1. Chapter 1 by hobbitsdoitbetter
CHAPTER ONE
Disclaimer: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta read, so all mistakes are mine.
Storm held her teacup up before her and stared intently over the rim.
Inhaled the jasmine-scented brew-
And waited for the mighty Wolverine to crack.
Because in front of her, she had the yearly audit for the Mansion’s upkeep- And they both knew what she had found within its boring, manila pages. They both knew why she’d called him here. Turned out, they had a bit of a problem. A problem neither of them could ignore. She was going to have to curb one of his behaviours and experience told her the attempt would not be pretty-
Logan growled then, though he met her eyes levelly. His fingers going towards his lighter like he really, really wanted a smoke. Or a cage fight. Or another weekend locked in the Danger Room with Marie.
Ororo repressed a small smile.
“You know why you’re here,” she began without preamble. The growling lowered in intensity, and once again she tried not to grin. Rogue was right, he could be adorable when he was angry-Not that she’d ever be foolish enough to tell the Wolverine that to his face. But still, it explained her favourite student’s fondness for annoying him. Or for getting him “hot and bothered,” as she usually termed it. Storm pushed the mental image away. “I’ve been looking over the maintenance logs for the past six months,” she continued, unwilling to dwell on that thought, “and I’ve noticed a slight… discrepancy.” If anything the growling got worse. “It seems that you have required major refurbishment on your quarters four times this year already.” He cocked an eyebrow and a side order of glowering arrived, just to keep the growling company. “Various items of furniture have been-” she checked the records before her, reading from twelve separate receipts- “Gashed, torn, the bed has had its springs broken, been set on fire, lost all four legs on different occasions and your chair has had its armrests removed and then reattached. Oh, and that’s not counting the damage to the paintwork. Does that sound about right?”
And she looked up at him, doing her best to keep a straight face.
If anything, his glowering became even more impressive: Storm thought the paint on the wall behind her head might start to peel with the strength of it. “What’s yer point?” he asked tersely.
Ororo shook her head. “My point, aside from the fact that your room seems to be under a gypsy curse-” He rolled his eyes, “Is that the furniture you keep tearing to pieces happens to be antique.”
He snorted. “So am I. What the fuck does that matter?”
Now it was her turn to roll her eyes. “It matters because getting it repaired costs more than keeping on three of the day staff. It matters because we can’t afford to have that chair reupholstered again. And don’t even get me started on the bed springs.” She crossed her arms. “Things can’t continue to be wrecked, Logan. And while you and I both know how this happened-”
“Believe you me, snowflake,” he snickered, “You do not know a thing about how this happened-”
Storm shook her head again. “You might be fond of crowing about your prowess, Logan-” And Marie is certainly fond of boasting about it too- “But I assure you that you have not done anything in that room that I haven’t heard of before.”
A lazy smile spread across his face. “Oh really, snowflake?”
“Yes, really.”
“Wanna bet on that?”
Again she rolled her eyes. “And why would I do that?”
His expression grew mischievous. “Because you’re curious as Hell.” He shot her his famous predatory grin. “And you might get to teach that new boyfriend of yours, what’s his name? Remy? A thing or two.” He shrugged. “It’s just a thought.” Logan leaned back in the chair, face as close as it ever got to angelic. Those massive forearms crossed over his chest, daring her to say no.
Oh my.
A beat passed, then another. Then another. Storm chewing on her lip, curious but torn. Knowing that doubtless he could smell it. But she couldn’t- She wouldn’t- It wasn’t any of her business. But then again…
“Fine,” she muttered. “You have a deal.” Curiosity having gotten the better of her. That and the desire to put the smug smile on the other side of Logan’s face. Because seriously? She doubted he could make good on his boast. No matter how old he was.
Or how creative.
“Deal,” he echoed. If possible his expression getting even more smug. “Ask away.” Ororo swallowed, suppressing a sudden twinge of unease. He was looking awfully cocky about this… But then, she worked at a school, she supposed continuing her education should be a priority even now…
“So tell me,” she began tentatively, “How on Earth… How on Earth did you manage to set the bed on fire?”
His grin turned feral. “I got two words fer ya, snowflake: Valentine’s Day.”
Valentine’s Day
There are a few hot things a girl can get fer her man on Valentine’s Day.
Hand-cuffs.
Sexy Lingerie.
Imaginative porn.
But the hottest, in Logan’s opinion, was a stolen US Army tank.
An M1A1 Abrams main battle tank, to be exact. Complete with Gen II TIS firepower upgrade and purpose modified SEP thermal imaging software just to give it some get up and go. It was, quite simply, the sexiest thing she mighta ever done fer him- On the battlefield at least. Especially since Marie used it to mow through the twelve highly-trained government operatives who had him cornered on Liberty Island and then gleefully flatten Senator David Kelly’s helicopter. Twice. The second time taking out his Jaguar too.
Her sense o’ thoroughness being something she was quite proud of.
Logan had to admit it: His woman fucking rocked.
“Happy Valentine’s,” she’d cooed at him as she reversed over a final, broke-down bumper, and Logan was tempted to propose right then and there. Because damn; he was impressed. But instead he scrambled inside, popped the door closed and took great delight in trundling back to the Blackbird, grinning all the way. Woulda jumped Marie in the cockpit if he’d had even half a chance but Hank was yelling and Storm was ordering ‘em to fall back and Hell but even he had his limits when it came to dangerous sex. Best not to try anything on a control panel that makes shit go boom, he’d learned that the hard way. Besides, a tank is a lotta things but manoeuvrable ain’t one of ’em and half the fun of fuckin’ Marie was how damn bendy she was. His girl bordered on the gymnastic, if she was in the right mood. Alas however there’s gymnastic and double-jointed and only the latter woulda survived getting down and dirty in that cock-pit-
Which was why they’d listened to Hank and fallen back. She’d pouted all the way.
Logan didn’t blame her. If it hadn’t been completely girly he’da pouted too.
The journey back in the Blackbird was quiet, the pair o’ them just staring at each other while the air sizzled. Storm and Jubes both seemed to think it was hysterical, but the male X-Men were less impressed. Being around a sexually charged Wolverine was enough to make all the boys feel a little on edge. Storm (bless her) didn’t even ask him and Rogue to stay for the briefing, she just nodded, said “Keep the noise down after eleven,” and sent them on their merry way. They got up the stairs so fast they might as well have teleported and then-
Well, the door was closed and Marie actually tore the suit offa him. Not giving a shit whether it hurt because in her own words- “T’ain’t like that’s been a problem for ya before, shuggs…” And the next three hours fucking rocked. Rolled. Howled at the moon. Tried it from behind the first time that day, her leaning all her weight against the chair’s armrests and taunting him, muttering the kind o’ vulgarity he’d once thought couldn’t ever come outta her sweet mouth. They came together, breathless, holding onto one another tight enough to steal the breath from his chest. And then she grinned mischievously at him, slipping off the chair and lighting some candles. Pulling out a bottle of massage oil, something that smelled smoky and earthy and not the least bit chemical, thank Christ. Her smile turned wicked as she straddled him, whispering what she wanted to do. Pouring the slick liquid into her hands, warming them and then kneading his willing flesh. Fingers searching out every kink and shivery spot he possessed. “Love ya,” he whispered softly, into her hair. Kissing her temple. There was oil everywhere, her fingers were everywhere. For the first time in forever he felt relaxed and he had her to thank fer it…
“Love you too, sugah.” And she smiled into his chest. Silent and nuzzling his neck. Fingers whispering wetly down his chest, tossing her hair as they geared up for round two. She arched her spine, leaning backwards and preparing to take him inside her once more, and as she did so she knocked one of the candles over. Right onto the (oil-covered) chair. And Logan’s (oil-covered) legs.
Which promptly went on fire.
The word he was looking fer was Shit. With an order of Fuck and maybe some Goddamn on the side.
The word he came out with was, “Aaaaaargh!”
And then, just t’be extra girly- “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!”
He lunged off the chair, tossing Marie aside for her own safety. Well aware that the flames wouldn’t kill him, they were just hurting like fuck. He might be the best of the best at what he did nothing kills the mood faster than your woman screaming “Shit! Shit! Put it out!” while her man dances on their burning leather cushions, trying not to stand on her feet and desperately attempting to keep his (now flammable) man parts away from the open flame. The jiggling about not exactly helping said man-parts when they’re in a state of arousal already and do not need to be bounced about. At all. What the hell had Marie bin thinking drowning him in that oil? Where the Hell had she even got it from? Because Estee Lauder weren’t in the chemical weapons trade far as he knew and there musta bin enough alcohol in that bottle to get the Dallas Cowboys drunk- or one Canadian feral flaming. Healing factor or no there are just some part of the human body that should not be singed- Ever- And while Logan had previously thought that Marie was as fond of those parts as he was he knew now that he was obviously mistaken-
So very, very mistaken.
He jumped out of the way of another flame, stubbing his toe on his bedside locker and smacking his hand into one of the drawers then. Crushing it.
And again with the “Aaaaaaaaargh!”
Marie tried to help then, pulling one of the pillows from the bed and beating at the… endangered area with it. Which woulda been fine had Logan not hopped out of the way of a particularly high flame and smacked his groin into her hand. Not in the fun, whoa-I’m-glad-your-Momma-don’t-know-you-do-that way. The other way. The Being A Man Sucks Way. The We Will Never Have Children way. Pain exploded through his crotch even as the flames licked higher up his thighs and Logan hightailed it outta her reach, snarling and trying not to let lose his claws. Begging her to stay back before she did something else and something o’ his either burst into flame or fell off. He curled in on himself, accidentally knocking over another candle as he skittered back. It tumbled as if in slow motion onto the bed, bouncing once-twice-three times onto the covers. And then, helpfully, setting the bed alight like a Roman candle. A oil-dowsed Roman candle, because that was where Marie had left the Massage Bottle of Doom before she straddled him and this whole thing kicked off. There was a massive WHOOSH! As fire engulfed the bed and again Logan thought it: Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
My dick is gonna be toast. Shit. Just when it’d found its happy place it gets cut down in the prime o’ life. Shitty shit. Marie’s gonna think I’m an idiot. Shitty shitty shit.
And with that near-Apocalyptic thought, the sprinklers came on. Dowsing the fire and what was left of Logan’s dignity in one fell swoop.
He took in the scene then. The furniture, the curtains. The now melted Massage Bottle of Doom. Marie of course looked gorgeous, all wet and sexy and wanton as Hell. Biting her lips, nipples standing to attention in the cold, she looked good enough to eat. While he- He looked like a drowned skunk. His hair plastered to his forehead and his cock a horrible mix of purple and blue, waving forlornly about like it was about to go MIA. Or demand a divorce. His skin had started to heal but his reputation might never recover: Marie would probably never look at him with a straight face again. Probably never steal a tank fer him again neither. He’d been the mighty Wolverine up until now, her own personal bad boy and now he was… Bugs Fucking Bunny. Wile E. Coyote. Or maybe that guy from the Evil Dead movies who lost his hand. They would never have sex again after this. How could they? He felt fucking ridiculous! He’d burnt his balls! Nearly fallen on his ass! She’d probably run away and shack up with the Ice-prick again. Or the chocolate teapot that was Remy LeBeau. Or maybe Pyro, or Guthrie or even Nightcrawler-
“Are you okay?” she interrupted then. She looked somewhere between horror and amusement, her brown eyes dancing in the light. Little hands clenched against the manhood-destroying pillow like it had a mind of its own- Which Logan thought it might have.
“Do I fucking look okay, Marie?” he growled. Hands on his hips.
Her lips twitched. “No, you look like a little teapot.”
“What?” It was not a friendly syllable.
“Ah said, you look like a little teapot.” She gestured to his pose, sashaying towards him. “A sexy, growly, hairy-”
“-Smokin’-”
“-Smokin’, not-so-little teapot.” She was right in front of him by now. Her face softened as she ran her fingers across his newly-healed cheek, her other going to his chest. His heart. “Does it hurt?” she whispered, concern replacing amusement for a moment. “Will ya- Will ya be okay?”
And just like that, he was fine.
Because she was still looking at him like she was his Marie. Like he was the big, bad Wolverine and she wanted to jump his bones or keep his heart. Whichever came first. He kissed her knuckles, nipping at them just to remind her who she was dealing with. “Course it hurts,” he told her.“And yeah, I will be okay.” She smiled at him as he said it, her scent not changing even a bit. She must actually love him, not to be put off by what she’d seen. What she’d witnessed.
But she was never lighting a candle around him again. Not unless he was wearing a HAZMAT suit and had a shit-load of fire-extinguishers at hand.
“So you wanna sleep in mah room tonight, shuggs?” She waggled her eyebrows, fingers twining in his. Pulling him to her. “Ah’ll kiss you better…” And she did kiss him, light and soft and teasing on his newly healed lips. God he loved this woman, he truly did. Just not enough to give her access to matches or accelerant ever, ever again. Logan took in their ruined chair, the smoking remains of the bed and shook his head. Life was returning… To all his extremities. Even the singed ones. And she looked awful fucking good.“Nah, darlin’,” he muttered. “An X-Man don’t fall back in the face of adversity.”
“Oh, and what does an X-Man do?”
His smile turned feral. He nipped at her neck, enjoying the way it made her squirm, then pulled her floor-ward. His discomfort forgotten at the opportunity to show her what he could do arose (pun intended) again. “An X-Man,” he explained patiently, “Sees what else he can total when he’s with his favourite girl, and then he sets to work.”
She cocked a cynical eyebrow at him. “Is that in Scooter’s X-Man hand-book?”
“Nah, darlin’, that there is 100% Wolverine.”
She giggled, squirming against him. Her hands roaming southwards and making sure everything was working fine. Which- hey, tickles- it was. “So it is, shuggs,” she muttered breathlessly, fingers cupping him, “So it is…”
“And that’s how the chair lost its armrests the first time,” Logan finished. “Well, about at hour later, that’s how the chair lost its armrests the first time. And that’s how the bed got set on fire.”
Ororo closed her mouth with an audible snap.
She was staring at him wide-eyed, unable to believe what she’d just heard. He managed to- Him and Marie were able to-
“After you’d been set on fire???” she finally shrieked.
And then- it didn’t often happen- she blushed.
Logan’s look was pure smugness. “Best o’ the best at what I do darlin’,” he pointed out. Clearly enjoying the way she was reacting to his cautionary tale. “Wasn’t about to let a little fire slow me down. Not in front o’ Marie.” Storm suspected she was still staring at him. Mainly because she was. “Besides,” he said, his voice turning surprisingly soft, “It’s my girl we’re talking about. Wouldn’t matter what happened t’me: She wants t’play and we play.”
That was just about the sweetest thing Ororo had ever heard him say in front of her. Though wisely she suppressed the urge to say “Aaaaw,” as she took in his smiling face.
They both cleared their throat uncomfortably at the same time.
“Well can you play without breaking the furniture?” she asked after a moment. Trying to recover. “Please?”
“I ain’t promising nothing, snowflake. Me an’ Marie are me an’ Marie, and nothing’s getting in the way o’ that.” She opened her mouth to protest and he spoke over her. “But leave it with me and I’ll see what I can do. After all, her birthday’s not ‘til May-time, I wasn’t planning nothing big til then. And the fourth o‘ July‘s more of a travelling holiday…” his grin grew wider, some adventure occurring to him….
Storm realised that she really didn’t want to know. She didn’t.
Ahem.
“Well, I’ll take that as a maybe then,” she said then with forced brightness. It was really the best she could hope for…
“Like I said I’ll try.” And that said he stood, leaving her. Making her wonder what she’d have to deal with come May-time. Making her wonder whether this meeting was going to become a regular part of her year. Because if it was she was going to have to start thinking of ways to include it in their budget- And maybe get a could decorator on retainer, since she didn’t think their current one was equipped to handle an Act of Wolverine. Storm smiled, taking another sip of her tea. Pulled out her cell-phone and dialled Remy’s number. She’d have to started thinking about things to do for Valentine’s Day nest year-
Since nothing in her room was flammable-
She hoped.