Lately I've written far too much humour, not that there's anything wrong with that. I just want… No, I demand some darkness. I decided I wanted to explore the animalistic inside of Logan, and my, oh my, what a delicious animal that is.

I'm not saying I want to eat the animal. Only that I need to write about it, and kidnap it, ship it to England and lock it in my garden shed. I guess I'd rather have a feral mutant in my shed, then more tools. What do I need tools for anyway? I'm not the female equivalent of Tim The Toolman Taylor, and I definitely don't want to be, kidnap or share a bed in a garden shed with him.

Okay, this A/N is running away from me now. All I wanted to say is: If you don't like darkness and the thought of dominance, nakedness, handcuffs, biting remarks that were meant to hurt, sex addictions and rather graphic sex scenes. Then this story probably isn't for you, which is a shame, but everyone has different tastes.

I'm well aware that the last sentence made me sound as though I have a great many kinky, erotic, bizarre tastes, and I'm struggling to rephrase it. Sadly every time I do, it makes me sound worse, if that is at all possible. So, I'll shut up now and thank the reviewers.

A very special thank you to: The Reserved Reader, asd, notashamedtobesoilyfan, comic, starlight, Yank, Fla and jnetrich.

Submission

Logan felt something, but it wasn't guilt, that ship had already sailed. In fact, the ship was destined to hit a fucking iceberg off the coast of Canada right about now. It would sink without a trace and the captain would go down with the boat. There would be no survivors, this wasn't a Hollywood movie, it wasn't even a throwback to a bygone era, and he liked Canada…

He didn't need a drink, he'd already hit the bottle and savoured every last drop. He needed a leak, sure, that wasn't the feeling though. It was a burning sensation flushing through his veins, strangling, throttling and suffocating his every waking moment. The Wolverine was angry.

She'd nearly died - His mate had almost died.

She isn't my mate. Where the fuck do these thoughts come from? I made her a promise, that's all. I kept that promise, I killed for that promise and I smell like death because of that promise.

He gazed down at his hands, and traced a couple of fingers across his knuckles.

The bastard had got off lightly, he'd died a more humane death then many that crossed him. His blood had splattered the walls, but his death had been one of swift, cold justice. That time at the Drake's, Logan said he taught art, and the state the motel room had been in when he left was the type of art that grabbed people by the balls.

Resting a hand on the mantle piece above the fire, he produced a rolled up bunch of notes from his pocket and threw them into the flames. The flickering bittersweet flames danced in front of his eyes, engulfing the face of another indiscriminate president. He only watched as the bills burnt, this was his alone time.

He heard her before she entered, she was wearing those heels again, the ones that infuriated his ears.

Storm was in the room, standing behind him and he could smell her uneasiness at the current situation, but he stayed silent on the matter, he couldn't form any words.

"What you did, Logan," She sighed, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, "I understand why you felt you had to. A man died, but many lives were saved, including Rogue's."

He turned to face her, arching an inquisitive brow. "What do you mean?" He demanded, shaking her hand free from his shoulder, "I didn't tell you what happened."

"It wasn't difficult to work out, after what Bobby told me, and with the news reports…"

"Drake?"

Storm sat on the couch in front of the fire, rubbing her palms together and drawing the blanket snugly to her body. "He followed Rogue last night, I asked him to. Why do you think I knew where to send you? I'd suspected this for a while, but I had no evidence and couldn't accuse her with wild accusations, you know what she's like. She would have denied them, maybe even disappeared for good."

It all made sense, he hadn't questioned until now how Storm knew where to find Marie. He was thankful she had looked after his girl for so long, but that was his job now.

He grunted in reply and continued to stare at the fire, knowing that the kid would never vanish from under his nose again, he wouldn't let her.

"What are the bags for?" She asked him.

Still he kept his eyes on the fire. "Figured the kid would need some clothes while we were away."

"You're both leaving, but where on earth will you go? You have a home here, Logan, both of you do."

Logan didn't answer, he didn't need to. Storm knew his mind was made up, it had been from the time he'd carried Marie's broken body from the motel room. His thoughts had been truly cemented into place after he had found a couple of hundred dollars stuffed in a sock drawer in the kid's room. He automatically knew where it had come from, she'd been doing this for some time and it infuriated him.

He had torn her room apart, clawed the mattress, attacked the walls, and still he felt no better. But burning the cash she had earned, that soothed his soul and calmed him into a restless lull.

"Where is she, Logan?"

He sighed deeply and glanced at Storm, "She's safe. That's all you need to know."

Ororo left the room without a word, and the silence pleased him. He needed to be alone, to think and plan his next move. He just hoped he was doing the right thing, his actions had now dwarfed the soppy tough love excuse and it secretly turned him on to know she was at his disposal.

Standing in front of the spitting fire, Logan and his inner animal merged, both intent on making a new promise. Each knew that from this day forth, nobody else would lay a finger on their mate. She belonged to them and she would be protected until the end of time.

Logan unlocked the door, juggling the many bags and pizza box from hand to hand. Kicking the door closed, he dumped the bags and walked to the kitchen, eyeing his naked mate all the way.

She is not my mate, how many times do I have to tell myself that? I must be sick in the head, or something. Her name's Marie and I've screwed her twice. Once with her on top, once with me on top. Then handcuffed her to the radiator because I'm in charge, she needs to learn that. She doesn't do anything, go anywhere, or even touch herself without my permission. If she wants to cry sex addiction, and sell her body, then she plays with the big boys. And by 'big boys,' I mean, me.

He placed the warm pizza box onto the kitchen counter, and traipsed over to the girl, his heavy boots crushing the hastily thrown dollar bills from his earlier exit. Silently crouching in front of her, he studied every inch of her face and was taken aback when she scowled.

Logan was searching for submission, but only found pure defiance in her eyes.

She wasn't ready to submit to his authority, that much was certain. If he let her leave here now, she'd be back to her old tricks in no time. They had enough tinned food to last them for a few weeks and the rent had already been paid in full. This was an opportunity for the both of them; He could keep his promise and she would learn to change.

The swell of her breasts caught his attention and he regretted not demanding she dress before he handcuffed her. It was almost too much for his inner urges; the ones that wanted to claim and thoroughly bite, nip and lick the girl sitting in front of him.

Her face was tear stained, yet he detected a strong scent of lust directed towards him. Marie rattled the cuffs and bit her lower lip, he knew what she wanted. Knowing made him the dominant one, he was in complete control of the situation and she was at his mercy.

Standing to his feet, Logan bolted the door shut and pocketed the key, he wasn't going to take any chances. He knew her too well, she would try to run once he released her.

The call of freshly baked pizza lured him back to the kitchen counter and he opened the box, taking a slice. As he chewed on a piece of pepperoni, he watched her, she was watching him. Her eyes were devouring his every move and he guessed she was hungry for both food, and sex.

"I wanna know everythin'." He told her gruffly, stuffing the pizza crust into his mouth and swallowing it without barely a thought for indigestion.

Marie shifted her legs into different positions and angles, giving Logan the perfect view of her womanly thatch. She finally deciding on crossing them, much to his relief and then continued to glare. "I'm uncomfortable, now let me up."

He shook his head, tapping his fingers against the pizza box. "You know as well as I do, that ain't happenin'."

She scoffed at him and fought against the handcuffs, her anger spiking. "You're such a smug asshole."

Logan was far from smug, he wasn't even fucking smirking and he told her so. This wasn't just for his benefit, it really wasn't. If that had been the case, she would have still been handcuffed to the bed and he wouldn't be standing here eating fucking pizza.

"Just start talkin'."

"I like to have sex, what else is there to say exactly?"

Cocking an eyebrow, he leant against the counter. "Maybe that you're, I dunno, sellin' your dumb ass on street corners to the highest bidder." He grumbled in reply, feeling a stab of smugness as her face fell. "Or did that and the cash in your fuckin' sock drawer slip your mind?" He hoped she'd soon learn that she couldn't keep anything from him or his nose.

Her eyes darted to the floor. "Storm said I needed a job. So I applied to work in an office part time. That's where the money's from."

Logan couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Quit playin' me for a fool." He growled, grabbing a chair from the kitchen table and slamming it down in front of Marie. Sitting in the chair, he leant forward and sniffed her scent. "Just what I thought. Grade A bullshit."

"And this coming from the holier-than-thou Wolverine?" Marie uttered softly, her lips twitching. She looked up, cocking her head to the side. "You've paid for sex before and don't try to deny it. I have your memories, remember?"

He sighed deeply, stretching out his legs and leaning back in the chair. "We're not here to talk about me. I know my damn faults, but I ain't got a problem with listin' them for you." Resting his feet on the cast iron radiator, he buried his hand in his jacket pocket.

"You're kinky. That would be at the top of the list, wouldn't it?"

Thankful he had found a cigar, Logan silently lit it. He snapped the lighter closed and chewed on his cigar, the list of his flaws on the tip of his tongue. "That don't make the top ten, no." He grumbled, determined to focus on her face as he talked. "Though you'd feature heavily in the list."

Marie's eyes widened. "How am I one of your faults?" She scoffed, the surprise evident on her face.

I care about her, that's why. She'd figure pretty much on every number of the list. I guess she's not a kid anymore. She certainly ain't the kid I met on the road. I never would have fucked her if she had have been. I don't get it, usually I couldn't care less about people's personal lives. At least not enough to drive me to this. You'd never catch me with Storm in this position.

"You're just that type of girl." Logan responded matter-of-factly, rolling the cigar between the rough skin on his fingers and flicking the ash to the ground. The thought of fetching the ash tray never entered his mind.

"Way to flatter a girl, Logan."

"If you want sweet nothings whispered in your ear, you've got the wrong guy." He muttered, taking a deep drag of his cigar. His eyes were busy trailing the smooth, pale skin from the collar bone to the curve of her hips, and he sighed. "I guess I could give it a try." He added with the hint of a tightly controlled smirk.

She smiled slightly, her lust becoming apparent to both his nose and crotch. Logan knew she was enjoying this game, maybe a little too much, but he would deal with that later. It wasn't often he was encouraged to think with only his cock. This would have been an early Christmas present if the hooker label wasn't hanging from Marie's left nipple. It was all in his head. He knew there's wasn't really a label there, it was just his brain reminding him of what was at stake.

"You're the first one I've ever let ride me."

He watched her mull over his words and frown up at him. "That wasn't what I had in mind exactly. Where was the gushing and romance? Did you even bother bringing me back a bunch of flowers?"

There was the humour. Their humour. They had always shared a bond and it mostly circled around their ease around each other and the banter. "What you gonna do with flowers? You can't eat them. So I bought you pizza instead. You could do with pilin' on a few pounds." The chuckle died on his lips and he glanced at his hands. "You any idea how close you came to dyin' last night?"

"Logan, can't you just drop it?"

"No, I fuckin' can't!"

Marie squeezed her eyes shut, tapping her bare foot against the floor. "It makes me feel like I'm worth something." She whispered, the smell of self pity drifting through the air. "Bobby wouldn't even have sex with me for free. But others will and they will pay, too. They treat me with respect."

"Respect?" Logan repeated in disbelief. "You think they respect you? Jesus Christ, Marie. You're just a piece of damn meat to them. They're gonna go back to their buddies and tell stories about how easy you were."

"They wouldn't do that. I only pick the nice ones."

He groaned into his hands, shifting his feet from the radiator to the floor. "Look, all men are bastards, even the nice ones. It don't matter if they pay or not, they're fuckin' bastards. And what the hell was that last night? He sure as fuck weren't nice." She nodded her head at his ramble and he crouched in front of her again. "Now, you about ready to listen to me this time?"

"Yes." She answered softly, biting her lip.

There were all the notable signs of submission in her body language and he cupped her face with his hands. "Just so you know, I don't have a problem doin' this again if you think you know better." He warned her, a growl rumbling in his chest. "Though I'd prefer if you were wearin' clothes next time."

Marie nudged his leg with her thigh, and he more then happily allowed his weight to crush her body. "Dually noted, Logan." She whispered huskily in his ear, nipping at his ear lobe.

Stopping short of taking her right there on the floor while she was still handcuffed, he frantically searched his jeans pocket for the key. "You know," He admitted gruffly, sniffing her scent a few times do be sure. "I'd say you need a shower."

Even though their scents were mixed. He could still detect the whiff of the asshole from last night on her skin and it did little to rouse an erection. "Fuck it." Logan snarled, unable to find the key. Unsheathing his claws, he sliced through the handcuffs in an instant. "I've got another pair around here anyway."

Scrambling to her feet, Marie eyed him with amusement. "What happened to the fuming, growling and thoroughly pissed off Wolverine?" She asked, glancing over her shoulder as she slowly made her way to the bathroom.

"You'll be meetin' him in ten seconds if you don't haul your ass into that shower pronto." He shot back, following closely behind her and licking his lips at the way her hips swung.

It's about time the dominant Wolverine had some fun with his submissive mate. Damn it, she's isn't my… Why keep fighting it? I'm a man of the world, and I've heard, seen and done crazier shit then this in my time. I guess there are worse things and I care about her. She won't be fucking any other guy either if she's mine. I could live with that. Jesus, look at her waiting for me. Yeah, I can definitely live with this.