She jerked upright with a gasp, equally as pained as surprised. Her every nerve ending was screaming out like all hell was on fire inside her body. A soothing voice inside her head was purring softly, assuring her all was fine now. She was safe, the burn was just his healing, coursing through her body, putting all the pieces back in the right places after the bullets, and grenade, and falling masonry, had tried to rearrange her in a form that just didn't work.
As the doctors fussed around her where she lay on the floor of the jet, she turned her head tentatively to regard her unconscious saviour. Wolverine's fast thinking had been for him to touch her, to give her his healing. She wouldn't have lived if he hadn't, her body had been too damaged for the doctors to fix, even if they had been able to get her to the medical bay in time.
"Thank you," she murmured softly, even as a tear slipped across her face. "Please be okay," she begged, in a broken whisper, even as the soothing voice in her head assured her he would be fine. She fell into a deep healing sleep, listening to the steady, soothing, thump of his heart.
When she woke again she was in her own bed at the mansion. A note on her bedside table instructed her to drink the glass of water that had been left for her, and to call Jean if she needed more painkillers. Easing herself up, she methodically stretched each limb, right down to her fingers and toes, before rolling her neck. She felt refreshed, energized, and... aroused...?
Contemplating that odd foreign feeling, one she had tried her best to quash since her mutation had activated, she sipped the glass of water slowly. Next stop was the bathroom. She had just decided to take a shower, and stripped the post mission sweatshirt she had been dressed in off, when she was blindsided by another ferocious wave of arousal. It took her a moment to realise the arousal wasn't hers, as eyes, her own but not, skimmed over her body in her reflection in the bathroom mirror, drinking in every detail.
With a surprised gasp, when her eyes finally met in the glass she realised whose the arousal was, and it wasn't just lustful arousal either. It was contentment, and comfort, silence, peace, longing, belonging... love. Images, memories, began to pour through her mind, even as her newest passenger apologetically scrambled to capture them and keep them from her.
With a beaming smile she turned to the shower, scrubbing off the post-mission grime the med lab crew hadn't been able to get off with their quick sponge bath. Before she could contemplate what she was doing, she dressed and slipped down the hall to Wolverine's room. It was right at the far end of the hall, as far removed from the other rooms as it could get; he didn't like to disturb anyone else with his nightmares.
Silently sneaking into the room, she smiled softly at the form sleeping soundly in the bed. It was obvious from his position that it was not an entirely natural sleep, that was obviously how he had been laid by whoever had carried him upstairs, but he was alive, and by the sound of it, almost ready to wake. Quickly she went to where the memories, that Wolverine was now grumbling at her irritably for looking at, lead her. Kneeling down beside the bed she reached underneath, and pulled out the box she found. Sliding the lid off she pulled out the huge pile of pages, each one a drawing.
Of her. Of them.
Turning the stack over, so she was starting from the bottom, she slowly peeled back one image at a time. They started out innocently, scenes of the mansion, and its various residents, slowly they began to focus on her. Scene, after scene, feature after feature. Her sad smiles, happy smiles, sorrow, longing, her in the gardens, reading on the couch in the library, listening intently to a mission briefing, brow furrowed in concentration as she focused on landing the jet, her tells in the middle of a poker game.
It wasn't long before the tone of the images changed, much like the ones she had been getting but... more. Sensual, sexual almost, images of the two of them together but in these his identity was not hidden. Some of the images were downright pornographic, some screamed possession, while others spoke of contentment and future. An image of her spread out on a bed, body naked but barely obscured by a sheet. Her naked body writhing on top of his clothed one, his hand between her legs obscuring the extent of the scene, even as the him in her mind confirmed their depicted act. An image of her wrapped in a thin, flowing sheet, his arms wrapped around her, pulling the sheet taught to display her swollen belly - this image accompanied by a deep possessive purr from inside her head.
A hitch in the rhythmic breathing from the bed told her he was awake, and she glanced up at him, letting her soft, knowing smile meet his gaze.
"You weren't supposed to know about those ones," he grumbled half-heartedly a moment later, as he slowly began to shift and stretch. "Damn you pack one hell of a punch," he murmured, though his tone and teasing grin told her of his pride at that fact.
"Sorry about that, want me to help you sit up?" she offered, setting aside the pile of drawings as she moved to the bed. Receiving a grunt, which she assumed was acceptance, she helped him to pull himself upright, before stuffing pillows behind his back and helping him scoot back to rest against them. Handing him the glass of water that was sitting at the ready, she queried how he was feeling, getting tolerant answers between sips in response, as he assured her he felt fine, a little weak, and hungry, but fine.
"I'll go get you something to eat," Rogue offered, standing and heading for the door.
"Rogue," she was interrupted halfway across the room. "Could you put them away first, they're... I don't want anyone else seeing them," he said softly, nodding toward the stack of drawings. "Maybe one day... you could tell me which one's your favourite," he murmured, and was he blushing?!
"Oh that's easy, sugar," she replied with a smile, "This one." And she set her favourite picture on the bed beside him, as she slid the rest of the box back under the bed.
For a moment he gazed down at the image, it was a point of view shot, from his perspective, of her. It showed her, them, at an alter, her face minimally obscured by a sheer veil, as he slid a ring on her finger. Pure joy radiating from her face as she stared back at him, the image even felt like it was staring directly into his soul, filling him with her love.
"I like that one too," he replied, eventually tearing his eyes off the image to regard the woman before him. "Maybe we could re-enact the scene one day?" he suggested, grinning happily when all he received in response was a saucy wink, before Rogue fled the room, promising to return with food.
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Chapter End Notes:
When I started posting this story, this chapter was meant to be the end but my muse suddenly decided it wanted to continue... who am I to argue.
The tone of the chapters going forward changes slightly.
The tone of the chapters going forward changes slightly.