He didn’t bother to strip off his uniform, just stumbled in to his room after bidding good night for equally exhausted Storm. Leather hung on him on scorched tatters, exposing mangled flesh and slowly healing lacerations all over him. He was ready to keel over and sleep comatose for the coming week.
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“Not tonight, you sick bitch. Maybe tomorrow,” he grunted when he saw that his guest ad already arrived and was sitting on the armchair, her feet crossed Indian style and her multicolored hair twisted to a loose bun on top of her head. He’d need everything, every drop of the precious liquid still running in his veins for himself.
To his surprise she didn’t argue. Didn’t try to haggle, but nodded instead and stood from the chair gracefully, stretching slowly before approaching him.
“You look a bit torn up,” she drawled, her fingers ghosting over the remains of his uniform, cooling his exposed, inflamed flesh with her touch.
“Can’t have you sick. You must get better,” she said with steely resolve in her voice and pushed him gently on to the bed, then started to peel off the black leather from him.
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She cleaned him meticulously, licked off blood and grime, obviously savoring the rusty taste of it on her tongue, purring audibly and stopping only to lick her lips every now and then. When her cold tongue reached his throat he grasped the front of her shirt and hauled her upwards, his trembling biceps only barely keeping her away from his hurt flesh.
“I told you. Not tonight…” He let his claws out, just enough to score her skin, but it was enough. When he let her go she scooted away from his neck, trailing backwards the path of her tongue over his chest and stomach, lingering a while over his nipples and navel until darting lower.
She felt almost warm when her lips wrapped around his cock. She licked and sucked the head, her tongue teasing the weeping slit. When she cupped his balls he grasped her hair and thrust deeper. At first she struggled, but he kept going until her throat relaxed, fucking her mouth slower, but just as forcefully as he fucked her otherwise.
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She swallowed, her throat constricting around him, her fingers kneading his balls none too gently. He could feel her nose buried against his pubic hair, and ground his hips against her face, nearly blind from the need to take her, mark her, have her and fuck her until she pleaded for mercy.
Of course that would never happen. Neither of them was built that way. Mercy, receiving or giving it wasn’t ingrained in to their system. But it was a nice illusion, and she could pretend rather convincingly when she felt like it. Now it looked like that kind of reprieve wasn’t in the program of the night. Betrayal was.
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He felt it, her sharp canines piercing the sensitive flesh at the base of his cock. Familiar cloud of grey weakness spreading over him. His hips still working, his hands locked in to her hair and his cock pounding her throat while she harvested her reward, suction growing every passing second until it was impossible to hold back any longer.
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She rose slowly, licking the mixture of semen and blood from her lips, her eyes half hooded, dreamy look on her face.
“That was almost better than before… We should do this more often…” She whispered, crawling over until she was straddling his chest, her face lowered and her hair fallen from the bun covering their faces like a velvet curtain.
“I fucking told you…” He growled, trying weakly to throw her off from him. She swatted his hands away easily, leaning even lower and kissing him hard, letting him taste his own taste and nibbling his lips surprisingly gently, her hunger now sated.
“I wasn’t too rough now… Was I?” She purred, her tongue sliding over his earlobe, dipping in and probing deeper. He turned his head disgusted and she giggled.
“Is my little fuzzy-wuzzy Wolverine angry?” She cooed. He kept his gaze locked firmly to a wall on his left, small muscle at the side of his jaw ticking.
“Did I hurt my big boy?” She taunted, grasping his face between her palms, forcing him to look at her.
She was completely serious now. There was no cocky smirk on her face. No mischievous gleam in her eyes.
“I’d say we’re even now,” she said. She felt scorching hot against his now cooled, clammy skin. It was impossible to resist the urge. He grasped her with his shivering hands, pulling her firmer against him and buried his face to the crook of her neck, seeking warmth. She snorted and sat up, scooting off from him.
“We both know very well why I’m here. Don’t go confusing this to something this isn’t,” she said. He curled on his side, trying to reach for the blanket. It fell from his numb fingers on to the floor, out of reach.
He closed his eyes and felt the inevitable twirling fall towards darkness to start. Tired. So fucking tired and heavy. He could feel the metallic coating of his bones, almost suffocating, and cold embrace of it. It was an effort to breathe. His heart was skipping beats in its haste. He could still smell and taste the rusty tang of his own blood, nauseating coating over his tongue and teeth. Nauseating, and strangely alluring.
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When he felt the blanket landing over him and her hand sliding over his forehead, smoothing back his tangled hair he grasped her wrist. Brought it to his lips and bit hard. It wasn’t hard enough to break the skin, but her appalled and horrified look as she fled from him made him feel so much better.
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