BY : Eiluned
Category: X-men Comics > Het - Male/Female > Logan/Jean
Dragon prints: 2379
Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men comics, or any of the characters from it. I make no money from from the writing of this story.


by Eiluned (

Date finished: 19 January 2001

Archive: Yes to list archives. All others please ask first, or remind me if I've said yes before.

Disclaimer: Not mine. No money. You can't prove anything. ::runs::

Summary: Logan thanks his lucky stars. Age of Apocalypse setting. Rated R for non-graphic sexual situations. Logan/Jean. Angst, Vignette, Romance. Logan's POV.

Notes: This is for F., who asked for an Age of Apocalypse story. Look for some sequels, honey. :) Takes place just before the events of the Weapon X books.

Every morning, I wake up with Jeannie in my arms and I thank God, if he exists. I'd be dead right now if I didn't have her. She is what keeps me alive, keeps me sane, keeps me from turning into the mindless killing machthatthat I'm supposed to be.

Every night, when we lie down to sleep, I thank the God that might not exist that she didn't die. I whisper my thanks in my head that we're still alive and still together. Being able to fall asleep curled up with her is the greatest blessing I could ask for, next to being able to die at her side.

I'm not afraid of dying. I'm afraid of dying without her. Every once in a while, when I let my guard down, the fear that she'll die and leave me alone, or vice versa, reaches up and chokes me. I don't want to imagine my life without Jean, mostly because I know it wouldn't be a life. I'd still breathe and sleep and eat, but I would be dead. I'd rather die at her side, holding her hand, reaching out to oblivion together.

She wakes up slowly, a luxury we haven't been able to afford much lately, and lifts her head from my chest, gazing sleepily at me. "Good morning," she murmurs, shaking the last bits of sleep off of her mind.

"'Mornin', lover," I reply, pulling her on top of me.

Jean fits perfectly against me, I think, but then she starts kissing me and I can't think anymore. I can only feel. We make love each time as if it's our last, reducing each other to flames and ashes. I roll her underneath me and she wraps her long legs around my hips, her fingers locking tight with mine. I slip my other arm underneath her, holding her close to my chest, and enter her smoothly.

I drink every sensation in, memorizing everything: the little gasp and the way her eyes widen when I slide inside of her, the bite of her nails into my shoulder, the halo of red hair on the pillow, how her hips move to meet my thrusts, the soft brush of her breasts against my chest, the clench of her muscles around me...

The way her mind flies open when we come together, sucking me in until I can't tell what's her and what's me.

I kiss her and count my blessings.


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