Another day, another hideout. This one though is a step above the usual place. It has running water and Hank has a generator of some odd design, so there is electricity.
We don't usually come here. Hank's place is the one stationary hideout that's 'protected'. He and Forge often work here like a research and development department for the war. They created a device that shields this small section of the building from mutant detection instruments.
They need Logan's help to test a smaller, personal sized version. The hope is they can eventually produce these devices for others. At the very least it would give us an edge in the war.
I hate to think of how bad it has gotten. There are detention centers and potentially 'dangerous' mutants are rounded up every day. Though the outright assaults on mutants and endless raids on human helpers have slowed, things are far from peaceful.
The destruction of property and loss of human and mutant life has drawn the attention of those in the upper crust of society. No one has been left untouched by this disaster of a policy; a program government officials have lost control of. Even the President's daughter was killed in a raid of her college sorority in the DC safe zone. Her dangerous mutation was being able to change the color of her hair at will.
So here I sit impatiently waiting for the 'guys' to return. I cleaned a little and dusted, something I have always loathed and none of which are on Hank's list of priorities. They weren't anywhere near my list of priorities either, but doing it kept me from chewing my nails down to the bone.
There are footsteps in the stairwell and I freeze before I hear Forge's voice. Two sets of footfalls and something thudding down the final set of five steps. Panicking, I yank open the door to the hall.
In between Forge and Hank is Logan; they are supporting him as they practically drag him into the room. Logan's cermet chest armor, worn specifically for today so he can get up close and personal with a sentinel, has been crushed like an aluminum can. There is blood running from the corner of his mouth and his lips are blue from lack of oxygen. The two men place him on the floor as gently as possible. Immediately, I see that his buckles are jammed and take my knife from the sheath on my thigh and cut the straps. Hank pries the breastplate back like the lid of a sardine tin.
Logan had given me a weak smile when he first saw me despite the pain he was suffering. The pain in his eyes had been subtle; he was used to living with it all the time, but now as he sucks in his first unhindered breath I can see exactly how much pain he's in. It hurt just as much to have the armor removed as it did to have it crushing his chest.
I swipe at the blood with the edge of my sleeve and cup his face with my hands forcing him to focus on me. "You with me, Logan?"
"Hey, Darlin'," he wheezes. I swear I hear a rib snapping and his eyes slide closed.
"Logan!" His eyelids flutter and tears begin to form in my eyes. Damn him and his cavalier attitude toward death. A healing factor doesn't make it all right.
"Don't," he whispers wiping a tear from my eye with his thumb. "None of that." He smiles, but I see the muscle twitch in his jaw.
There is a sickening popping sound from his chest. Even Hank flinches. Finally, Logan is able to take in a full breath. Sitting back on my haunches, I rest my hand on his chest. He covers it with his own and relaxes as he continues to knit himself back together.
"I take it the device was a failure?" I ask, glancing up at the two men. The device should have protected him but he has multiple wounds. We all had such hopes for it, it would make not only Logan but others much safer on missions had it worked.
"Quite the contrary," Hank answers. "It worked as intended." I look between the two men, giving them Logan's signature raised eyebrow.
"Until it was knocked off," Forge interjects. He turns the device over in his hands and then looks at Logan with a pained expression before peering over at Hank.
"Rogue," Hank begins softly, obviously tuning his own heightened senses in on Logan. "What do you need from us?"
"For the two of you to get to work on fixing that so it doesn't fall off." Glancing back at Logan, I rake my fingers through his hair knowing the calming effect it has on him. "We'll be fine."
The two men wait a moment before wandering off to one of the workbenches discussing a better system for attaching the device.
Sighing, I look down at Logan. "You are not out of trouble mister." I can't even muster fake anger, only resignation that my lover is the best man for this kind of job.
"Make it up to you," he says, his voice still hoarse.
"How about as soon as you can walk, we get you cleaned up?" I know they were testing the device on a sentinel, but I can't identify the goop in his hair or on his clothes.
"Sounds good." He gives me a lopsided grin and wags his eyebrows at me. I have to laugh, even with the shape he's in, he thinks of sex.
After a few minutes, he declares himself mostly alive and we make our way to the bathroom area. He's slightly wobbly and by the time we get there he's exhausted. I leave him leaning against a wall and hunt down a sturdy chair.
This particular building was once a school and the rooms were part of the sublevel of storage and locker rooms. There are plenty of old janitorial supplies, scientific equipment, and other odds and ends. I easily rustle up a chair, some towels, and a new bar of soap.
Logan throws a skeptical eye at the chair. "Don't need that," he states, continuing to lean on the wall for support.
I give him my best mean look. "I thought you were going to make this up to me."
"Yes, Darlin'," he acquiesces. Sitting down wearily he allows me to take off his boots and shirt.
I adjust the nearest shower to a nice warm spray and work at lathering his hair. Two washes later and it's no longer sticky. He's feeling even better and I help him stand up and strip down the rest of the way. He harumphs at my less than tender attitude.
I'm worried about how bad he is internally. That man of mine can take a shit load of abuse and bounce back. Then again he tends to cover up the worst injuries to keep us all moving forward.
While he scrubs up, I wash out his clothes as best I can. On a whim, I do a quick wash of my own. There is no telling when I'll get another chance. The old partitions will have to work as a makeshift clothesline.
When Logan's finished rinsing, I lay a towel out on the chair and help him sit back down. "Your turn," he tells me.
Looking at him, I blink a few times. A shower, to be clean for the first time in forever, would be beyond luxurious. I brought in enough towels and I could even wash my hair. "Okay, when you're dried off."
"Now?" he asks, desire flickering in his eyes. "I want to watch you."
I know I must look like a deer caught in the headlights. Alone time is a precious commodity. This is as private as it gets even with two people only a room away. We haven't been alone together since our first time months ago.
"Please," he pleads. "I need this."
We never talk about the future; it's best to live in the present. Death is a constant companion for all of us. Near death experiences are common and bind us tighter.
I study him a second. This isn't an adrenal fueled need, a flare of desire quickly burned off through sex. This is something different. Logan needs the reassurance that he is alive. That his woman loves him and as a man, he is still whole.
I simple nod, unable to verbalize a comment that would soothe him. Removing my undergarments, I swiftly wash them. Logan scoots his chair forward to the edge of the spray while I put my things with the others to dry.
Starting with my hair reminds me of the past. There was a time that I wouldn't have dreamed of washing my hair with a bar of soap. But that seems like a million years ago when there were a multitude of bottles lined up in the shower for both hair and body. Today clean soap smell is all I care about. Rinsing the soap from my hair, I squeeze out the water and tie it in a loose knot to keep it out of the way.
My face is barely washed, when I hear his voice. "Turn around."
Facing him, I let my eyes drift down his body to his erection. I bite my lip in anticipation. It is obvious how he wants this to end. The thought of it puts butterflies in my stomach.
I watch him for a moment casually touching himself as I wash. Our eyes meet and I have to look away. The want in his eyes is intense; the raw need is too much for me. It is too close to the surface and calls to mind how fragile life is now.
The rest of the time I avert my eyes from him. I hear him growl, the predator in him emerging. One would think after my time with him, and sex with Logan being what it is, I would be bold and challenging. But I don't think I've reached the point where I'm confident in my own needs.
The chair creaks and I glance to see him moving to stand. "Sugar, stay down. I don't need you getting all lightheaded on me."
Reluctantly he complies and I rinse the soap from my body. I turn the water off and take the few steps to stand between his spread knees.
"Are you up for this?" I ask. He only rumbles in reply, which is his version of never better.
One hand is on his cock idly stroking it; the other is on my hip kneading my flesh. I'm about to ask him how he wants this, but contrary to my earlier thoughts I've taken the initiative and ordered him to stay seated. This limits how this will play out and if I want him sitting I will need to make it happen.
I lean down, keeping my balance with a hand on his shoulder and kiss him. His mouth is hungry, nibbling at my lower lip when he finally lets me up. I push his damp hair back and I'm surprised over the mix of emotions there. Those hazel eyes hide none of the love or the need to possess me.
His hand moves from my hip and gently pulls my leg to the outside of his. I rake my fingers through his hair while he sucks at my breast. I'm trembling with need for him. As if sensing it, the hand that had been trailing along my inner thigh tangles in my wet curls. My moan spurs him on and he bites lightly at my nipple when he slips a finger inside me.
Kissing him again, I straddle his hips and still the hand on his cock with mine. He draws back as I position myself above his shaft. Our eyes lock and I begin to descend. He thrusts up to meet me and I gasp at the suddenness of it.
He's watching me, scrutinizing my reaction as he pumps into me. Although it is pleasurable and I tell him as much, I know I'm just along for the ride and he will finish long before I do. There's a chance if I keep it simple, I can slow him down.
"Stop," I whisper in his ear. His hips slow, an almost growl rumbles through his chest but he stops.
Readjusting myself for better friction, he grunts and bears his teeth as he slides deeper. I start moving, rubbing on him in a way that makes me whimper. His hands grip my hips tightly, guiding me.
My focus narrows with each plunge; the set of his jaw, the way his sideburn brushes my cheek, and the curl of hair on his neck. His head lolls to the side and I follow the corded muscle down his neck with my mouth. I'm shaking and the only thing keeping me going is his hands. There will be bruises later, but he'll willingly kiss those away.
I've forgotten how to breath and Logan's own ragged gasps fill my ears. My vision goes white hot and I bite the base of his neck. I'm faintly aware of the familiar sound of his claws releasing as a coppery taste fills my mouth and I convulse around him.
When the fuzziness in my brain dissipates, I'm like a rag doll on his lap. There is no trace of the bite I gave him. The flush burning my cheeks is only partially due to physical exertion. I'm suddenly embarrassed at the abandonment of all decorum on my part.
Logan caresses my back, his breathing returning to normal. "Am I out of trouble?"
"Maybe," I mumble into his shoulder.
He begins to chuckle; a deep, rolling sound, that shakes us both. "Glad I'm alive?"
"Always." And I am, but I don't want to let him know how many years off my life I lose every time he goes out. Then again I'm sure he has the same worries when I'm gone too. I move to get up and he holds me in place. Sighing, I rest my head back in the crook of his neck. "No more putting your healing factor to the test today."
"Okay," he replies, kissing me behind the ear. He then pinches my bottom, "Later?"
I groan at his persistence and relax into him. Tonight when I'm positive he's completely healed, I'll let him sweet talk me into something. Despite my protests right now; since he started touching me months ago, I don't want him to stop.
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