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Kinds	By : ebonbird Category: X-men Comics > Het - Male/Female > Logan/Ororo Views: 2960 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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.

Chapter List
- 1-Kinds
- 1
Original Post March 2001. Revised November 2001.

Disclaimer: The characters most definitely belong to
Marvel. Notes: Inspired by the John Duffin's Silver Fox cycle. I
figure this is what could happen after the events of "Milan". Call it a Coda if you will.
For: J. Sometimes a person must run
with it.
They'd been dashing up and down the Mississip'
together, robbing from the rich and giving to the poor. At the time,
Ororo knew that she'd never been so happy as when she was hanging on
Gambit's arm, though back then her memories hadn't gone much farther
than the two weeks before he rescued her from Farouk.
She
would have been happy to be Gambit's partner for a very long time.
Maybe for the rest of her life, but he'd been determined to poke into
her past. It was he who connected her with the leader of the
X-Men.
When it became clear that she, despite her barely
pubescent body, was probably the grown-up, outlaw mutant terrorist
known as Storm, their relationship underwent a peculiar alchemy.
She
and Remy had been dashing up and down the Mississip' together, and
she knew that by the standards of where she'd grown up she was a
woman grown - and by the look in Gambit's red on black eyes when he
sometimes regarded her - it was that way in his, too.
She
expected him to love her.
He expected to love her.
Months
of high adventure had cemented their bond. She came into his life in
the body of a child and his behavior was beyond reproach; but when
she began to admit the possibility that she, Stormy, and the leader
of the X-Men, Storm, were the same, he became thoughtful in a way
that she couldn't entirely trust.
She expected that,
eventually, he would want her.
As soon as the body she walked
in was her own again, as soon as her power and physical maturity were
restored to her, she turned from Remy and grasped Forge's face
between her hands and opened her mouth against his.
The kiss
slicked through her quickly, leaving her breathless but unable to
stop and take a breath. She held herself immobile, but still she'd
been melting inside. Liquid. Heated. Pulsing on nothing. His hands on
her hips, the false one almost crushing her-- when in the past he'd
been always so careful of bruising her with it-- told her he missed
and wanted her as much as she had him. The taste of him grew more
familiar by the second. The brush of his mustache had made her lips
and the skin around her mouth tingle.
In the midst of it she
remembered her desire for Forge, though she'd kissed him because
she'd remembered that he was the love of her life. With their embrace
she knew it, like she'd never forgotten it.
That was years ago
and Forge was her lover no longer.
Ororo closed her eyes and
leaned her head against Remy's shoulder. She'd pushed up the arm of
the flight chair and was sitting on the ground. She'd been there for
the better part of an hour, her hand on the back of Remy's chair
while she played with the ends of his loosed hair, her eyes on the
hand she had on his leg.
She sighed.
"You sigh one
more time, p'tite, and I'm gon' have you tell me what's been on your
mind all this long day."
She snuggled against his
shoulder and blinked. He dipped his head to brush the top of hers
with his chin.
"C'mon, girl. I told you all."
Yes.
That he loved Rogue and saw that he was bad for her. That he couldn't
end things with Rogue himself. That he had planned to use Ororo in
such a way that Rogue would be forced to break up with him.
"And
things are bad indeed if you would go so far as to seduce me."
He grunted.
She sighed.
He waited.
She
sat up and clasped her hands in her lap. She frowned, and crossed her
legs.
Remy sighed.
Laughing, Ororo stretched her legs
out in front of her, then drew them up to her chest. "I wonder
where Logan went off to. He had to have seen us."
"'Peared
he wanted to be left alone, 'Roro." She held her ankles, her
gaze fixed on the controls in front of her. Her toes pointed forward.
She shook her head and rested her cheek on her thighs and raised her
eyebrows. "At best. He has been avoiding me, you see." Remy
was beginning to think he did see. "I am in love with Logan."
After a moment, Remy said, "Damn."
Her attic room. If it could be said that Ororo loved a
thing, it was her attic room. Wide and spacious, she had taken it
instead of the room Xavier had offered her and promptly filled the
wide open space with plants. It was often warmer than the rest of the
mansion. The bare wood floor was smooth beneath her feet. At night,
she could hear the house settling, little creaks and squirks and
quiet groans. It almost smelled like outdoors in her room, because of
the greenhouse and the plants filling the living area. Over the years
the flora had changed, as had the decor, but the placement of her bed
below the sky-light remained the same.
There would be no rain
tonight, and the sky-light was open.
Ororo faced the
sky-light, her fingertips tangled in the strong and silky hairs that
grew lower than her belly. The stars sparkled over Westchester. The
seven stars of Isimelela were the same distance apart as they had
been all season. When it was winter they would become closer. There
were many stories as to why they gravitated towards one another when
the days shortened. Ororo particularly liked the idea that they did
it to share warmth.
The night was warm, a dry heat that raised
the small hairs on Ororo's arms. High winds and heavy atmosphere made
the stars flicker and flow into one another as she stared. In space
the stars had colors, and their light was constant.
She should
sleep, having been up for almost two days.
Ororo could hear
her breathing. Could almost hear her heart beat, she almost frowned
with concentration as she slowly tugged on her hairs. The moisture
was beginning. Again. Hadn't left her, really. Not since she'd seen
Logan bowing at Lady Mariko Yashida's grave.
His grief. It had
almost choked her, but desire for him and desire to ease that pain
had made her aware, more than ever, of how much she had wanted
him.
Wanted him.
Ororo closed her eyes. Smelled earth,
and growing things. She turned on her side, concentrated on the
separating out the scents of palm fronds and banana leaves from the
familiar spikes of cool cedar and warm pine.
She sighed and
shifted, pulling her fingers away from her hair. Dark fingers, white
hair. A strange contrast, even she, who should be used to it by now,
wasn't; but she cupped herself, slid her hands between her legs and
simply held her hand there. Pressed in, shifted restlessly than
harder. Her legs widened and with her index finger she traced the
center line of her outer lips. Reflexively her mouth opened and she
bit her lip, her breath coming a little fast.
She bit back an
oath, her neck arching as she rose into her hand. She was so much
wetter than expected.
Middle finger joined her index. She
licked thumb and index finger of her other hand and gently, gently
caressed her clitoris. Sweet. Patient, rhythmic.
She groaned
and rolled into a sitting position. Dried her fingers along her lower
belly. Swung her legs over the side of her bed.
Wolverine had
not been at the mansion when she and Remy arrived late in the
morning. Rogue had been waiting when Remy wheeled his touring bike
down the loading ramp of the Blackbird. She'd been hugging herself
and her face had worn fresh hurt.
Ororo had crouched low to
the ground and sprung up into the air, just as she summoned a wind to
carry her aloft. It took her straight to Logan's cabin and she
touched down on one foot. She'd seen that the door was shut. He
hadn't been home. He hadn't returned.
He'd given her a leather
jacket of his once, and his sunglasses. Told her the look suited her.
The jacket remained and she slipped that on her naked skin. It did
not smell like him, not anymore, but she pressed the lining to her
nose and inhaled anyway and found a remnant of him.
Logan had
his own scent, stimulating odor. Pine, cedar, man-- a little raw, a
little cutting, bordering the fine edge of stink. She pushed her arm
between her hair and her neck, pulling the masses of it free. It
slipped up her back and she liked the feeling so much she almost took
off the jacket and put it back on to trap her hair there again.
She
crept in the dark to the greenhouse, where she'd tacked up oil paper.
With the edge of a strong thumbnail she pulled up a tack, then
another, and then another. The lawn gleamed at her from two floors
down. The lengths of light shining from the windows cut onto the
darkness of the lawn. Beyond the shadow, at the very edge, where the
evergreen scents mingled and mated, was Logan's cabin.
"That's
a great look for you, darlin'" he said and Ororo laughed because
she could not be hearing things but there it was. Then a shadow
reached out and touched her, a shadow that belonged to a hard hand
with a gentle, callused grip.
Unlike her he was dressed; plaid
shirt, another leather jacket, jeans. He clamped an unlit cigar
between his teeth.
She narrowed her eyes at him, her mouth
frowned. "What do you want of me?"
He made a sound
in his throat-- too velvety for a growl. She stood taller, raised her
chin, aware of the jacket-- his-- that barely grazed her hips and
only one of her breasts.
She closed the small distance between
them. Her eyebrow arched.
Logan plucked the cigar from his
mouth. Tossed it into a planter. Logan leaned up and kissed her.
Their lips touched and then he was caressing naked waist, hips, and
buttocks. His rough hands following the crease of her buttocks to
graze the seeping wetness between her shifting legs.
She
caressed him, the caress became a mauling. She grabbed the collar of
his shirt. her fingers clenched to grab and rip, but his denim clad
thigh wedged between her legs turned her limbs to water and she
almost swooned.
He almost stumbled as her legs folded, and was
holding her up.
She lay her head on his shoulder and
murmurmed, "I swear it, I will never forgive you if you do
not."
"Shh, darlin. I've been at least two kinds of
coward when it comes to me an' you."
Ororo's room had the
tendency to see only a little less traffic than grand central
station, so after half carrying her to her bed Logan took up a chair
and jogged out of the room with the intention of jamming it
underneath the doorknob only to find that wouldn't work because the
knob was too high and the chair back was too short. He returned to
her breathless, already pulling his belt out of the buckle.
She
sat on the edge of her bed, her hands on the side, watching
him.
They could see one another fine in the dark, but she
reached for the lamp and turned on the light anyway.
The light
in her eyes was welcoming and warm, but not as much as that thrown by
the lamp. Her fair hair fluffed high and curly around her head and
his jacket, which she'd draped around herself, dragged off one
flawless shoulder.
Her face was solemn, though her breasts
rose and fell with rapid breathing.
"You have been
avoiding me," she said.
"Can't deny it."
"Do
you want me, Logan?"
"You know I do."
Her
eyes narrowed. She had another question but thought better of
it.
His eyes almost closed but he clenched his jaw. Friend.
Leader. Companion. Confidante? He crooked a smile at her, wondering
if the racket of his suddenly erratic pulse and the tightness of his
chest was fear. He'd asked M'iko for his heart back.
Damn
thing hurt like a sonuvagun.
He pulled his belt out of the
loops. Looped the leather around his hand, set it on the ground
without looking away from Ororo.
She crooked her finger at
him.
He advanced quickly, dragging his shirt out of his pants
and divesting himself of it before he lost his nerve and knelt before
her.
His hand settled on her knee and his face pressed against
the other one. Her skin was as soft as he remembered. She'd washed in
a rainstorm, she must have. She carried the scent of ball-lightning
along with the rich loam-like call of her arousal.
"Ahh,"

Ororo said softly, running her fingers through the wiry hair of his
sideburns, "your nerve."
"Said that out loud,
didn't I?" Logan, more of a murmur against the soft skin of her
inner thigh, just above her knee.
Her breath caught.
Her
skin never felt so sensitive when she touched it, but his lips were
smooth and the stubble on his face raised awareness, swirled up and
rippling just over the surface of her skin.
They had a lot of
kisses between them, surprise ones: deliberate, full-mouthed kisses
of affection and respect and maybes.
This was slick,
noisy.
Basso rumblings and twisting feminine groans
embroidered the second. The third had Ororo sobbing in harsh little
pants and Logan on the edge of a yowl, almost humping the air as her
legs twined around his torso. His arms were so big around she
couldn't close her hands on them. Her fingers clenched in his hair as
he gained purchase on the bed by levering up on a knee.
Two
graceful, deliberate movers that couldn't focus on the how of getting
Logan out of his jeans. The man had hair everywhere-- his sides, his
buttocks, his sinewy hips-- Ororo wondered at the thick black thatch
at his genitals that met her hand when she drew down the zipper of
his jeans.
"Don't you ever get caught?" she asked,
and with a low laugh he nipped at her throat. She writhed beneath
him, opening her legs. His weight was almost suffocating, so he
spilled on his side. His thickening penis was a pleasant weight
against his thigh. She reached out and touched it, wrapped her hand
around the base of it. His testicles contracted smoothly and her
intent expression softened with a smile. Logan took her chin in hand
and kissed her. Her mouth was flooded with saliva. Slick the kiss,
and he dragged it out until he was lightheaded and visited the
breasts he'd been tracing with shivery motions while they
embraced.
Her breasts were lovely. Lovely. He'd seen them
countless times before but they tasted wonderful, felt fantastic.
Smelling of her and his old bomber jacket. Humming, he chased the
goosebumps raised by his fingers with his tongue, and by his tongue
with his fingers. His leg he kept between hers, hard up against the
give. She rode it, and he learned the length of her and pretty
patience of her.
Time passed, and cradling the back of her
head with his hand he settled on his back. She followed, her foot and
hand moving alongside him in a way that reminded him of the last time
they'd been like this.
She sat astride him. Her nails
delicately scraped through the hair on his chest, made clockwise and
counter-clockwise designs around his nipples. Then directly over
them, sharp little scoring sensations that raised them hard. Her lips
found one and then the other. His penis bobbed behind her buttocks.
She teased herself, rose up on her hands and slid her opening against
him.
Much as their faces, necks and shoulders fascinated one
another, their tongues met and met. He caught her off-balance, ran
his fingers up her thighs and held her there.
"You're
beautiful," he said. She was. Venus above him.
In all
seriousness she replied, "As are you," her thumb on his
cheek, her voice grave. She kissed his regular nose, the fine cut
lips. "You most definitely are."
He hugged her
tight, held her immobile against his chest. She almost disappeared in
his arms, but nudged at his penis and when that didn't work. Grabbed
a twist of his hair and pulled.
Immediately his hands slid
from around her, flopping on the bed. She propped her arms on his
chest, clasped her hands and wiggled her bum. His thick fingers
danced up her silken thighs, his thumbs deep-stroked over the curves
of her generous ass.
The panted against one another, kissing
as he squeezed and parted those curves. She shimmied ever-so-slowly
as did so, building that arousal. Under the guidance of his hands she
knelt up. His hands shifted to her thighs, taking her weight, and his
penis butted against her. She reached behind herself, traced it along
the bottom, circled the head lightly with her thumb and fore-finger.
He hissed and thrashed, then entered her, slow. She whined and he
went slower still, then withdrew while raising her higher. He held
her just out of reach of his thickness, raised his hips enough to
tease her with it.
She refused to move, staring into his eyes
with equanimity though her pulse beat frantic in her throat and sweat
dripped from her face and shoulders onto him. He leaned up to kiss
her and eased her down a centimeter. Found that she was clenching in
on herself. She was soft and tight and so slick, so smooth. Swollen.
Barely any room for himself, but he resisted. Gave her another kiss,
then another centimeter, and another kiss, their breath coming in
short, deliberate bursts.
Moment by careful moment, increment
by dewey increment he entered her until they were indistinguishable.
For a moment they were motionless then she gave a thin cry, wicked
sharp, and an orgasm came on hard and unexpected on the fading echo
of it. Digging his heels in the bed, tensing all muscles he stopped
it, but Ororo had gone limp and was sagging as if her spine had gone
cartilage. Sliding his hands up to her armpits, he held her
aloft.
"Ro?"
A gentle shake.
"Ororo?"
Her
eyes fluttered open. She inhaled. Twisted her hips a few degrees to
the east and a few to the west. He could hear it, her wetness, in how
she moved.
She growled low in her throat. Ran her hands over
his and his arms. "Logan," she breathed, her back arching
as his grip eased. Languidly she began to move. They stared into one
another's eyes for as long as he could manage it, which wasn't very.
He could hear her swallow, hear her croon to herself, hear the ocean
sounds of her first coming and all the ones that were to follow. Her
lips shifted and demi-turned as she danced over him and around him,
as slow and deliberately as the stars above.
They streaked
across his vision when he closed his eyes.

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