Logan was a man of definites, his likes and dislikes clearcut. Meat should be rare, beer cold, and women grown up. He was aware of the speculation his arrival with Marie had caused - even if he hadn't been able to hear every word whispered in the hallways, the sly insinuations were far from subtle - but he refused to let it bother him. Marie might mean more to him than any other human alive, but she was just a kid, and sex didn't enter the equation.
At 16, she had been adorable but vulnerable, and his fondness was tempered with concern. He left his tags with her as a tangible reminder of his promise - he would always be thinking of her, always be there if she needed him. After over a year on the road yielded nothing but frostbite and frustration, he returned a month before her 18th birthday. Marie hurtled into his arms as soon as the door opened, a newly curvaceous spitfire that surprised and delighted him - her nervousness had gone, and guts and sass had become the dominant part of the package. And the fact that the package was tempting did not mean he was tempted, Logan told himself.
Just a few weeks later, lying in a tent with Mystique above him, that faith was shaken. Her disguise as Jean Grey catapulted him straight into his own fantasies, but when reality intervened in the shape of three clawmarks on her abdomen, Logan was able to push away from the shapechanger. Her morph into Storm failed to have any impact, but when he saw Marie's chocolate eyes and white streaks, his body was fooled in more ways than one.
Even now, weeks later, he shuddered at the memory. The urgent flash of arousal, wilder and stronger than anything he had ever felt. His cock so hard, it hurt - already beginning to pulse just at the thought of being inside that liquid warmth. The bone-deep knowledge that she was his - HIS - and that anyone who tried to come between them would end up skewered on his claws.
Mystique had sniggered derisively. His cock had told her exactly what she wanted to know, and her smirk told him she wouldn't fail to use the information. It was that, more than anything else, which gave Logan the strength to throw her from him ... he would not be used to hurt Marie. His job - no matter what his body thought - was to keep her safe.
As days and then weeks flashed by, even the tragedy at Alkali Lake receded into the background for Logan. He coped, and did his best to help others cope by taking over the day to day running of the X-Men. Scooter was helpless in his grief for Jean, Storm dispirited with their loss, and the Professor seemed suddenly smaller and older. It fell to Logan to keep the kids together, safe and fed as they disappeared into the world of safe houses and underground mutant networks. But underneath all the planning, worrying and motivational ass-kicking, Logan was aware of the Wolverine's constant focus on Marie.
"She's mine. Mine. MINE," his feral soul howled. And Logan was losing the will to disagree.
He was willing to concede that - one day - Marie would be his. Even that Marie wanted to be his - right now. But the Wolverine had no use for human conceits such as "age of consent" or "authority figure" (and just laughed at the farcical "big brother" label most of the X-geeks wanted to fix him with). And Logan refused to take a child as his lover. A standoff was entered, but the truce could break at any time. Desperate action was required.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
My first fic, albeit in development a while. I've chosen to ignore X3 as it felt completely false to the characters established in the previous films. Each chapter is an alternate POV, starting with Logan.