Soap Gets In Your Claws

Chapter Five: Sticky Fingers

Thursday

I: Jean

On Thursday night, Jean drove into the city and bought a red leather micro-miniskirt and a slinky black velvet top with a plunging neckline. At the same store she bought a red and black lacy bra and panty set and black fishnet stockings and with red and black lacy garters to match and a pair of red-leather platform Mary Jane shoes with a stacked heel.

When she put her clothes on in front of her mirror on Friday night, she felt stupid, embarrassed, uncomfortable and mortified, but, she was all ready to go to the drive-in with Scott and ravish him hungrily in the bed of his truck, and if this is what it took, this is what it took.

He wasn’t in their room, so she went to look for him.

As she passed through the hallways, several of the students gawked at her, and she thought she caught Kurt sneaking a look and Henry came out of the lab to tell her something he could have told her any time, so she figured that she was onto something.

When she located Scott, in his office, he was working, as usual.

He looked at her, and did a double take.

Could he finally be noticing that something was amiss?

“Oh my God, Jean, what the hell are you dressed for? Put…put something on, anything! Jesus, were you walking around the school like that? I can see your…your panties!”

That’s the idea, Scott.

He sprung out of his chair and started looking for something for her to wear, and, finding nothing else, he unbuttoned his shirt and put it around her shoulders.

Naturally, he wore a full undershirt.

“My shirt goes further down your leg than that getup does! Why wasn’t I told you were going on some mission dressed like this! You can’t go alone! Hell, I don’t want you to walk through the school alone. And you’re not going with Logan. He’s only human, after all. Button up, Jean, button up!”

After he had her buttoned into his shirt, Scott finally stopped his fussing.

“It’s not for a mission, Scott. It’s for you.”

“For me? What?!”

“Scott, you remember two weeks ago when I told you that I went to the drive in with Logan and you wanted to go on Friday? Well, I was busy last Friday, but it’s Friday, again, and I’m all ready to go. You said you needed the time off. We can go in your truck. It does have an eight foot bed with a cap on it. And you never use it for anything. It’ll be just like being a teenager again, except without the pimples. And you know what teenagers do at the drive-in, don’t you?”

Scott’s face turned almost as red as his glasses.

“Jean, I…I can’t.”

Don’t yell at him.

Find out what he means by that.

“Can’t, or won’t?”

“Both. Neither. I don’t know. Go change your clothes. Just go.”

“Why? Do I disgust you, all of the sudden? Jesus, Scott, what do you want me to do?”

Anger flashed across his face, and his cheeks turned red with it.

“I want you to leave me alone and quit acting like one of those slutty teenage groupies who hang around outside the gates! Goddamn it, Jean, what the hell is the matter with you? Are you in some kind of second adolescence? If you have some kind of cheap, dirty itch like a bitch in heat that you need scratched, why don’t you go ask Logan to go to the drive-in with you? You can vamp him in that hooker getup, and I’m sure the poor bastard won’t be able to resist you! I have more important things to worry about than the fact that you can’t seem to grow up!” Scott snapped.

Jean was hurt, she was angry, and she was stunned.

“You heartless bastard! You’re not grown up, you’re dead! Dead from the neck down!”

Scott got up, tore his shirt off of her, and threw it on the ground.

“Go on, go! Get out of my sight, you…you…you red-headed whore!” he yelled.

Now Jean was just angry.

“Fine! If that’s the way you want it, fine! That’s the way you’ll have it! You have a good time here, Scott! I’m going to the drive-in with Logan, and I am sure as hell going to gave a good time, there!”

Jean stormed out of the room, and down the hall.

“I don’t care! Do what you want! It doesn’t matter to me!” Scott yelled after her.

II: Logan

As miserable weeks go, Logan had two incredibly miserable weeks.

He couldn’t forget about three whole hours of holding Jeannie in his arms while she slept.

He knew it made him a sad, pathetic, lovesick old Canucklehead fool for feeling the way he did about it, but a man can’t help the way he feels, and holding Jeannie in his arms was a little slice of heaven.

His heart had been racing in his chest the whole time and he went home blue-balled and practically had to hit his dick with a hammer to get it to go down.

Thinking about it, now, his heart had begun to race, again.

That was around the time he smelled Jeannie coming to his door, under a head of steam made from lust and rage, pounding on the door.

“Logan? It’s me. Do you want to go to the drive-in again? I told Scott I could have more fun if I went with him, than if I went with you, but he told me to go ahead with you and have a good time, so, let’s you and me go to the drive in and have a goddamn good time.” She said, tersely.

Logan opened his mouth and tried to make words come out, but he was completely thunderstruck.

He was standing there in his threadbare military-issue undershorts with the saggy elastic and there was Jeannie, all dressed up like a two-dollar hooker on a Saturday night.

Wolverine was quite aware that his jaw was hanging open like a rube at a freak show watching the geek bite the heads off of live chickens, but he couldn’t seem to do anything about it.

He mustered up every ounce of willpower from a lifetime of strict self-discipline over his animal nature to keep himself from hauling her into the room, slamming the door, throwing her onto the bed, unwrapping her like a Christmas present and having his wicked, wicked way with her.

Repeatedly.

While making noises like a wild animal.

“Well? Do you want to go to the drive-in with me, or not?”

Logan pulled up on the saggy elastic of his shorts and ducked behind the door; he was getting rather excited and said elastic was no match for something that had just come up.

That was it.

He had reached the outer limits of his patience, his dignity, and his restraint.

The hell with it.

Let the world burn and the stars die and the sea swallow up the land, he had tried to be a good boy and now he was done with it, and if Jean wanted to see what it was a man, a fucking real man could do for her, then he was going to show her.

Yes he was.

“Gimme five minutes, Red.” He said.

“I’ll be in the car.”

Logan watched her walk away and he began to feel some serious physical pain.

He went off to take a cold shower and get dressed.

IV: Jean

They took Jean’s VW bug to the same drive in, again, and they sat in the back seat, again just like last week, and this time Jean didn’t even pretend to be ladylike, she ate like ten pigs and drank three or four beers, which was a lot for her, and told Logan the funny part of Liv’s latest funny, dirty story, and he laughed.

The first movie was the latest Christopher Lee vampire flick, The Satanic Rites of Dracula, and the second was an oldie but goodie, Oliver Reed in Curse of the Werewolf.

“He reminds me of you, Logan. You don’t have to put a lot of make-up on him to make him look like an animal.” Jean sighed

“Was that an insult or a complement?” Logan asked.

“It wasn’t an insult. I shouldn’t be here with you. I don’t know what I’m looking for. I know to you this probably sounds ridiculous, but I’m really starting to feel old. I’m thirty, you know. And I feel like they say you feel when you’re thirty. Old and dried up. Like I’m just Professor Grey. Plain old Professor Grey. I might as well grow a beard. I know I really used to turn you on, so here I am, at the goddamn drive-in with you, like we’re goddamn teenagers. I was going to bring Scott here. I’m glad I didn’t. Even if I would have, I could have sat in his lap and he wouldn’t have noticed. It wasn’t him I wanted. I’ve been thinking about you, Logan. Thinking about how you used to feel about me. How it used to scare me the way you looked at me. I’d pay money to see you look at me that way again. But you won’t. And I know Scott won’t. If I learned the ancient art, of, I don’t know, erotic bellydancing, it wouldn’t turn him on. I’ve made an ass of myself for that man. In front of the whole world. I threw myself down the stairs to get Eddie Blake alone in my office, and last week after the reception at the Avengers Mansion, I got fortified with liquid courage and came onto Tony Stark. He already had plans for the night. But, they were both just substitutes. I’ve tried to be a good girl. I’ve tried to catch his attention. Scott’s. For nothing. Bought all those miniskirts, and sexy underwear, and goddamn thigh-high nylons and garters. Nothing. I put this outfit on for his benefit. You know I even put my goddamn diaphragm in? I might as well have worn a burlap sack. He might as well be rooming with you and your stinky sweat socks that smell like old cheese. You know, tonight I did everything but say, hey, take me to the drive–in, I’ll give you a blowjob, after all I haven’t had your cock in my mouth for about five years, you used to like it and I did, too, and he told me to go with you. Like he can’t imagine anyone thinks about fucking at all. Ever.”

Without really looking over at Logan, closely Jean finished off her fourth beer.

She knew she was a little tipsy and way out of line, but she was too angry and frustrated and disgusted with herself to care.

“I don’t know, Logan. I wish I could tell you that I loved you, or that I all the sudden want to know what it’s like to be with a man who once thought I was the most desirable woman in the world. But, then again, maybe I’m just desperate to get a good fuck from a real man, for once in my life. At any rate, this is where our great romance that never happened ends. You used to burn for me. With the white-hot intensity of a thousand dying suns. And I blew it, so I could plight my troth to a man who has let cobwebs grow on my pussy. Pretty soon I’ll just dry up like some old crone, I guess. I was a fool for love and I let you get away from me. And here I am, at the end of all things, a day late and a dollar short. Dressed up like a two-dollar whore in the back of my Beetle, waiting about seven years after the fact to beg you to let me suck your dick at the drive-in. How sad, and dirty, and pathetic. God, I am so depressed!”

Jean wasn’t looking at him, so she didn’t see the beads of sweat that broke out on his forehead, and she couldn’t hear him grinding his teeth together, but after she delivered her parting salvo of her woeful speech, the howling wave of sheer animal lust that rolled off of Logan squeezed everything in her mind off to the side and hit her like a fist in the face.

She could see what he was thinking and words were not involved, but what was involved made her feel molten and weak at the knees.

At the same time, though, Logan was fighting himself, bravely, holding back from simply throwing himself on her, and then, the way the warm sun feels coming out of the clouds after you’ve been soaked by a cold hard rain, she could feel him burning for her.

With the white-hot intensity of a thousand dying suns in supernova.

“Jeannie, darlin’, I never stopped burnin’ for you. I would never make you beg.” He growled.

“Then do something! Now, before I change my mind!” She told him.

He pulled her half into his lap and kissed her, fiercely.

Jean moaned into his mouth and in the flickering light of the screen she could see it, that wild, who cares, burn down the stars look in Logan’s wolfish blue eyes.

He still burned for her, hotter than ever, and now, God help her, she burned for him, too, from some fierce flaming well deep inside her body and her mind, red and hot and infinite.

She looked at him with desperate lust mingled with surprise and gratitude.

“You’re not just doing this because you feel sorry for me, are you, Logan?”

Now he was kissing her neck, licking the hollows behind her ears.

A slow, almost forgotten thrill of molten sexual warmth spread over Jean, and she basked in it like a cat in a sunbeam.

She felt very, very good.

“I feel sorry for Cyke, darlin’. Sorry he can’t see what a woman he’s got in you.”

Logan’s hands were under her top, he liked it, it turned him on.

“Was it the clothes I bought?”

He laughed.

She put her hand between them, and rubbed his stiffening cock through his jeans.

Feels good to have a dick in my hand again. My God, he’s huge. Holy shit, it’s going to look like a third leg on him.

“Darlin’ I used to get hard from lookin’ at your calves in your nylons. When you started dressin’ up like a high-class hooker, you almost did me in.”

Jean was feeling light-headed.

“Ooooo, Logan, say something else to me that’s dirty. Scott never talked to me while we did it. ” She told him.

“You gonna lemme see that sexy underwear you got on, darlin’?” he asked her.

He had his hand under her skirt and he was caressing her where the Comedian had briefly touched her, but Logan was unsnapping her garters and rolling down her stockings.

She wiggled out of her top as he unzipped her miniskirt and slid it off along with her stockings.

“I been wanting to unwrap you all night, Red.” he told her.

Then he stopped to take off his shirt.

Jean ran her hands through the hair on his chest, feeling his terse, solid muscles.

“Those are some real nice wrappers you got on your candy, darlin’. It’s a shame…”

SNIKT!

Logan waggled the claws on one hand at her and grinned as she sucked her breath in, sharply.

“…that I’m gonna have to ruin’ em.”

He always did look sexy with his claws out; she had almost gotten killed a few times thinking about how tattered spandex, blood, and adamantium became him.

And moonlight and adamantium, such was the stuff that dreams were made of.

“Naplam was right, Logan. Your claws are beautiful. You’re beautiful. You really are the end product of a thousand years of evolution. What a piece of work is man. The paragon of animals.” Jean breathed.

How was it she never noticed before that he was beautiful, quite possibly the most beautiful man in the world?

Though they were made of metal, his claws weren’t cold, they were as warm as the rest of him, which made sense, as they came from inside his body. They felt strange and hard against her skin, slicing the bra and panties off her, but she had fantasised about this, about Logan slicing her clothes off and, although it was different than she imagined, it was certainly different in a good way.

Then he retracted his claws, and his large, strong hands on her body were sure and firm and hot, with calloused palms.

She was fairly panting as she unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants and Logan wriggled out of them and his shorts.

They were both naked in the back seat of the little car at the drive-in, like a couple of horny teenagers.

Jean felt like a horny teenager.

Naked and not ashamed.

“You know what? I never did it at the drive-in before.” She told him.

She crawled over his lap, raking her nipples across his thick, hairy thighs, and thinking that the last time she’d done this to a man it was in college, but Logan was bigger than he was, much, much bigger.

It did look like a third leg on him, and she found herself giggling.

“I’m sorry, Logan. But it really does look like a third leg, on you.”

“If you’re laughin’, darlin’, it means you ain’t scared, an’ that’s good.”

“Oh, I’m not scared. I’m…ravenous.”

It didn’t seem to make a difference how big he was.

Jean felt almost entranced with lust, she wasn’t thinking of anything else but how good it felt to have Logan’s immense cock in her mouth and his hands and his fingers teasing her into little peaks of excitement. She gave herself over to the intense feelings of pleasure. She had this crazy sense of freedom and wild abandon, she just wanted to feel good, to get off, and to get this hairy little Sherman tank of a man off, and nothing else really seemed to matter.

So, this was what it was like to be Napalm.

The guy she went with in college, he always wanted to shoot his load in her mouth and for her to swallow it, something she had always tried to find disgusting but had actually found incredibly exciting.

Incredibly exciting.

He had one of his hands on the back of her head, tangled in her hair, growling deep in his barrel chest.

“Jeannie, darlin’...gettin’ real close…”

So was Jean.

She sucked him harder, and he started thrusting into her mouth.

Never like this, she never had it like this.

The closer Logan got the closer she got until she came in his hand at the same time he came in her mouth.

Jean fell back across the seats, with a little cry, licking her lips, in the languid grip of a dense, lazy heat, her eyelids fluttering, reaching blindly for Logan.

“More.” She gasped.

Logan was on top of her, his soft growl rumbling in her ears.

“More, Logan, more. I need you.” She told him.

“You own me, Jeannie. I’m all yours.”

He was kissing her and caressing her breasts and sucking on her nipples and kissing her belly as she felt all molten and wanton, her body stiffening in anticipation.

It had been such a long time.

She tangled her fists in his thick, black hair and opened her legs for him; put them around his broad shoulders, the hair on them tickling the backs of her thighs, making her want to laugh, again.

Was he going to…to…

She felt his hot breath blow those cobwebs off her pussy, and his stubbled cheeks rubbed against her thighs.

“Mmmm, darlin’, you smell so fine an’ hot.”

Jean giggled.

“Do I? Do you like it?”

She felt the tip of his tongue drag long and lovingly against her clit in reply.

“Hotter’n the original burnin’ bush.”

Oh yes.

Yes, he was.

“You don’t have to.” She gasped.

“Darlin’, I want to. You know how many years your sweet smell’s been drivin’ me mad? Been times when I thought all I wanted in the world was ta eat your sweet li’le pussy. Don’t you dare try an’ stop me.”

Oh, that was dirty.

That was really dirty.

Jean laughed, almost drunkenly.

Of course, Jean knew it was wrong, she knew it was the worst thing she could possibly have done, but, just then, she didn’t care, and that not caring, it was the greatest goddamn feeling in the world.

She untangled one hand from his hair and stroked the nape of his thick neck.

“Don’t worry. I won’t.” she gasped.

****

“Ooooo…ooooo…oooo…OH LOGAN! OH GOD, LOGAN!”

The film in the projector overheated and ripped apart on the screen; all of the windows in the house nearest the drive in vaporised, as if the glass just disappeared. An unexplained electromagnetic pulse blew out every transformer in a square mile in a shower of sparks, and the battery of every car at the drive-in died and then recharged, bringing the cars to life in an uncontrollable display of horns honking, hi-beams flashing, windshield wipers flapping wildly, and radios blaring.

Jean moved her hands away from Logan’s head, and found she had a tuft of black hair in her hand.

She sat up a little, wiped the steam off of one window, and looked at the chaos all around her, then rolled the window down a crack to admit the cacophony.

“Did I do that?” she asked.

Logan wiped his face off with his undershirt, sniffed it, shrugged, grinned, and put it back on.

“You sure did, darlin’.” He said, laughing.

Jean rolled up the window, and stretched back across the seat.

Somebody was laughing.

Oh wait.

It’s me.

“Logan, you got a cigarette?” she asked.