Today had been hell.
Just watching Marie - her arms thrown around St. John's neck and beaming as he swung her around - made him ache for something he felt he'd never have. He'd never even had a chance. She was just a kid who had relied on him, he didn't mean much to her, and if sometimes he fooled himself into thinking he did...
Well, well that was `his' problem. And one he'd never let her see, because he was the Wolverine, no weakness to be found. Logan knew he could keep the love he bore her to himself; he had so far for the last six years. He could manage another fifty or sixty. He hoped.
But she'd been so radiant, cheeks flushed in happiness as she ran around the school showing everyone her newfound control. Getting kisses and hugs from everyone. And St. John, one of her closest friends Logan knew, had done more than give her a little peck. He'd seen St. John's tongue slide into Marie's mouth and Logan had wanted to gut the little fucker on the spot. The sudden sledgehammer smell of Marie's desire pooling between her thighs had almost driven Logan to tear her from St. John's arms, throw her down and fuck her until she screamed. Of course Logan had just walked away - what the hell else was he SUPPOSED to do in that situation?
Finally reaching the haven of his room, he slammed the door shut with a thundering 'boom', slumping against it in defeat. Logan wanted to run - but he couldn't. Marie wouldn't let him leave. Even if she told him to go, or that he didn't need to look out for her anymore, `he' needed to. To wake up in the morning and see her in the halls, take a few stolen precious moments of her time. He needed to take the pain - examine it, prod it, embrace it. After all, pain was what he was used to. Never in his life - the years he could remember - had he gotten what he wanted. No light, no love, no happiness for himself. No comfort. Nothing. Just a dull set of aches that settled in the pit of his stomach and left him feeling empty.
It was times like this there was little he could do to wrest his sanity from such maudlin thoughts, to try and muster the strength to take another step. And most of those things he had given up. He couldn't even look at another woman but Marie, and he didn't fight in cages anymore - he'd stopped that to try and prove to himself, and to Marie, that he wasn't an animal. That he could be a good man, a good man for her. Even if it was a hopeless dream, it was the only one he had to hang onto. So all that left him were his fantasies, ones where Marie loved him, wanted him, and let him love her back.
Sorting through the images he'd dreamt up, he settled on one of the softer ones.
The image playing out in his head, of long slender fingers, and Marie's little pout of concentration making his knees weak. Logan let his hands mimic the way he was sure she'd be with someone she loved. Concentrating on pretending that his hands were hers, he slowly unbuttoned his shirt, sliding it down his shoulders and his arms. Peeling his black t-shirt over his head, feeling the rippling of his muscles in his back and stomach. Smoothing his hands down his chest, the springy hairs tickling his palms, fingers stroking lightly over his belt buckle, unfastening it with trembling fingers. Gliding the zipper down - the sound filling the air along with his harsh gasps of breath taking in oxygen greedily - reaching for himself through the opening in his pants, pulling himself out slowly from the right side of the tight denim. An unsure stroke from tip to base then back up. Gentle squeeze to the engorged head, a glistening droplet of pre-cum appearing there. Tips of his fingers smoothing the small amount of natural lubricant into flesh as though he was exploring himself for the first time.
It became time to move the fantasy to somewhere else, somewhere he could groan and sweat without fear of being discovered. Taking a short break from his inner visions, he stripped the rest of his clothes efficiently then strode to his bathroom, turning the faucets on to full blast as he stepped into the simple clean white tiled stall. Steam quickly enveloped him, almost reflecting his mental images, letting him believe just for a moment that he wasn't alone in there.
Again taking his hard length in hand he looked down. Dark curled hair around the base of a long heavy penis, both glistening from the steam and the simulated rain fall from the showerhead. Thick blood vessels beat just under the dusky, not quite smooth but still velvety soft to the touch, skin. The wrinkled flesh of his foreskin pushing the dark purple flared head out farther, he wondered as his eyes centered on himself what Marie would see when she looked at him. Would she see a thing of masculine beauty, or the ugliness of the animal lurking underneath despite all his physical perfection? He knew that his body was beautiful - he wasn't vain; it was just a simple matter of knowing the clean lines of form that all artists and poets lauded.
Still such thoughts weren't for the here and now, not when he was seeking the only form of release allowed him. Clearing his mind once again, he gripped himself firmly in hand, stroking himself slowly into a heat that would scorch him from the inside out. Feeling the sweat beading his brow, forming between his shoulder blades, in the center of his chest, and underneath his aching cock, sliding down his balls and thighs. The incredibly sensual feeling of a small droplet of sweat trickling down the center of his back to join the others that had gathered at the small place above his rounded ass. His long-boned hands - rough from honest toil - tightened about his cock. He could smell himself in the steamy air, his arousal and frustration culminating as his hand pumped faster, rubbed the sensitive head of his cock as it twitched and he was finally cumming - hot splashes of ejaculate splattering on the wet tile of the shower stall.
While it was fulfilling for a moment, now that it was over it left him bitter and tired. The second part of his release came upon him now - and he let it wash over him. It was far from pleasant but he needed it. Stinging tears burned the corners of his eyes, slipping down his furry cheeks as he leaned heavily against the white tiles, and he let the wracking sobs tear through him. This is what the shower was really supposed to hide - not the sounds of him grunting and groaning his sexual release, but the noise of his broken soul rending him to pieces, mournful whimpers choked from a throat closed up so tight it was impossible to breathe.
He stayed there long past the time the water ran cold.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Story Notes:
Ok this little thing happened because I was talking to Valeria and about how I hate most smut thats published by big companies (think Anne Rice, and Annis Nin or whatever her name is) and how they don't write it so you can practically feel and taste and smell what's going on. See that's good smut - those people should learn that damnit! If its supposed to be an erotic novel or even just a fic or whatnot, then you have to take the reader there. Let them feel it not just sorta imagine what's going on. So I - pardon the pun that's taken from one of QueenSax's slightly older pieces - 'shot off' a little image of Logan masturbating to Valeria and then told her not to use it because a mini-bunny had attached itself to me. And thank goodness it has - because JJ could use some smut after a not so fun little operation, and this should hopefully cheer her up. In all its angsty glory, that is. So if this doesn't make most of you all cheery - just remember that JJ loves to make Wolvie cry like a baby. Start Date: May 20, 2004. Finish Date: May 20, 2004. Beta: JJ (yes JJ beta'd her own little cheer-up smut, hey she's good at beta-ing just like 'styla, but JJ wanted to 'preview' it and beta'd it before I could get it to Astyala, so what can ya do?)