Wednesday, 1930 hours.


"Status report?"

The young lieutenant sighed and examined the notes on his clipboard. "The same, sir. The doe's still refusing to eat, even though it's been almost eighty hours. We can't even get her to drink the water." He flipped a couple of pages over and continued, "Her vital signs are stable, but that's not going to last long at this rate."

Stryker huffed. "Stubborn animals. What about Wolverine?"

"The buck? He eats enough to stay alive, but just barely. We haven't been able to get his vitals for..." He checked his watch. "Going on thirty-six hours now. He's been uncooperative, to say the least."

"Dammit, Baker, I told you I wanted full reports, not whatever you could be bothered to get."

Baker frowned. "I'm sorry, sir, but you've had experience with this specimen before - he's unpredictable and violent, and--"

"I don't care. Sedate him if you have to, just get those readings. And get the damned girl to eat something - she'll be completely useless if she's dead." Stryker turned to leave, but was stopped by a middle-aged blonde woman in a white lab coat, coming in the door with a clipboard and a small plastic tote.

"Sir," she said, and approached, full of confidence and poise. "The serum is ready."

Stryker took the tote from her and set it down on a table to his right, opening the lid with interest; reaching inside, he took out a glass syringe filled with a bluish-tinted fluid, and his eyes lit with renewed hope. "Finally. Have you tested it?"

The woman glared at him. "Of course I have. The results were very promising."

Stryker looked from the syringe to the blonde and gave her a nod of praise. "Excellent work, Dr. Risman." He glanced over his shoulder at the monitor Baker was watching, and grumbled. "Now if we could just get our subjects to behave themselves, we might actually be able to proceed."

Dr. Risman stepped closer. "If I may, sir, I would suggest putting the female in with him again. It's possible he could get her to eat."

He chewed the inside of his lower lip, considering. "Are her medical examinations complete?"

Risman held out the clipboard in her hand. "As complete as they're going to get, until the procedure is done - with the lack of food and dehydration setting in, I don't dare to sedate her again. She could slip into a coma, or go into shock."

Stryker blew out an annoyed breath and skimmed through the reports. "Fine. Put them together. And give them plenty of food and drink, no drugs. I want him to smell the food and only the food, so there's no hesitation in giving it to her. He's... very protective of this one."

Risman eyed the long gash down the side of the man's face, held together with twenty-seven black stitches. It had taken almost four hours for her to seal it properly, but thank God the buck's adamantium claws were sharp enough to leave a nice neat wound and not a jagged tear she would have had to piece together bit by bit. "I've noticed," she said dryly.

That earned her a harsh glare and a raised eyebrow. "Just put them together, Doctor. No more than a few hours, or as long as it takes to get her to eat something. That'll be all."

He turned and walked out, taking the tote with him.

***************************

Logan leapt to his feet when the outer door latch opened; it wasn't nearly time for another meal yet, and he was getting tired of fighting off the whitecoats that kept coming at him with blood-pressure cuffs and syringes. He extended his claws as the inner door swept open... and gasped when he saw Rogue tumble in and onto the floor.

"Marie!" He retracted the claws and ran to her, scooping her up off the cold metal tile and peering into her face solicitously. "You all right, kid?" She was wearing a thin white gown that didn't quite reach her knees, very hospital-like except that the back wasn't open, and her hair was a rumpled mess; she was too pale and too thin, big dark circles under her eyes.

She blinked and looked up at him. "Logan?"

"Jesus, what did they do to you?" He touched the thick, heavy collar around her neck, eyeing the flashing red light on the latch.

"It blocks mah powers, or somethin'. Ah don't know." Her bare hand reached up to her throat; he noticed a few bruises on her wrist, presumably from restraints, and growled.

"Ya look like holy hell."

She made a little sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "Thanks. Missed you, too."

He let out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, and pulled her to his chest in a tight hug. "Thank God yer all right. It's been days... I was gettin' worried."

She sighed and buried her face in his shoulder. "How long are they gonna keep us here?" Her voice sounded so small and childlike, full of fear and sorrow. "Ah wanna go home, Logan."

"I know, darlin'... I'm workin' on it." He frowned and pulled back to look her in the eye. "Just hang in there, you hear me, kid? We'll figure a way out, I pr--" The small aperture in the bottom of the inner door buzzed and swept open; Logan stopped midsentence to look, and saw a large metal tray of food being pushed in. "What the-- They're early today."

Rogue followed his gaze to the tray, watching the little door close, and sighed again. "Must be a special occasion."

Logan got up and retrieved the proffered food, then brought it back to where Rogue still sat; the stainless-steel dishes held bread, cheese, beef-and-vegetable stew, an apple, three soft-boiled eggs, and a thermos of milk. He sniffed everything carefully, and was surprised to find no trace of the tranquilizing drugs usually present in the food they brought him. "Must be. They went whole hog on this one."

The smell of the hot stew reached Rogue's nostrils and her stomach growled, which made Logan pause.

"You ain't been eatin'." It was a simple statement, but laden with concern.

"Ah don't know what they put in that stuff. Ah'm not gonna eat anything they give me - Ah'd sooner starve to death than get poisoned."

He set the tray down and folded his arms. "They ain't tryin' to kill us, darlin' - they'd-a done it already if that was the plan." He looked down at the bowl of stew, watching the steam rise from its surface in little wisps. "They want us alive fer somethin'."

"What?" she asked, staring hard at his thoughtful expression. "Why are they keepin' us here? What d'you know, Logan?"

His gaze snapped back up to meet hers, brows furrowing in something like anger. "I don't know what's goin' on, Marie. You got about as good an idea as me. But I know one thing - you die o' starvation, and I'm not gonna be too happy." He tore off a chunk of the bread and pushed it at her. "Eat."

She eyed the lump of sourdough warily. "You're sure it's safe to eat that?"

He picked up her hand and put the bread into it. "I don't smell nothin' on it other'n a little salt, and maybe some preservatives. Now eat, ya look like yer about to pass out."

She bit into the bread, surprised to find it tasted pretty good - but then again, she was so hungry, dog food probably wouldn't have tasted half bad right about then.

***************************

Stryker sighed. "Thank God."

Baker nodded, happy to bring good news for once. "Between the two of them, they finished off all the food, including the milk."

"Wonderful. Once the dishes are removed, I want the female back in her cell - we'll start the procedure tomorrow."

Baker frowned and bit his lip. "Uh, sir... getting the doe away from him isn't going to be easy - they're asleep in the southwest corner of the room, and he has an arm around her."

Stryker sighed, irritated. "Then hit him with a tranquilizer dart and knock him out before you take her. Do I have to think of everything?"

"Sir, the last time we tried to tranq him, he--"

"Up the dosage to ten times the usual. He's a tough old bastard."

Baker nodded again, shortly. "Yes, sir."

***************************

When Logan awoke, the large cell was dark, and he had the mother of all headaches. What...

Marie!

He looked around, keen eyes searching the darkness for her, nose desperately trying to locate her scent... but came up with nothing. Just shadows and the lingering smell of her fear, sharp and brutal. "Stryker!!" he bellowed into the black recesses of the room. "Where is she!? What'd you do with her!?"

No answer.

"Stryker!!"

There was a slight crackle of static, and the speaker in the ceiling switched on. "She's fine, Wolverine." Not Stryker - someone else. Deep voice, light timbre. A man, young - twenties, probably. A flunky.

"Where. Is. She?" His claws were out, glinting in the moonlight from the high window.

Another crackle of static. "Go to sleep, Wolverine. You'll see her tomorrow." The speaker switched off, and then there was nothing else.

"Bring her back!" Logan yelled, furious. "I swear to hell an' back, if you bastards harm one fucking hair on that girl's head, I'll cut yer goddamn balls off and feed 'em to ya straight!" He paused, breath coming in shallow, ragged pants, his fists clenched and trembling.

No answer.

"You hear me, Stryker!? One! Fucking! Hair!" There was still no answer, and Logan slashed at the adamantium-lined wall in blind, impotent rage. "God damn it!"

The speaker crackled again. "Wolverine." Stryker's voice, sounding a little groggy, as if the other guy had gotten him out of bed for this. "Calm down. She's fine. Now go to sleep, before we have to tranquilize you again. You'll need your energy for tomorrow."

Logan snarled. "Fuck you! I ain't playin' yer game anymore, Stryker! You let me outta here, and let the girl go, or I'll--"

He could almost hear the smile in Stryker's tone. "You'll what, Wolverine? You've been in that cell for nearly a week, and you haven't done anything yet. Go to sleep."

The speaker died with a click, and Logan was left alone to howl in frustration until the guards came with the tranquilizer guns again, and then there was nothing but darkness.

help me/you tear down my reason/help me/it's your sex i can smell/help me/you bring me comfort/help me think i'm somebody else


Thursday, 0800 hours.


"Status report."

Baker looked up from the monitor, nodded in recognition, and held out the customary clipboard with its neatly-written pages of notes. "Good morning, sir. Things are going well - the buck's been awake since oh-six hundred, and the doe's still in the examination room. Her testing should be nearly--"

"Complete," Dr. Risman finished for him, striding in with an armful of reports. "And may I say, it hasn't been easy, without the sedatives."

Stryker snatched the papers from her and began rifling through them. "All in the name of science, Doctor. We need her fully functioning and aware, if Wolverine's going to react to the serum the way I think he will."

She folded her arms and regarded him coolly. "You're really going to start with the serum?"

He waved a dismissive hand, as if brushing away her annoying question. "Of course. We can't let things progress naturally, Doctor, or we'll never get anywhere. The buyers are already beating down our doors for a product, and we haven't even gone ahead with Phase One yet."

Risman's frown deepened. "Sir... I discovered something during the doe's last examination that may... complicate things."

Stryker's eyes calmly scanned the pages in front of him, unconcerned. "Oh?"

"Sir, her..." She sighed. "Her hymen is intact."

He looked up in surprise. "She's a virgin?"

"Yes. Probably due to the nature of her mutation. And if you're going to use the serum... She could be - how can I put it delicately? - damaged in the process of carrying out the procedure. What then?"

Stryker's eyebrows went up. "Well. This is unexpected. However, I don't really think it's cause for concern."

"Why not?"

"The Alpha serum will reduce Wolverine to his most basic animal state - feral and uncivilized, unfettered by the human disguise he thinks he has in place."

"My point exactly. The combination of adrenaline and testosterone alone would be enough to drive him into a frenzy, in high enough doses, but the addition of the other chemicals, plus the sildenafil citrate, he's going to..."

"He's going to want to mate, Doctor, which is what we want. And as uncooperative as both of them have been, the serum may well be our best plan of recourse."

Risman threw up her hands in frustration. "The girl's never been touched, and you're going to lock her in a room with a wild animal that's been pumped full of adrenaline and male hormones?"

Stryker looked back down at the reports, unruffled by the woman's outburst. "And we're going to go ahead with the pheromone treatment, as well."

Her mouth fell open in astonishment. "Tell me that was a joke."

He fixed her with a cool stare and handed the papers back. "I want her thoroughly doused and prepped and ready to go by oh-nine hundred hours, Doctor, and that's an order."

Risman glared at him for another several seconds, then turned on her heel and stalked out.

***************************

"Hold him!"

"Get yer fuckin' hands offa me!!"

"Where the hell are those chains!?"

"Shit! Watch the claws!"

"I've got him!"

"Let go o' me! You fuckin'-- gah!"

"What the hell are you doing!? Stryker said--"

"He said no sedatives - didn't say anything about a gun-butt to the head."

"Grrrrrrrrr....."

"Jesus! You're gonna get us killed, you idiot!"

"Get those goddamn chains on!"

"AHHHHH! Fuck! My arm, he sliced my arm!!"

"Gimme that gun!"

Darkness.

***************************

Rogue was hauled unceremoniously from her cell and brought to a small, tightly-enclosed room with a round drain in the floor; for a minute, she thought they were going to give her a shower or something, but she didn't see any nozzles. After the lady doctor had poked and prodded her the last time, exploring areas Rogue really hadn't wanted her to go poking around in, she felt rather tired and violated; she had no idea what they were planning, but a shower would've been a nice gesture, considering how dirty and depressed she was feeling.

Several little doors in the walls - up high, close to the ceiling - opened up, and small metallic pointy things that resembled the tips on a baker's decorative icing bag slid out; there was a whirring noise, and Rogue flattened herself into a corner. Were they going to gas her? Had she failed whatever test they'd been putting her through? She was terrified, and when the spray started to pour out, she shrieked and held her arms up to protect her face. But the clear liquid simply ran over her, not burning or stinging or killing or anything, other than being damn cold. She shivered and folded her arms across her chest; her thin white cotton gown was completely drenched and clung to her, making her self-conscious and chilly. The nozzle things retreated, and after a few moments, the wall opposite the door she came in folded in on itself like a set of elevator doors and swept aside - revealing Logan's big metal cell.

He was nude and apparently unconscious, lying facedown on the reflective metal floor; heavy steel chains, each one about two feet long, ran from the metal bands around his neck and wrists to ring-plates set into the floor tiles, and at that distance, Rogue couldn't tell if he was breathing or not.

"Logan!" She ran to him and knelt beside his shoulder. "Logan! Can you hear me?"

***************************

Shouting. Someone was shouting.

And something... smelled good.

Wolverine opened his eyes, looked up at the attractive face above him, inhaled... and lunged.

Rogue screamed and stumbled backwards; she certainly hadn't expected that, but then, she hadn't expected to be hauled out of her bed by a bunch of soldiers and made into a super-secret mutant lab animal, either. "Logan! It's me! Oh God, what'd they do to you?"

Wolverine growled low in his chest, the smell of her driving him mad with want; he felt powerful and alive and randy as hell, and right there - how convenient! - was a beautiful female, radiating mating scent like the heat from a burning building. Oh, but he wanted her, and she was so lovely, with her bell-like voice and her soaking-wet cotton gown - through which he could clearly see the blush of her hard nipples, the soft curve of her breasts, the shadow of her pubic hair... Ohhh, he wanted her, and he was going to have her, if it was the last thing he ever did.

He lunged for her again, straining at the chains, growling; she backed off still more, eyes huge, luscious mouth hanging open. "Oh, Logan, no," she whispered, her long fingers fluttering nervously in front of her throat. "God, Ah wish they'd just gassed me... Ah can't believe they're gonna make you kill me..."

He strained harder, muscles trembling, teeth bared, and still she remained just out of reach. He couldn't understand it - there she was, wearing a little wet scrap of cloth that accentuated everything she had, looking right at him, her sex bare and easily accessed, and the scent - oh God, the scent! She obviously wanted to mate, and yet... underneath the powerful pheromones that were overwhelming his olfactory nerves, he caught a whiff of fear.

Fear?

What the hell?

He struggled to break the chains, to get closer to her, to investigate the cause of her distress, to comfort her... and she backed off still more, until she was pressed up against the wall, about three feet from the limit of his tether. He was totally confused - what was she afraid of? Didn't she realize that nothing in the world would harm her as long as he was there? He tried to think; it wasn't easy, considering the four hundred cc's of Alpha serum racing through his system, plus the overpowering lure of mating scent hanging in the air like loud curtains and making it nearly impossible to reason - but dammit, he was trying.

First order of business - the goddamn chains. They had to go. He hated being confined, especially when it was keeping him from something he wanted.

And there was nothing he wanted more than her.

***************************

"I really must protest this," Dr. Risman said, glaring at the monitor. "He's going to figure out how to get out of those chains any minute, and she's going to fight him."

Stryker chuckled. "You worry too much. She'll be fine."

"How can you be so blase about it? He's already half-mad with lust as it is - another few minutes, he'll be uncontrollably violent." Risman's mouth hardened into a thin line. "Sir. If the buck forces her to mate, she could be badly injured. The damage could take weeks to heal, putting us way behind schedule."

Stryker sighed. "If the serum works properly, she couldn't be safer."

The doctor raised an eyebrow. "How's that?"

"To put it bluntly, my dear, rape doesn't exist in the animal kingdom - that's a purely human invention. If he has indeed regressed to the feral animalistic state we want, he'll most likely encourage her - albeit aggressively - to mate, and if she refuses, he'll either try harder, or wait it out until she concedes."

"What if she never allows him to mate with her?"

Stryker's cold gray eyes snapped fire and ice. "Then we'll terminate her and get another specimen." He turned to Baker. "Time since he regained consciousness?"

"Four minutes, fifteen seconds, sir."

"Good. We're ahead of schedule already."

***************************

"God, Logan, you're scarin' the bejeezus outta me... Please, please calm down, Ah..."

He extended his claws with a sudden snikt and sliced through the chains that bound him to the floor; she screamed and leapt to her feet, backing towards the opposite corner as fast as she could. Freed, he stood and advanced on her, growling... and that's when she noticed his erection.

"Oh, mah.... Logan! Logan, no!"

He kept right on coming, heedless of the terror in her voice, and backed her right into a corner; having finally trapped her in one place, he smiled, showing his sharp teeth, and strode purposefully toward her, claws glinting under the flourescent lighting.

Oh, dear God in Heaven, not like this. Not Logan. Not like this. Without her powers, she didn't think she could do any kind of damage to him - nothing that would put him off course, anyway - and if that hard-on and that look in his gleaming, feral eyes were any indication... he was going to be very difficult to reason with. Still, deep down inside, he was still Logan, and surely he wouldn't...

He came within a few paces of her, and the aggressive, territorial growl rumbling out of his chest got louder.

Rogue threw out both of her hands, shoving at him with everything she had, and screamed, "NO!"

To her surprise, he stumbled back a few feet - and stayed there, a puzzled look on his face.

"Logan," she said, hoping he could understand her, "Ah know this isn't you. Ya gotta listen to me, sugah - it's Marie. You understand me?"

He didn't, but he got the gist of what she was saying - she wasn't ready to mate. Her body language - not to mention that awful shout and the push - made that clear. But why? He was in excellent health, reasonably attractive, and had already proven his strength and cleverness by escaping his bonds. And if it was his virility or ability to perform she was worried about - well, all she had to do was look down. Which she already had, so that couldn't be it either. What. The hell.

She stood there, shaking, staring into those keen brown eyes, wondering what on earth she was going to do. She was trapped in an adamantium cell with a feral Logan - a horny feral Logan - and she was completely at a loss. She noticed his gaze flickering down over her breasts, clearly visible through the wet cotton gown, and folded her arms across her chest. "Hey! Eyes up here!"

He growled. He liked looking at her, dammit, and she was stopping him from doing it? Fucking hell. Apparently, she was not only unconvinced of his worthy mate status, but also a bit of a tease - because although she smelled like fear, she was still giving off that delectable come-hither scent that made him harder with every passing second. Which was becoming somewhat painful, now that he thought of it.

All right, fine. If she needed convincing, he could do that.

He held up his arms, brandishing his sharp claws, and bared his teeth; bending forward a bit, he struck the most fearsome pose he could possibly manage, flexing all his muscles until the corded tendons stood out, displaying his strength and power. She froze, eyes huge, and curled in on herself a little tighter, which was gratifying until he caught the sharp scent of her fear, rising and thickening like smoke. Okay, wrong approach. Maybe it wasn't power she was looking for in a mate...?

He got down on the floor and moved slowly toward her, claws still out, the weight of his upper body balanced on his fingertips. It took an incredible amount of control and grace to do such a thing without letting the sharp blades touch the floor, which he was quite proud of; but she apparently wasn't impressed, because not only did the fear scent not dissipate, it actually got stronger. This was bad - he didn't know what the hell her problem could be, and he was running out of ideas. But there she stood, that head-swimmingly powerful mating aroma rolling off of her, and not even the tiniest whiff of arousal. What the hell did she want from him?

Irritated and seething with frustration, Wolverine retracted his claws to give his hands a rest - and the fear scent lightened a bit. He cocked his head and regarded her curiously; okay, so the claws were frightening to her - he could keep them sheathed. Problem solved. He started to get up, vaguely aware that she was saying something. He didn't get much of it, just the shaky tone and the fact that she had uncurled a bit. He growled softly and approached - and got another fierce shove. Shit! He snarled angrily and snikt, there were the claws again, and he was really annoyed.

"Logan, you gotta stop this! This ain't you! Ah don't wanna hurt you, sugah, but so help me God, Ah ain't gonna let you do what Ah know you're thinkin' about doin', so y'all can just put that away!" She was bluffing, but yelling at him seemed to get through, so she was determined to try anything that might work. She had thought that when he'd retracted his claws, he was coming back to himself... but then he'd stood up and started walking towards her, and neither his erection nor that hungry look in his eyes had gone away. So she'd pushed him, and now she was back to square one, with an angry, lusty-eyed Wolverine threatening her, claws out.

Okay, he had to breathe. Think. Couldn't breathe too deep, she smelled too good, and that undermined his whole plan. He retracted the claws again, and sat back on his haunches to think, licking the blood from his knuckles. Hmmm. That was nice. Too bad it was his own. Taste of sweat, too - was he sweating? He hadn't noticed. He found himself wondering what her sweat might taste like, and every hair on his body stood up. Mmmm. He could picture it, salty and hot, blood racing under her skin, her body slick and smooth beneath him... Shit. He had to figure this out.

***************************

"Time since he regained consciousness?"

"Ten minutes, fifty-three seconds, sir."

Stryker huffed. "She's as stubborn as he is. Increase the temperature again. Not too much - we want them nice and warm, not uncomfortably hot."

Dr. Risman scribbled a few notes on her clipboard. "Exactly what is the purpose of turning the heat up? It's just going to make them sweat."

"Exactly," he replied, smiling. "You've never wondered why a hot, sweaty day is called 'sultry', Doctor? Why steamy showers are considered erotic? It's a basic animal response - heat produces arousal, as long as it's a comfortable heat." He leaned across Baker and pressed a button on the control panel, making the image on the monitor zoom in closer. "And look at him, sweating already."

He smiled at Wolverine, who was covered in a light sheen of sweat and licking his knuckles. "It won't be long now."

i wanna fuck you like an animal/i wanna feel you from the inside/i wanna fuck you like an animal/my whole existence is fraud/you get me closer to God

Rogue was getting rather uncomfortable with the whole situation, even though Logan - no, she corrected herself, Wolverine - hadn't made a move for what felt like ages... though it was probably more like five minutes. He was just squatting there, looking at her with those shrewd animal eyes, licking the sweat and blood from his hands, and maybe... maybe she could get through if she were just a bit more gentle. Yelling and shoving seemed to make him angry, but... this had to stop, and he really wasn't much better than a puppy at the moment. A vicious puppy. Okay, a horny, sweaty, growling wolf. But he wasn't really Logan, and she had to work with that. She slid down the wall a bit, keeping her thighs pressed tightly together, and turned sideways to reach a timid hand out toward him.

Wolverine raised a querying eyebrow. She was lowering herself to his level. Not trying to dominate. Good. And although she was guarding her sex rather jealously, she was inviting him to come closer. Hmm. He leaned forward onto his fingertips and advanced very slowly, muddled thoughts tumbling all over each other amidst the blur of hormones. If his physical abilities didn't appeal to her, and she wasn't looking for a warrior-mate, then... Offspring. That had to be it. Maybe she was afraid he was too fierce to be trusted around their offspring - she needed to know he could be gentle as well as protective. It was a long shot, but definitely worth a try, especially when she was actually trying to get him to come closer.

He lowered his shoulders a bit, sinking closer to the ground, and crept toward her; he refused to drop his eyes, though - he was being gentle, not submissive. Cautiously, he raised his head up enough to sniff her extended fingertips, then her palm, and he was pressing his face into her hand, purring softly. She seemed to like it - she wasn't pushing him away, at any rate - so he came closer, brushing her inner arm with his nose, inhaling deeply. Ohhh, God, she smelled good.

Rogue stroked his hair gently, which he seemed to like - he wasn't growling at her, at any rate - so she kept it up, smoothing his rumpled whiskers, trailing her fingertips over his ear. She slid her hand down over the back of his neck, and he came still closer, his face nestling into the crook of her elbow; he gave her bicep the tiniest of licks, which surprised her.

She jumped. Shit. Too much? He hadn't been able to resist - she just smelled so fucking luscious, and the little strip of skin below the edge of her sleeve was right there, all shining and sweaty and... mmmm. He purred a little louder and inhaled along her shoulder, up to her neck. She shivered and pressed a hand to his chest, not exactly pushing, but trying to keep him from getting any closer. Temperamental little thing. Liked her mate to move slow and sure. He chuckle-purred a little laugh into her ear and she trembled, finally bringing her other hand up to press lightly at his shoulder.

"Logan," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Logan, we... we can't, Ah..."

She was giving in. Her voice wasn't nearly so steady, her protests more halfhearted than anything - probably for show. He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer, away from the wall, purring loudly to keep her calm, and licked her throat; it would've been much easier without the stupid collar around her neck, but the red flashing light told him it was probably something best left alone. He got his other arm around her, drew her closer, his cock pressing against her bare thigh, and oh fuck, he was hard. He wanted her so much he was starting to tremble, every muscle in his body twitching as he struggled to control himself. He couldn't screw this up now - she was warm and soft and becoming more pliable, her fear vanishing as he stroked and soothed and coerced.

He wasn't the only one trembling - Rogue's entire body was thrumming, her heart hammering wildly in her chest, and she was... not scared. Not angry. Not disgusted. Logan was a man, no matter how he happened to be thinking at the time, and although the man that held her so gently in his arms was most certainly the feral Wolverine feared the world over... he was still Logan. She thought of her words to him, "This ain't you," and as his tongue licked slowly up the side of her neck, hot and wet over the spot where her pulse pounded wildly, she realized how wrong she'd been. Feral, yes. Deadly, yes. The Wolverine? Most certainly. But absolutely, undeniably, definitely Logan. This man was restrained violence, gentle savagery... and oh lordy, she couldn't think of any more poetic terms for his duality while his cock was pressed up against her like that. And certainly not when he was nibbling her ear. "Logan," she gasped, and he made a little growling noise.

He let his hands roam a bit, since she wasn't fighting him, and was immensely pleased to notice the sweet, tangy scent of her arousal. Thank fucking God. He was rather proud of himself for figuring her out - slow and sure, soft and gentle. He hooked the fingertips of one hand under the hem of her gown, tugging it up, moving with painstaking slowness; she not only allowed it, but even lifted her butt up off the floor a bit so he could pull the clinging cloth up properly. Well.

The cold metal floor was a bit of a shock - but only until his hand cupped her buttock, warming it and protecting it from the chill of the tile. And oh, this powerful man was so gentle, trailing his free hand up and down her spine until she was quivering and goosebumped, his mouth brushing kisses over her neck; and when she felt the heat of his breath moving down the paper-thin front of her gown, she didn't bother to stop him.

He licked one of her hard nipples through the wet cotton, closed his mouth over it, and was thrilled when she arched her back, pushing closer to him, and let out a little moan. The scent of her arousal was getting stronger, the remnants of her fear nearly gone; he had finally proven himself, she had chosen him as her mate, and what a fucking rush. He knew one thing - the gown had to go. It was a cumbersome barrier, and although it looked nice on her, all soaking wet and see-through like that, it was a barrier, and his patience was just about shot. So he slid one claw out of his right hand, very slowly, making sure not to spook her, and brought it up to her front. She stiffened for a moment, but he gave her a smile and a reassuring purr, and she relaxed, looking somewhat amused and bewildered. Allowed to proceed, he slid the blade under her garment, edge up and away from her tender skin, and sliced through the cotton easily.

She shuddered and lay back, which he took as an offering, and he accepted it readily; he retracted the claw, grasped the halves of her ruined gown with both hands, and simply ripped them off of her. He swept down to lick her newly-bared skin, growling, and her hands went up to stroke through his hair, her fingers knotting in it, pulling him closer. He licked around the sensitive little pink bud of her nipple, teasing, and when she arched, he gave it a bit of a nip. This made her gasp rather loudly and arch further, which was encouraging, and damned sexy to boot. So he nipped at her again, then again, a bit harder, and when he heard her hiss of pain, he gave the tender little nub a very gentle lick. The results of this little experiment were even more encouraging - she made a long, breathy "Ohhhhh..." sound, and relaxed her thighs.

He ran a hand down her front, the perspiration and pheromone solution making her skin damp and slippery; he stroked her smooth thigh, first down the outside, then over the top, then slowly along the inside, starting at her knee, easing her legs apart with as much gentleness as possible. She trembled and clung to his shoulders, her expression apprehensive, so he bent his head down to her other nipple and licked it - and her leg relaxed, moving slowly outward. His fingers brushed the moist curls over her sex and she stiffened nervously; he increased the volume of his purr again and licked the underside of her breast, glancing up at her occasionally to judge her reaction.

Rogue couldn't think straight anymore. She felt the cold floor under her back. She saw the glare of the overhead lights. She heard the deep, rumbling noise Wolverine was making. She felt his hands and his mouth and the heat of his body, so close. She felt the wetness between her thighs - and then the brush of his fingers, and everything else vanished. All she could focus on was him. What he was doing. The way it felt. And then she wrapped her hands around the back of his head and pulled his mouth to hers, and his kiss was hotter than fire, sweeter and wetter than her most cherished dreams and fantasies, and his talented fingers were stroking her clit just so, and she was moaning into his mouth, lost, willing, his.

He tore his lips away from hers and licked a straight line down her body, pausing occasionally to nip here and there, teasing her navel with the tip of his tongue; he adjusted his position, pulling her leg up over his shoulder, and licked down the inside of her thigh, making her tremble and gasp, and then he was right there, breathing in the delectable scent of her arousal, tasting it on his tongue, and she was arching and bucking so much he had to grip her hips tightly to hold her still. Her hands flew to his head, twisting painfully in his hair, her voice and wriggling body like a spur that drove him on; he found the little bud hidden in her slick folds and gave it a very gentle nip - and she gasped, nearly taking out a handful of his hair. He flicked it with his tongue, which earned him a soft cry and a little stroke over the crown of his head; he found the untried entrance, the source of the maddening scent, and lapped at it until she was practically crying with desire. He slid his tongue into her, making her moan - and discovered a barrier. Hmm. He pushed and it gave, but did not break. He brought up a hand and eased one finger into her - holy fuck, she was tight - and located the elastic membrane with his fingertip.

***************************

"You see, Doctor? She doesn't seem to be damaged in any way."

Dr. Risman folded her arms around the clipboard, trying to stare at the monitor without looking like she was staring. "Indeed. He's quite the suave lover, that old buck. Years of practice, I'm sure."

Did Stryker detect a hint of jealousy in the woman's voice? He chuckled. "Time since the doe began to submit to his advances?"

Baker managed to tear his eyes away from the screen long enough to flick a glance at his watch, then returned his gaze to the much more interesting sights the monitor was showing him, in full digital color. "Nine minutes, forty-three seconds. Sir."

Less than ten minutes, and the buck had that inexperienced doe panting for him. Risman scrawled another note. Yes, definitely one hell of a suave lover.

***************************

Wolverine managed to work two gentle fingers into her, licking and nipping at her inner thigh, her clit, the dripping opening that was covering his hand with sweet, savory wetness; she was about as ready as he could possibly get her, and thank God for that, because he didn't think he could wait any longer. He withdrew his fingers, licking them clean, and slid back up her body to claim her mouth; she gripped his shoulders tightly, tasting herself on his tongue, her nails digging little bleeding crescents into his flesh that healed almost instantly. He turned her slowly, easing her over onto her side, one hand toying with her nipples, and looped his free arm under her to help her onto her stomach. He sat up, grasped her hips, and pulled her up onto her knees, licking the salt from her back; curving his body over hers, he reached between them to stroke her gently, and she gasped.

"Please," she whispered, her breathing ragged and shallow. "Please...."

That, he understood.

He knelt between her legs, positioned himself at her entrance, and pushed into her with one swift thrust that made her gasp in shock. He stroked her back, kissing her skin, purring; he could smell her fear returning, along with some blood, and figured he had hurt her, which wasn't his plan. So he withdrew gently, making her moan, and then pushed back in, slower. She gasped again - but the fear was gone.

She rocked her hips back to meet him, matching him thrust for thrust, the damp skin on her forearms squeaking on the smooth floor; he curled over her back and reached around her to cup her breasts, never breaking the rhythm, tweaked her aching nipples. She moaned softly and reached an arm back to touch him - somewhere, anywhere, she didn't care - and found her fingernails trailing over his ribs, which he must've liked, because he growled and increased his pace.

Shit, she was tight, and so hot she almost burned him; her inner muscles clenched around him in waves, tightening and relaxing in a steady pattern he found beguiling. She was wonderfully soft, incredibly wet, so eager and so fucking beautiful. God, he could easily picture himself keeping her as his only mate, protecting her from anyone else that might dare to want her - the idea that some other being might even think about touching his mate infuriated him, and he began to thrust harder, faster.

Rogue cried out, unable to control herself anymore, and gave up trying to be quiet. She wrapped her arms around his and leaned forward, pressing her chest to the floor, pushing her hips back against him, urging him, digging her nails into his forearms. He growled and lowered his mouth to her shoulder, kissing, licking, nipping; his fingers, trapped between her breasts and the floor, pinched her nipples mercilessly, almost roughly, and he was getting close.

Sweat dripped from his skin to splash in shimmering droplets across hers, marking her with his scent; he pulled a hand free and plunged it down between her legs to stroke her clit, making her wail and arch and speed up; he pushed her hair aside with his jaw and she obligingly threw it over to the other side, giving him access; and when she shuddered and came, her wet heat pulsing around him, dripping fresh dew onto his fingers, he let himself go.

Growling possessively, he grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the floor; he thrust into her over and over again, deep and hard and fast, no longer following a pattern or rhythm but his instincts; the tension built up in him like something about to explode; and when he finally came with a loud, guttural roar, he sank his sharp teeth into her shoulder, marking her, tasting her, claiming her. His.

***************************

Baker swallowed hard. "Time of first completed copulation, oh-nine-forty-seven."

Risman noted the time on her clipboard, as did Baker.

Stryker grinned. "Excellent. Keep an eye on them, Baker - I want a full report when I return - how many times they've mated, how long it took him to recover for the next round, times of each and every copulation. Under no circumstances are they to be disturbed."

Baker swallowed again, the lump in his throat like a furry little mouse trying to get out. "Yes, sir."

Baker's two superiors strode out of the room, leaving him alone with the monitor and one hell of an erection.

Thursday, 1533 hours.


"Status report." Stryker strolled into the observation room, coffee cup in hand, Dr. Risman following behind.

Baker looked up from the monitor, eyes a little glassy, and handed over his clipboard. "The procedure's going along very well, sir. The subjects haven't stopped for more than ten minutes at a time since they began."

Stryker set aside his cup to flip through the notes. "How many times have they mated?"

"Five completed copulations, and three, uh... incomplete." He swallowed, eyes drifting back to the monitor.

Stryker looked up and raised an eyebrow. "Incomplete?"

Baker cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. "Yes, sir. Uh... she, the doe, uh... she... stimulated the buck. Twice. Without mating properly. Once orally, once manually." He was praying he wasn't turning red; he did not add that he'd had to do a little manual stimulation on himself while watching the doe do likewise to the enthusiastic buck - he'd had to, or he'd have gone nuts. Five and a half hours of watching the two mutants mate was doing one hell of a number on his libido. He was half tempted to go down the hall and grab Innana, the pretty brunette lab tech, haul her into a supply closet, and fuck her right there, just to get it out of his system. "And, uh, they're currently mating again, haven't finished."

Risman came over, sipping her latte, peering over Baker's shoulder at the monitor; her brows suddenly knitted in agitation, and she asked, "How long have they been in that position?"

Baker looked at the screen again; the doe was lying on her back with the buck on top of her, her legs wrapped around his heavily-muscled thighs, her fingernails digging into his lean buttocks as he thrust in and out of her. "Uh... about twelve minutes, ma'am. That's the position they started in."

She leaned across him and poked a button on the console to enlarge the image. "And how many times have they mated in that position?"

Baker looked a little flustered. "This is the first time - all the other couplings were, uh, in a rear-entry position. Like the first time."

Stryker raised the other eyebrow. "Something wrong, Doctor?"

Risman made an impatient grumbling noise. "Animals don't mate like that - the buck should be behind her, in the proper position. The serum must be wearing off, he's starting to think like a human man again." She glanced at Baker. "Her mouth is moving - have they been talking to each other?"

Baker cleared his throat. "I, uh, I don't know, ma'am. I haven't turned the sound on at all."

She huffed, exasperated. "Not once? You haven't been monitoring their communications? The surest way to know whether or not the serum is still active is by listening to the buck's vocal assertions - if he can form human words, he'll have to be re-dosed!" She set her latte down and leaned across Baker again, flipping the audio switch; immediately, the observation room was filled with rhythmic growling and low, breathy moans.

"Ohhhh... oh, God... Logan... oh...oh! Logan, Logan...! Ohhh... oh, Jesus, baby..."

Baker cleared his throat and shifted again.

Risman frowned. "Hmm. He doesn't seem to be talking... just her."

Stryker chuckled. "No less vocal, though. That growling! I wonder if he'll go hoarse from doing that so often... no, probably not, not with that healing factor. Although, it'll be interesting to see how long he can continue. Wonder how he does that..."

The doe arched up off the floor, her nails reaping scarlet rows down the buck's broad back, her long, delighted cry exploding over the sound system and echoing in the small room; seconds later, the buck wrapped both arms behind her shoulders, pulling her down into his frantic thrusts, and roared, sinking his teeth into the tender skin above her collarbone.

Baker took the clipboard back from Stryker and made another note. "Time of sixth completed copulation, fifteen-forty-two." Yeah, that supply closet was sounding pretty damn good.

The doe was stroking the buck's sweat-dampened hair, smiling down at him as he licked the blood away from the little cuts his sharp eyeteeth had made; Risman pursed her lips into a little half-scowl and sighed, "Good lord. Does he bite her every time he climaxes?"

Baker smothered a cough and replied, "No, ma'am - only when they're mating."

The doctor folded her arms and picked up her latte again, sipping it with just a touch of irritation. "Look at all those bruises and bitemarks. She's going to have to be examined and treated - if those cuts get infected, it could be a problem."

The buck settled down on top of the doe, purring, satiated, relaxed. "Ahhh," he sighed into the crook of her neck and shoulder. "Mmmm... M'rie..."

Risman blinked. "What did he say?"

The doe chuckled and cuddled the buck - actually cuddled the beast, imagine! - and giggled against his scruffy cheek. "Think you almost outdid yourself that time, sugah. Mah ears're ringin'."

The buck's body trembled a bit, as if he were laughing. "Hmmf. Ahgh. Grrr... M'rie. D'rl'n..."

Risman set her cup down again. "Get her out of there!"

Stryker looked at the woman, obviously confused. "Why? They seem perfectly comfortable..."

She gestured with one hand to the screen, brows crinkling up again. "He's trying to talk! If he comes to his senses now, he may realize what's happened and reject her, and if the procedure isn't successful, she may reject him the next time around, out of hurt and spite!" She poked Baker in the shoulder to get him moving. "Get her out of there now, while the buck's relaxed and sleepy - if you let him get his wits about him, he'll be ten times worse."

Baker looked to Stryker for confirmation, and the older man nodded assent. "Go."

**********************************

"Ah like that purrin' thing you do," Rogue murmured, nuzzling Wolverine's ear, cradling his body with hers. He was heavy, but not crushingly so, and she found she rather liked the solid weight of him. It was... comforting. She felt so relaxed and safe, his broad body a shelter that protected her from the horrible lab cell around them; and she knew that no matter what happened, everything would be all right - because she was with him.

She heard a dull click from somewhere outside her post-orgasmic haze, and turned her eyes to look; Wolverine's head came up off her shoulder with a sudden jerk and a low, angry growl; four soldiers came in, bearing taser prods and tranquilizer guns, and fired several darts their way, a few lodging in Wolverine's back and arm. Rogue shrieked and clutched at Wolverine's shoulders in fear; he tried to get up, to get his claws out, to defend his mate - but the drugs were too quick, and he was too tired. He slumped, growling furiously, struggling to get his senses together, shaking his head - but nothing worked, and then the guards were pulling him off of her, eying her naked body with undisguised lust, and she was screaming.

"No! No! Stop it, let go! Logan!!"

He heard her cries, answered her with deep, groggy growls, tried to pick himself up off the floor - and got a gun-butt to the back of the head.

Two soldiers had Rogue by the arms, dragging her towards the door; she was fighting them, kicking and flailing, crying and afraid, the smell of her fear jabbing at Wolverine's consciousness worse than the blow to the head. "Logan!" she shouted, making a last-ditch effort to escape. "LOGAN!!"

With every bit of strength he could muster, Wolverine rocketed up off the floor, claws extending, and slashed the soldier that had hit him; the other one next to him got three razor-sharp claws through the heart and was dead before he hit the floor. Wolverine lunged at the two soldiers hauling Rogue out, roaring, and was promptly shot with six more darts. He fell at Rogue's feet, her screams ringing in his ears; he heard the whoosh-click of the door, and then there was darkness again.

Friday, 0815 hours.


"Status rep-- Baker, what the hell's happened to your face?"

Baker looked up through the eye that wasn't swollen shut and relinquished his clipboard. "Nothing, sir. Ran into a door." Of course it was a lie, but he wasn't really inclined to tell his superior that he'd pulled a certain pretty lab tech he'd been lusting after into a closet and put the moves on her... and had gotten a black eye for his trouble. Damn that Innana! Stryker looked about as convinced as Baker looked convincing, so the young man cleared his throat and carried on. "The doe's in an awful state, sir. Her guard says she's been crying for the last two hours, and that she cried herself to sleep last night. She won't eat, won't drink, and barely sleeps at all."

"And Wolverine?"

Baker shrugged and gestured to the monitor. "See for yourself, sir - your guess is as good as mine. He's been sitting in that corner staring at nothing since my shift started, and he hasn't moved or talked or done much of anything all morning."

Stryker frowned. "How are his vitals?"

"Physically, he's fine, sir - heartrate and blood pressure normal, breathing regulated and even, showing no signs of adverse effects from the Alpha serum. Psychologically, well, again, sir - your guess is as good as mine. He has been unusually cooperative, but he still won't let us take a blood sample."

Stryker leaned down and hit the intercom switch. "Wolverine."

The apathetic image on the monitor said nothing.

"Wolverine, what's wrong? Aren't you feeling well?"

Without looking up, the crabby old buck raised one fist and extended the middle claw.

Stryker chuckled. "Temper, temper. That's no way to behave when you're about to see your pretty girlfriend, is it? I thought you'd be happy."

That got a reaction - the buck leapt to his feet and glared up at the camera mounted in the corner of the room. "Where is she?"

"She's fine - missing you, I'm told."

The buck's dark brows lowered and a deep, angry growl rumbled out of him.

"Oh, stop it," Stryker sighed, "she'll be brought to you shortly, I promise. Freshly bathed and sweet-smelling and no more damaged than the state you left her in yesterday."

A look akin to hurt flickered briefly across the buck's face, but was quickly replaced by the usual menacing glower. "I didn't leave her, you bastard - you took her outta here."

"If you were more cooperative about taking your injections, Wolverine, we might let her stay with you permanently - but you do tend to kill anyone in uniform that walks into your cell."

The buck snapped his claws out, rage darkening his rugged features. "You son of a bitch."

Stryker sighed again. "Keep it up, and you won't see her at all today. Stubborn animal."

"I'm not an animal!"

"Put your claws away, Wolverine - you'll be having company soon."

Stryker turned the intercom off and turned to Baker. "Send in a team to dose him with the Alpha serum - six men this time, and make sure they have shields."

************************************

Dr. Risman was becoming quite annoyed with her patient. The doe just lay there on the examination table, sobbing her heart out, jerking everytime an alcohol-soaked cotton ball was applied to a cut or laceration.

"Oh, stop it," she finally blurted in exasperation, as she tried to dab the bitemark on the doe's shoulder and the mutant let out an anguished yelp. "It doesn't hurt that much!"

"Why are you doing this to me?" the girl whimpered, struggling against her bonds. "What'd I ever do to you?"

"Oh, for--" Risman chucked the cotton ball into the trash and folded her arms, glaring down at the red-faced, tear-streaked doe. Maybe because she looked like a human girl, she was thinking like one, and she was just upset over losing her virginity. Hmmm. "Did he hurt you?"

The doe blinked, her wet brown eyes spilling a few more tears down her cheeks. "You're the doctor," she replied, her tone bitter. "You tell me."

Risman had to laugh - oh yes, this one was the perfect mate for the Wolverine! She pulled up a rolling stool and sat down on it, patting the doe's restrained arm in a halfhearted gesture of comfort. "You miss him, don't you? Your guard said you didn't sleep very well."

"Well, what'd you expect?" the mutant snapped, tears gone. "Why can't you just let us go? Why are you doing this?"

Risman smiled sympathetically and stood up. "You should be proud - you're a part of history, a puzzle piece of the future."

"What the hell're you talkin' about?"

The doctor smiled and picked up a pre-moistened sponge that smelled faintly of lemon. "Don't worry, we'll get you all cleaned up, and you'll look so lovely for your handsome boyfriend." She began to wipe the doe's face with the sponge, still smiling. "Close your eyes, honey, I've heard this soap stings like a bitch."

The doe squeezed her eyes shut tight, and Risman almost laughed again - it was the most cooperative she'd been in days.

"Soon as you're all set, we'll put you in with the Wolverine again - won't that be nice?"

Risman set to work sponge-bathing the rest of the mutant, who was finally silent.

************************************

Wolverine was anxious. Pacing. He'd woken up alone, and he didn't like it one bit. He didn't like the fact that his mate was still missing, and he sure as hell didn't like the fact that he couldn't get out of the room to go look for her. He stalked up and down the length of the room, claws out, slashing random things in frustration; unfortunately, almost everything in the cell was made of or lined with adamantium, so he couldn't even get the satisfaction of destroying something.

Abruptly, the inner door slid open, and Rogue was unceremoniously pushed in; the door swept shut behind her and sealed with a click. Wolverine ran to her immediately and pulled her into a nice secure corner, pushing her down to the floor where she was easier to watch over and guard.

"Logan - Logan! What're you--?"

He sniffed her all over, inspecting, assessing, assuring. She seemed all right, though her scent was a bit off - she had a slightly antiseptic smell, the smell of the white-coated humans who acted like predators and reeked of fear like prey. He growled and nuzzled into her throat, finding the warm spot below her ear where her pulse ticked nervously; wrapping both strong arms around her, he pulled her closer and inhaled deeply, finding the scent that was purely her underneath all that disinfectant garbage.

"Logan... Logan, you gotta listen to me, sugah, they got somethin' planned, and--"

She was making those noises again, the ones that sounded so carefully articulated and timed; he didn't get the meaning of them at all, and he wondered why she bothered with all that when a hiss or a growl or a purr or a sob would suffice. Although he did have to admit - when she made those noises while they were mating... now that was nice. He could listen to her do that for hours - and he had, now that he thought of it.

"Logan, there's somethin' goin' on here - the lady doctor told me th--mmmmphh..."

He kissed her deeply, cutting off the sounds; Wolverine had grown quite tired of the articulate junk, and was anxious to hear the mating noises again, now that he knew she was all right. She did smell vaguely of uneasiness; not exactly fear, and not exactly pain or illness, but a sort of nervous unrest that was putting him on edge. He didn't like that. It made him feel like she was hiding something, and he would not tolerate that from his mate.

He raised one hand and the claws sprang from their housings; without bothering to wait for her reaction, he sliced through her simple cotton gown - why did she keep putting those things on? - and pushed her down flat on her back.

"Logan!" she cried, shoving at his unyielding shoulders. "Will you listen t' me!?"

He bent over her and sniffed her - more carefully this time, starting with her hair, then down her neck, over her breasts - he couldn't resist giving those a nip or two - then down over her flat belly. When he reached the juncture of her thighs, he pushed her legs apart and bent down - and got a smack upside the head. He looked up with an angry growl, and found her glaring at him, face pink, delectable breasts heaving.

"Ah swear, Logan - Ah will get you to listen! Now stop that!"

He raised an eyebrow. She didn't want him to inspect her sex - but why not? Was there evidence there she was trying to hide? His face darkened, as if a cloud had passed over it. Had someone else taken her? Oh, he did not like that notion at all, and he didn't give a damn if the cell was indestructible - if someone had messed with the Wolverine's mate, there would be holy hell to pay.

He pushed her legs further apart, growling a warning that she should not try to stop him; she swung a foot up as if to kick him, and he ducked under it, quite effectively getting her leg up over his shoulder and opening her up to him rather nicely. She thumped the top of his head with a fist, but it didn't hurt very much and his skull was reinforced with metal anyway, so he wasn't too concerned about it. His main concern lay right there, hidden in all those soft, wiry curls, and without further delay, he bent down to taste it.

She moaned softly and the fist that had been hitting him uncurled and began to stroke his hair gently - which was much, much better, in his book. He pushed his tongue into her, eliciting a delightful cry and a tug on his hair, which was also nice. The fact that she was beginning to smell of arousal and was rolling her hips against his mouth? Damn near fabulous. But the most wonderful thing was, no matter how deeply he probed, no matter where he sniffed, licked, or tasted, he could find no one on her but him. His scent, his come, his flavor. She was his, and his alone.

"Logan... Logan! Ah'm tryin' to... oh... tell ya... oh, oh! Logan, you gotta st-- ohhh, God, Logan, right there, baby... Ah mean, wait, Ah... ohhhh, God!" She dug her nails into his scalp and pressed herself against his searching mouth, wailing with pleasure, heart pounding.

As soon as the spasms that shook her had ceased, Wolverine turned her over and thrust into her without further ado, fucking her hard and fast, one hand locked around her hip tight enough to leave a purpling bruise, the other playing with her nipples. She pushed back into his thrusts, little gasps and moans escaping her lips, her inner muscles squeezing him delightfully; he was so glad she was all right, so relieved to have her there and safe and warm and willing, and all he wanted to do at the moment was fuck her until neither of them could move anymore.

He pulled her upright a bit until she was bracing herself on the wall, leaning on her forearms; he buried his face in the crook of her neck and shoulder, pounding into her over and over, his rhythmic growls getting louder and faster, his hot breath stirring the damp, curling wisps of hair near her ear; she shuddered and came again, crying out in a most encouraging fashion, and then he was spilling into her, hot and wet and snarling as he bit into her nape.

He pulled her down to the floor again, curling around her protectively, and purred into her hair; she snuggled into the coarse hair on his chest and sighed, loving the soothing vibration of his rumbling body. "Ah swear," she said, in a mock-scolding tone, "how'm Ah s'posed to tell you anything when you keep doin' stuff like that?"

Hm. More articulating again. Her tone said she was pleased and satisfied, and maybe a bit amused, so he hummed a noncommittal little response and pulled her closer.

"Logan." He looked down at her, and she cupped his face in her hands, her expression serious. "They got somethin' up their sleeves - I don't know what they're doin', but it ain't right... we gotta get outta here. You understand?"

She looked worried. He didn't like that. But he had no idea what the hell she was going on about, so he did the only thing he could think of that would comfort and reassure her: he purred a little louder and kissed her.

Week Two, Wednesday, 1840 hours.


"Status report."

Baker handed over his clipboard and turned the sound system's volume down. "The serum's still in effect, sir, even though the buck was dosed over ten hours ago. The subjects have mated five times, and they're currently resting."

Stryker flipped through the notes, half a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Excellent. As long as Wolverine doesn't develop a resistance to the serum, things should move along much faster now." He handed the clipboard back to Baker, grinning smugly. "We'll have a product for the buyers well within the time schedule, at this rate."

***************************

Wolverine stretched languidly, a satisfied purr rumbling from his chest; he was becoming much more relaxed in his surroundings, although he certainly did not like being in captivity - he longed for the forest and the cool streams and the deep snow of the Canadian wilderness. He rolled over on his side and gazed down at his mate, who was drowsing quietly beside him, and smiled. He'd begun to think that he'd never find anyone like her, someone who could not only tolerate him, but also want to be with him, mate with him, be a loving companion. And she did love him - it was plainly evident in her glances, her movements, her scent, her gestures; she fairly lit up when he looked her way, damn near squealed when he grabbed her and held her close, and had even returned his hungry growls a time or two. She was as insatiable as he, and responded to his touches and kisses with a ferocity that rivalled his own.

Rogue sighed and cuddled closer to his softly vibrating body, snuggling into the warm space between his chest and his arm; it was comforting, knowing he was there to protect her. The thought that she ought to have been taken back to her own cell already niggled at her contentment, though - Logan should have returned to his normal self by then as well, and it was starting to worry her a bit.

She opened her eyes and looked up to discover him studying her carefully, as if he were trying to remember every pore of her skin. "Hey," she mumbled sleepily, and dropped a kiss into his chest hair.

He made a little grunting sound in response, and kissed her forehead.

"Logan," she said, her gaze flicking up to meet his warm brown eyes, "Ah been thinkin'."

He was learning to understand her as the days went on; her words weren't always clear, but her tone of voice told him a lot, and it faintly bothered him that even though she was still glowing from their last mating, her tone was serious. Serious tones meant Serious words - words he couldn't understand. He tried hard, though. "Mmf?"

She slid up his body to rest her hands on his collarbones, her skin soft and sleek against him. "They've been puttin' us together everyday for a long time - Ah'm not too sure how long we've been here, though - any idea?"

He frowned uncomprehendingly and tried not to notice the sweet scent of sex floating around them. She never wanted to mate when her tone was in Serious mode.

Seeing she wasn't going to get a response, she sighed and went on. "Well, Ah'm startin' to think - well... Ah think they want us to have sex. Ah mean, they always give us plenty of time to do it, and then right after we have one last go, they come and take me back to my own cell."

He blinked a couple of times, trying to sort out what she was trying to tell him.

"If this was some kinda sleazy joint, Ah'd be inclined to think they're makin' porn tapes of us and sellin' 'em off on the internet or somethin', but... this place is like a hospital, or a research facility. Ah think they're studyin' us for some reason." She shifted her weight to the side, the wiry curls between her thighs tickling his hip. "What're they studyin', though? What're they tryin' to find out? Ah know the old guy knows you, and that lady doctor told me we were 'puzzle pieces of the future'. What the hell does that mean?"

She was starting to sound agitated, which bothered him further; it upset him to see her upset, and he wished he could figure out what she was saying so he could comfort her somehow. He growled softly and held her closer, stroking both hands up and down her back, pressing little kisses on her cheeks and mouth.

"Logan," she whispered against his lips, "we gotta get outta here. Somethin' bad's gonna happen, Ah just know it, and we're gonna get the worst of it."

He rolled her over onto her back and licked his way down her body, bringing her peace the only way he knew how.

****************************

"The timing is perfect," Dr. Risman asserted, slapping the test results onto the desk in front of Stryker. "We have to do it now, or it'll be another three or four weeks of waiting."

Stryker frowned. "And the treatments?"

Risman folded her arms and leaned a hip onto the desk. "They're pushing things along a bit, but science can only push nature so far. Some things have to be done according to the doe's biological schedule if we want results any time soon."

Stryker sighed, glaring at the medical report. "Fine. I was hoping to study Wolverine a little longer, to see if the Alpha serum could actually alter his personality permanently - it's been taking longer and longer to wear off, and when it does, he's quiet and out of sorts for hours." He looked up at Risman, steely eyes glinting behind the rimless glasses he wore. "If we can keep him in his feral state permanently, we could keep him active for years on end, perhaps even decades. We could make a fortune just studding him."

Risman snatched the report back, glaring furiously. "I'm a doctor, not a pimp! This operation is what you hired me for, and that's what I'm concerned with - the scientific outcome of this procedure. Not making money by whoring out the test subjects."

Stryker couldn't help laughing. "All right, all right. Go ahead with Phase Two - but I want him on a regular dosing schedule, to eliminate any problems. Have darts made up, each one filled with the maximum dosage of Alpha, and able to be fired from a normal tranq gun. If we can hit him from a distance, maybe we can keep him feral round the clock, so we won't have to remove the doe every night."

"I'll have the lab techs on it before lunch. Just remember - her emotional state is as important to this operation as her physical state. If she's too nervous, or under constant stress, the procedure will fail. They need to be as comfortable as possible."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Comfortable? Do you have some suggestions, Doctor?"

Risman pushed off the desk and headed for the door. "Dose him when they're sleeping, or at least when she is. And as for physical comforts..." She paused in the doorway and turned back to give Stryker a subtle frown. "Some blankets and pillows might be a good idea."

She shut the door on his laughter.

Week Two, Friday, 1550 hours.


Rogue was thoroughly pissed with the blonde doctor lady; she was getting used to the intrusive and embarrassing tests, the almost-daily drawing of blood samples, the endless pokings and proddings, the vitamin shots... But that morning, the woman had given her one more injection than usual, and she was feeling somewhat nauseated and crabby. She'd asked the doctor what the new shot was for, and had only gotten a little smile and a pat. That condescending attitude irked her almost as much as the medical tomfoolery; it was bad enough she was being treated like an animal where her body was concerned, but to be ignored and fucking patted like that, as if she were just a stupid dog or something, a base creature unworthy of knowledge concerning its own health... Well, Rogue was in a less-than-pleasant mood when she was ushered into Logan's cell.

Wolverine ran to her and pulled her into the corner, as he usually did upon her arrival, and she was surprised to see several fat white pillows piled up next to some blankets on the floor; he'd thoughtfully arranged them into a comfortable nesting spot, and pressed her eagerly down into the plush makeshift bed, growling.

"Love what you've done with the place," she said, chuckling despite her crabbiness.

He curled around her back, his hands wandering over her curves, and purred into her ear.

"Ah swear, Logan, you never get tired, do ya? Ah can't get in here fast enough for you to start havin' a go."

Her tone said Amusement, but her body said Annoyance. Hmmm. He growled again and nipped her ear.

"Ah don't feel too great right now. Gimme a minute." She rolled over, pushing him away, and sat up. "That damn doctor lady gave me some new shot today, and Ah feel like shit. Wonder what the hell that stuff was."

He inched over to her and kissed her thigh, purring appealingly. Fuck, he'd been looking forward to seeing her and mating with her, had waited very patiently all day - he hadn't even killed the heavily-armed humans who'd brought him the nesting supplies - and now she was being all distant and cranky. She smelled faintly of lemony antiseptic, which meant the white-coated predatorprey humans had been doing something to her; he knew she didn't like that, and he didn't blame her, but it was damned frustrating to wait for so long and then get denied. Gah.

She sighed and stroked his hair absently. "Ah'm sorry, baby. It ain't you. Ah just... Ah wish Ah knew what they were up to! They won't tell me a fuckin' thing, and when they do, it's all cryptic and weird, and they act like Ah don't have any feelings, and--" Frustrated, she burst into tears, sobbing miserably into her hands, her shoulders heaving. She felt awful, inside and out, and she had no freedom, no rights, no fucking life - she had no idea what to do, and while she was grateful to have the company, seeing Logan's blank, worried stare was even more unnerving. "Ah can't take this anymore, Logan, Ah wanna go home!"

Wolverine processed the information rapidly: antiseptic, irritation, near-frantic words, heavy uneasiness, an odd tinge to her scent, and the flood of tears. He'd never seen her cry before - not like that, anyway - and he made a solemn promise to himself then and there that he would tear the person who had upset her so into tiny, twitching little bloody chunks. Nobody made the Wolverine's mate cry. Something bad had happened to her, she wasn't feeling well, and he had a feeling it had something to do with the new edge to her scent; it tickled his nostrils and made his body twitch, and if he hadn't been so worried about her, he'd have already mated with her twice. "Mmm?" he asked, sitting up and coming as close as he dared. He didn't want to crowd her, but the desire to protect and comfort and cherish her was overwhelming.

She put her head on his shoulder and bawled, her arms tight around his ribcage, her body shaking. "God, Logan, Ah wish you could understand me! Ah need your help! We gotta get outta here, you hear me?" Then, suddenly, before he even had time to return the embrace, she pulled away and smacked his chest. "Ah been tellin' you for days now that somethin's goin' on, and all you wanna do is fuck! Don't you even care that you're just as trapped as me? We're animals to them, don't you get it?" She attacked him in a rush of petulance, thumping his chest and shoulders with both hands. "Talk to me, Logan! Fuckin' speak, goddamn it! Help me, for God's sake!"

He pinned her to the floor in one swift movement, his teeth locked on her throat. He was careful not to squeeze too tightly; his plan didn't involve hurting her, but he had to stop her from attacking him like that. It was no good at all to have his mate in such a hysterical state, and he was determined to help her any way he could, but he would not allow her to take her frustrations out on him.

She continued to shove at him for a few moments, then lay still, crying; it didn't do her any good to beat on the one ally she had, and it wasn't his fault he was so messed up. It hadn't taken Rogue long to figure out that it was some kind of drug making Logan into this feral, uncommunicative creature - with all the shit they shot her veins full of, then what must they be doing to keep him under control? "Ah'm sorry," she sobbed, stroking his back. "Ah'm sorry, baby, Ah won't hit you anymore, Ah promise."

Wolverine waited a few more seconds, then increased the pressure of his bite slightly before letting go, asserting his dominance. He gave her a short growl and sat back against the pillows, studying her expression and posture; she lay there, defeated, weeping quietly, and he wondered if he'd been too harsh with her - it wasn't her fault she couldn't speak a language he understood. Well, a language that didn't involve mating, anyway. He felt confused and slightly ashamed, as if he'd struck her or something; he didn't like the idea of her just lying there, suffering, beaten into submission by her clueless mate.

Rogue sat up and crawled over to him, draping her arm across his midsection and sobbing against his ribs; she so wished he could understand, could help, could get them out of that fucking cell, but she was at a complete loss, hopeless and distraught. "Ah'm sorry," she whispered again, squeezing his waist.

He slid down until he could wrap her up in his big arms and purr comfortingly into her hair. "Prrrrr," he soothed, nuzzling her cheek.

She allowed herself to relax in his embrace, savoring the one good thing left in her world: him. "Make it better, Logan," she whispered as he gently licked the salt from her face. "Help me."

He stroked and kissed and soothed her; took his time with pulling her gown off instead of slicing through it; he moved slowly and confidently, trying to make her feel secure; and when he slid into her tight, willing body, he was gentle with her, touching and coaxing and purring. Soon enough, she was responding, and by the time they had finished and lay together in the little nest, she was calm enough to sleep.

Week Four, Thursday, 0815 hours.

"Status report." Stryker came into the room bearing the usual cup of hot Colombian coffee and held his hand out for Baker's clipboard.

Baker handed over the report, trying not to look at the ugly purple scar marring his superior officer's face; Dr. Risman had removed the stitches the week before, and while the gash had healed satisfactorily, it wasn't a pretty sight, and Baker was still struggling to keep himself from flinching every time he saw it. "The doe's just about to be returned to the buck's cell, Sir," he said, checking his watch. "The buck's been awake since dawn, and as far as I can tell from his behavior, the serum's still in effect."

Stryker's eyebrows shot up so rapidly they almost met his receding hairline. "Are you sure?"

Baker nodded. "As sure as I can be without physically examining him myself, Sir - I tried to get him to talk when he woke up, but all he does is growl and glare at the speaker."

The older man flipped through the notes on the clipboard. "That's thirty-two hours now. The last time we dosed him, it didn't wear off for twenty-six hours, and the time before that, it was--"

"Twenty-two hours, thirty-three minutes," Dr. Risman finished for him, coming in with her own cup of coffee and a stack of medical reports. "The serum takes progressively longer with each dose to work its way out of his system, and the tissue sample we managed to get last time he was sedated yielded some interesting test results."

Stryker's left eyebrow inched impossibly higher. "Which would be?"

Risman set her coffee cup down and extracted a blue folder from the stack she carried. "Based on my findings, I believe the Alpha serum is no longer being fought by the buck's healing factor - it's being absorbed."

"Absorbed? How is that different?"

Risman opened another folder and opened it to several x-rays of the buck's adamantium skeleton. "Whereas his body seems to simply tolerate his metal implants, the Alpha serum is being pulled into his cells, apparently in an effort to compensate for the large amounts we've been injecting. His system can't burn it all off at once, and it takes so long for it to break down entire back-to-back doses that it's begun incorporating the chemicals into new cells."

She opened yet another folder and produced some high-magnification photographs of what looked like honeycombs. "These are muscle-fiber bundles from a human man of roughly the same build as the buck; the groupings are large and dense and show good vascularity, or blood flow." She took out another page from the report and handed it over. "These are fiber bundles from the buck's left bicep - notice that the number of fibers in each bundle is more than triple that of the normal man, and the unusual shape of the fibers themselves."

Stryker's eyes said he was fascinated, but he did his best not to look too excited. "And what exactly does this mean? The serum's damaging him?"

Risman frowned. "Well, no, not in the physical sense - it's simply... changing him. Have you noticed how much larger and more muscled he's gotten since we began the project? The high doses of testosterone we've been giving him, plus the physical exercise, plus the sexual activity... his body is growing new muscle cells at an astounding rate, and his healing factor is simply pushing the Alpha it can't eliminate into these new cells."

At Stryker's querying look, she sighed and added, "If his system is using the serum as a building block... we may be forcing him into a secondary mutation."

****************************

No matter how many times Rogue went through the stupid medical tests, she still couldn't get used to them, and recently she'd not only become to resent them, but had also begun to fight them on occasion. The last one had involved yet another blood draw, and she'd cussed and spat and snarked at the lab-coated young phlebotomist, to the point where the woman had threatened to slap her if she didn't stop. News of Rogue's uncooperativeness had circulated like wildfire, and surprisingly, the soldiers and medical staff had actually gotten nicer. The heavily-armed man who took her to Logan's cell didn't even shove her through the door as he usually did: he instead let her through the outer door, shut it behind her, and then opened the inner door by a remote switch. It was like coming through an airlock.

Wolverine hurried to her immediately, and for some reason, she just... didn't want him to touch her. She couldn't explain it - not even to herself - but she felt woozy and crabby and somewhat like utter, utter crap, and she... just didn't want him near her.

"Ah'm fine, Logan," she said, trying to head him off, but he grabbed for her wrist as usual and tried to pull her over to the little nesting area. "Ah said Ah'm fine!" she shouted, and yanked free of his grip. "Why do you always hafta go grabbin' and pullin' and yankin' on me all the damn time? Ah've got a perfectly good brain in mah head, Logan - how 'bout you ask me nice if Ah wanna go somewhere with you?" She folded her arms and glared at him. "At least gimme a grunt or a purr or whatever it is you do these days, and gesture or somethin'."

Wolverine blinked at her, rather taken aback. She'd never rebuffed him so sharply, and if he hadn't been able to tell by her scent, he might have started wondering who she was and what she'd done with his mate. Her body language was defensive, her gaze was downright hostile, and her scent, while still her own, had an underlying... something.

Her eyes flew open wide very suddenly, and she ran across the room; Wolverine followed her, worried, and stopped a few paces behind her as she fell to her knees beside the stainless-steel toilet and vomited violently. "Oh, God," she panted, eyes watering. "Ah feel soohhhhgg--!" Again.

Wolverine paced, perplexed, unsure of what to do; she didn't appear ill in the "disease" sense, but...

Rogue lifted her head from the bowl, tears streaming down her face. "Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!" Her head dropped and she emptied the last of her stomach's contents into the toilet, gasping for air, heaving and gagging and crying all at the same time. "Oh, fuck," she moaned again, pushing her hair back out of her face. "Ah knew it hadda happen sooner or later, but... oh, shit..." She buried her face in her hands and sobbed, and the automatic sensor on the toilet flushed her breakfast away.

Wolverine offered her the bottle of water he'd received with his own breakfast, and she rinsed her mouth, still sobbing. He paced and fretted, and finally made a little prrp? noise to get her attention; when she looked up, he pointed to the makeshift bed.

She gave him a watery smile. "Wow, you actually understood what Ah was sayin' earlier? You're gettin' better at this, sugah."

He hadn't, but he did understand why she'd done it - and why her scent and behavior had changed so dramatically. He offered her a hand to help her up, and led her slowly and gently to the nest he'd made; he kept a respectful distance as she settled herself down on the pillows, and when she was comfortable, she gestured for him to join her. He did so, curling his body around her protectively, and purred softly into her hair as he stroked her abdomen in slow, soothing circles.

***************************

"What do you mean, a 'secondary mutation'?" Stryker wasn't sure if he was pleased, fascinated, or apprehensive; very likely, it was a combination of all three.

"He's becoming more animalistic and uncommunicative; his cells are starting to resemble that of an extremely active wild beast; and while we know his body can regenerate its own cells at a rapid pace, we've never known it to genetically engineer its own cells. This could be a problem."

Stryker huffed impatiently. "So what does this mean for the project? Is he a liability?"

"At the moment, no, I don't think so - but then, it doesn't matter much right now, anyway."

Both Baker and Stryker looked up, and Risman smiled. "Congratulations, gentlemen - Phase Two is a success." She dropped the last of the folders on the desk and opened the top file to a page of test results.

"The doe is pregnant."