Note: this is my first X-men fanfic, so constructive critisism is crucial! Please review, so I know if I'm doing anything wrong
Chapter 1
I loved this motorcycle.
Actually, I loved all motorcycles. Whether it was the roar of the engine, or the power it admitted, or if it was simply the rush of raw adrenaline I got from riding them, a bike was all I needed. As I cruised down the highway, the engine exhaust fumigating the air, I felt free, and I loved freedom.
At this point, unfortunetly, my freedom was running out.
I stared angrily at the gas gauge, which was hovering much too close to E. That was the only thing about motorcycles, that they needed gas. I couldn't remember to fill the tank for the life of me, and this wasn't the first time I had been stranded because I ran out of gas. I looked around for a place to park before my bike stopped in the middle of this speeding highway. Unfortunetly, the only place I could see under the dim steet lights was a beat-up bar with flashing neon lights pronouncing:
"LIME LIGHT BAR: HOME TO KING OF THE KAGE"
I grimaced. I hated bars like these. Their were always drunks and barfly pick-up artists, not to mention the pungent smell of cigarette smoke, beer, sweat and tobacco. I checked the gas gauge one more time, praying to have enough gas to find somewhere else to park, but the stupid thing stayed adamantly on E. I swore at the bike, but defeated, pulled into the parking lot.
I started up the steps, but paused at the door. I tested the air, just to make sure their wasn't any cocaine. I can handle drunks, but I have no patience when it comes to potheads. I couldn't smell any, just the usual smoke and sweat. I sighed and adjusted the bandana I wore over my waist length chestnut hair.
I pushed open the dented door, and stepped into the bar. The smell burnt my nose, it was so strong. I heard a few wolf whistles, and a couple morons make a few idiotic lewd comments. Luckily though, most of the drunks were gathered around a large, wire mesh cage in the corner of the bar. I heard a gong, and the sound of cheers and punches. Just because I was getting ticked off, I made a silent prayer that one of those cage fighters recieved a painful trip to the emergency room after the fight.
I stepped up to the actual bar, where a woman bartender with way too much make-up and way too little clothes was cleaning shot glasses. She noticed me, and set down the last glass.
"Whaddya want?" she asked. I looked up at the shelves behind her where she kept her liquor. There wasn't much choice.
"Just a beer." I replied.
"Corona or Bud?" she asked, walking over to the shelves.
I didn't really care. "Surprise me." I told her. She slid a Bud Light over to me, which I took, but didn't drink. "Listen," I told her, " do you know where I can get gas?" She paused for a minute to think.
"Well...there's gas station 'bout ten miles down the road. Can ya get that far?" she asked. I thought about the empty tank.
"Probably not." I admitted. She pursed her lipsticked lips in thought.
"Tell ya what, hon. Management back there probably has some gas cans in the shed, but he might not be too keen to sellin' them. I can ask for ya...that okay?" she offered. I thought about this. Begging a sleazy bar owner might not be the best way to get some gas,...but at this point it seemed the only way.
"Sure." As she left, I checked the wallet I kept in the back pocket of my beat up jeans. I had about thirty dollars, enough for gas. I stuffed the wallet back into my back pocket and leaned against the bar. It was stiflingly hot in here, probably so the patrons would buy some ice-cold brandy. I turned, but slashed my arm on a nail jutting out of the bar. I bit my lip, and looked around, hoping no one noticed my arm slowly heal itself back together. I heard another gong, and another cheer erupting from the crowd around the cage. Interested, and now sure that no one had seen me heal, I tested the air again.
The guys who had made the wolf whistle were drinking hard rum, one of them smoking a cigar. A couple of card sharks only a few feet away were wearing a disgusting cologne. My hightened sensing of sound let me hear one of them pull a card from their sleeve. I smirked. There was another cheer from the cage's crowd, and I turned my attention to them. Apparently the match-of-the-century had just ended, because the crowd was separating. I caught the sent of the cage fighters as they left.
The first one was disgusting. He smelled like Vodka, and the sent of his sweat was enough to cause my gag reflex to go berserk. I heard a small crunch, and smirked again once I was done retching. Broken bones. As he headed out the door, I turned my attention to the second. Unlike the first, this one actually smelled enticing... and strangely familiar. He smelled like sweat too, but not at all like the slimeball who I took a whiff of first. The sweat that came off him was actually attractive, masculine. Behind the sweat was another smell,... something woody. Once again, I registered it as strangely familiar.
Apparently he hadn't sustained any major injuries, because he went to the bar where I was like the rest of men who were in the crowd. Once he was in the light, I felt gut turn to jelly. He was gorgeous.
He was wearing beat up jeans like mine, only his accentuated his muscles. He was wearing a tan leather belt with a bronze belt buckle, and he had an old cotton tank top, torn from the fight. My chin seemed to tremble, no doubt from the peek into his chistled chest. His arms were as strong as the rest of him. I slowly raised my eyes to his face, and was nearly knocked off my feet.
He had his dark, almost black hair swept up in a feral look, and his sideburns only accentuated this. His sensuous lips were around a thick cigar, clenched between his perfect white teeth. But out of all of this, the most alluring were his eyes. They were a smoldering hazel color, and seemed to know everything. And, as I realized embarrasingly, they were looking at me, one eyebrow arched.
I moved my eyes away from the feral angel, and took a sip of my beer. I heard someone coming back from behind the bar, and turned around. Sure enough, the barmaid came back a minute later. Some idiot at the end of the bar shouted that it was about time, but she didn't pay him any attention.
"Listen, hon. He must be in a good mood t'day, 'cause management said you can get a few gas cans if ya need'em. Free a' charge." she paused to shake her head. "Either that man lost 'is mind, or just had a divine intervention. Never seen 'im act this way. Anyway, he's gotta go back to tha shed ta get 'em. Might take a few minutes." I thanked her, and turned around. To my surprise, the cage fighter was standing right beside me. I tried to act like I didn't care, but it's not that easy when you're gut is tying itself in a knot.
"Hey hon," said the barmaid again."Ya gonna pay fer that?" she asked, pointing to my beer.
"Oh, ya, sure." I reached into my back pocket for my wallet, but there was nothing there. I let a small growl escape my lips. A pickpocket. I looked around, and saw the two guys who'd shouted at me when I entered the bar. One of them was smiling a triumphant smile, and holding my wallet. My blood boiled. I marched up to the guy, my hazel eyes bright with fury.
The moron looked at me as though I'd fallen in some kind of trap. He gave a little chuckle.
" How 'bout a kiss fer this?" he offered, waving the wallet as his freind laughed. Oh I kissed him alright, kissed him with my fist. I pulled back my arm and socked him in the face. The guy's nose started gushing blood, but I hadn't done permanent damage. I grabbed my wallet as it flew out of his hand, and with a meaningful look at his freind, marched back to the bar.
The cage fighter looked slightly impressed, and I felt even prouder at that. I paid the barmaid, and resumed my position at the bar.
"Nice arm." he commented in a deep voice. I shrugged, flustered. This guy was really...familiar. I couldn't explain it. But I never forgot a scent, and this one... I was sure I'd smelled it before. "You ever fight before?" he asked, motioning toward the cage.
"I've still got all four limbs, don't I?" I asked sarcastically. He snorted. I looked back at the guy. There wasn't a mark on him, not even a scar. I found that kind of odd for a cage fighter, but I couldn't really concentrate, this guy was really hot, and I guess animal attraction was kicking in.
I managed to avert my eyes, but to my surprise, as soon as I turned my head the feral angel looked at Me. I felt selfconscious, but when I looked back at him, he wasn't staring at my chest like the rest of the idiots in the bar, he was looking at my ankle. I looked down, but there wasn't anything particularly interesting there, just my lucky dogtags I wore as an ankle bracelet.
"So, were'd you get those tags?" he asked casually. I looked at him sideways.
"I...found them." I answered. He arched an eyebrow. I gave him a look, mentally daring him to say I stole them. He didn't but just looked at me. I flattened out the yellow tank top I wore, the one that was short so part of my stomach was uncovered. This wasn't your ordinary pick-up artist, if that's what he was. But either way, he was really making me selfconsious, and the back of my mind was going berserk.
Get a grip Adrian! I thought to myself. I looked back up, and the feral angel was still looking at me, his smoldering gaze intrigued. Suddenly, a loud thump interupted my train of thought. If my hieghtened sense of smell hadn't detected the gasoline before, I would have jumped. I turned around and thanked the owner, a pudgy man with greased back hair.
"Need help?" asked the cage fighter. My heart seemed to shiver at the sound of his deep voice. But, I had learned better than to accept 'help' from guys in bars, so I 'graciously' told him sorry, but I only accept help from people I know the name of. He arched his eyebrow.
"Name's Logan. Need help now?" but I realized he didn't seem to anticipate an answer because he picked up the gas cans anyway, and marched out into the parking lot. Defeated, I followed him and pointed out my bike. He put the gas in the tank and waited for me to go. I looked at him, and wondered if he was going to ask for my number or something, but no. He simply waited, and arched an eyebrow once again.
"Thanks" I said shortly, and mounted my bike. The engine roared to life, and I was finally allowed to leave the bar. Getting back on the highway, I looked back, and saw him, still waiting.
"Weird" I muttered, and roared back to my apartment.