He Waits For Me My Wolverine

Sometimes I just don't know what it is about Logan that makes him so attractive to me. I mean he is handsome but not in a conventional way, he looks almost more werewolf than man. Still looking at his roughhewn face, surprisingly young until you look into the eyes I find beauty. Those hazel eyes can be at once both ferocious and gentle, kind and caring but also brutal even cruel. Look in those eyes and you see the struggle, the battle always waging in him between the human Logan and the beast Wolverine. Sometimes I'm not sure if I love the man or the beast or both of them.

I know I'm not the first woman he's ever fallen for, in all his long life there have been many women he's loved and lost. Mariko, Silver Fox, Rose, he worries about the day that he will lose me and have one grave more to visit. I find it touching when he worries for me and his tender concern is never irritating. Still I laugh and tell him that I can look after myself, I don't need him to protect me but all the same it's good to know that he watches over me.

Then when he apologizes to me and asks me to forgive the worrying of this "old canucklehead", I laugh again and tell him that he needs to relax. I tell him to close his eyes and let me soothe away those worries. This he does closing those hazel eyes and gradually his face softens, he looks vulnerable, almost innocent and I can't resist kissing his cheek. It's rough from the stubble but I don't mind that and then I begin to work my magic.

Gently I run my fingers through the luxuriant sable sideburns and it has the same effect on him as stroking a cat. He feels peace, contentment at his lovers touch and that is precious to him. The savage beast raging within is soothed and I smile as I continue stroking his hair. I move away from the muttonchops and just run my fingers through his thick slightly shaggy bangs finding it surprising as always as to how soft it is. Just another one of the wonderful things about Logan, rough and fierce on the outside but look closer and you see the beauty of the beast.

I watched him this morning as he went walking in the woods and I followed him. My attempts at stealth probably amused him but he pretended not to have noticed me. I enjoy seeing him at these times, content to be among nature and relaxing taking in all the sights, sounds and smells and enjoying every one of them. What must it be like to know so much of the world to which all the rest of us are blind? How many fantastic things does he take for granted which we can never experience and only dream off? I have asked him these questions but he has to sadly shake his head and say that he cannot answer. Some things just cannot be described by mere words and even if we could describe them we could never know them. To know them is perhaps his greatest gift.

He's stopped and picked up a fallen branch and I hear the familiar sound as he pops out his claws. Adamantium cuts into tree bark in a series of neat slashes and then he steps back and stands like an artist admiring his canvas. He turns once in my direction, tips his Stetson as if in a salute and winks just once. He walks on then and I hurry over and pick up the branch seeing that he has carved our initials into it inside a heart. I smile at this and I know he means for me to keep it as a memento, a gift from him to me, his way of telling me how precious I am to him.

I remember the other night when those claws were used again to cut the bread I was having for my meal. He thought it might be tough to eat and so he sliced it thinly for me. Of course he should really have used a knife but I can forgive him this minor misdemeanor since at least it made me smile. He uses those claws in many surprising ways, even saving my life when I had a disastrous bad hair day. My hair was a mess of mats and tangles unsalvageable but he was there to come to my rescue. A quick stroke of his claws and I had a neat new hairstyle and I wondered where he had ever managed to pick up hairdressing skills. It must be just another of the many things he's learnt during his very long life.

Sometimes it's my turn to look after him when he comes back wounded from the field of combat. His healing factor is nothing short of miraculous taking care of anything from a cut to an evisceration but it's not instantaneous. Also while his body may heal, the healing factor cannot heal the heart or mind. For that he needs my love. I hold him gently, hugging him to me letting him inhale the scent of my perfume, feel my body warmth and listen to the beating of my heart. Soothe him with love and tenderness until the pain has gone away.

Still we have been lucky these past few weeks even though I know it's only the calm before the storm. The only major injury he sustained was a bad shaving cut. It took almost an hour to heal as well and I gave him a kiss on his newly smooth chin to take away the last of the pain and gave him my sympathy. In return he kissed tenderly and said he was sorry about being such a baby.

 Now I find him sitting back on the bank by the stream, cowboy boots by his side and bare feet dangling in the cool water. His arms behind his head as a pillow and Stetson pushed down over his eyes he snoozes in the warm sunshine and my heart can't help but be touched at seeing him so at peace. I move closer and he doesn't stir knowing by my scent that it's no threat but merely his lover, the woman who he cares for above all others. I'm so close now that I could reach out and touch him. He trusts me completely and it's so rare for him to bestow that on a person. For a second the mischievous part of me considers taking advantage of him, reaching out and tickling his toes but I don't have the heart to disturb him. Instead I take out pen and paper and begin to sketch him so that I can paint a picture of him later.

I'm not completely able to resist the temptation to get up to a little mischief though so I take one of his boots and hide it under a tree knowing he will soon find it. The scent of it is strong enough that even I would have little trouble finding it.

He gets his revenge a couple of hours later when without warning I feel his hand on my shoulder and a low throaty chuckle in my ear. I give a yelp and jump nearly six feet in the air to his now full blown thunderous laughter. Then he smiles and apologizes and looks so guileless and innocent that of course I forgive him.

We kiss then his lips rough beneath my own and the kiss is tender, deep and passionate. I tell him I have something for him and give him the portrait. That earns me another kiss and then with a wink he tells me to come by his room later and he'll have something to give me in return.

Now I'm at the door to his room slowly turning the handle and entering the room. I see his flannel shirt on the back of his chair and then there he is waiting for me on the bed Stetson pulled down over his eyes as though he's sleeping, arms folded over his hirsute chest.

Then the shirtless but far from sleeping Wolverine gives me a wink and a grin and beckons me towards him.

"Ya know darlin that I'm the best there is. Why don't ya come and see fer yerself," he murmurs in his rough gravelly voice.

So of course I do just that and I find out that it's quite true.

Wolverine is the best there is at what he does and what he does is very, very nice!