Logan shivered beneath the heavy layer of quilts he had first tucked Marie into, then climbed beneath the night before. It wasn't quite dawn, but something rankled in the back of his mind like the smell of rotten meat. Sitting up slowly, he tried not to shift Marie, who was curled up next to his side, sound asleep. His eyes, reflecting light like those of an animal in the darkness, easily adjusted to the dim surroundings. A faint glow from the living room below and the faint sound of barely crackling logs made Logan grunt irritably.
Of course he was freezing. Not only did he have metal bones, which ached in the biting cold, the stinkin' fire was running low.
Grumbling beneath his breath, Logan attempted to extricate himself from Marie's grasp. Her long, lithe fingers were wound tightly in his long john top, her socked feet entwined around his ankles. It was highly irritating that he happened to be wearing clothes to bed. Normally the Wolverine enjoyed sprawling, naked, enjoying the ne'er do well attitude that generally accompanied those comfortable in their bare skin. However, the past few nights, the temperature had dropped so low that even someone with an almost instant healing ability needed a little something-something to keep his nipples from freezing into a permanently erect state.
Wiggling forward, he managed to slide out of Marie's amazingly strong grip. He began to smirk, then let out a small hiss as his painful, scratchy-pajama-pant-covered early morning erection brushed against her flannel covered breasts. It didn't help matters that Marie had taken to wearing his flannels to bed over her long johns in the three weeks since they'd arrived at the cabin. Not only did she look delectable, she smelled like him. Every time her long, legging clad legs peeked from beneath his extra large tartan plaid shirt while she walked around fixing breakfast of a morning, something positively feral uncurled within him.
The Wolverine purred, thinking of something that involved a little more than snuggling together for warmth...something that called for a good deal of...friction. Without control, his hand slipped forward, tenderly, to brush a lock of Marie's hair back from her face. Fingertips trailed, millimeters above her dangerous skin to drag across Marie's flannel covered collar bone. Unknowingly, Logan leaned forward, the Wolverine drinking in Marie's tantalizing scent. His lips hovered, barely above her skin, wanting to taste the junction of neck and body...
Logan shook his head, shuddering at the carnal thoughts that surged through his mind. "Fric...fire." He muttered, dashing sleep from his eyes. Standing up, he almost yelped when his feet touched the frigid floor. The creeping cold slid up his legs and over his body, producing the most undesirable action possible in the Wolverine's opinion.
For once, Logan had to agree. "Way to make my dick deflate," he muttered. He stuck his feet into his boots, then clumped quietly down the stairs. He frowned at the dwindling stack of firewood. There were only five logs left in the log box, the rest of the wood was stored in a shed some 50 yards away from the cabin. Logan reached for one of the ornate pokers and stoked the fire, adding several more logs. The fire hungrily devoured its newest fuel source, precious heat flowing outwards and upwards. Logan heard Marie sigh contentedly. Good, she was warm.
The Wolverine smirked. She'd be even warmer when he got back in bed with her... he'd make sure of that. He felt himself grinning as his foot mounted the bottom step. Suddenly, the rotten-meat-feeling slammed across his senses with a vengeance. He doubled over, his nose and ears listening keenly to something beginning to howl outside. No, not an animal.
Mother Nature.
"Sonufabitch," he hissed, "It's a whiteout."
Whiteouts were the worst possible winter storms that Canadian weather was capable of producing. Not only were they wickedly cold, even more so than now, they completely destroyed perception. Snowfall was often so rapid and fast that complete mountain ranges could disappear to the naked eye. The 50 yard dash to the shed was now a matter of life or death. Not his, but Marie's.
Scrambling, Logan wiggled his way into his jeans, a flannel shirt, a vest, and his bomber jacket. He tugged a cap down over his unruly hair, then gloves to prevent his hands from chapping. Outside the door, four paces to the left, was an old Radio Flyer sled. If he could get to the sled, he could easily bring back enough wood to outlast the vicious storm.
Wolverine smirked, hell yeah he'd be bringing the wood.
Logan shoved his feral side down and dashed into the basement. There, sitting on one of Carol Danvers craft benches, was a roll of industrial twine.
"Just in case," he grunted. He tied one end of the twine to the leg of the heaviest piece of furniture available, the sofa. Then, as if he was preparing to go on a hike, Logan belayed the twine around his middle, providing him with plenty of room to maneuver. Glancing at the Scrabble game he and Marie had abandoned when it became too cold the night before, he reached out and snatched the score tablet and stubby pencil from the coffee table. He scribbled a note to Marie on the paper, in case she woke up, and stuck it beneath her favorite coffee mug on the kitchen counter.
Gritting his teeth, Logan turned to face the door. He could feel the pressure the wind was exerting against it. It was absolutely mind-boggling. He yanked inwards, a mound of snow falling to the wooden floors then melting in the heat of the cabin. As a last ditch measure, he wrapped a scarf around his face. The air was much easier to breathe now. It barely stung his lungs.
Taking one step outside, Logan confidently walked forward towards the firewood shed.
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Marie yawned as a bitterly cold chill swept up the loft stairs and scurried beneath the covers, making her jump. She groped blindly for Logan, her hand finding nothing next to her in the bed. Her rapidly fading Wolverine-esque senses picked out his delectable scent, trailing downstairs to the first floor. Damn it was cold without him.
Marie floated out of bed, taking the quilts with her as she hovered her way to the first floor. The smell of snow was overwhelming, and the draft was obviously coming from the barely cracked front door. The snarling wind stirred up the paper beneath her favorite coffee cup, and the sudden smell of recent Logan made her step forward to pick up the yellowed notebook paper.
Five words were scribbled there in practically illegible handwriting, "Marie, Whiteout, Firewood, Back Soon."
Her eyes glanced around the room towards the dwindling pile of wood and tiny fire, then to the slack piece of twine that was wrapped around the sofa edge. Glancing at the military time notice also scribbled on the paper, Marie knew Logan had to have left around two in the morning. It was now six o'clock AM. Panic settled in like a freight train. Marie glanced at the instructions on the paper, crumbled it, and reached for the twine that led towards the open front door. Pulling, hard, on the twine, Marie was shocked to find its frayed edge come skidding into the cabin, no Logan attached.
She dashed foward, glancing into the blindingly white snow to try and find Logan's body. Visibility was nil, and her eyesight was already poor enough as it is.
"LOGAN!" she yelled, desperate.
Frantically, Marie scrambled around, tucking her feet into her snow boots and pulling a warm jacket over her head. She took her gloves out of her jacket pocket, slid them on, and stomped forward resolutely. No less than five minutes later, when no answer came, Marie staggered blindly out into the snow.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Chapter 3: Whiteout
A/N: Thank you so much to everyone that has reviewed! I'm so glad you like the story!
Theme Music: "Knockin' On Heaven's Door" by Guns 'n' Roses
"You just better start sniffin' your own rank subjugation jack, 'cause it's just you against your tattered libido, the bank, and the mortician, and it wouldn't be luck if you could get out of life alive." (Obviously, I think, a Wolverine song!)
A/N: Thank you so much to everyone that has reviewed! I'm so glad you like the story!
Theme Music: "Knockin' On Heaven's Door" by Guns 'n' Roses
"You just better start sniffin' your own rank subjugation jack, 'cause it's just you against your tattered libido, the bank, and the mortician, and it wouldn't be luck if you could get out of life alive." (Obviously, I think, a Wolverine song!)