As soon as he was sure Jean was asleep, Logan snuck out of bed with well-practiced stealth. He slunk around the moonlit room, using his heightened senses of sight and smell to locate his clothes and put them on, moving as quickly and quietly as possible so as not to wake the sleeping dragon lady.
Having sex with her was one thing; sleeping with her was another. Beyond the fact that he wanted to spend as little time in her presence as possible, he'd never been all that comfortable spending a whole night with her, or with anyone, come to think of it.
Well, there was someone…No, mustn't think of her, not in this room.
Although his new 'head gear' seemed to be working perfectly, he knew better than to underestimate the flame-haired telepath. Unwilling to push the limits of the mental roadblocks and emotional detours while he was still within easy reach of her twisted mind, he forced his thoughts back to the subject at hand as he left the room and made his way to the kitchen.
Christ, did he need a beer. Or six. Between the long ride from the motel in Massachusetts, where he'd secretly spent the last month taking a crash course in what he called 'Telepathy for Dummies', and the obligatory fuck session upstairs, he'd worked up a powerful thirst.
Anxious to wash the rotten taste of his predicament out of his mouth, he yanked open the door to the stainless steel subzero fridge in search of his old friend Mr. Molson.
"Oh, yeah, come to Papa," he murmured as he opened the first bottle. He welcomed the bite on his tongue, the burn in his throat and the mild buzz in his head—-he hadn't eaten since lunch—-as he drained the golden liquid in four long gulps. Still holding the fridge door open, he gawked around looking for the trash can—-Dammit, Ororo, where'd you move it to this time?—-gave up, set the bottle and the cap on the counter and one-handedly snagged two more before letting the door go shut.
He thought about going to his room, but the kitchen was dark and quiet and he knew he'd just be back for more beer sooner rather than later, so he parked his butt on one of the counter stools. For the first time since setting foot on the institute's grounds tonight, he let his thoughts wander free…
Jean wouldn't be surprised to wake and find him gone. Right from the beginning, even when he thought he'd never get enough of her no matter how much time they spent together, he'd always returned to his own room long before daylight. He told her it was because of the nightmares. He told himself the same thing, because it made more sense than the truth, which didn't make any sense at all.
For the thousandth time he pondered the mystery of it. How was it that he never felt right sleeping next to the woman he'd waited almost two years to be with, but he could slumber like a baby with Rogue?
"Where're you going?" Jean had asked sleepily as he tiptoed to the door. It was their third night together, but it was the first time she'd caught him leaving in the wee hours of the morning. The first two nights she'd been too tuckered out from their wild, pent-up fucking to notice.
"Back to my room," he'd replied matter-of-factly.
"Why?"
"It's…dangerous for me to sleep close to you. If I have a nightmare…the claws…I can't control them in my sleep…I don't want to hurt you…"
"Oh, right," she said, propping herself up on one elbow, letting the sheet fall away from her naked breasts as she looked up at him enticingly. "But I want you to stay—"
"Jean—"
"So what we need is a way to keep you awake, right?" She licked her thumb and began rubbing it around one dark pink nipple until it stood at attention. By the time she'd moved on to the other breast, he'd abandoned all thoughts of leaving…
Her ability to seduce him at will notwithstanding, he was finally able to convince her later that night that he had to sleep sometime, especially if she expected him to perform at his masterful best, which meant he needed to bed down solo.
He really didn't want to risk hurting Jean, but in a way, he was almost glad for the danger his dreams brought. It kept him from having to explain to her that sharing his bed while he was at the mercy of his violent, uncontrollable subconscious involved an intimacy, a trust that he shared with only one other soul on earth—-and it wasn't her. How could he expect Jean to accept that it was Rogue who stilled the voices and dulled the pain when he didn't fully understand that connection himself? He'd infected Rogue with his horrific visions and yet sleeping next to her was the only cure for them he'd ever found. The bottom line was the only way the big, bad Wolverine ever felt safe in bed was with that petite teenage girl tucked against his side.
No sense, no fucking sense whatsoever.
Glug, glug.
Another dead soldier on the counter. Where the hell did they hide the trash can? Ah, screw it.
Pop. Glug, glug.
As a rule, Logan didn't do sleepovers, let alone relationships. Until last year, when he and the recently-widowed doctor first became lovers, he couldn't remember ever being with a woman—-any woman-—for more than a few hours, much less a whole night. His sex partners, whether they were pros or not, never expected an all-night cuddle. They usually had someone waiting for them—-a pimp, a husband, a babysitter—-so once the sheets were good and sweaty they were out of bed and out of his life with all due haste, which suited him just fine.
But Jean was different. From the moment they met, the attraction that sparked between them was stronger than anything he'd ever felt before…
One look at her that long ago day in the Med Lab and he knew the smokin' hot lady doctor was somebody special, a world apart from the kinds of women he usually associated with. She was class on two delectable legs and if his nose wasn't fibbing—and it never fibbed—she was highly aroused. Being the only male in the room, he naturally assumed he was the object of her interest. And why not? He was a rather amazing specimen of masculine perfection, if he did say so himself.
But then, despite the oozing pheromones that plainly told him she was into him, she went all clinical on him and because he had more than his share of reason to fear anything that even remotely resembled a doctor or a lab or a pointy medical instrument, he let fleeing win out over fucking and skedaddled…
Got as far as Xavier's office where the professor introduced his little band of X-geeks led by none other than Scott Summers, a.k.a. Cyclops, who turned out to be the sexy doc's tight-assed boyfriend.
So, she'd chosen the leader for her mate. Good for her. But then why did she keep shaking her tail feathers and wafting her 'come hither' scent in his direction? Comparison shopping? Seeing whether the newcomer might have more to offer her than her current alpha male?
He had no interest in finding a mate, or in staying any longer than it took to make sure the kid hitching a ride with him was OK and would be safe here for as long as she wanted to stay. And he definitely had no interest in knocking heads with that pompous, one-eyed…Hmmm. On second thought, this might be fun…
And maybe it would have been fun, Logan reflected, had it not been for what happened that first night—-waking from a nightmare to find his claws buried in the kid's chest, her touch siphoning his healing power and unwittingly absorbing his vicious dreams and jagged memories in the bargain. All of which effectively shit-canned any notions he had about dumping the kid, or about playing as much 'doctor' with the sultry redhead as he could get away with and then vanishing into the night. If she still had any silly female ideas about competing mates and such, well, that would be her problem.
No, that night changed everything, starting with his connection to Rogue.
As he had with Jean, Logan felt an instant attachment to the gutsy, pretty teen from the moment he laid eyes on her. As emotions go, it was more shadow than form, nothing he could name. But by the time she was sitting in his camper, asking him the one question no one had ever cared enough to ask about his claws—"When they come out, does it hurt?"—he felt weirdly responsible for her, like she was his to protect. He hadn't even had time to decide if it bothered him or not, that simple bond, before it was forever deepened by her soul-melding touch.
But by then, it didn't matter if it bothered him. It was real; he was part of her and she was part of him and, like it or not, he couldn't turn his back on that—-or her—-ever again.
So, when he found himself cradling her lifeless body in his arms high atop Liberty Island, he did what he had to do. He touched his bare hand to her lethal skin—-risked his life to save hers—-not because he was 'brave' as Jean had said when he woke up the next day, but because without her there was no him. She mattered, he didn't; it was as simple as that.
"That's still true, darlin'," he thought to himself as he let himself envision a sleepy-headed Rogue looking up at him with tender eyes. "You're all that matters. I can stand anything as long as I know you're alright."
Then, as if to test his heartfelt conviction, the memory of the last time she'd actually seen him came unbidden to his mind.
She was afraid. So terribly afraid. Of him.
It was all he could do to squelch the black rage that boiled up in him every time he recalled that horrible moment.
God, if he'd known back then how both of them would suffer at Jean's hands...if he hadn't been so blinded by lust…so hung up about Rogue's age…
"Yeah, and if a frog had wings it wouldn't bump its ass hopping down the road," he informed the three empty beer bottles lined up neatly on the counter.
No use wasting time on 'what if' and 'shoulda, coulda, woulda'. He had a plan and a timetable. Jean's days were numbered. If he'd had his way, she'd have already joined her husband in the hereafter, but a rather unexpected ally had revealed himself and offered his services on the condition that Logan keep the claws out of it. What was in it for his accomplice Logan still wasn't quite sure, but he needed the help so he agreed.
"Fine, we'll do it your way—for now. But if she ever hurts Rogue like that again, it's gonna be balls to the wall and you and your non-violent solution can kiss my ass. Comprende?"
"Yes, Logan, I understand. But don't mistake 'non-violent' for 'merciful'. I assure you, when all is said and done, Jean will suffer a fate far worse than death…"
Key word being 'suffer', as far as Logan was concerned.
He stood up and roamed the kitchen intent on solving the mystery of the A.W.O.L. trash can. He was getting sleepy and he didn't want to just leave his empties on the counter. He'd rather not have Storm bitching at him over breakfast.
He circled the island, peeked around the end of the counter by the French doors that led to the patio, and checked inside the cabinets under the sink. Nada.
Finally, he opened the pantry door and there it was in all its gleaming stainless steel glory, complete with a foot pedal that opened the spring-release lid. Fuckin' thing probably cost a hundred bucks. Yeah, here at Xavier's School for the Gifted, Logan mused, even the garbage had style.
A slow, sly smile spread across his face as he caught his own double meaning.
And when I say 'garbage', I ain't just talkin' about empty beer bottles and week-old leftovers…
He let the thought trail off as he gathered up the bottles and turned back to throw them away. It was then that he noticed the bulletin board hanging on the inside of the pantry door. Half of it was a white board and the other half was a cork surface covered with photographs. Even his enhanced night vision couldn't read what was written on the board or make out any details of the individual pictures. After depositing the bottles in the trash, he flipped on the pantry light to get a better look.
On the white board was a list: bananas, brown rice, lentils, grape jelly, trash bags, AA batteries. On the bulletin board was...
Scooter. Here, there and everywhere he saw at least a dozen photographs featuring the former X-leader with his red shades, expertly styled dark hair and ridiculously deep dimples. As Logan studied the images, he realized that they were arranged in a sort of collage, with smaller pictures overlapping larger ones, but always with Scott's face showing even if others were covered over.
The picture in the upper right hand corner caught his attention because he was in it, along with Scott, Jean and Rogue. Logan remembered that night. Winter festival last year. Storm had talked him into chaperoning at the last minute, promising him he could have 'terrace duty' so he could smoke outdoors and still keep a watchful eye—and nose—out for any overly hormonal teenage couples seeking refuge in the shadows.
Rogue had come looking for him toward the end of the night and asked him to dance with her. He'd tried to turn her down, gently—-the long, clingy, forest green velvet dress and matching opera gloves she had on were giving him ideas he had no business entertaining—-but she wouldn't take 'please don't make me do this' for an answer. They ended up on the dance floor right next to Scott and Jean, who were wrapped in each other's arms like the newlyweds they were then.
Funny, he didn't remember anyone taking their picture.
As he studied his own expression, he understood why he had no such recollection. Rogue's back was to the camera, so he couldn't see her face, but his was on full display. There, preserved forever in glorious Kodachrome, was the face of a man falling in love with the woman-child in his arms. NASA could have launched the space shuttle from the mansion's front lawn that night and the man in that picture would never have noticed.
And he sure as hell hadn't noticed the steely glare Jean was shooting at him—or was it at Rogue?—over Scott's shoulder. He saw it now as plain as day; she looked meaner than cat shit.
Holy Christ, what an idiot. Stupid, blind fool.
Alright, alright, kickin' yourself now ain't gonna rewrite the past…
If he could go back, if he could change just one day, it would be the day before Scott was killed. He'd been an X-Man for not quite two years by then. With Scott's grudging approval, he had become an essential part of the team as well as the self-defense instructor at the school. After Liberty Island, even Scott couldn't deny the immeasurable value of Logan's skills, or his courage.
From his earliest days at the mansion, Logan had flirted openly with Jean, mostly to piss off Scott, but with enough real intent to keep the fires of attraction smoldering—just in case she ever got tired of the goddamn tease and really let him have what he'd come to crave. And crave her he did. Their game of 'look-but-don't-fuck' kept his need alive and growing stronger with each passing month.
When he couldn't stand it any longer, he'd leave the mansion, sometimes following Chuck's sketchy clues in search of evidence of his past and other times just hunting for relief in the form of violent fights and anonymous sex. On some trips, he sought out redheads; on others, he studiously avoided them. For reasons he never let himself think about for too long, the combination of soft brown eyes and long chestnut hair was strictly off-limits. And, as for any women with starkly contrasting highlights, well…he didn't go there either.
He was on one of his 'fuck hunts' that day. He swiped Scott's bike and roared away from the mansion. No special place to go, no hurry to get there, nothing more important to do than get drunk and get laid, not necessarily in that order.
That night, while Logan was adding to his vast carnal knowledge courtesy of a sweet-faced blond who knew more tricks than her shy smile had led him to believe, Xavier sent the team to shut down what he was told was a mutant experimentation lab somewhere in Ohio. It turned out to be a trap. The Friends of Humanity had planted the stories about the lab to lure the X-Men to a heavily armed base that was 'salted' with just enough mutants to make Cerebro sit up and take notice. The fuckers opened fire as soon as the team stepped off the jet. Scott saw them just in time to step in front of a hail of machine gun fire that was meant for Ororo. He was dead before Ororo and Jean could drag him back into the plane and haul ass out of there.
He'd never really know for sure, of course, but Logan could never shake the feeling that if he'd been there, Scott would still be alive. For one thing, Logan would never have let Storm take point leaving the jet. He'd have been in front and then those cowardly, bushwhacking FoH bastards would have had one pissed off, bullet-riddled feral to deal with...Scott would still be with Jean and Logan, well, he'd be with the person he should have waited for all along.
But he wasn't there, and Scott was dead, and his widow took all of six weeks to mourn him before she led Logan to her bed. His new and not altogether welcome feelings for Rogue were no match for his long-denied lust for Jean. He practically dove into her hungry arms. Somewhere deep down a voice warned him to get the hell away from her while he still could, but he was too busy devouring every inch of her to listen.
And so it went for the better part of a year, he and Jean retiring to her room together, banging each other's brains out, and then finishing out the night in separate rooms.
Occasionally, he reflected, she would come to his room, but that was only when she was in the mood for something quick and dirty. He hadn't noticed the pattern until the day she showed up wearing nothing but her white lab coat and a pair of red stilettos. He'd yanked her inside and fucked her blind right up against his bedroom door with those spiky heels digging into his ass…
Holy shit, that happened three months ago and, even now, when everything had changed, just the thought of taking her like that…
...his jeans around his knees…her legs around his waist…her prim and proper white coat in cock-hardening contrast to her naughty-girl nakedness…her dark, lusty scent setting his blood on fire…his hips grinding, thrusting, ramming his thick cock deep…so deep…into her quivering pink sex…her gasping moans matching his driving beat…Fuck…Me…Oh…Sweet…Christ…Fuck…Meeeeeeee…her high heels drilling into his ass cheeks…sharp, sweet pain ramping up the pleasure…white lights exploding behind his eyes...his hot cum shooting like a goddamn Uzi…
God! It was almost enough to make him want to go wake her up and tell her to find those screw-me-silly shoes. Oh, yeah, the animal in him would always appreciate a good fuck, even if the 'fuckee' was a soulless witch of the highest order.
But he was more than the animal, and he deserved better than Jean.
Thinking back, he realized that notion first occurred to him immediately following the 'dirty doctor' encounter, which as he recalled, had taken less than ten minutes from 'knock-knock, let's fuck' to 'zoom-zoom, gotta go'.
When she'd unwound her legs from his waist and slid down his front, she'd told him her class was taking a test and she had to get back before 'the smart ones' finished. Something about how she looked when she said it had disturbed him, but he hadn't figured out what until after she left.
Then it hit him.
Once she put her dress back on, the students would never even suspect she'd been gone. She didn't have a hair out of place; even her makeup was still flawless. She'd just been fucked good and well by the Wolverine and yet it didn't show.
The next revelation had even more profound implications: He didn't give a damn.
What the fuck? He'd just worked his manly magic on her, she showed not the slightest sign of it, and he didn't care? The feral in him should have been screaming at him to run down the hall, grab her, slam her against the wall and fuck her until she collapsed into a boneless heap, or until her eyes glowed with adoration for his male attributes, whichever came first. Or, at the very least, use his sharp canines to mark her flesh and claim her as his. But the Wolverine hadn't demanded any of those things. He stayed silent as a gravestone.
That mute response, Logan now realized, was the beginning of the end of his need for her. And in all likelihood, the first step on his journey into a whole new level of Hell.
End Chapter 2.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
This chapter is much longer than I hoped it would be, but there was quite a bit of ground to cover, which is not to say that there isn't still a whole lot of mystery left to unravel. I was pretty nervous about this not having the same 'feel' as the rest of the story, but I had someone I trust very much read it and, keeping in mind that this chapter is all about 'background', she encouraged me to post it as is, so here goes...
Chapter End Notes:
Next time: Jean has her say...Rogue loses sleep...and we get one step closer to meeting Logan's accomplice...