Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Still unbetaed, mistakes are still all mine. The rating on this chapter is a bit higher, a bit of naughtiness, so you have been warned. Delicate wee creatures that you all are, heh heh heh! Enjoy!
STILL-LIFE
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Long shadows in the room.
Dawn creeping up on ‘em like a secret told.
Something…waiting? Laying in wait? Hungry. A kiss burning against his skin, a kiss he knew he didn’t want. It was like a dream, the memory wavering and unreal. Familiar too. But every time he tried to focus on it, it darted out of reach.
Logan opened his eyes to a new day.
The Penalty Box was boiling, hotter’n Hell. Morning light spilling across the floor, making the shadows longer rather than chasing them away. Marie was already awake, her smile smoky and lazy as she greeted the day. Shifted against him when she saw his eyes open, fingers raking through his hair. Breath flushed against his skin as her mouth found his. Every inch of her skin was uncovered, the warm, soft flesh welcoming beneath his hands. Her gift buzzing against him a little bit but no longer painful at all. She made a tiny sound in the back of her throat like a growl and stretched against him, her small hands tracing patterns against his chest. Going from rib-cage to collar bone and back again, sighing in contentment as her hand came to rest against his heart. He pulled her on flush top of him, held her close, and her smile widened.
“You really ain’t an old man,” she whispered then. Voice low-down with longing. Hands roaming across his body fit to sin. She buried her face in his chest and smiled wickedly. “You’re not an old man at all.”
“You get through with me, woman,” he muttered, “An’ I will be.” She didn’t answer, just ran her nose along his throat like she was catching his scent. Nipped at his skin with her teeth, scraped her nails along his sides. Growled something that sounded like “Mine,” under her breath and then pushed him onto his back. She slid off his shirt, tossed it. Tore at his buckle and took his pants too. Shoes gone, bare feet, skin on skin. And then they were kissing, rolling and tumbling outta control, sweat and heat and salt on his tongue. Finding their rhythm as his body pressed into hers. He couldn’t help himself, didn’t want to help himself: Marie was under his skin now, and he never wanted her to leave. He reversed their positions, her under him. Her breath catching, eyes wide. That lightness in his chest from before, the one he wasn‘t used to, burning him up. Something was tugging at his brain, warning him of danger, but he ignored it. He didn’t want to waste a second of this thing between them-
It all happened kinda fast then.
Logan felt a shudder go through her, like the heat of the room had found its way through to her bones. But it wasn’t natural, wasn’t a part of them. A puff of blackness, of shadow, enveloped Marie for a moment and when she opened her eyes the pupils were molten gold and burning. Incandescent. Hungry in a very different way. A stranger lay beneath him, moved against him like she was his. He tried to pull away but the thing wouldn’t let him, it held him fast as death. The walls of the Penalty Box began to crack and peel, heat like a pressure cooker ready to blow, the air thick with something he could taste but not name. Something from long ago. Logan tried to pull away again, close to panic as he ever got but the Once-Was-Marie held him fast. Burnt his skin and smiled like it was a kindness. Her hands were everywhere but this time they hurt, they burned. He wanted it to stop, he needed it to- Not even the adamantium tank had hurt like this-The pain turned agonising, scorching his throat like he was breathing in flame- Instinct taking over- Logan felt his hands slit open as if from far away. Felt the claws drive themselves into the thing that took Marie like she was made of smoke not flesh, pushing inside her the only way he knew how. Felt himself do it because that was what he did. Wet blood, that last puff of breath in her throat. A broken body beneath him, human now he’d had his fill.
Now he’d done what he always did.
He heard her voice whisper as she breathed her last:
“So this is what Ah am to you after all-”
He woke with a shudder, not a yell.
Yells were for remembering Stryker, Marie knew. Shudders were for the things he wouldn’t tell her when she asked. He was out of his makeshift bed and across the other side of the room in the space it took her to reach for him. She suspected that if he hadn’t been nearly naked he’d have gotten to the other side of the mansion by now.
And that was one conversation she didn’t wanna have with Storm. Or the senior class.
“’S okay, darlin’,” Marie whispered soothingly, sitting up slowly. Sudden movements made him jumpy when he was like this. “It was just a bad dream.” She kept her voice calm, smiled encouragingly; she didn’t want another conversation about how it was dangerous to her to have him near. He still insisted she took the bed and he the floor, but they were working on it. In the last two weeks he’d gone from sleeping the other side of the room to being willing to sleep next to her, on a pallet. And Marie was determined to get him into bed, even if their activities remained innocent. For now.
Now being all they had.
She pushed the thought away.
He still had his back to her. She tried to catch his eye and he turned his body away further, his hands hidden from her sight. Fingers opening and closing tightly. Of course she saw the claws anyway, knew he’d popped ‘em out. It was a nervous reflex when he dreamed. The look on his face like she’d caught him in something shameful, that got to her though, and she slid from the bed, tried to sooth him. He turned away from her, unwilling, and she forced down a sigh of frustration. Logan could be so damn stubborn, when it came to finding comfort.
But then, she mused wryly, that was hardly new.
She sat back on the bed then, gave him space. Pulled on her opera gloves just like she did every morning. He’d come to her when he was ready; they had a procedure for this sorta thing.
A beat.
“Stryker’s?” she asked then, her voice casual. Wasn’t healthy to treat each nightmare like a separate and unusual Big Deal. He’d get over his worry quicker if she treated them as par for the course, which they were. “Or was it something else? You dream of Japan again?”
His voice was scratchy. “Nothing like that,” he muttered. “I-” And he stopped. Turned towards her, pulled the claws back in. She couldn’t help her smile, and that more than anything else seemed to break his mood. He nodded sheepishly and sat down next to her. Slung his arm across her shoulders, kissed the top of her head and breathed in her scent. Marie closed her eyes and concentrated on the warmth of him, trying to memorise it. He was so hot it felt like he was on fire, practically burning up. Didn’t feel natural. It’s his mutation, she told herself, It’s just his mutation.
Wasn’t sure why, but a tiny chill went through her at the thought.
“It was a bad dream,” he said gruffly, interrupting her worries. “Not a memory, a nightmare. Fourth one this week.” She felt him shrug against her, trying to sound on top of it. She knew he hated to show weakness, especially in front of her. “I saw you burning, Marie. Didn’t like it none.” And he pulled her a little closer, sheepish but wanting her there.
Instantly she forgot her foreboding. She reached up and kissed him instead, feeling her mutation ripple beneath her skin. They were supposed to keep their physical interactions short and timed; Hank said it was the safest way to bring up Logan’s immunity when they’d first suggested it. But right at the minute Marie feel like being safe, she just wanted to give comfort. His emotions buzzed through her as her skin met his, images and worries. Memories. As always, his feelings for her, warm as the chime of an old brass bell. But there was something else, something he was keeping from her. Something he was worried she would see.
Fire. Helplessness. Fear of loss.
Slash and bleed and burn-
He broke contact then, left the bed. She wasn’t sure why but the space between them suddenly felt cold.“We should get a move-on, Marie; Hank’s waiting,” he muttered, grabbing the rest of his clothes and tossing them on. He wouldn’t meet her eye, his mouth pulled downward like something was wrong. Again she sighed: He spent so much of what little time they had trying to keep her away from the darker parts of himself, as if the woman who had Erik Lenscher, John Allerdyce and Victor Creed wanderin’ around inside her cranium really needed a chaperone. But he did it anyways. She used to think his over-protectiveness came from her age, but she knew now that wasn’t it: He’d worried about Jean seeing this side of him, about Storm seeing it too. Something to do with never wanting to show a woman the dark side of his life, like that would prove there was more to him than rage.
“You coming darlin’?” he asked then. Though he still wouldn’t meet her eyes.
Marie knew she had a choice: she could push this, and maybe set him on edge for the rest of the day. Or she could bide her time and trust him, the way she’d always instinctively trusted him before. She’d known about his over-protectiveness long before they got together, and it wasn’t gonna change anytime soon. That first night in the Penalty Box he’d asked her to let him take his time with her, and warned her he’d be clumsy even if she did. Tried to be honest with her, even if it wasn’t the most romantic thing to hear.
He just needs time, she thought then. If you’re gonna die on him eventually, the least you can give him is that.
“Course Ah’m coming,” she answered softly, pushing the worries to the back of her mind. She pulled on her jeans and threw a tee over her head. Put on the Star Trek slippers Kurt had bought her so she wouldn’t have another close encounter of the Pyro kind. She hooked her arm through his and closed the door, smiled brightly when a couple of seniors stared. She just needed to give him time. But she still felt the chill as she took his hand, its heat obvious even through her gloves. It’s just his mutation, she told herself, Just his mutation. He’s damn near indestructible: there’s nothing really wrong.
It was only when she stepped outside into the chill morning air that she noticed the heat they left behind them. The way the air had burned.