"So I had a dream last night."

Natalya's head shot up and turned toward Logan. He came to stand beside her car, where she'd been kneeling, examining her muffler.

"A bad one?" she asked, dusting gravel from denim knees.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah; I was in a war. My eye was gauged out."

Natalya's eyes widened and mouth fell open.

"Really? I…That's crazy. Were…either the war or the eye injury metaphorical?"

"I don't think so."

She sighed. "Me neither."

Logan met her eyes again, scratching the back of his neck with one hand, raiding his pocket with the other.

"The war was vicious, bloody…there were rice paddies…" he rubbed his temple and simultaneously removed something from his pocket. "Natalya, I had to talk to Wheels."

"Who?"

"Oh-oh, yeah, you…don't know him. I mean the Professor."

Natalya nodded then and stretched, lifting her arms. Logan caught a glimpse of her taut stomach beneath the hem of her top.

"What kind of shirt is that?" he said. "It's…really loose. And…what're you wearing silk for?"

"It isn't silk. This thing is mostly cotton, but at the back, it hangs low, to show the lace…" Natalya turned around, showing him the black lace part of the soft, light top. "See?"

Her back seemed to be bare beneath that lace---so much smooth skin alluded to---Logan didn't know what to do, besides go to his ever-ready fall-back-plan: fold his arms, look on mysteriously, and briefly raise an eyebrow; Trademark move. She smirked and rolled her eyes at him.

"If only you could get away with dreaming about…other things more often than the violent stuff," she said. "It's the aggressive dreams that wake you up so much, leaving torn sheets and jacked-up adrenaline…"

"That's life for me, N. It can't be changed."

"You're a dark man, Logan."

He nodded modestly.

"I don't mind." She added, stepping close to him, looking up through her eyelashes.

His eyes studied her face, even as it came steadily closer, and he quickly realized that she was practically expecting him to reject her idea. His hands left his pockets and Natalya kissed him.

"You seem to want life to be simple," were her very quiet words, "but life won't let you have your way. I respect that you're so strong, dealing with all this."

Logan listened to her, appreciating the monologue, but letting it really sink in would have to wait, because suddenly, he wasn't so tired anymore, and focus went to giving her mouth plenty of attention. He took in order to give, with languorous kisses, once dragging his teeth gently along her bottom lip. He'd gotten so accustomed to temporarily losing himself in simple, physical things with Natalya. Something about the way these actions secretly made him feel just set off an almost- déjà vu in his hole-riddled memory, as if this wasn't the first time in his life that Logan had started to let a piece of his shield down for a woman. Her fingernails gently scraped over his scalp, helping to ease that train of thought away. When he pressed his teeth against her neck, by her ear, in mock bites, a few small, soft noises left her throat, and a heavy jolt went off in his chest, stabbing somewhere within his ribcage. Natalya took Logan with her when she backed up against the car, her hands firmly gripping his sides. Her now-hot breath seared his waiting mouth before another round of demanding touches. The ends of his fingers pushed into her lower back and she let out a short, low hiss, which he assumed meant that tomorrow, she would have ten small, red marks there---nearly breaking the skin---souvenirs after her enthusiasm. Her kisses were rather forceful, until she pulled away to bite lightly just beneath his jaw, her nails dragging down his back, no gentleness included. Their mouths fused, each of them squeezed and scratched and teased skin they wouldn't open their eyes to see. It was if the moment would be lost if vision joined impulse and high-alert sensitivity. This was the sweetest pain he'd ever had; so worthwhile and difficult to fight. He'd never admit it to anyone besides himself, but Logan was so close to sighing in that moment. Natalya had allowed him to stand between her legs, his body very intimately close to hers. He really enjoyed the freckles on her face and arms, the undeniable curves where torso met hips, and that slender, pale neck that so tempted his mouth much of the time.

"Logan…?"

With a very irritated, extended growl, Logan pulled away from Natalya. His hands were unhappy about leaving the woman's long, dark red hair, his legs lost the warmth of denim rubbing against denim. Quickly, though, Logan was a bit embarrassed, masking it with an angry, raised eyebrow and a cracking of the neck. Storm stood just a few feet away, amused, but obviously sorry.

"Professor Xavier's office now, and no, it can't wait, as much as I wish I could stall some more." She informed her fellow X-Man, her voice unrelentingly calm.

"X doesn't need me."

"Logan, I---"

"I'll meet you there. Got it?" he barked, and Storm nodded, unsurprised by his clenched left fist and creased forehead and dark, wild eyes.

When his sometimes-colleague had finally begun her walk back to the Professor's office at the other end of the building, Logan licked his lips, distracted, and met Natalya's eyes again. She was tracing his muscled back with her eyes. She always managed to listen to an intrusive "authority" figure in any situation, while simultaneously allowing herself thoughts about what she wanted most in that moment, and for Logan, there was no guessing as to what she currently wanted most.

"I was never the type to do something like that in full view of a whole school." Natalya said, biting her kiss-reddened lip.

"You can't say that anymore," Logan replied, smirking. "We can finish this later."

"I'll be home. Just knock."

He considered blowing off the meeting in Professor Xavier's office that was most likely a briefing on a new X-Men assignment, but he didn't take the idea very seriously.

"F**k," Natalya breathed. "You have sly eyes. Don't ever look at me again. I'll be even more corrupted."

He full-on grinned at that. "I'll see you tonight; rest up for it."

She cocked a challenging eyebrow in return. "Feel lucky that you have that healing factor."

He growled again, this time in an entirely different tone, and pulled her flush against his solid frame, his mouth a rough promise.

"Now get lost." He said, pulling away, before taking his renewed swagger up the path, toward the Institute.

"Passion does not blind. No. Passion is sanity, and the woman you love, she is the only person you understand."

- A Room With a View by E.M. Forster