Disclaimers and A/N: Please see Chapter 1 for disclaimers, attribution and information on the Challenges addressed herein.
THANKS to all who have read and commented. My almost-late Christmas gift to all of you who have expressed an interest in this fic: The Deed (or Deeds...?) at last.
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Winter's Chill
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XVIII.
In the morning hush of the elegant penthouse, two forms entwined; graceful, lithe and feminine folded into lean, sinewy and masculine; fluttering cream ribbons and wispy fabric shifted along skin as hands explored and worshiped and promised the stars ... unsecured, the chair beneath them rocked a little, joining the dance, unnoticed by the couple as they tasted the lips and skin and hands they'd each craved for so long...
Max shifted away from Logan's mouth and trailed her lips down his throat, along his jaw line, and as she found the warm, soft hollow beneath his jaw, along the side, the sound of his breath sucked in quickly, hard, startled her, then made her smile as she heard it followed by a soft moan. 'X' marks the spot... She moved back over the sensitive place with her tongue, feeling him shiver; she caressed it with her lips and felt him draw a sudden, deep breath. "Max..." he managed...
She pulled away in the next moment, and he opened his eyes to see hers still closed, her mouth open, just a little, pausing, as if to let it all sink in for a few moments ... still reeling from the new sensations of his altered body, of never- before- experienced physical responses from entirely unexpected places, he watched her carefully, reverently, his hands shifting lightly to accommodate her movement, as he looked for a sign of what would make her happy, of how he could make her happy...
She opened her eyes then, and he saw that a question had formed there, one of concern, her eyes looking deep into his for answers more truthful than he might want to give. He felt a small tug of worry, for what she might suddenly be thinking. "Logan..." Her voice was serious, caring. "Is there anything that you shouldn't do? Anything that I shouldn't do, that might hurt you?"
The question that hours before would have humiliated him, especially coming from her, even angered him, was now heard with a more understanding heart, as he heard the love behind the words – the respect in her asking him, not just jumping to conclusions from whatever she'd found on the 'net or heard from Bling, even amid the reminder it brought that this was new territory for them – for him. Now able to feel relief, even, that it was such an easy answer, he moved his hand from where he caressed her neck and shoulder, to gently trace back a lock of hair that had fallen across her cheek. "No," he smiled, simply.
"Nothing, that would... compromise your circulation, or blood pressure, or some other things I haven't learned about yet?"
He saw the worry in her eyes, for him, and dared to believe that her fears were not a general belief that he was frail or brittle – but just as she said, that there were unknowns that might need consideration. With a widening smile he shook his head and assured her, "No ... unless you have something in mind a lot more athletic – or extreme – than, say, basketball..."
Logan saw the analogy dawn on her, reminding her that he took a regular, weekly pummeling on the court, and saw her own smile dazzle as her eyes lost their worry, an impish look replacing the concern. "So we're on our own? Anything goes?" Warm and liquid, she shifted easily with her words to sit on her knees, straddling him, and pressed close to steal a sweet, slow kiss...
Moments later he realized she'd let him up for air, her question still lingering playfully, and he shrugged, trying to hide the returning amazement that this was so easy for Max, seducing him, chair and all. "No fouls..." He managed to whisper.
"Not thrown out of the game til I get, what ... four?"
"Five" he rasped.
She beamed. "That gives me a lot of room..." She leaned in again to kiss him warmly, her tender insistence making his breath come more quickly, and his arms circled her again, drawing her close. But after only another couple minutes, Logan felt Max's shoulders roll smoothly, and her hands softly covered his. Without stopping her exploration of his lips with hers, Max lifted his hands from her hips and derriere, where they had dallied, and gently placed them on his wheel rims, guiding them to move toward the bed. At the moment he realized what she was doing, his eyes blinked open to search her face, see her thoughts. She felt his movements and opened her eyes too, smiling at him. With a look that was sweet and a little shy, she explained, "the bed would give us a lot of room, too..."
XIX.
In the morning hush of the elegant penthouse, two forms entwined to begin the dance as old as time, as old as life. These lovers had enemies and barriers making this moment harder to come by but sweeter than most; they had faced dangers unheard of by others, but had advantages others could not imagine. They were as different as life can be, one from the other, but made to be together. It had never been easy; it would never be easy: but it was them, and it – and they – were alive, and full of insecurity and fear and passion for each other...
Their mouths and hands and bodies had burned for more, stoked by the touch of the other so very few moments before, when the reality of the physical world intruded: Logan watched Max move nimbly off his lap into the bed, and was reminded that 'nimble' was lost to him, forever; Max watched as Logan tried his best not to let his cheeks burn with embarrassment at his labored progress into the bed, and was reminded that such basic things still caused him discomfort. But kisses and cuddles had helped temper that reality, and even as Logan made his way toward the center of the bed, he was strengthened by Max's patience, waiting for him in the middle, making no move to assist him in getting there, and was amazed by the moves she did make, her occasional bounce toward him as she waited, to nibble his ear or steal a quick kiss...
Logan settled in against the mountain of pillows in his sumptuous bed and opened his arms to Max, drawing her close as she nestled in quickly. Having begun their dance as tenuously as if adversaries, Max and Logan had moved quickly to being partners, confidantes ... secret desires. Trust was not a problem; each knew the other's most intimate secrets. Each had trusted the other with their life and each had literally saved the other. Now, each of them wrestled desire and fear, yearning and insecurity, as new and fragile as if the past hours hadn't happened, as if the hours together under the covers naked had not shown them what lay ahead, as if the tender, gentle caresses they'd shared with Logan's stories or the sweet, passionate kisses they'd shared moments ago had not eased the way.
Logan let his fingers gently trace Max's cheek, and as she lifted her face toward his for another soft kiss, each felt the weight of the firsts there in the bed, with them – the first time they would make love, Logan's first intimacy after being shot ... Each so desperately needed these firsts to be magical, for the other, while feeling the shy fear of being, yet again, a disappointment: for Logan, that even the sensuous, loving ministrations with his hands and mouth that he knew he could offer Max would, ultimately, not be enough, and he, not enough; and for Max, that whatever she could do, whatever pleasure she could bring him, would still leave Logan unsatisfied, if his body would no longer let him experience sexual gratification the way he used to, and therefore she would leave him unsatisfied ...
Of course it was Logan who spoke, finally. He believed it was only fair, given that it was his body that would fail them both; he owed her one, last chance to run from what they were about to begin. Pulling away from her lips, he drew a breath and hoped his voice would be steady. "I want to make you happy, Max. If it's not enough, I'll understand..."
At his soft words, Max looked at Logan, her eyes glittering at his sadness. "That's why it's 'enough,' Logan, don't you see? No one ever cared, before, if I was happy ... and I never cared so much if someone else was happy, too. Just this, your arms ... and your heart... are enough for me. They are..." she insisted as he drew a breath to protest.
He knew she wanted to believe it; hell, he did, too. "You say that now... and maybe for a little while, it would be fine. But after a while, Max..."
"Shouldn't you wait to say all this, until after we try?" She worked to smile for him, her vision swimming only for the briefest moment before the sudden mist in her eyes cleared. "Just you and me, here, like this ... it's all I'd ask," she urged. "Anything more would be extra... Beautiful and wonderful ... but extra, Logan. Like all the things you promised – the bubbles, and the strawberries – beautiful, but only if it's you and me, here, like this..."
The look Max saw in his eyes as he listened was a complex one; sad and relieved, hungry and insecure. The emotions shifted slightly, though, as he spoke the words about which he had no question: "I love you, Max..."
At that moment, all walls in her tumbled, any armor or defense or self-protection she had left toppled as she pushed close, for his lips, for the caresses she craved. "I love you, Logan," she whispered, "and that's all I want, I promise..." She searched the strong face, and made her own confession. "For you, though ... I'd do anything to make love to you in some way that could be as good for you as it's ever been ..." she looked away, not trusting her emotions, letting her lips brush the soft hair on his chest as she admitted, "but I know I can't..."
"Max..." Logan raised a hand to touch her cheek, to raise her chin a little so she would look back at him. "I have never looked forward to making love with anyone as much as I do with you, right now – whatever that means now..." His smile was soft as he began to understand that he really meant his words. "I never really believed this could happen." His smile lit his face, melancholy fading in its warmth.
Max saw it, in his eyes, saw that, as in everything else, they would find their own way, that love between Eyes Only and a Manticore soldier, between a man who'd been injured and a woman who'd been enhanced, was unique and their own, to create. Her own smile growing, Max pulled up closer, snuggling into the broad, warm chest to try, "Maybe the best part of all this is that we make it up as we go along ... we do what feels right, for us, no big goals or expectations or rules about what's 'enough,' for either of us..."
"The very best part..." He traced his lips across her brow, starting to relax into his trust for her, for them. In another moment, he felt his lips twitch into a small grin as he drew a breath to add, mischievously, "Of course... you may need to help me come up with some explanations for Bling, for all the bruises I'll have on my arms and chest..." His words brought her up to again look to his face; she'd heard the tone of his words and now, at the playful, teasing glint in his eyes, Max narrowed her eyes a little, happy to play along, as she waited for the punch line. Logan chuckled, "I'll be pinching myself, hard, every other minute... just to enjoy the reminder that this really, honestly isn't a dream..."
At the humored, sentimental words... and the growing look of faith and belief in his eyes, Max's smile grew even wider before it was tweaked down to a sexy smirk, just for him, and she eased upward to straddle his hips. Curling back into him, she purred, "If it's no holds barred... nothing off limits... I can think of a lot of ways that are a lot more fun, to remind you it's real..." Nipping at his shoulder, playfully, ribbons teasing his skin, Max raised her eyes back to his as they danced with fire. "..and only about half of them should leave any permanent scars..."
XX.
Original Cindy's negligee was not much longer for the dance. Logan's sensitive hands made their way up under the filmy fabric, along Max's thigh and hips and back; as Max sat back up on her knees, Logan brought his hands around to cup Max's breasts, pausing to gently caress the soft curves there, before moving his hands on around, palming her shoulder blades, finally drawing the fabric along with the movement and on, up over her head, tossing the gown carelessly toward the end of the bed. At that, Max slipped sideways off his form and, with a seamless, smooth movement, lowered his boxers, dropped them off the side of the bed and, with a sudden, private smile for the nude form, again straddled his hips. Logan's hands began their exploration, no longer thinking but letting his desire for her take him over. "God, Max ..." he murmured, "you're so beautiful..." His fingertips found sensitive places and she responded, arching or moaning or diving close for his lips; her hands and mouth began their own work and found places that made him moan, made him shiver and made his kisses stronger, more frenzied, more demanding...
It was as natural as breathing; it was silk; it was all fire and whispers ... it was new and it was ageless; it was tentative and it was unhesitating ... in the universal dance, Max explored Logan's body to find the places alive with sensation and places quick to bring a gasp; Logan did the very same with Max's. They weren't so different, in this: all time was lost, all sense of the world beyond their bed gone as they let hands and mouths probe and delight in finding way to please the other and take pleasure in the act...
Yet again Max moved to straddle his form, but this time, with small gestures and touches, drew him up to sit as she twined her legs around his hips. With a quick lift of her own hips over his, she pulled them close and shuddered, rocking against him in heated passion. Almost immediately Logan felt his insistent craving for her spike up, despite the impossibility; he felt his senses rushing toward a high that had him panting, his mouth seeking her sweet breasts, his hands, her hips, locked in with his... as he let his hands play across her thighs and pelvis, he discovered that at least for the moment, the physiological oddity that allowed him a reflex response to touch responded to hers ... And as Logan's hands came around to cup her derriere, rocking and insistent, he began to believe that even if he could no longer feel it all, some things might still work for him... for her... and the thought let him succumb to the sensations washing over him, new and different than before, but most assuredly welcome...
XXI.
In the now-quiet penthouse, two forms entwined to doze and nibble, to cuddle and nuzzle in sated comfort, a ritual as old as time and as new and remarkable as their lovemaking.
Max nosed again into the soft, light fur of Logan's chest and felt his mouth curve in to a smile as he rested his cheek on her crown, where they each lay on their side, facing each other. With a contented sigh, she pulled their bodies closer with the leg she'd wrapped around his, and pulled gently at the curling hair with her lips. He kissed the curly mop under his chin, idly, and chuckled, "what?" At her murmur of question, he chuckled again and said, "you were going to say something..."
"How..?" She pulled back a little to see his face, and saw his pleased grin. "Nevermind," she rolled her eyes, but pulled up to lean on her elbow, looking into the extraordinary green eyes now uncovered, his glasses on the table beside them. "I was only going to say ... that it will be easy from now on, won't it? All the monsters put to bed? All the questions answered..."
"Not all the questions," he teased, affecting a serious look.
"Well, no, not all," she returned the teasing, her tone sultry and provocative for the moment, before continuing, in some seriousness, "but all the tough questions – can I make you happy? Can we find the way to give you back some of all this?"
"...can I make you happy?" he matched her smile and joined in. "And will parts of me work, at least a little while?" His wide grin of relief made his thoughts on events clear.
"And can we make you really happy?" she laughed.
His own laugh rolled across the bed as he let his hand trace lazily along her back. "That too," he agreed. "Max, I've never met anyone else who could mean so much, who could have made me feel..." he trailed, the thought still too close to say easily. "Thank you..."
She leaned in to kiss him, sweetly, no words fitting. When she broke the kiss, she pulled back, and the creamy ivory of the abandoned negligee caught her eye. With a grin, she sat up and reached out to pull the fluttery, silken gown closer, shifting back down onto her elbow, under Logan's slow caress. Admiring the delicate lace, she looked back at the green eyes, catching the candlelight still shimmering behind her. With a small laugh, she said, "I know Original Cindy loves me like a sister – and I think she would get my back, no matter what." Max smiled in a rueful, self-conscious admission. " So I think this means she was worried that I'd need some help, the first time with you..."
Logan's smile was for her words, the shake of his head for how wrong Cindy had been, no matter her good intentions. "You do look amazing in that nightgown ..." Logan's smile was almost wistful in his memory of that first sight of her, "but it's just not the Max I know."
At his words, she asked, as casually as she could manage, "Would you prefer the one in the nightie?"
Her voice was still light and teasing, but Logan saw the tiny flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, and was struck by the thought that Max would worry about being who he wanted her to be. "I prefer the one in my arms..." he pulled up onto his elbow to meet her lips, nuzzle her nose with his. "The one I fell in love with. And whatever makes her feel good."
...and the change he saw in her – the happiness in his acceptance – made him want to protect her from the world. "Really?" she smiled, and it occurred to him that the sweet hopefulness she was willing to show him, the complete absence of the cynical, tough-guy Max, spoke more of the trust she had in him than any words she could say. He began to believe that he was seeing a side of her she'd been afraid to show, probably ever –and he vowed he would protect that side of her and that trust 'til his last breath.
"Really," he promised. "But even better than Cindy's gown..." His affectionate grin pulled up as he admitted his initial reaction. "When I got an eyeful of you in my t-shirt..."
Her smile was one of delight, even as if she was surprised that he could find her so desirable. "That grey t-shirt, last night?" She asked.
He nodded, his eyes twinkling, "That's the one ... and I think it was my favorite... 'til I saw what was underneath them all..." His hand broadened across her back as he leaned up again, seeking her mouth now with renewed desire. His hands were just as gentle as before and his lips, as tender, but Max could feel a new centeredness in him, a confidence that this part of his life was not over ... and she smiled as she let his arms enfold her.
It was as natural as breathing; it was silk; it was all fire and whispers ... it was new and it was ageless; it was tentative and it was unhesitating ... and in the universal dance, Max and Logan again took their places and began the slow, sweet waltz once more...
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