Logan liked the trees.
Even if he wasn't quite sure why, they were a comfort, and he preferred to sleep the day away in a kind of natural cavern made by the massive merged roots of several of the wavy stalks than out in the open, where the sun revealed too much, yet often, nothing.
The scents were soothing, as was the soft coolness on his skin.
Curled comfortably in his den-within-a-den, he floated between sleep and wakefulness, not dreaming, senses still alert, hearing distant sounds of cub-wrestling and the nips of their milk-teeth, the long-suffering sigh of their doting mother, the rustle-sweep of distant leaves.
He rolled to his stomach, stretching his legs out, pillowing his head on his folded arms.
Image-scent-hearing of sweet orchid and soft winds, of warm almonds and honey. The tang of sharp sky-light and the softness of soothing wind-water.
It was a comfort-scent, yes, but more, it was a scent that facinated him.
Turning again, he glanced out of a break in the roots, seeing the softly lapping water of the small lake. He stretched, yawning.
Night was approaching, and he needed to clean himself, to dull scent-voice that would warn the prey of his approach.
Ducking out of his dwelling, he loped to the edge of the lake, stretching full up on his toes as he began to slither out of his pants, noticing absently the confining nature of the garmet as he kicked it to the side.
Ororo smiled at the shouting children laughing and running past her as she entered the village.
Under the gentle, softly swaying shadows of a large tree, the elders of the tribe and village were gathered to discuss matters of importance.
As she waited quietly, listening to the soft, patient tones of their voices and the reasoned rythem of their arguments before approaching, the weather mutant accepted a cheerfully offered gift of vegetables and fruit from a few of the tribesfolk, who were obviously delighted at her return to them.
Ororo's smile and gentle regality soon brought a gathering of those she considered her children to her side, where she complimented the efforts of the tribesfolk, hugged the delighted youngsters who danced around her, and regarded the new dwellings with frank admiration.
The tribe was prospering, to her delight, but it was clear that she was warmly welcome to the village she now realized how much she had missed.
By the time she returned to the elders' meeting, they were sipping cool water and clearly at a lull in their discussions.
"I would like to ask for your wisdom, elders." Ororo said, speaking with the serenity and determination of the storm goddess she had taken the mantle of, as she stepped forward.
"Please, come." said the eldest of them, ancient Mopati. So old, no-one remembered his birth, only his courage in the hunt and his strength of character. "How may we offer aid to the Lady of the Skies?" His voice was soft and calm, almost lyrical. Known as the Helper, and the Keeper of Memories, Mopati was the most respected voice among the tribe.
"I have ," she began carefully, "who claims to hear the song of stones, out on the savannah."
The chief, Ndulu, turned to stare intently at the young woman. "This companion hears the stone's call?" he asked, leaning slightly forward. The others had become silent, glancing at one another, then at Mopati, who was as calm and enegmatic as ever.
Taken aback by the intensity of the elder's tone, Ororo nodded, her eyes flickering with startlement. Did Logan's claim have a literal base in fact? She had trully belived it to be allegorical, symbolic in some way.
"It belongs to the old tales, Windrider." said Mopati, softly, attacting Ororo's full attention. "Yet it is part of the present as well."
Ororo waited, as there was clearly a silent exchange between the elders.
"Please return tommarrow, Windrider." said the Helper, quietly. "And I shall tell what I know."
"Thank you, elders." Ororo replied, and withdrew, her thoughts in a whirl.
She had gone quickly from confusion to concern.
What secrets were hidden out there on the savannah, sensed by Logan alone?
Ororo was coming back from the village when she caught a glimpse of Logan stretching luxuriously in the dusky sunlight.
She almost dropped the small basket of vegetables she was carrying when she realized he was disrobing, totally unconcerned with who might see. It was a feral innocence that was facinating, a lack of concern with the enforced modesty of civilization.
Ororo's eyes were fixed on the man before her, only a few yards away, and found herself unable to look away, much less move. Strange tingles flicked up her spine, seeming to bring alive nerves she had previously been aware of.
He was - magnificant.
She found herself noting the smooth ripple of muscle beneath sun-darkened skin, the restrained power in the compact frame.
Logan kicked the pants absently aside and waded into the water, ducking briefly under the azure surface, coming up with water clinging to him as he set to rinsing himself off.
Goddess. Ororo thought, leaning against a tree as she watched the man move, light softly faceting through the hundreds of tiny droplets that seemed to jeleously cling to his solid, strong form. Goddess, help me... She wasn't sure what she was asking for - help with what...?
Her mind spun, but she couldn't seem to move or stop watching.
A tiny part of her felt guilty for spying - but the far larger part was facinated in a way she had never known before.
Feeling a soft flush of warmth flood through her body, Ororo watched with a kind of silent wonder as Logan waded further out into the water, then dove cleanly under, coming up a moment later to lazily stretch out in strong, powerful strokes.
Ororo swallowed hard, aware of a gentle rush of rising fire that danced up from somewhere deep within her. It was a sensation she had never experianced, but one that tilted her world violently on it's ear.
Not that she felt sorry for it - on the contrary, it was almost...addictive...in it's power.
And she stood frozen, lost in a joined and rising fire in her blood.
She had to stop again, rubbing her face with water from what was in essance a glorified puddle.
It was eerieely quiet.
Glancing about her, she managed to force herself back to her feet, hissing when some of her weight fell on the now-agonizing left ankle.
The sharp, grinding throbs were almost beyond her ability to ignore, even with constant snarls at herself to move, move, damn you, move! her speed was little better than an infant's crawl.
Besides, she was getting dizzy, a bone-grinding, flash-in-the-eyes whirling, nausea-wrenching headache lashing through her skull. It made her wobble despite her efforts, and soon she had to lean on the staff she carried for all her weight.
Logan knew that she was watching, near the large cool-wideleaf-tree that he often favored for naps, her breathing light and quick, the scent of plant-chew-food wafting from the woven once-tree-thing she carried.
He was puzzled.
Under the normal layers of her facinating personal scent was uncertainty, confusion, hesitance.
Kicking once, he made his way back to the edge of the water, and rose, sniffing the air.
Lavender. Orchids. Warm almond. Wind. Sky.
Sweet.
Soft.
He padded forward, ignoring the not-fur that he had worn, his gaze on where she stood, then padded around her, trying to discover what had distrirbed her.
Sharp scent of startlement. Tinge of uncertianty.
Flicker of rising heat-need, worry, confusion.
He brought a paw up to gently pet her hair, uttering soothing rumbles.
No danger-scent.
Den-safe.
He stroked her head-fur soothingly, trying to understand her concern.
Ororo gasped softly when the nude form of Logan suddenly moved toward her, but found herself trembling under his hands as he - petted - her.
Low, gentle sounds soothed her as he stroked her hair, enveloped in a soft scent of cool water and - maleness. A spicy, heady scent that set the weather mutant trembling again.
When her knees gave, he caught her, cradling her in strong, warm arms, eyes studying her with concern and restrained passion.
Goddess! she thought, wildly. He doesn't know, can't know, so hurt...
"Rrrrwwh?" The first attempt he'd made to communicate aloud. Gold-flicker-amber, warm and vivid, struggling for something, reaching out to her. Clearly, he had said her name. The name he had called her before.
'Ro? his gaze asked her, arms still the only support for her, breath gentle on her cheek, body pressed close as he brought a hand up, knuckles gently running down the edge of Ororo's jawline.
Glint of sharp canines, press of his face in her neck, her hair, as he inhaled her scent, all the while gently caressing her hair, her shoulders.
She fought for a sense of duty, of responsibility for his injured psyche, but it was as if it was a mote in a sandstorm, flittering feebly against the incredible surge of sensation that seemed to wake her body from it's long slumber.
Ororo found herself wrapping her arms around him, their weight supporting one another, an awareness of his gentle rumbles becoming closer to growls.
Sounds of hunger, need. His hand gently brushed down her back, tracing the curve down over her buttocks, holding her tighter, lips gently brushing her throat, a low growl, gentle, but sharp pressure.
"Goddess, Logan!" she gasped, eyes wide as she stared up at him, into golden fire that seemed to wrap around her very being, enveloping her in warm light. Her breath was no longer under her control, and a vauge sense of fear scrabbled at the back of her throat as she lost herself in the flashes of sensation, the dim awareness this was not simple lust - something else drove Logan - and her, by the Goddess, and her - at that moment. Something old as time, and new as birth. It burned and it flickered, as primal as creation, but not consuming, instead blazing a need through the core of her being.
Logan's canines gently scraped her neck, trailing down her shoulder, as he growled low in his throat, not encumbered by the vaneer of civilization as he soothed her, lips coming up, gently pressing against her's.
Ororo had always smiled in amusement at the idea of fireworks during a kiss, it had always seemed rather foolish, a symbol of inexperianced girlhood.
But at that moment, pinpricks of light exploded behind her eyes, as a flood of fire blazed through her blood, all but throwing her forward into Logan's arms.
Thunder cracked, as stormclouds gathered, dark and deep, thick and real, lit from within.
A brief flicker of wild, almost incomprehensible thought - So like Logan, so like...
Then she was returning his kiss with a wild abandon she had belived beyond her.
She tottered a few more steps, and finally had to lean against a rock to maintain her balance.
Everything hurt now. Not just the agonizing ankle, so now the pain was simply a matter of degree. Waves of pain/discomfort/agony rippled through her conciousness, and she dimly realized
that were interfering with her movement and balance.
Gritted teeth didn't ease the pain so much as enabled her to endure it for the moment.
Another step, a hiss, stumbled, was distantly aware that the coolness of her skin and dizziness were supposed to mean something, but it danced on the edge of her conciousness.
She bumped into a rock, toes slamming against unyielding stone, and had to supress a yelp.
Paused.
Listened.
The darkness hid movement, and she heard what had been bothering her for the last few - hours? Yes. Hours. It was difficult, increasingly so, to measure time accurately, even though she normally could do so with trained precision.
Scuffing, whiffling sounds. A fiendish, lupine rasp-laugh.
Hyenas.
A pack of them, trailing her.
They sensed her injuries.
Thought her easy prey.
She scowled inwardly.
Others had thought the same thing.
They'd been wrong too.
Ororo was floating on a blaze of desire.
Logan's lips trailed her neck, slid over her shoulder.
Tasting her. Kissing her.
She couldn't get enough of it.
Her hands traced his muscular back, exploring the tension there, the ripple and flow of restrained power there.
His claws extended as he growled softly, gently stroking away her clothes, the only thing that covered her desire.
Part of her screamed to stop, to back away, to think of Logan's inner turmoil - but his eyes held nothing but a kind of fiery purity.
It seemed so natural, so real, and after a moment's shock she realized it was real.
For him.
For her.
She had loved him a long time. A very long time. Since perhaps, that day she had thought he meant to kill a deer he had tracked on Xavier's estate.
Ororo had thought that this feral, facinating, primal man had simply meant to kill it.
She had seen his eyes, so used to being judged, being cast aside, cast out, that she had felt immediate guilt, immediate sorrow.
But he had replied that the tracking had drawn him, not the need to simply kill.
Over the years, he had been a gruff ear, a word of kindness, a tireless defender.
He taught her to fight. Not the simple moves, she had learned them on the streets of Cairo, but when to choose them. And when to flee.
She had fallen in love, and not known how to say the words.
Watched him be betrayed, lost, hurt, alone.
Now she moved closer to him, lips against the strong pulse in his neck, exulting in the strong vibration there, kissing the vein, trailing her lips along his warm skin.
He tasted like cloves and hickory, a powerful taste that made her mouth water and her body fill with even stronger fire.
As her thoughts flicked past her conciousness, she felt civilization's trappings being burned away, leaving not Storm, not the Windrider, only Ororo.
Her clothes slid away.
He gave a soft sound between a growl and a rumble, pressing her down against the grass, laying next to her, exploring her body with gentle, yet demanding hands, stroking her with a kind of feral desire that was even more arousing than studied effort.
"Logan..." she whispered, voice thick with desire and need. "Logan..."
"'Rrrrwo..." he replied, his tones harsh with his own emotions. Her name.
His weight was supported by one arm as he moved atop her, nipping her nipple softly, elicting a muffled cry of pure pleasure.
Logan knew that she was 'Ro, the name brought strong feelings of trust/need/desire/want.
She tasted good, wonderful.
Strong and sweet.
Alive.
His gentle nip on her nipple brought a pleasure-cry, so he continued his explorations, stroking his paws softly down her sides, feeling the flutter of muscle there, the beginnings of her readiness-arousal.
He felt the tension/heat in himself, but held it back in favor of tasting and caressing her.
It was right, this touch/want.
True.
He was startled when a hand gently touched his erection, running a soft, delicate touch along the shaft.
Pleasure. Hunger. Need.
He kissed her hungrily, finding her lips, her throat, her breast.
She caressed him, moved beneath him.
He nipped her gently, needing her to be still.
Touching Logan seemed as natural as breathing to Ororo.
None of the normal feelings of hesitance or momentarily embarassment were there, only desire and hunger, need and a dawning joy she had never imagined.
When she tried to move, to press up against him, his sharp teeth pinched her skin, only enhansing her sense of pleasure.
A low sound, a soft rumble, escaped Logan.
It took a moment for her to realize it wasn't a growl at all.
It was a purr.
Her caresses were driving the fire in him, and she delighted in the thought.
Giving Logan pleasure.
It was a powerful, heady feeling.
Then she was rolled completely onto her back, his body rising above her, and she felt a smile trail across her face, feeling a fire that, oddly enough, gave her a strong sense of peace.
Logan let his body move slightly atop her, caressing her hair gently to calm her as he fought the feral urge to simply take her with savage force.
This angered him.
Take? Force?
No!
Want.
Yes.
Mate.
Yes. Mate. Now.
He felt the fire surge through him as he pushed in, heard her gasp, scented her pleasure.
Goddess, perfect! Ororo's thoughts all but howled.
The moment he was inside her was like a rising cresendo of desire/lust/need/want.
She moved with him, his feral abandon not fearful but so erotic that she couldn't think, didn't want to think, only abandoned herself to feeling, to feel.
And she did, by the Goddess.
So intently she fears she might lose conciousness.
The rythem was fast, frantic, powerful.
Like nothing she had ever imagined could exist.
If she was wind and water, then Logan was earth and fire, a union of so primal and powerful a passion that it blazed through her like a wildfire.
She felt his back rippling, the hardness of his buttocks, the heat radiating from him.
Her fingernails scraped into his skin, drawing blood, as she approached the point of no return.
An incomprehensible sound was coming from somewhere, a kind of chant that she only vaugely recognized as a combination of Logan's name and a plea for him to stay with her, connected to her, fill her.
He arched his back as he thrust once more into her, howled his pleasure, his passion - and a love that defied the madness that had claimed his mind.
Ororo cried out his name as thunder crashed, and the rains, at long last, came roaring from the skies.