Author's note: So, yeah. My WolverineMuse has been a surly, uncooperative pain the ass these last few weeks. I would apologize for him, but he makes no apologies for his temperament. I have plenty of bunnies biting. Just not for THIS particular story. WTF is up with that? Pfff! I finally caved and sprang for a sampler of Alaskan ale in an effort to wrangle/bribe him into, uh, cooperation. (The Wolverine does NOT do submission, but apparently he's open to… coercion… under the right circumstances.) The Freeride APA Pale Ale was a bit of a disappointment (too green/fruity for this dark beer lovin' girl) but the Amber Ale and Summer Ale seemed to do the trick for him - and for me. ) Onward.
The Wolverine's heavy boots beat a soft, familiar cadence on the porch. The smooth, weathered boards surrounded the small cabin nestled back in the trees. The home he shared with Marie was a welcome sight after five days on a close-quarters mission with the Firecracker and the Popsicle. It had been pretty routine in all respects. Long. Mostly boring. Too much surveillance and too little action to suit his personal tastes, rounded out with the usual puerile bullshit and trash talk to kill time, with a bit of heat at the end when it all hit the fan. Serious, but still on the 'amusing' side of the shitstorm spectrum.
They'd had a safe-house for a base of operations this time. Logan wasn't even sure it counted as a full-blown mission if there were still regular showers, hot coffee and cold beer. The company had left a lot to be desired, however. Even if one discounted Drake and Lee, two days in, they'd been joined by a second team led by some young jerkoff; a brash, impetuous kid who liked fire, the limelight, and the ladies a little too much. There's a fine line between a cool demonstration of showy powers and 'ohfuckFIRE!'
Flame on, asshole.
Logan was not impressed and hated these joint training missions that 'Ro was so fond of springing on them in the name of cooperation and flexibility. Fuck that noise. The mission had similarly flamed out spectacularly. No casualties, but heavy collateral damage.
Traumatic, even, if one counted being forced to spend five days sharing a small bathroom with Jubilee. Logan had survived by keeping to himself, sleeping outside despite autumn's crisp chill, and by a few truly filthy texts from Marie. They had done more to sustain him and keep him warm than the bottle of shitty tequila he'd found stashed in a hall closet.
He'd had to coax the first few out of her, but he should have known better than to bait someone who'd spent the last few years perfecting the art of writing erotica. Talk about lighting a fire that couldn't be banked. Even the hairier parts of the skirmish at the end of the mission didn't really take the edge off — not even when the world, or their little corner of it, had literally burned down around them. All that did was stoke his personal fire even hotter.
Logan was surprised Marie hadn't met him in the hangar. When she hadn't turned up after the debriefing, he went looking for her. It was unlike her not to seek him out on his return. Even though she knew he healed, she still liked to reassure herself he was in one piece, especially when they weren't paired together. She was still unpredictable, perhaps more than ever now that she'd truly embraced the Rogue, but they rarely missed a chance to reconnect after a long mission.
He was unzipping his uniform jacket as he slipped in the back door. At least the uniforms had gotten better over the years. No more ridiculously uncomfortable bodysuits. He'd never liked those. Thankfully, that old adage - nothing stays the same forever - also applied to their uniforms. Now they were more like military inspired biking leathers, with kevlar plackets for the members of the team that didn't heal or shift to ice or metal. More functional. Easier to move in. Easier to blend into a crowd, too.
Logan tossed his jacket on the couch and rolled his neck, feeling his muscles shift stiffly under the white tank. The flight home had been long and the debriefing even longer. He was restless and needed to move. Grabbing a beer from the fridge, he tossed the cap on the counter and took a few deep swallows, allowing the silence and serenity of their home to sink into his bones as he stood there and breathed in the peace surrounding him.
It centered him in a way the beer could not. "Baby? You home?" His voice was rough from disuse. He'd hardly said a word in days.
"Hey, sugar." Her sultry drawl drifted down from above and curled around him, slow and sweet in his ear. "Up here." His eyes flicked up to the loft and he wondered if maybe she hadn't come meet to find him because she'd been waiting for him in their bed. He was definitely on board with that plan.
Abandoning the beer, he took the stairs two at a time. While he hadn't exactly expected a rose strewn bower, he was mildly annoyed at the lack of a greeting of any sort, never mind his fleeting fantasy of finding her posed provocatively or waiting in the bed, dressed in something specifically designed to make him hot and stupid. In fact, the room looked exactly as it had when he'd left and there was no sign of Marie.
"Darlin'?"
"In here." Her voice floated, muffled, from the closet. She appeared at the door, a soft smile on her full lips as she took him in with her eyes, reassuring herself he was unharmed and in one piece. That flash of concern, first, before the flash of heat made his chest tight. The sight of her in a leopard print bra and panties edged in black lace made other things tighten as well.
Goddamn. She was probably grinning like a Cheshire cat, but his eyes weren't on her face. Miles of smooth, white skin. Hair tumbling down all around her shoulders, shiny and a little wild. And Christ, those luscious breasts pushed up on offer…
He took an aggressive step forward.
"Stop."
It was her tone and not the word itself that held him in place. His brow arched. He was willing to indulge her, for now. Her attitude and attire suggested he was going to enjoy the hell out of whatever she had in mind.
"Fuck," he breathed. "Y'look good. C'mere, kid."
"Back atcha, cowboy. But you sit that fine ass down. I'm not quite ready yet."
"Yes, ma'am." He sat, chuckling in amusement at her sass. "Don't put on anythin' you want left in one piece after," he warned. He could already feel the points of his claws digging into the backs of his knuckles. "N'hurry the fuck up, huh?"
"Impatient, are we?" Marie reappeared at the door, holding something black and silky in her hands. He wasn't really paying attention. His eyes were on her breasts and then on that magnificent ass as she disappeared back into the closet.
"Fuck, yes." He could hear rustling and then the distinctive purr of metallic teeth. He hoped she'd taken his warning to heart. In the right mood, he enjoyed slicing things from her body, but generally not when he was this close to the edge.
"Is that right? Well, I hear a little waitin' makes it better." She was still making him pay for that afternoon in the garage a few months back. Another agonizing metallic rasp vibrated in his sensitive ears. "Or so I've been told…"
"Heh." That was one lesson she'd learned damn well. "Baby, you got about ten seconds before—" He stopped mid-word when she strolled out of the closet, shoulders back and hips swinging.
His eyes followed the thigh-high leather fuck-me boots up her toned legs. There was a creamy expanse of thigh visible between the top of her boots and the hem of an impossibly indecent black skirt. Alabaster breasts bound in leopard peeped from the deep v of her sheer blouse.
"Jesus fuck," he muttered, sitting back to take in the view while she pulled on her wrist length leather riding gloves. He felt like there was something he should remember, but all his blood had long since left his brain. There was a rushing in his ears and all he could focus on was how much he wanted to touch her and how fast he could get them naked enough to shove inside and hear her voice break on his name.
"You ready to go?"
"Go?" The words didn't even penetrate. "Fuck, yeah. I'm good to go…" he reached for his tank.
"Leave it on."
That got her the raised brow and he wondered what she had in mind and how long he'd be able to let her play before the the chains that shackled his wilder counterpart snapped entirely. He could already feel them slipping.
"C'mere." It was an order, however sofly delivered.
She stalked closer, but the look in her eye said she did it because she wanted to, not because she was in any mood for compliance.
"I missed you, sugar." One step. Another.
"Mmph."
Christ, those boots were fucking killing him. She rarely wore them. They were too high to fight in. In his experience, women wore boots like that for one reason, and one reason only. The last time they'd made an appearance she'd asked for a shibari lesson. He'd agreed. The lesson had come much later, after she was naked. He'd ordered her to keep the boots on, though. It had begun with an intricate corset of ropes he'd tied with a complex series of knots trailing beautifully down her spine, and it had ended with the whisper of claws, warm and smooth and sharp.
While he was away, she'd texted him a photo of a recent purchase. Black Japanese silk cord. No words. Just the artfully twisted hank, gleaming on their bearskin rug in the firelight. It was pure erotica. Nothing graphic, but a powerfully charged image that had lingered in his head and left him aroused for hours.
He'd texted back an extreme close up video of the claws extending from his left hand. Just the knuckles and the blades. Nothing else. It was barely a handful of seconds long, but wildly pornographic, given the context and subtext of their wordless conversation. Roundaboutly, a tribute and a warning, as well as a promise of good things to come.
"C'mere, kid." His tone said he wasn't going to ask again.
She hummed softly, slinking closer in anticipation. The flare of his nostrils and the rise of his chest as he brought in her scent was swiftly followed by a flash of gold in his eyes. His body jerked slightly, and the heat behind his gaze blazed hotter.
Ohfuck, yes. Fertile today. Not peaking. Not yet. A day or two away, maybe, but that thick luscious scent filled his head and made his blood pound wildly.
"Christ," he growled, reaching for her; hands firm on her ass as he pulled her in. The impact of her soft form crashing into his unyielding frame made them both shudder. When she was peaking, he was almost unable to control the animal's instinctive response to his mate's fertility. Slick and open and ripe was an invitation he could not decline or delay. Though Logan had a small modicum of control now, he wasn't the slightest bit inclined to use it. A growl rumbled low in his chest as he dragged in more and more of that intoxicating scent. "Fuck," he rasped against her skin, pushing his face into her neck as he rubbed up against her, using the hands he had on her ass to rock her back and forth over the hard ridge straining against the restrictive leather.
"Mmm..."
He was reaching down to pull up the sinfully short hem of her skirt when he realized she wasn't writhing to grind on him but to struggle away. They played that game sometimes, too, and the idea that she might invite being overpowered right now lit a fire in some savage place that wasn't about to be appeased by anything other than her full submission.
"Logan!" She shoved at his chest and he held her tighter, enjoying the way she struggled against him. Her scent said she was enjoying it too. It was that sense he was listening with and he missed the determined look in her eyes. When he didn't immediately comply, she let him have it. No tingling buzz of warning, but the sear of her mutation at full-throttle, crawling under his skin, a delicious scorch that demanded respect and could not be ignored.
They broke apart, breathless, panting for different reasons. The world was spinning a little and his wildness glittered in her eyes. Seeing it there racheted his own libido up a few notches.
"Goddamn," he muttered. If that was her opening volley, he couldn't wait to see where they'd eventually wind up.
"Do I have your attention now, cowboy?"
"Had it before."
"Both heads, this time?" She'd had the animal's attention from the moment he'd caught that scent, but she wanted his rational mind, too. Higher brain functions were definitely required for what she had in mind tonight.
"Heh. All three of 'em." He rubbed the heel of his hand over the bulge at the front of his pants pointedly.
"I like the way you think, but hold that thought for a minute. I have plans for you tonight."
His tongue wet his bottom lip and gave the distinct impression that he had plans as well, and his included eating her alive with sharp, white teeth. The look on his face made her shiver. He saw it and grinned predatorily, even as she slipped away and propped a hip in the doorway leading downstairs.
Interesting. If she wanted him to chase her, he was more than ready. Through the house. Through the woods. Through the lower levels. Hell, any fucking place. They both knew that was only going to end one way. She was calling to the beast and he was willing to oblige.
"Plans?"
Christ, her tits looked good in that bra. His mouth was watering and he was still really only half paying attention to her words. He was reading her with all his senses and some of them couldn't be silenced or forced into submission even if he wanted to.
She snapped her fingers, a testament to how perfectly the fine leather fitted. "Hey. Up here." The crisp sound brought his head up sharply.
"Can't blame me for that. When a woman wears somethin' like that, she wants a man to look."
"Oh, I hope it's more than look, sugar." He started towards her again and she put up her hands in the universal 'stop' gesture. "Slow your roll there, huh? A woman also wears something like this for other reasons…"
"That right?" He was openly leering, a dirty smirk on his face.
"Yep." She undid another button on the blouse, putting even more creamy cleavage on display. "Like when her lover orders up a specific look for a night at the Red Door."
His eyes flicked to hers, hot and wild. "Marie," he warned as that memory flooded back. She couldn't possibly be serious.
"Growl away. You can't tell me you're not in the mood." Everything about him, from his bearing to his countenance to that casually dominant stance, screamed just how in the mood he was.
"Jesusfuckingchrist!" he spat. He didn't even try to censor his immediate, volatile reaction. "Tonight? Like this? You aimin' for blood or tryin' to get someone killed?"
"Be serious! Of course I don't want that."
His eyes darkened dangerously. "S'in the mix somewhere though, ain't it?" They both remembered the first time he'd killed for her in battle. They'd barely made it into the relative privacy of the nearby trees before falling on each other with a feral intensity that shocked him even now. Logan wondered if she'd felt the same heavy feeling in her belly that he had. Shame? Guilt? Remorse? Whatever it was, it was never enough to actually stop what came after. Still, he reasoned that he'd never ended someone who didn't need ending. He enjoyed the hell out of what came after though, and she did, too.
But it wasn't something they talked about.
He wondered if this was maybe a toehold for a later conversation.
She shrugged. "Maybe, but that's not what I'm after tonight."
"Coulda fooled me," he grunted, feeling decidedly uncomfortable, probably because the idea of owning her and being owned by her and having the freedom to show that off to the world in whatever way he wanted felt a little too good. He'd always been a possessive bastard, and she knew — she fucking knew — what that scent did to him. "Takin' you there with that scent on ya? Jesus, Marie! What the fuck?" That was just asking for someone to get gutted.
"I want wild, sugar. I want crazy. But nobody'll get hurt. It's early, still. It's not… I'm not—"
"Peaking?" he added, with more than a little heat.
She was right. She was fertile now but not ovulating. He understood what she was asking. He was on the edge. Not over it. Not yet. But soon. A day or two, at most.
"I want to go there with you. Now. Tonight. Like this."
Like this. He knew what she meant. He could feel it too, the distance. The frustration. The wildness lingering from the mission crawling through his blood. The desire to join with her after a week away underscored heavily by the instinctive, primal drive to impregnate his mate. Charged as they were, whatever happened would be incendiary.
"No," he said, but they could both tell he was wavering.
"Yes," she soothed, knowing that she'd already won. The Wolverine looked out at her through Logan's eyes. He was already on her side. It was only a matter of time now. "You won't hurt me."
That earned her a short, clipped bark of amusement. "Ain't you I'm worried about, darlin'." It struck him then how far they'd come. How far he'd come.
"I won't let you hurt anyone."
She had the power to stop him, that was true, and he wouldn't change that for the world, but it still made him bristle. However much he loved her, it still stung his pride a little that of all people, it was this slip of a girl who could bring him to his knees. It came out as a growl, low and deep. He was across the room in three long strides and wrapping his fingers around her slender throat a heartbeat later.
Anyone else would have submitted, or at least dropped their gaze in deference to what was clearly a display of power and possession. The Rogue just threw back her head and laughed, eyes sparkling at her lover. He belonged to her, too. She wasn't afraid of him. "So that's a yes?"
He nipped her sharply and lifted his head, eyes blazing. "Get your coat."
Up next… well, it doesn't have a title yet, but you can be sure it's gonna be smutty as all hell. Heh.