did he ask me something I could easily answer. Boots. A blindfold. A man. Many things waited for me at his home; things I would buy with secrets of my own.]
LOGAN: [She should be here soon, that is if she's accepted the askin' price. I liked that she wanted to bring a secret of equal worth to the table. She's like me in that. Don't like owin' people nothin'. Not even me. There's always a point where things are so fragile that one wrong move can blow it all to hell. That's where we are. I still wonder if the price I set was a little too steep. I asked her to tell me a fantasy that would reveal somethin' she was afraid to show anyone else. It'll probably require some soul searchin' on her part, but I think it shows what I consider the act of openin' my haven to mean. Hard for her. Hard for me. A straight up exchange. This night'll be a test; we each keep control of what will be revealed – me with the blindfold and Marie with her silence. Whatever goes down, it'll define what happens the next time we lie together in my bed.]
MARIE: [Butterflies flutter wildly in my belly as the taxi pulls up outside his home. Last chance to stop this before things get... complicated. This is scarier than I thought it would be. The note Logan sent with the driver is clutched in my fingers, as is the flower he sent along with it. A crimson daylily. In the South especially, some flowers have a specific meaning. This one means 'beautiful flirt'. I wonder if he knows that.]
LOGAN: [From my vantage point, even in the twilight I can see her cab outside and a predatory thrill shoots through me, sharp and hot. I wonder if she's discovered the secret to Palermo red yet. I bet she has. She's a smart girl... and she says I have good taste. I do, in leather as well as women. Heh. It seems like forever before she gets out of the damn taxi. Second thoughts? She's right to have them. Still, I'm willin' her to commit to this. Dismiss the cabbie. Make sure he leaves. C'mon, kid. Come'n play... if you dare.]
MARIE: [My heart's in my throat as I watch the red taillights of the cab disappear through the trees. Alone in the woods. Even with Carol's gifts, it's a little spooky here by myself. The wind is creaking through the trees. It's barely audible above the blood roaring in my ears. There isn't another house around for miles. I take in everything. My artist's eye drinks in the details. I know there are things here he wants me to see. The animal doesn't speak in words. He's a master of subtlety, of conversation held in nothing but shadow and nuance.]
LOGAN: [I see her look and smile nervously, fidgetin' and fingerin' the flower in her hands. A variety I found in Japan called Midnight Magic. Velvety black-red petals. A fittin' gift, one chosen purposefully to set the tone for tonight. She's a woman who appreciates the details. I wonder how many she'll catch. Will she notice how subtle the lightin' is? Only the ground level ones are on. It's purposefully dim, but she can safely walk to my door. That's the first order on the note she carries in her tiny hand.]
MARIE: [The grandeur of the forest seems to swallow the sound of my footsteps as I approach the door. The mossy path is silent underfoot. The note says to let myself in, but I can't help stoppin' here for a moment. I have the distinct sense that I'll be different after this... but I trust him, so I screw up my courage and come inside, closing the heavy door after myself and breathing in deeply, both to calm myself and to take in the scent of this place. It smells masculine. A man's home. Cedar. Leather. Tobacco. A hint of wintergreen.]
LOGAN: [I smile as she stops in fronta my door. She's pretty much built for reckless, except when it comes to her heart. Her thoughts are written across her face. She's thinkin' this'll change her. She's right. I'm pretty damn sure it'll change me too. I don't want her to see or hear me, but I swear a silent promise to her that I'll remember this moment and hold her apprehension in mind in all that I do tonight.]
MARIE: [Music. Soft and low. Something stringed. Touch of an eastern flair. The purring rumble of deep bass. The sound calls to me. Thankfully, the blocky scrawl on the note in my hand has instructed me to follow it, to go further into the house to the livin' room. But only there. No pokin' around in other rooms along the way. As I walk towards the music, I feel the bass in a physical way. Like a humming in my bones. A touch... but not a touch. Another subtlety, softly dragging me deeper into this game.]
LOGAN: [My note has ordered her to come into my livin' room and look around. To explore that one room — and only that one room, 'cause I know how she is — until she feels comfortable. Easy. I want her to investigate, to get to where it don't feel too scary for her. I can tell she's feelin' the bass now. I wasn't sure if she could before, but it's clear she does now. A sound strokin' her skin' like I'm gonna do later. I wonder if she can feel me watchin'.]
MARIE: [I can feel his eyes on me. Like the music. A touch— but not a touch. I wonder how long he's gonna make me wait before he shows himself. That thought is never far from my mind as I take in his private space. It's not what I expected. I imagined something more modern, minimal with clean lines. Brushed steel, lots of glass. This is more... organic. Lots of dark wood. Earth tones. Natural fibers. A shoji screen with rice paper panels. A small fountain trickling over smooth river stones. A beautiful bonsai tree framed by a massive picture window that reveals the endless forest beyond. A large pot of black bamboo in one corner. Bronze wind chimes hang in another. They tinkle prettily under my fingers. One wall is rust colored. The rest are various shades of brown. It reminds me of sandstone. I like it. It feels warm. Serene. Inviting, but in a different way than a woman makes a house a home.]
LOGAN: [This is harder than I thought, but it feels good seein' her in my space and I can't help but like that she wantsta touch my things. Little fingers trailin' here and there. I left a glass of red wine for her on the coffee table. Just wine, nothin' stronger. I want her relaxed, yeah, but I want her thinkin' clear for later. She's sippin' it slowly as she explores. I'm workin' on a single malt scotch, myself. Macallan. It's older than she is. I chose it for a reason. Scotch this damned good should be savored slowly and I know she'll take her sweet time. I take note of what captures her interest. Where she lingers. I wonder if she has any idea how much she's givin' away.]
MARIE: [I'm looking at everything. Touching too. I can't seem to help myself... running my fingertips over the back of the couch and across his furniture, down the spines of the countless books and over his eclectic collection of records. I'm thankful he left me a glass of wine. It's steadying my nerves, relaxin' me as I familiarize myself with this space. I take another drink and wonder if he's sippin' on somethin' too. Bourbon, maybe, or whiskey. I bet he is. Does he need it like I need this wine? The thought makes me smile.]
LOGAN: [A smile. I wonder what she's thinkin'. The wine's made those big soft lips of hers even redder and I wonder how she'd taste if I kissed her just now. My hand drifts down between my legs. I ain't hard yet hard but I feel it twitch against my palm in anticipation. In the note, I've ordered her to wait to open the box I left for her on the couch and not to read the note tucked inside until she's good'n ready for more. To go further. Deeper. Her eyes have touched it a few times but she ain't ready. Not yet. I pour myself another drink. The waitin' ain't easy. The scotch helps. For lotsa reasons.]
MARIE: [I smell the faint scent of ginger. Candles. Something is hidin' on the shelf beside them. It seems to find its way into my hands as if by magic, but the more I look around this room, the more often I find my eyes drawn back to the couch and that box... but I like savorin' this place. I can feel myself beginning to relax. Beginning to gain confidence. Beginning to entrust myself into his care. Generally I'm a sort of let it ride kinda girl, but braving the Wolverine's Den? That's a huge deal and the more I look around, the more I realize how much he's letting me see. And how much such an intimate look's gonna cost me in return.]
LOGAN: [Of everythin' she could have chosen to carry around with her while she explored, she's picked one of my most treasured possessions. I usually keep it in a glass case. About a month ago I took it out. I'm not surprised it's found its way into her hands. It does with me too. We're in tune. I feel it. I know she feels it.]
MARIE: [In my fingers is a little wooden carving. It's a rounded, stylized figure of a horse. Looks Japanese. It's with some surprise I realize that I've been carrying it around with me while I explored. I hope he doesn't mind. It seems made for touching. I'm drawn to it for some reason I can't explain. I wonder where it came from. There's so much about him I don't know.]
LOGAN: [A lot of my old life has come back to me over the years, some good. Most bad. I was once sent on temporary duty to a base in northern Japan. It was a rough assignment that took a lot out of me. I was captured. Tortured. They moved me south and then the bomb fell and the whole world changed. I went back decades later, tryin' to burn out the bad memories, tryin' to figure shit out. So there I was, wanderin' around, the vaguest sense of knowin' where I wanted to be. I was in this forest when I stumbled across a shrine. Zen Buddhist. This place - it was the very antithesis if why I'd once been in this area.]
LOGAN: [Nobody was around; at least that's what I thought. I don't miss much, but then again, that often means I see things I don't wanna see. In this case, however, I guess I just saw what I wanted to see. Peace. Serenity. The meanin' for why I'd come back. When I went back to my bike, I found that figurine sittin' on the seat. Now, any other time in my life, I would have hunted down the person who'd been able to do that without me knowin' — without the animal knowin'— but that time, I just took the gift and knew someone else in the universe understood.]
LOGAN: [The figurine she carries — it's a potent symbol of the honor and duty of the Samarai warrior. I hope to earn it someday. The Professor. The school. What he gave me; there's somethin' about the freedom to be the man I'd like to be that keeps me comin' back to that place, even now that he's gone. I hope that as Marie touches that connection to my past and my future, she feels comfortable enough to begin her own journey of discovery tonight.]
Up next: The Blindfold. Marie allows the Wolverine to draw her deeper into his lair…
Author's notes: Okay, y'all. This one has four parts and is somewhere in the 15K range. (I know, I know!) I'm hoping to get them all up before Christmas. We'll see. Also, I'm nearly finished with another (new and unadvertised!) story that I'm aiming to get up shortly thereafter. O.o My WolverineMuse is completely OUT OF CONTROL. All that writing and NO Shine? WTF?! He doesn't make excuses or apologies. I think he's assuming (probably quite correctly, given his smirk) that 20K or so worth of smut will be a (hopefully) adequate diversion while he gets his shit together. One can only hope. All this avoidance of actually writing the end of Shine by burying me in other (smutty) bunnies is killin' me! Too much writing. Too little sleep. Hmmm. I wonder if that's a thing? Death by mainlining fic? How does that old phrase go…. If you get lost in a citrus forest and a lemon tree falls and nobody hears it because they're too busy with sexytimes to notice….