Author's note: Thank you to kmj1989 for the review! I agree, Raven needs her face broken for how possessive she is over the X-Men. But I do hope you appreciated the hint of realism she gave when Hank started making googly eyes at the girl who just almost killed him. I think that was fair!
Today's chapter is long, but I think sweet. Little citrusy at the end, so just be warned. I should probably bump this story up to an M rating, to be honest. Thank you to everyone who gives this a read, and special thanks to those who leave a review! Kmj1989, you've been with me for soooo long, and I really appreciate it!
As My Lady Commands
They don't actually have a conversation about moving in together, but after Hank's injury, Roxanne never spends another night in the room that's ostensibly hers. At first the reasoning is that she needs to be close by to watch over him, since he flatly refuses to sleep in the infirmary and claims that his medical opinion on such a matter can be trusted. She insists that it would be best for someone to be nearby just in case, however, and her company he- as promised- will not refuse.
Once he's out of danger, however, Roxanne simply never goes back to her room, and he certainly raises no complaints on the matter. Far from it- he does everything he can to tacitly encourage her to make herself at home in his room. He clears out drawers and closet space for her while she's teaching one day (she's taken up teaching chemistry classes with aplomb), a hint she implicitly acknowledges after the next time she does laundry by placing her own clothing in the empty spaces.
It's little things. Her nightie tucked under a pillow, her toothbrush with his on the sink, her hairbrush in a drawer. Even her dirty clothes mixed with his in the laundry hamper. For some unknown reason, seeing her possessions mingled among his never fails to make him smile.
Or perhaps that's not true.
Because Hank McCoy is in love.
As much as he tried to deny it at first, for fear of repeating his youthful mistakes, he's been utterly smitten since the very first moment he laid eyes on Roxanne, and those feelings have only deepened as time passed. He loves her intelligence, her humor, the way her kindness shines through in every action she takes. Looking back, he's been completely, irrevocably hers from the first time they kissed.
The final act of officially moving Roxanne into his room is when she hesitantly brings in Gramps' photo album and Robert's painting one evening. These two items are the only personal effects she was able to save from the fire that destroyed her home, so Hank recognizes their significance instantly.
He grins shyly at her and gently takes the painting so he can put in pride of place on the mantle of his- their- fireplace. When he glances over his shoulder to gauge her reaction she gives him a smile so lovely that it literally takes his breath away.
In that moment it's as if the final puzzle piece falls into place in Hank's life, cementing his feelings for Roxanne into an irreversible, immutable part of his very being. To everyone else the world keeps on spinning as it always does, without pause. They don't experience the earth move beneath their feet the way he does, or feel their entire perception of reality shift. Gravity no longer holds him to this planet. Instead it is the redheaded young woman standing behind him.
The force of the emotion sweeping over him is so powerful it almost makes his knees buckle. Hank likens it to a ship that's been storm-tossed at sea finally finding safe harbor- where once he was adrift, now he has found an anchor to hold him fast and sure.
It takes only a second for his world to be turned on its head, a revelation that occurs so quickly that Roxanne, standing there patiently, likely doesn't notice.
Hank turns towards and and pulls her into his arms, grinning when she snuggles against his chest. "What do you think?" he asks her.
She sighs contentedly, a sound that almost overwhelms him with joy. "It's perfect."
"You smell like Hank," Logan observes as soon as Roxanne gets within five feet of him in the Danger Room Friday afternoon.
"I'm... sorry?" she says uncertainly.
"Did you spend the night with him or somethin'?" he presses.
She shrugs. "We kinda... I guess we basically live together now? All my stuff is in his room and I sleep with him every night, anyway."
Her father wrinkles his nose in disgust. "Ew," he mutters. "I didn't need to know that last bit, princess."
She gives him an exasperated look. "Not like that," she tells him. "Hank is a perfect gentleman." She looks heavenward for a moment, then admits, "actually, too much of a gentleman. It's getting rather frustrating."
"And I really didn't need to know that." Yeah, she's an adult, but what father wants to hear that his daughter is sexually frustrated by her chivalrous boyfriend? Ugh.
Though Hank does secretly earn a couple points in his book for that. Not that Logan will ever admit it to anyone.
Roxanne crosses her arms. "You're the one who brought it up, Logan," she retorts. "Are we going to practice, or do you want to pry into my relationship some more?"
"Let's practice," Logan agrees hastily, glad for the change of subject. "Now listen, princess- you're basically a pixie, so you've gotta be careful about who you take on and how. Humans and most mutants you should be able to beat up on just fine, but anyone with super strength is gonna be a problem. You're just too light."
"I could put rocks in my pockets," Roxanne half-heartedly jokes.
"Nah, just stab 'em," her father replies. "Now let's see what you've got."
He's immediately impressed by how fast Roxanne is, her ability to dance in and out of range to tag him with her claws while rarely taking damage in return. But all of her strikes are rather glancing scratches, rather than body blows that would deal debilitating damage to an opponent in the course of battle.
"Come on, Roxanne," he tells her, rather incredulously. "You know those type of hits aren't going to drop anyone in a fight. What gives?"
Roxanne's pretty face clouds over, and she bites her lip instead of answering.
"Is this about what happened with Hank?" Logan presses. "I told you, it doesn't matter if you cut an artery on me or anything, I'll just heal up. It's fine."
She shakes her head. "It's not that."
"Then what's the deal?"
Roxanne hesitates, but then she asks, "did I tell you how my secondary mutation kicked in?"
Logan shakes his head.
"It was the day Gramps died. The day I met you, actually. All those townies attacked the house, and a couple broke in. I thought Hank was dead, and these two were about to go after me and Gramps. And I just... lost it. These claws came out of my hands, and I didn't even really stop to think much. I just killed them both. And it felt good."
"And that scares you."
She nods.
He sighs, searching for the right words. "Of course it felt good. You were protecting your family, and that's one of a feral's strongest instincts."
Roxanne eyes him rather speculatively. "I'm not sure if that really justifies much, Logan," she notes dryly. "Ferals aren't exactly a very civilized species."
Logan shrugs. "We are what we are, Roxanne," he replies. "Look, I'm not saying go nuts or anything, ok? But sometimes we have to takes lives to save lives. To protect our family, the people we love."
"And people too weak to protect themselves," his daughter murmurs thoughtfully.
He blinks at this- it's not really an idea he's really considered, though he's not wholly opposed to the concept. He suddenly feels rather ashamed of all the time he spent cage fighting up in Canada rather than doing something more productive with his time over the past year or so.
"Right," he agrees. "So how about we give it another try?"
"Ok," Roxanne says. "But don't go easy on me."
Knock knock knock.
Hank puts down the lab report he's in the middle of grading and rises to answer the door.
"Roxanne," he scolds lightly upon seeing who it is, "I told you, you don't have to-"
The scent of blood surrounding her is so strong he can smell it even with his currently weakened senses. A quick onceover shows him that the black tank top and sweatpants she wore down to the Danger Room look like they've been attacked with a pair of large scissors.
"My stars and garters, what happened to you?" Hank demands, ushering her into the room.
Roxanne looks puzzled. "Huh?" She glances down at her outfit. "I went to practice with Logan, remember?"
"Yes, but I thought you were practicing on him."
She still seems lost. "What, and not have him fight back? What's the point of that?" she asks rhetorically.
He knows she has a point, but he's loathe to admit it.
Something about seeing all these holes in her clothes, knowing that each one represents a wound Roxanne sustained while she was out of his sight, upsets him on a deep, instinctual level that he finds hard to explain. Even knowing that she healed almost instantly- as evidenced by the dried blood on her clothes and the unblemished skin visible through her ruined outfit- does little to assuage his discomfit.
"You worry too much, Hank," she tells him, with a rueful smile.
Hank lets out a deep exhale, trying to release his tension. "How'd it go?" he asks, with his best attempt at an even tone.
"It was fine," Roxanne replies. She then grins mischievously. "Logan wanted to know why I showed up smelling like you, so I told him we basically live together."
"Joy," Hank mutters. "He's going to kill me now."
She smiles in a way that purposely bares her fangs. "Hmm. If he tries he'll have to deal with me first," she retorts, with a coy little giggle that makes Hank's heart flip flop. He further melts when she stands on tiptoe to give him a lingering kiss.
"You really don't have to knock, you know," Hank breathlessly tells her when they finally come up for air. "This is your room too."
Roxanne grins shyly. "Ok."
Hank sits up a little straighter and his breathing hitches when the feral girl steps out of the bathroom. Roxanne is stunning to even his currently imperfect vision, having already removed his glasses for the night. Her blue nightie shows off her long legs and barely skims her thighs, and her coppery red hair luxuriously tumbles over her bare shoulders as she makes her way over to the bed.
He doubts he'll ever take the sight of this beautiful woman getting into bed with him for granted, whatever the future holds for them.
She pulls back the covers and goes to slip her legs under the blanket, but before she does Hank catches sight of something on her foot.
"You have a tattoo on your foot?" he asks.
"Hmm?" She seems surprised, but holds the limb up for his closer inspection. Her tattoo is a depiction of a gamboling red fox, stretching from her ankle almost to her toes. "Yeah, I do. I thought you'd noticed."
Hank shakes his head. "I've never seen your feet," he remarks. He privately thinks that her feet are just as adorable as the rest of her, but he keeps that comment to himself.
Roxanne snorts. "To be fair, I've been wearing socks. It's just now getting warm enough that I don't need to."
He chuckles. "Indeed. Summer will be here before we know it," he muses. "May I ask if there's a significance to your tattoo?"
"I had a pet red fox when I was younger. Her name was Pinga," she explains. "I saved her from a trap when she was just a kit. It messed up her foot so bad she would've died out in the wild, so I kept her. See?"
And indeed, the tattoo fox's right front paw is deformed.
"What happened to her?"
"She died of old age right before I went off to college," Roxanne explains sadly. "I had her for eleven years, from when I was six years old. I wanted to have a way to always have her with me, so I got the tattoo."
"I like it," Hank tells her. He reaches out and brushes his fingers along her inked skin. And then, feeling bold, he lets his hand drift up her leg just a little before his shyness overcomes him once more.
Her breathing catches, and she bites her lip for a moment. "That's not my only tattoo, you know," she murmurs. "I have another one."
"Oh?" His gaze automatically roams her body, to no avail. "Where?"
Roxanne's smile is suddenly unbearably alluring. "Why don't you find it?" she teases, laying back against the bed. Her eyes burn into his, warm and seductive.
Now Hank can't breathe. He has to wonder if he somehow stumbled into the most delightful dream of his life. Or perhaps reality is now better than a dream? "O-ok."
He has a feeling the mystery tattoo is under her nightie, but he intends to use this excuse to touch her to the fullest. He kneels next to her and starts at her feet, working his way up and enjoying the way goosebumps erupt on her flesh as his hands caress her skin.
When he reaches the hem of her nightie he glances up at her face, asking the question silently with his eyes.
Roxanne nods, cheeks flushed and her gaze captivating beyond words.
Hank pushes the satin up, revealing the smooth skin of her stomach. They both hold their breath as he goes higher and higher, until the fabric is skimming the underside of her breasts.
That's when he finally spots the tattoo high on the left side of her torso. A crescent moon, the size of his palm, behind a huntress holding a bow and arrow at the ready.
"Artemis" Hank murmurs, tracing the outline with a fingertip. "How apropos."
"Yeah," Roxanne agrees, a little breathless. "It almost seems like fate somehow."
"Is that a name you'd ever consider using?"
She shakes her head. "No. Gramps named me Roxanne, and that's my name," she says firmly. "Or Roxy, to a special few."
Hank grins and stretches out on his side next to her, though he's reluctant to fix her nightie. "Perhaps one day I'll qualify," he murmurs, trailing his fingers across her still-bare stomach. He can feel the hard muscles under her deceptively soft skin, and he secretly marvels that she's allowing him to touch her in such a way.
"You qualify now," she breathlessly retorts, with a coy smile. "You can call me Roxy until you come up with a suitable pet name for me. Make sure it's something nice, though. Not anything weird."
"Weird like...?
"I don't know. Muffin? Sugar Booger? Love Bunny?"
He laughs. "That sounds reasonable, Roxy," he says, testing it out. "Until I find a pet name worthy of you, you're my Roxy."
"Yup," she agrees, before he can worry about her reaction to the possessive adjective.
Of course neither of them know- or perhaps more accurately acknowledge- just how true that statement is as of yet. Perhaps one day soon they will.
Roxanne closes her eyes and lets out a contented sigh. Her lips part, an overwhelming temptation- but still, he manfully tries to resist the urge to kiss her until she's gasping his name.
Hank worries that he would be pressing an unfair advantage if he gave into his baser impulses right now. He's concerned about rushing things between them, especially while Roxanne's still mourning her grandfather. He's determined to be a gentleman, to wait until she expresses that she's ready to explore the more physical side of their relationship. He's content, no matter how long it-
But then Roxanne's eyes open and she gives him a bewitching grin that hits him below the proverbial belt. She raises her hand in a come hither motion with her finger, such a clear invitation that even the ever-clueless Hank McCoy can't be mistaken about what she wants.
He needs no other inducement.
Hank eagerly closes the distance between them and presses his lips to hers. She immediately purrs and laces her claws into his hair, teasing along his scalp and giving him the shivers. She urges him closer, so his body halfway covers hers and one of his legs is between her thighs. He takes that as encouragement and deepens the kiss, opening his mouth to caress her tongue with his own.
It's the first time they've truly explored each other, despite being in such close proximity to one another for so many weeks, and they're all the more desperate for the wait. Roxanne wraps her free leg around his hips and clutches at him like she wants to merge their bodies together, and he in turn can't get enough of her.
He's drowning in the sensations of it all, in the warmth of her soft skin and the feeling of having her body melt into his. One hand cradles her head while the other roams freely from her thigh to her bottom and her stomach, cradling her breasts and then down to skim suggestively along the waistband of her panties.
"May I-?" he whispers as he kisses along her jawline.
Roxanne lets out a breathless chuckle. "God, yes," she replies. "Please, Hank. Please."
Hank bashfully grins, though he gains confidence from her eagerness. He's been dying to touch her like that, driven by some deep-seated instinct to demonstrate his suitability as a lover to her. He wants to make her breath come in pleasurable moans because of him, to feel her body tense and then relax because of the explosions of bliss he gives her.
"As my lady commands," he murmurs.