Tuxedo'd waiters, black tie
White tablecloths and red wine
We've been plannin' this night
Lookin' forward to it for some time
Now I know you love gettin' dressed up
And you know I love showin' you off
But watchin' your baby blue eyes
Dancin' in the candlelight glow
All I can think about
Is Gettin' You Home.
Walkin' through the front door
Seein' your black dress hit the floor
Honey there sure ain't nothin'
Like you lovin' me all night long
And all I can think about
Is Gettin' You Home.
Standing at the top of the stairs, dressed in his custom tailored tuxedo, Logan’s eyes blazed with pure raging desire as he drank in the vision that was Marie.
At least once every day since their wedding six months ago he had caught himself staring at Marie in utter amazement, completely captivated by some small nuance of her appearance that he hadn’t noticed before—the way her eyes glowed when she learned something new; the curl of her lips when she had him over a barrel and she knew it; the sexy way her hair always fell down, one stray tendril at a time, when she tried to wear it up.
But now, right now, this second, smiling up at him from the bottom of the mansion’s sweeping staircase, she was more beautiful than she had ever been and he wanted to eat her alive right on the spot.
Her long, dark hair fell in a sleek, shiny cascade over her shoulders, the white streaks that he loved so much framing her flawless complexion. Her slender neck was cloaked in the high collar of her sleeveless black velvet dress that fit her like a second skin, accentuating every feminine curve to perfection and falling away from her hips in a swirl of soft pleats that went all the way to the floor. Scattered across the front of the gown were tiny, sparkling beads that glittered in the light of the foyer chandelier. She looked for all the world like a cloudless night sky and he could have happily stood there ‘til dawn wishing on every star on her body.
I wish I were peeling that stunning garment off of you right now, inch by maddening inch.
I wish I were kissing you from your eyelids to your toes and everywhere in between.
I wish you were beneath me with those long legs wrapped around me.
I wish I was inside you, making you scream into the starry night.
And his most secret wish of all, the one he only recently let his heart put into words for the first time--
I wish we were making a ba--
“Logan!”
Hank’s voice interrupted his reverie. The blue beast was formally dressed and obviously stressed.
“Don’t just stand there, my good man, the limo is waiting,” Hank chastised as he shepherded Rogue and his own gorgeous date, Storm, toward the front door.
“Sorry, I was just admiring the view,” Logan returned as he sauntered down the stairs, all too aware of the tightening in his groin. He flashed his wife a smoldering look, which she acknowledged with a smile so enticing it was all he could do to keep from throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her right back up the stairs.
Hell, if we were alone, we’d be doing it ON the stairs.
But, she had been looking forward to this night out for weeks, so he tried mightily to keep his libido in check, for her sake.
---------------
Rouge’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of him.
Logan in a tuxedo was the most fiercely arousing thing she had ever seen. Rather than toning down all that feral energy, the fine tailoring of his white shirt, black tie and perfectly fitted black jacket and pants only served to enhance it. He was at once elegant and dangerous, like a pearl-handled switchblade.
She was so turned on she actually considered running back up to their room to change her underwear. That poor little black silk thong was way past damp already. But then he looked up from straightening his cuffs and she was caught, like a deer staring into headlights, by the expression on his face as he gazed down at her from the top of the stairs.
God, if we were alone, I’d hike this dress up and there’d be some hot stair sex in the old mansion tonight. Whose idea was this gussied up affair anyway?
It was Hank’s idea, actually, but Rogue had to admit that she had taken him up on it without hesitation. He had invited the newlyweds to join him and Storm for this occasion, a black-tie dinner given by the Westchester Historical Society in honor of Hank’s significant contributions to its human-mutant relations archives.
---------------
“So would Logan have to wear a tux?” she had inquired when Hank showed her the embossed invitation several weeks ago.
“Yes, that’s what ‘black tie’ means,” he explained kindly.
“Then we’ll be there. Definitely,” she replied with only the slightest worry that Logan would balk at the dress code.
Surprisingly, he hadn’t, other than to refer to the tux as a ‘monkey suit’. He’d even stood patiently two days later while Hank’s tailor, a rather flustered gay man named Henri, had measured him, inseam and all.
“How about if we write all this down and keep a copy?” Logan had asked Rogue during the fitting. “Since I figure I’m all done growing, if I keep that list handy, I shouldn’t ever have to go through this again.”
“Oh, sugar, unclench your jaw and be happy that I didn’t make you wear one of these to our wedding,” Rogue had replied with a giggle.
“Now that you mention it, why didn’t you?”
“Good Lord, Logan, the Wolverine and the Rogue were getting married. If we’d been any more traditional—any more conventional—than we were, the universe as we know it may have ceased to exist.”
“Which is your way of saying…”
“I was marrying the real you, not the dressed up, Prince Charming version. Besides, you looked sexy in your jeans and your old, beat up leather jacket. You always do,” she said, linking arms with him as the tailor packed up his tape measure and dabbed his brow—again.
“You looked pretty hot in that green satin gown, too,” Logan whispered as he leaned down to kiss the soft spot behind her left ear. “Wanna go upstairs and play dress up some more? You could be the bride…”
---------------
As she rode next to Logan in the limo, Rogue felt him squeeze her hand. She met his gaze and, seeing the heat in his eyes, wondered if he was remembering the aftermath of the tux fitting, too.
Somehow she knew that as mind-blowing as that afternoon was, it would pale in comparison to what she had in store for him tonight.
---------------
I don't need this menu
No, I don't
I already know just what I want
Did I hear you right?
Did you tell me
'Go pay the waiter and let's leave.'
Honey, I know by that look in your eyes
And your hand drawin' hearts onto mine
That our night out of the house ain't gonna last too long
When all you can think about
Is Gettin' Me Home.
Logan wished he was a math whiz. Maybe silently reciting algorithms or doing trigonometry in his head would take his mind off all the erotic visions dancing just behind his eyes. But since he had no knowledge of such things, he decided to focus his attention on identifying the soft, squishy sound that had been pulsing at the edge of his consciousness since they had gotten in the car.
It didn’t sound like anything he’d ever heard before. It was sort of rhythmic, but the beat was very fast and not always perfectly consistent. The sound seemed to be coming from very far away, but it was louder inside the car than it had been when they were still in the mansion. Still, he had the impression that the noise was being muffled by something other than distance, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on…
“We’re here, Dr. McCoy. Shall I wait here or come back for you?” Eddie, the limo driver, asked.
Logan’s swift “Wait here” response overlapped with Hank’s “We’ll call you—“, creating a sort of mutant-versus-mutant Mexican stand-off.
“Planning on ducking out before my speech?” Hank asked as they all exited the car, hoping his joke would break the tension.
Now that you mention it… Logan mused silently, an eyebrow quirked skyward the only visible acknowledgment of Hank’s comment.
Rogue shot him a disapproving look so authentic he felt like a scolded school boy. He would have given anything to stop the flush from rising in his cheeks, but even his healing power couldn’t defeat a blush of embarrassment.
“Of course not, Fur…uh…Hank. I wouldn’t dream of it,” he fumbled with all the conviction he could muster. “Sorry ‘bout that, Eddie. What he said, we’ll call you.”
“Right. See you later,” Eddie replied as he returned to the driver’s seat and slowly pulled the car out of the restaurant’s circular drive.
“Shall we?” Hank posed as he reached out and took Storm’s soft brown hand in his big blue paw.
“Right behind you, Furball,” Logan said under his breath as he and Rogue joined hands and followed them inside. The mild sting he felt where his palm pressed against hers told him that his wife hadn’t missed his comment. It also told him her control over her skin had become as razor sharp as his claws.
Memories of an altogether different kind of control Marie had over a whole other part of her body had a corresponding part of Logan’s body rising hopefully to the occasion as he held Marie’s chair for her. After helping her scoot the chair in, he continued to stand behind her, making no move to take his seat.
“Logan, sugar, aren’t you going to sit down?” Marie asked as she glared up at him, mildly irritated at his seemingly rude behavior. Apparently, she could dress him up, but she couldn’t take him out.
“Just taking a minute to soak in the atmosphere, dear,” he replied and then bent down to whisper in her ear, “Your little zap set me up with a major hard on, so do me a favor and drop your napkin, will you?”
His predicament set her loins to quivering. Thankful for the candlelight that was dim enough to hide her flushed cheeks, she complied with his request, letting her white linen napkin ‘accidentally’ fall to the floor as discreetly as possible. Logan snatched it up and by some innate masculine sleight of hand managed to disguise his distended pants well enough to finally get his butt in the chair without further embarrassment.
“Here, darlin’, you dropped your napkin,” he said, barely able to silence the low growl that curled in the back of his throat as Marie’s fingers brushed across his hand. Her gaze locked on his and he knew there was nothing ‘accidental’ about the erotically-charged contact.
Logan suddenly had no appetite for what was on the printed menu; he was hungry for the banquet to be found under his wife’s dress. And if the way Marie was squirming in her chair was any indication, she was just as anxious to skip dinner and go straight to ‘dessert’ as he was. The scent of her arousal was so powerful it had Logan wondering if Hank wasn’t catching a whiff, too.
While Logan was trying to get his head out from under Marie’s skirt, figuratively speaking, a tuxedo'd waiter poured each of them a glass of red wine from a bottle Hank had ordered, sampled and deemed, ‘excellent’.
Raising his glass, Hank announced, “I’d like to make a toast. Well, it’s more of an announcement, really.” He glanced at Storm with a look of ‘May I?’ in his eyes and she blushed prettily and nodded her head.
“I have recently received an honor that far outshines the one we’ve come here to celebrate tonight,” he said, his eyes never leaving Storm’s. Her smile could not have been brighter as she clasped his hand in hers.
He paused a moment for dramatic effect and Logan wouldn’t have been surprised to hear him rumble his own version of a drum roll, but without further preamble the Beast stated what was clearly the obvious.
“Ororo has agreed to be my wife.”
Both couples were out of their chairs in a flash for the giving and accepting of congratulations and best wishes.
“Are we the first to know?” Marie asked after hugging her friend.
“Sort of. We told Charles this morning,” Ororo said softly as a flicker of the ever-present sadness over Xavier’s physical absence passed through her eyes. To her, he would never be ‘dead’ in the sense that he no longer existed as anything other than a memory. In her mind, Charles was simply on another plane of being, watching, listening, caring still, not only about her but about all of them. Hence, she talked to him daily, sometimes at his headstone, but just as often in what was once his office, but was now shared by her and Hank. It was no surprise to the other couple that their old friend had been the first to hear of her engagement.
“I have no doubt that he approved wholeheartedly. God knows it’s time you made an honest furball out of this one,” Logan said as he hugged Ororo while reaching to shake hands with Hank behind her back.
“Thank you, Logan. I think so, too,” Ororo agreed.
“You think which,” Hank inquired, “that Charles approved or that it’s time you made an honest…man…of me?”
“Both, of course!” she teased.
“I am the luckiest mutant on the planet,” Hank affirmed as he leaned over to plant a quick peck on Ororo’s lips.
“OK, now I’d like to make a toast,” Logan said as they all found their seats again and lifted their wine glasses. “To the luckiest mutant on the planet and his intended, congratulations and may you find married life as satisfying as Marie and I have.” No one missed the meaning of his emphasis. Everyone except Logan had a sudden need to clear their throat before taking the customary sip of wine.
Marie hoped that Logan didn’t notice that she only pretended to drink the burgundy liquid, tipping her glass along with the rest, but not actually ingesting any wine. She sneaked a sidelong glance at her husband, but his attention was focused on Hank. Phew!
“Oh, and by the way, you get to keep the title of ‘luckiest mutant’ for tonight, but come tomorrow morning, you get demoted to ‘second luckiest’, right behind me,” Logan chided his friend as he lifted Marie’s hand and kissed her knuckles.
You have no idea how right you are, my love.
Logan was clueless as to the secret behind the mysterious little smile on his wife’s lips, but he was damn sure that the heat he saw flare in her big brown eyes was more than just the glow of the candlelight. He hoped she was hatching a plan to get them home and out of their fancy duds sooner rather than later. He’d give her another few minutes to do or say something, anything, to free them from their gilded cage, but if she didn’t, he was ready, willing and able to take matters into his own hands.
Now you’re talkin’, Bub.
But before either of them could execute an exit with any grace at all, the waiter arrived with their food. Logan had all kinds of trouble keeping his mind on his meal once he noticed that the inside of his very rare filet mignon was the exact same shade of reddish pink and had the same melt in his mouth texture as the tender flesh of Marie’s…
Oh, Christ, not again. He couldn’t take much more of this, and neither could his pants which were straining at the seams.
Ditch the grub, Bub, and get that woman home! Furball ain’t gonna care. Hell, he’s probably itchin’ to get in the weather witch’s panties anyway.
Now there was a theory worth testing.
Logan was pondering how best to entice his friend to cut his speech to less than five minutes when he felt a familiar sensation on the back of his right hand. Marie was drawing a heart there, retracing the shape over and over again, with her fingernail. He had lost count of the number of movies they’d not seen the end of and meals that went uneaten as he heeded her favorite signal, the translation of which was ‘Get me home and fuck me silly.’
He looked over and saw her smiling back at him, playfully challenging him, daring him to answer the call.
The stakes just went up. It was no longer a matter of making a graceful departure or sparing Hank’s feelings; those little heart shapes had the Wolverine ready to chew his own well-dressed leg off if that’s what it took to get out of this trap and Hank’s ego be damned.
Logan had never failed to accommodate his wife’s wishes and he wasn’t about to start now. Although occasionally they didn’t make it all the way home. In fact, it was those times that finally convinced him to buy his own wheels and quit borrowing Scott's ride, the hot, blue Mazda RX-8. It might drive like a dream, but when it came to screwing around, the damn thing had no room to maneuver whatsoever. God, how he wished he and Marie had brought his car tonight instead of riding in that stupid limo. The black and chrome ’68 Mustang Shelby Fastback, with its mile-wide azure blue leather back seat, would have made the perfect getaway car.
Logan swallowed—hard—and closed his eyes as he fought to maintain even a shred of propriety while he envisioned Marie on her back on the seat, her hair spilling across the blue leather, her dress hiked up exposing her dark vee. He imagined draping her legs over his shoulders and ramming his thick cock deep into her hot core, over and over again as she bucked against him, begging him to go faster, harder, to--Please, Logan, please!-- make her come.
Marie gasped as Logan’s hand gripped her knee tight enough to leave bruises.
“Rogue? Are you alright?” Ororo asked quietly.
Recognizing a golden opportunity when she saw one, Marie left the genuinely pained expression on her face and replied, “Actually, no, I’ve been feeling kind of queasy all day and it’s developed into a full-blown migraine. I should have known better than to drink the wine, I guess. I hate to cut the evening short, but I really should go home and go to bed with Logan—“
Ororo’s eyes widened. Hank’s fork skidded to a halt before it reached his open mouth.
“Pardon?” the beast inquired.
“What she means is, I should take her home so she can lie down and get rid of the headache,” Logan explained, adroitly picking up on the escape plan. He’d only intended to get her attention, not squeeze her hard enough to hurt her, but hey, if that’s what it took…
“Yes, that’s what I meant,” Marie affirmed as she stood up, still grimacing as though her head was about to explode.
“Is there anything I can do?” Hank offered.
He and Logan both stood and approached Marie simultaneously.
“No, Hank, really, I just need to lay down someplace dark and quiet until it passes. Thank you, though, for offering and for a lovely evening. I’m sorry we’ll miss your speech,” she said with all the sincerity she could summon as Logan draped an arm gently around her shoulders.
“Congratulations again, you two. We couldn’t be happier for you,” Logan said, clasping Hank’s outstretched hand and smiling broadly at Ororo.
“Thank you, Logan. Marie, I have no doubt you will be feeling much better very soon,” she said with a wink she hoped her fiancé missed.
Marie was surprised that Ororo was on to them, but had the sense not to show it in front of Hank, who, it turned out, hadn’t missed a thing, but didn’t let on until Marie and Logan were out of earshot.
“That’s the first time I’ve ever seen a woman use a headache to get sex instead of to avoid it,” Hank observed dryly as he sat down again.
Ororo’s eyes glittered back at him in the candlelight, her thoughts plain as the pretty nose on her face.
When she reached across the table and lightly traced a heart shape on his upturned palm, Hank knew he was going to have some explaining to do at the next Historical Society meeting.
“Hank, honey, about your speech…”
He’d just tell them he had to leave because his bride-to-be had a splitting headache.
---------------
Walkin' through the front door
Seein' your black dress hit the floor
Honey there sure ain't nothin'
Like you lovin' me all night long
And all I can think about
Is Gettin' You Home.
Outside the restaurant, Logan stuck his pinky fingers in his mouth and whistled loud enough to jolt the valet parking crew into covering their ears. A taxi instantly cut across two lanes of traffic and screeched to a stop directly in front of him and Marie.
“I didn’t know you could whistle like that,” Marie remarked as Logan held the door open for her.
“Neither did I,” he confessed as he climbed in behind her and slammed the door. He barely got the address of the school out of his mouth before Marie cut him off with a searing kiss that nearly melted the heels on his shoes. Wrapping her in his arms, Logan plunged his tongue into her mouth, erasing any doubt she may have had that his need was as urgent as her own.
She dragged her hot mouth across his jaw, flicked his earlobe with her tongue.
“Faster,” she breathed against his neck. “Tell him to drive faster.”
The drive to the restaurant had taken at least thirty minutes. Logan figured they had maybe half of that before things got downright embarrassing.
“Hey, Bub, there’s an extra fifty in it for ya if ya make it in under fifteen minutes,” Logan challenged.
“If it means you both keeping your pants on back there, you’re on, man. I just had the whole cab detailed. Hang on!”
With that, the car made a sudden sharp left turn, sending Logan and Marie crashing into the right rear door. After that, the ride was a series of hard turns and speeding straight-aways culminating exactly thirteen minutes later at the mansion’s front walk.
Marie bolted from the cab almost before it came to a complete stop, calling over her shoulder, “Last one downstairs is a rotten egg!” as she ran inside the house and shut the door behind her.
“Downstairs?” Logan hollered back as he tossed the cabbie a hundred dollar bill and ran after her.
Downstairs? He must have misunderstood; his brain had probably suffered a severe lack of oxygen, what with all his blood flowing to his nether regions all night long. But the second he entered the mansion he caught her scent and it wasn’t coming from the sweeping staircase that led up to their suite on the third floor. No, it was hanging in the air of the corridor where the elevator to the lower floors was located.
Making his way down the corridor, he saw something lying on the floor in front of the elevator—one high-heeled black patent leather pump.
Oh, baby, the Big Bad Wolf doesn’t need the trail of bread crumbs, but he appreciates the thought.
Carrying the shoe—he had plans for it later—Logan stepped into the elevator and the scent of Marie’s arousal in the small, confined space was so strong it nearly sent him to his knees. He punched the button for Sublevel 1, which contained Med Lab and the infirmary, hoping she hadn’t stopped there, but not willing to skip it in case she had. Sex on a lab table wasn’t what he’d had in mind, but if that was where she wanted to start, he was definitely OK with that.
When the elevator stopped, Logan leaned out into the hallway, drawing in a deep breath. Nope. It was on to Sublevel 2, with the jet hangar on one end of the corridor and the Danger Room on the other.
Oh, God, I love you, you kinky little vixen! Logan didn’t even care which way she went and neither did the enormous erection threatening to burst his zipper.
By the time the elevator door opened for the last time, Logan had his jacket and tie off, his cummerbund unfastened and his pants unbuttoned. Stepping into the hallway, he was so bowled over by the sexually charged pheromones filling the air that he almost missed the next bread crumb, the other shoe, laying on the floor to his left.
Guess christening the Blackbird will have to wait…an hour or so. The Danger Room it is, darlin’.
Logan kicked off his own shoes and pulled off his socks before picking up her shoe—his raging hard on had him bent over almost double, so he didn’t have far to reach—and made his way, awkwardly, to the Danger Room door. Looking down again, he saw Marie’s black silk thong—her gift to him on their one-month wedding anniversary—lying on the floor at his feet.
That’s it. That is just fucking IT!
Logan had had it with the pants suffocating his cock. He growled loudly and released the claws, preparing to slice them to ribbons when he heard Marie call to him through the door.
“I hope you still have your pants on, sugar. Seeing you in that outfit is what got all of this started.”
He growled even louder, sheathed the claws and hollered back, “Goddammit, Marie, I’m in pain here!”
“Well, then, get your sweet ass in here why don’t you?”
She didn’t have to tell him twice.
He punched the button to open the sliding metal door and found himself staring at the mansion’s massive wood and glass entrance, the same one he’d come through a few minutes ago.
Déjà vu hit with a vengeance. Holy Christ, she wasn’t going to make him run that gauntlet again, was she?
“Marie!”
“Quit bellowing and just open the damn door, Logan!”
He dropped everything, including her shoes, his plan forgotten in the fog of frustration enveloping his brain, and flung the door open wide, revealing an exact replica of the mansion’s front foyer, complete with wood paneling, Oriental rugs, crystal chandelier and wide, curving staircase.
And there, about midway up, was his gorgeous wife, draped across the stairs in a glittering puddle of black velvet with the most alluring smile on her face he had ever seen. She was utterly breathtaking.
He had no memory of how he got from the doorway into her arms; he was just suddenly there, kissing her with such fierce need, such abandon, he thought his heart would burst right then and there.
His pants finally did—burst, that was—or he felt like they did, because he was suddenly dizzy with relief as his throbbing cock sprung free, rubbing against the fluid softness of Marie’s dress. His eyes rolled back in his head as he let the sensation sweep over him. It felt almost as good as being sheathed in her silky depths, something he intended to accomplish immediately, if not sooner.
“How did you know?” he panted as he dragged her dress up, higher and higher, until at last he bared her completely from the waist down. “Christ, Marie, I wanted to do this very thing the second I saw you in this dress!”
“I didn’t know, but I’ve been fantasizing about us fucking on the stairs ever since you sauntered down them in that tuxedo. God, Logan, you were the hottest thing I’d ever seen!” Marie confessed as she feverishly worked the buttons on his shirt and slid it off his shoulders, her hands smoothing over the muscles rippling down his back as he bent to nip at her neck.
She slid her hands inside the waistband of his pants, which she had unzipped the moment his body landed on top of hers. Pushing outward with her wrists, she dragged the pants down over his magnificent ass even as her fingernails raked his rock hard cheeks, drawing a long, low growl from deep in his chest. She arched into him and felt that rumble all the way to her core.
Kneeling on the step just below the one where Marie’s exquisite ass rested, Logan wasted no time easing his cock into her saturated pussy while his hands reached out and laid claim to her breasts, working the nipples into taut peaks even through the fabric of her dress. No other foreplay was necessary; it had all taken place at the restaurant, in the cab and during the hunt through the mansion’s lower floors. He knew she was about to explode and so was he, but still he entered her slowly, savoring every second, every inch of blessed contact with her velvety folds, reveling in the grip of her inner muscles along his entire shaft.
She’d been practicing again, he could tell. By flexing and relaxing those muscles several times a day, she had achieved a level of control that allowed her to squeeze him so tight it was like taking her for the first time—again and again and again.
“Oh, Jesus…Marie! Oh, darlin’, you’re close, aren’t you? Please tell me you’re close, baby, ‘cuz I’m dying here.”
So was she. Marie writhed beneath him, the pleasure of his slow conquest of her body almost too delicious to bear, but she wanted to come now and come hard, so she begged his assistance.
“Yeah, sugar, I’m real, close. Help me, baby. Help me!”
Knowing he couldn’t stave off his own climax for much longer, he was only too glad to slide his hand between their bodies and rub her swollen clit with a strong, even pressure until he felt that special little muscle start to flutter.
“There it is. Right there. Oh, scream for me, honey. I want to hear you scream—“
She never could deny him anything.
“Ahhhh…OH! MY! GOD!” With every syllable her body arched higher and higher, her head flung back, her hands clenching his shoulders, her pubic bone nearly crushing his hand against his abdomen as a maelstrom of pleasure tore through her starting at her center and fanning out in every direction, firing off every nerve ending from her toes to her hair.
She was still somewhere in the stratosphere when his hand moved from her clit to her neck as he yanked her into a desperate kiss, his tongue riding her mouth with the same hungry rhythm his cock was keeping as he fucked her to another orgasm and another. Sure her next breath would be her last—she might as well die now; sex would surely be all downhill from here—she used her last shred of sanity to grab his ass with both hands and drive him into her to the hilt.
Looking down, she saw the last inch of him disappear beneath her dark curls and she realized that in all the times they’d made love, she’d never seen their bodies joined so completely. In that moment, she knew, they truly existed as one.
Logan saw where she was looking and although he had had the pleasure more times than he could count of watching himself slide into her as far as he could go, sharing the moment with her was the most intimate thing he had ever experienced.
Their eyes met and for one heartbeat the urgency of their mating was forgotten as they each saw themselves reflected in their lover’s eyes, saw in themselves all the wild and wonderful things that the other loved about them.
“Marie…,” Logan breathed at the same instant Marie murmured, “Logan…”
They both laughed and the tender energy shifted back into a feverish need for release.
Logan slid his hands under her ass and held her in a death grip as he rocked his hips forward and back, withdrawing quickly, returning even faster, reveling in the little high pitched grunt she emitted every time he plundered her depths.
Pulling her knees up, she held them wide apart, so she could feel every inch of him filling her, stretching her as he drove into her over and over again. They were both covered in sweat, straining, reaching, shifting slightly up or down, left or right, searching for that last piece of the orgasmic puzzle.
And then, Marie managed to lift her left hip off the step just a fraction and the last piece fell into place.
Her g-spot erupted with a climax so sudden and powerful she screamed as much from fear and surprise as from ecstasy as every cell in her body lit up like a Roman candle.
Marie’s release triggered Logan’s. He let out the howl he’d been holding back as his orgasm crashed through his body like a runaway train, leaving him flailing, helplessly riding out each new burst of pleasure as his hot seed gunned into Marie’s womb. The momentum he’d built up took several more strokes to dissipate, but at last, he stopped, collapsing with his head on her velvet covered breasts as their panting breath and racing heartbeats thundered in his ears.
When talking became possible again, Marie whispered, “I could never have made it through Hank’s speech with that trapped inside me,” referring to the seismic event she had just experienced.
A harsh laugh escaped from her husband as he lifted his head and looked up at her.
“Something tells me he never got around to delivering that speech. I saw Storm wink at you as we were leaving. Her panties were on fire every bit as much as yours were,” he said as he pushed himself up onto his knees again.
She was about to point out that he was a fine one to talk about her hot pants, when they both realized his pants were still tangled around his ankles.
Snikt.
One flick of his wrist and his arch nemesis slid lifelessly into two neat piles of fabric, one on either side of him. Revenge was sweet.
“Hey! What the…?! Logan, that wasn’t necessary!”
“The hell it wasn’t. Besides, the monkey suit came with two pairs of pants, so quit your belly achin’,” he said as he pulled her by her shoulders into a sitting position and planted a silencing kiss on her lips.
There in the quiet of the replicated foyer he deepened the kiss as he ran his hand along her naked thigh. He was dimly aware of the mysterious pulsating sound again. He noted that it sounded closer than before, but was still being dampened somehow. It sounded almost like…like…a drum beating...under water?
Just then Marie’s tongue slid sensuously against his and all attempts to identify the odd sound were abandoned. His hands roamed from her thigh, up her ribs to her breast which he squeezed with obvious intent.
“Ah!” Marie’s sharp moan was more pain than pleasure, so he backed off and used his thumb to just lightly graze the nipple that poked through her dress.
“Sorry. Is this better?” he apologized, thinking it unusual for her to be so tender, unless she was about to get her period. He shifted on the step so he could hold her close as he inhaled deeply, sifting through the aromas of recent sex and the highly filtered air of the Danger Room, searching for the tell-tale scent of her blood-lined womb, but it wasn’t there. No, wait, it was there, but it was different—richer, earthier, fuller than ever before.
A question started to form in his mind. A spark of hope flared to life in his heart and shone in his eyes as his gaze dropped for one tiny instant to her belly before returning to her face.
“Marie—“
She hadn’t missed his investigative sniff or the infinitesimal tilt of his head as he listened for a far away sound, or the southward glance. She knew he would guess her secret—their secret—soon, but she wasn’t quite ready to share it with him just yet, so she cut him off with a request.
“Oh, I couldn’t help but notice that you are completely naked, you gorgeous hunk of man, you, and I, sadly, am not. Care to help me even things up?” she asked as she raised her arms and waited for him to peel her dress off over her head.
“It would be my pleasure, darlin’” he replied as he removed the dress, smiling devilishly as he recalled from his earlier explorations that she hadn’t worn a bra. Then—very lightly—he rubbed the ultrasoft material across Marie’s taut nipples.
“Oh, if it felt like that on the inside, we’d have never made it to the restaurant at all,” she confessed. “You should feel this, too.”
“I’ve been feeling it, all night, every time I got anywhere near you. It’s exquisite, isn’t it?” he whispered as he trailed the fabric down her belly and between her legs before laying it across her palm and then wrapping her velvet covered hand around his cock.
She took the hint immediately and began stroking his now rigid manhood, slowly sliding the inky softness from base to tip as she applied a constantly tightening pressure with her fingers. She watched his whole body tremble as his head fell back, eyes closed, and she knew he was utterly swept away by the sensations she was creating along his shaft.
“Just remember, sugar, the name’s Marie, not Monica, and this ain’t the Oval Office. I really love this dress, so you let me know before you let fly, OK?”
Logan’s last coherent thought came out as a strangled growl, “On your kneeeees! Nooow!”
The dress hit the floor. Marie dropped to her hands and knees in front of him and screamed to the high heavens when he plunged inside her in one blinding stroke, launching the climax she’d built just watching him as she jerked him off.
He pumped into her once, twice, three times and then his own orgasm rocketed him into oblivion, worlds colliding behind his eyes as he roared her name to the stars.
“Marieeeeeeee…Ahhhhhhh!”
This time he stayed seated deep inside her as he came, letting his spasms stroke her inner walls, finishing off her climax with his own. On shaky legs, he drew out of her, wrapped one arm around her waist and gently turned her to face him.
“I love you,” he said.
“l love you, too, sugar,” she returned.
He stood and helped her to her feet as well. They walked up three steps to the stairway’s wide landing where they lay down again. She started to roll onto her side, to entwine her arms and legs with his, but he stopped her and gently nudged her onto her back. Then he laid his head on her belly and listened to the heart of his child beating wildly, not unlike his own.
“How long have you known?” he asked, not really caring but not knowing what else to say at the most profoundly happy moment of his entire life.
“Just since this morning. I could never have kept it a secret any longer than this. I almost told you half a dozen times today, but I was hoping for this, exactly this, what you’re doing right now.”
“How far along are you?”
“When was your tux fitting—about six, maybe seven, weeks ago? I haven’t had my period since right before that. When did you figure it out?”
“I’ve actually been hearing…his?...her?...heartbeat all day, but I couldn’t figure out what it was—until I touched your breasts and they hurt, like right before your period. You smelled different than you usually do at that time, so I let myself hope—“
“You’ve been hoping I’d get pregnant?”
“Scary thought, huh? Me wanting to be dad. I never thought I’d see the day—not until I met you.”
“Oh, Logan, there is nothing scary about you wanting to be a father, but I wasn’t sure you’d think we were ready to be parents, either one of us.”
“Who the hell is ever ready for it? It’s a learn-as-you-go situation from what I’ve seen and I figure you and I are smart enough and brave enough to handle whatever fate throws at us.”
“As long as we’re together, Logan, we can do anything.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Do you also believe that a woman’s body is capable of limitless orgasms?”
“I am living proof of that, sugar.”
“Then the last one on the Blackbird is a rotten egg!” he shouted as he ran down the steps and out the duplicate front door with her laughter following him all the way down the corridor.
At the risk of earning ‘rotten egg’ status, Marie took the time to gather her dress and the remains of Logan’s tuxedo and shut down the ‘foyer’ simulation at the Danger Room’s control panel before scooting down the hall to the jet hangar.
As she approached the door she could hear Logan laughing, not his usual chuckle, but howling guffaws complete with the unmistakable sound of knee-slapping.
“You won’t be laughing like a loon when Scott finds out we did this,” she said, unable to suppress a giggle at the mental picture of Scott’s nose wrinkled in disgust at the discovery of whatever ‘evidence’ they might accidentally leave behind.
Logan kept laughing as he shook his head.
“Well, then what’s so funny?”
And then he pointed to the pilot’s seat—Scott’s seat—as tears of hilarity streamed down his cheeks. Marie looked where he pointed and burst out laughing right along with him.
There, on the seat, was a handful of blue fur and two long white strands of snow white hair.
Apparently, Marie and Logan weren’t the only ones in a rush to get home.
Walkin' through the front door
Seein' your black dress hit the floor
Honey there sure ain't nothin'
Like you lovin' me all night long
And all I can think about
All I can think about
All I can think about
Is Gettin' You Home.
THE END.
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Story Notes:
Author's Note: This story has been in the works for months, beginning the first time I heard Chris Young's song, 'Gettin' You Home' on country radio. It is the sexiest country song, bar none, that I have ever heard. Believe me, even if you hate country music, this one is worth a preview on iTunes at least. So, naturally, the sexiest country song would inspire a story about the sexiest mutant who happens to be played deliciously by the Sexiest Man Alive, Hugh Jackman. Yeah, yeah, I saw the Johnny Depp cover. Fuhgeddaboudit! HJ holds the title for all eternity if you ask me. Anyway, I know this is a rather long one-shot, but it didn't seem right to cut it into smaller bites. I think you will find it readily digestible in one sitting. Here's hoping. The singular detail that doesn't match the song is Marie's eyes. The song refers to 'baby blue eyes' and hers are brown.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Disclaimer: I own neither the song, nor the X-Men characters. Only their antics are mine. This is slightly X3, but mostly AU, as Xavier and Jean are gone, but Scott is still very much alive and Marie has not taken the Cure.