Voices around him. Every limb lax and heavy. Dizzy. Blurred images, partial faces and gleaming instruments. Strange scents filling his nostrils.
“Look out, he’s waking up!” Shouting. Something pressing against his lips. Slow burn and numbness in his stomach. Sleepy. Somebody jostling him. Tearing sound and excruciating pain all over his body.
“Interesting. I thought he couldn’t release his claws unconscious.”
“Hold his hands. We don’t want him to cut…” Strange buzzing sound drowning all the other voices around him. Slicing. Blood flowing.
“Be careful!”
He woke up disoriented. That had got to be the most fucked up nightmare up until now. Never before had those felt so real. His body was still tingling and burning, and he could still smell every scent so vividly… He reached for the lamp on his bedside table, and knocked over something. Stench of alcohol tickled his nose. He flicked the light on and sat up, rubbing his eyes. Swung his legs to the floor. Tried to remember when exactly had he drank five bottles of Jim Beam, and for what purpose. Well, what ever it had been, he hoped it had been worth it. His bladder was screaming for release. He stood up and patted to bathroom.
“Hmm?”
Returned in front of the full-length mirror attached to closet door. Small muscle started to tick next to his eye when he surveyed the damage his body had taken. Flawless tanned skin rippled over well-defined muscles. Chest hair was gone. Pubic hair neatly trimmed. Muttonchops shortened to fashionable five o’clock shade. Toenails clipped and was that really nail polish he could smell on them? He leaned closer. Yep. Eyebrows plucked, as well as nose hair. Armpits? Hairless and soft like a baby’s butt.
“Oh, fuck.” He opened the closet door after remembering what day it was. Great masquerade ball. He had promised to Marie on a weak moment that she could choose an outfit for him. Staring at the only piece of clothing that hung there, he started to question his sanity. And wonder her imagination. How fucked up that kid actually was? Was she really expecting him to wear that? And with what?
He was shivering. Scott was standing next to him, dressed as an Easter bunny, looking awfully warm and comfortable. Logan wanted to hug him, just to feel something warm against his skin.
“Stop humping me!” Scott hissed. Logan whined softly.
“I’m not humping. It’s so god damned cold in here!”
“What are you supposed to be? You look like every gay man’s wet dream,” Scott asked, eyeing him suspiciously. Bare, muscular upper body, skin-tight black leather pants gleaming wetly in dim lights.
“I have no fucking idea. I haven’t seen Rogue yet. Guess she takes her time to get everything ready.”
“Oh, there she is! Rogue! Here!” Scott started to wave and shout when Logan apparently decided it was worth the public humiliation to try to get warm by crawling to Easter bunny’s lap.
“There’s my little minion! Come here, puppy!” Rogue smiled, baring elongated canines, and snapped a collar around Logan’s neck before he had time to protest. Logan tried feebly to grab Scott’s hand, but Rogue tugged the leash and pulled him to dance floor. And suddenly he wasn’t so cold anymore.
“Jubilee found this old comic book about vampires. I thought it would be nice to try out.” Logan made a mental note to thank Jubilee properly. His sorry excuse for a suit was cold as hell, but sight of Marie, dressed in almost similar manner, holding his leash warmed him up pretty quickly.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
There really is no good excuse to torment poor Wolvie like this, but... Let's call this a momentarily lapse of reason.