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Never Been One for Wine and Roses
06. A Buzz, Bunions, and Belt Buckles
Author: OriginalCeenote
Summary: This ain’t Disney. There ain’t no curfew. So, what now?
Why, the costumes and accessories fly and scatter across the room, of
course.
Author's Note: I've always wanted to write a silly sounding title like
that.
“Told ya he wasn’t that tall,”
chuckled the voice by Ororo’s elbow.
“No,” she breathed, “he’s just right.” Good things
came in small packages, sometimes. Mercy! Her
feet tugged her away from the edge of the DJ booth,
and some unseen force moved her across the ballroom
floor. Her heartbeat thudded over the music and the
hollow thuds of her boots against hard wood, and
Ororo tentatively licked her lips, since they’d gone
bone dry.
That gesture completed the image that Logan had of
the cat that got the cream. Since he was a kid, he’d
always gotten a kick out of shiny things. Hub caps,
tools in his dad’s box, hood ornaments on luxury
cars, the gilt edging on his mother’s heirloom
ceramic figurines. Everything about Ororo gleamed.
The twinkling lights of the ballroom cast their
shimmer over her startlingly white hair that flowed
in loose waves over her shoulders from beneath her
mask. Her blue eyes were painted with a
razor-precise line of liquid kohl, and mascara
lengthened her curling lashes. Smoky eye shadow and
the tiny rhinestones studding the corners of her
lids below the brow bone made it impossible not to
stare at those eyes, perhaps even drown in them. The
mask itself was loosely inspired by Michelle
Pfeiffer’s from the second movie, except for her
hair, for which Logan was supremely grateful. The
suit…where could he even begin?
Low cut, snug to the point of being painted on, and
covered with zippers that tempted his fingers to
tug: These were a few of his favorite things. The
suit was long sleeved, and Ororo wore a pair of
matching fingerless satin gloves that exposed her
fingers, as well as her ruby red fingernails. Her
mouth – God, that MOUTH! – was glossed in the same
bold shade that made him want to commit a crime
himself. Stealing kisses and kidnapping came
immediately to mind. Belt buckled straps criss-crossed
over the boots, and a low-slung hip belt had a
gleaming silver buckle that winked at him. The neck
plunged deeply, and the only thing keeping that sexy
scrap of nothing properly closed was a long zipper.
Rounded, ripe breasts filled out the front of the
costume, catching the gleam of the lights in the
shiny polyurethane. Her stroll managed to be elegant
in the preposterously high heeled boots, her legs
endless, her swinging hips superb.
A drink would take care of the sudden lack of
moisture in his mouth, but he’d need a cold shower
for that other little problem. Scratch that; big
problem.
“Hi.” That was it? Hi? Who’s voice was that
coming out of her mouth, and why did it sound so
squeaky to her ears?
Logan finally got his lips to work. “You promised me
a Wonder Woman suit.”
“I remember more accurately that I said something
like ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ That could mean just
about anything. As busy as I’ve been, just be glad I
didn’t pull on my red underpants, yank my blanket
off my bed, tie the corners around my neck and call
it good.”
“What was stopping ya?”
“It was chilly tonight.” She reached out to lightly
stroke the pointed ears of his cowl in appreciation.
“This is better than I could have ever expected. I
like this.”
“I don’t do this for just anyone,” he grumbled, but
a hint of a smile crept into the corner of his
mouth. He grasped her wrist and turned his lips to
her open palm, nipping it. She shivered, and a rush
of tingles gave her goosebumps beneath the vinyl.
“I’m glad as hell you did it for me. Damn.” She
looked him over slowly. “That’s not one of those
cheesy muscle inserts under the shirt. That’s all
you.”
“Yup.”
Yum.
“I said it once, and I’ll say it all night: I like
this.”
“Still haven’t told me what happened to the Wonder
Woman suit.”
“Nothing happened with it at all. I scrolled through
about ten to twelve pages of links to costumes on
Google, eBay, Ubid, Yahoo Shopping and more random
costume site pop-ups than you could shake a stick
at. I hit every Halloween fly-by-night store in the
city, and even a few in the Bronx! I almost got
mugged in the garment district, and a guy tried to
sell me a Rolex that fell off of the truck. Almost
all of them had the same costume: polyester with a
stick-on gold decal on the chest, plastic bracelets,
foam rubber tiara that looks like a cheap Frisbee,
and it was held up by these chintzy little straps.
The boots were just these ugly long red foam cuffs
that you wrap around your leg with Velcro and hook
the elastic stirrup under your shoe. That’s only a
step above the completely plastic get-up with the
plastic mask in a cardboard box that my momma bought
me at the supermarket when I was seven.”
“Maybe you could’ve found one that someone wore to a
comic convention,” Logan pointed out.
“Not for less than my arm, my leg, and my future
firstborn. I’ve gotta eat this month, Logan.”
“Y’know I’m willing ta feed ya.”
“That was fun, by the way” Ororo admitted. “I had a
great time with you, Caped Crusader.”
“It was almost the Man of Steel.” Ororo sputtered
with giggles.
“You’re kidding!”
“Nuh-uh. I toyed with a few different ideas, even
just wearing my shop coveralls, or even Nate’s,
since technically, I wouldn’t be coming to this
little tea party as myself if I did that. I peeked
at the superhero costumes, and darlin’, I couldn’t
picture myself in those silly friggin’ red briefs
and tights!” For a sinful second, Ororo pictured him
in briefs and nothing else and blushed. “And so sue
me, kiddo, Batman’s just cooler than Supes, let’s
face it.”
“So am I forgiven?”
“Depends on a few things.” He took her hand and
curled it around his arm, leading her to the punch
bowl.
“Like?”
“Are ya done with everything ya needed t’do for
tonight, planning and fixing things?”
“Nope.” Ororo eyed him thoughtfully as he filled two
cups with the murky sherbet punch. “I get to play
auctioneer and game show hostess, and tell everyone
about their ‘fabulous prizes.’ Wish somebody would
shoot me,” she muttered.
“How’d ya get roped into that gig?”
“Someone drew me the short straw.” Someone who was
currently cringing at the suspected fat grams of
every appetizer on the banquet table. “Originally I
just had to be on point to tally up the names of the
winners and the closing bids. Looks like I’m a Jane
of all trades instead.”
“Or maybe Wonder Woman’s hidin’ under that mask.”
Logan took a tentative sip of his punch. “Shit,
what’s in this stuff?”
“I didn’t ask. At least we got it for a better price
with this caterer than the one our management firm
almost hired.”
“How much of this did they put together?”
It was a loaded question. “Eh.” Ororo shrugged
noncommittally and swizzled a bobbing ice cube
around and around in her cup with her fingernail. It
was like asking how birds held up the sky. “The firm
doesn’t always like to get their hands dirty.
Someone had to.”
“I don’t mind gettin’ my hands dirty, most of the
time, myself,” he mused. He set his cup down and
perused the trays of finger foods and treats. He
reached for a thin chocolate peanut butter pattie
from a perfectly arranged semi-circle of candies on
an orange platter, disrupting the orderly display.
“Gonna ask ya to do one more thing for me tonight,
darlin’, as if ya didn’t already have enough on yer
plate.” He studied the sweet, holding it nimbly
between his forefinger and thumb.
“Like what?”
“Taste this and tell me if it’s any good,” he urged.
His eyes probed hers, full of desire and heat and
particularly roguish peering out from the dark mask.
“I thought you didn’t like sweets.”
“It all depends. Sometimes I get in that mood for
something special.” The smooth disk of rich, silky
milk chocolate edged closer, teasing her plump lower
lip. “Open up.” The edges of her straight, even
white teeth grazed his thumb as she indulged, biting
deeply into the candy.
“Mmmmm. Mmmmmm. Mmm-hmmm. This is worth your while.
Go for it.” She plucked the remainder of the melting
pattie from his grip watched him through hooded eyes
as his lips nibbled it at first, then snapped it up,
sucking off the last vestiges of the chocolate from
her skin. Ororo felt the pull of his lips and tongue
all the way into her feminine center, nearly coming
undone at the thought of how his mouth would feel
against any of her hot zones. The rasp of the
multiple zippers’ metal teeth on her costume chafed
and enflamed her flesh, and her skin felt too tight.
“Speaking of getting dirty…look at this.” She nodded
to the minute smudge of chocolate staining the tip
of his glove, mingled with a vestige of her red
lipstick.
“Can’t take me anywhere,” he murmured. “Napkin?”
“Let me get that.” She plucked a napkin from the
elaborate fan of them spread across the table and
took his hand, easing the smirch from his glove with
gentle but thorough rubbing. “Much better.”
“I get the feeling everything’s better with you
around.” His tone was pensive and warm. The thought
tickled the back of her mind that Maybe I’m
better when you’re around. Clumsy tumbles
over office furniture aside, that is.
Off-guard. He’d taken her completely off-guard. All
of the old walls that she’d fortified following bad
set-up dates, her ugly break-up with Jonathan, and
the let’s-get-to-the-action, noncommittal looks
she’d gotten from men who asked for her cell phone
number over the past couple of years felt unstable
and close to crumbling. If she had to tell the
truth, Ororo would have admitted that it was damn
frightening to feel that way.
Feeling this way about Logan so soon frightened her.
Her eyes searched the room for Anna, Scott, or
anyone else that could possibly handle the auction
in her stead, but to her amusement, Scott was
striking up a conversation with the Queen of Hearts
herself, convincing her to eat one of the
dismembered finger cookies. His eyes were glued to
the redhead, and he didn’t look like anyone could
pry him loose any time soon. Anna and Remy were
cutting a rug and making a spectacle of themselves,
and once again, she hated to step in the way of two
people having a fantastic time.
This was going to have to be one helluva fast
auction, she decided.
“Any idea what time it is?”
Logan pushed down his glove to check his watch.
“Five ta eight. Why, ya gotta coach that’s gonna
turn into a pumpkin outside?” His dimple came out
when he smiled.
“Nope. I just have to go make like Vanna White and
announce all of the ‘fabulous prizes’ that we have
to offer for the good of the shelters and convince
anyone here with money to open their wallets.”
“Go get ‘em, Tiger,” he encouraged. “And Ororo?”
“Mm-hm?”
“Hurry back.” His fingertip chucked her under the
chin, and she felt that fuzzy glow again. Damn, it
was gonna haunt her all night, trying not to think
about the effect his touch, even one that brief, had
on her. The tail of her costume swung rhythmically
back and forth, waving goodbye to him as she made
her way to the dais. She spoke to the manager of the
conference hall and let him know that things were
about to get underway. She stepped up to the loud
speaker and announced, “Good evening, ladies and
gentlemen, it’s my pleasure to announce that the
auction is about to begin to benefit the
Alternatives Shelter Network. I welcome you to
adjourn to the lounge to your left, through those
doors, where the bidding will begin. Thank you.” The
music dimmed in volume, and the chatter shifted and
moved as people began to file into the adjacent
conference room. Ororo’s eyes beckoned to him as she
excused herself to the crowd at large, winding her
way through it to retrieve the list of items and
test the sound system again. Logan was about to
follow her when a silky voice stopped him,
accompanied by a slender hand dropping onto his
shoulder.
“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting
yet,” a platinum blonde in a witchy looking outfit
observed. Something about her voice ran a cold chill
down his neck. Weird. “My name’s Emma Frost; I’m the
director of Inner Circle Management.” She nodded to
the brunette next to her whose smile reminded him of
Ursula in the Little Mermaid movie. “This is Selene
Gallio.”
“Charmed,” Selene assured him. Or, maybe she was
telling him how to react to their presence, he
really wasn’t certain if it was a statement or a
demand.
“And you are?” Emma’s expression was expectant as
her eyes roved over him, sizing him up. Logan
realized he hadn’t been forthcoming with his name
and moved to correct the error.
“James Howlett.” He didn’t expect his nickname to
mean much, and he only liked hearing it used by
people he knew and liked. Particularly when it was
murmured by a pair of sensuously full lips in a
smoky voice.
“Why does that name sound familiar?” Selene glanced
at Emma, whose smile was still glued in place.
“Ohhh, that’s right. Howlett. Howlett Auto Parts and
Repair. Emma, this is one of our sponsors.”
“More or less. My business kind of is, at any rate.”
“Isn’t that nice, you OWN a business,” Emma purred,
as though she had stumbled over a gold mine. She
wasn’t loosening her grip on his arm, he noticed
with some chagrin.
“And look what interesting taste you have in
costumes,” Selene added. “Makes you look so dark and
dangerous.” She wasn’t so coy; she laid her palm
flat on his chest, right over the bat logo. Logan
smothered a sigh.
There were different approaches a man could take in
instances like these, when two beautiful yet vain,
intrusive women were waylaying him in a crowded
social setting:
a. He could wing it with standard lines of bullshit
to be polite: “Have you tried the finger cookies
yet? How about a spider? Kooky looking, aren’t
they?”
b. He could beg the need to find the men’s room,
except that he’d have to hide out there a good part
of the night if they sought him out again; Emma
looked like the persistent, pushy type.
c. He could make an excuse such as “You’ll have to
pardon me, I’m allergic to fake people, I’m
having a slight flare up right now. Kind of like a
rash…let me go get my ointment. Surely you
understand.”
d. Give in to the fright-flight impulse that was
making the vein in his temple pound a mad tattoo and
make a beeline for the conference room. Going back
out from where he came in wasn’t an option. He came
to spend time with Ororo.
What would Batman do? A voice in the back of his
head muttered He wouldn’t be wastin’ time on this
shit, bub. Up and at ‘em. You saw Ororo in that
get-up, go get that woman!
“I’m going to go watch the bidding. Mingle.
Perhaps…do some networking,” he lied, at least in
regard to the last hastily added bit. It seemed to
work. Emma’s mouth settled into agreeable lines.
“Of course!”
“Maybe we’ll see more of you as the night rolls on!”
God help me.
“Ladies,” he nodded, turning on his heel. His cape
swished out behind him in a tidy swirl, offering
them a too-fleeting glimpse of his backside.
“Meeeee-ooow. Selene lightly fanned herself.
“Please tell me you have his business number tucked
away somewhere.”
“It just so happens to be on that handy little
spreadsheet file that Ororo’s been maintaining so
diligently for us,” Selene chuckled, her voice full
of smug triumph.
“She’s a gaudy little thing, but she has her uses,”
Emma demurred. Her eyes flicked over the banquet
again as she murmured “D’you suppose the chicken
wings are free range?” Selene peered at them and
shrugged with indifference.
Logan nudged his way through businessmen and their
wives, wrinkling his nose slightly at the
overwhelming mixture of expensive colognes,
hairspray, and oppressive perfumes. The faint fumes
of alcohol tickled his nostrils as he approached the
hosted bar to order a Jack Daniels. He held his
drink protectively against his chest and edged
himself along the wall to a seat as close to the
tiny stage as possible. He wanted an unimpeded view.
Ororo’s voice was clear and free of the usual
down-home inflections that colored her speech when
they chatted over lunch; Logan found that he missed
them. Ororo read from the handful of cue cards
printed on heavy stock, sifting them through her
gloved hands. “This handblown milk glass vase,
contributed by Maximoff Glassworks, would make a
lovely addition to any room done in modern décor…I
would like to open the bidding at twenty dollars.”
Paddles began to fly up, and Ororo began to match
bidding amounts with faces at a surprisingly quick
pace. As the evening wore on, and items closed,
Logan noticed Ororo efficiently typing in numbers
and other notes into a tiny Blackberry that was
resting on the podium. Gotta love a multitasker.
So…if she was handling all of the details of the
event, and Emma and the other chick worked for the
management company – Emma was the director, no less
– what the hell was Ororo doing everything herself
for? Something about it just didn’t sit right with
him. He brushed that thought aside and continued to
watch her, enjoying the sound of her voice and
graceful gesticulations, made that much prettier
with her long red nails glittering in the spotlight.
The whiskey stung as it went down but warmed him as
he reflected on the kiss on the curb. She hadn’t
held back, not one bit, and it thrilled him that she
gave herself up to it full measure. They’d just met,
he reasoned.
Perhaps she was insane…that would be a damned shame.
She tasted so sweet and felt like silk. The really
hot, impulsive ones were always a little crazy,
sometimes even completely around the bend. Logan
couldn’t shake the quiver in his gut, though, when
he’d reached for her, and found that little spark of
excitement that lit up her face when she realized
what he wanted to do. No shocked protests or noises
of confusion muttering from those gorgeous lips of
hers, no sir, just a small, sighing hum of
contentment as he made his mouth at home.
Logan always questioned it when life threw him
something pretty and shiny that, at first glance, he
didn’t have to work for. Good things never just fell
into your lap. That wasn’t how things worked. There
was always a price. There was always a stabbing,
clenching pain in his chest when it all just went to
hell.
Jessan had been impulsive. Her skin was like toffee
and her eyes were mischievous onyx chips, and she
had this funny little way of letting her hair ripple
in a long satin wave when she tossed it off of her
shoulders in impatience. She was always impatient
with him, which amused him when they’d first met at
school. “You’re always dragging your feet to class,
Logan. We’re going to be late to the movie at the
student union hall, Logan. Kiss me already, Logan.
I’ve been waiting all night for you to come home,
Logan.” They’d kissed on their first date after
meeting at a fraternity mixer and getting a buzz on
Keystone beer that was all foam by the time they
reached the keg. He dimly remembered pumping the
spout for her, feeling chivalrous at the time, but
he just liked having a minute to look her over,
returning her enigmatic smile.
At first, she’d lit a fire under him. She was his
day planner, reminding him of term papers that he
had to turn in and financial aid paperwork that he
had to file. She tacked his monthly bills to the
refrigerator door with Disney magnets to remind him
to pay them. She was a tiger in bed and woke him
with the sensation of her hot, wet mouth tugging on
his nipple and her hands roaming his sleep-warmed
flesh beneath his t-shirt. Some mornings would find
him stirring from his dreams with her impaled on top
of him, riding an erection that he’d had no part in
creating as she took what she wanted from him, and
he told himself that there was nothing wrong with
her asserting herself.
Then came the complaints. It was time to pay the
piper. Things that seemed too good to be true almost
always were, and her reminders became nagging
questions. “You know this is our six month
anniversary, right? You weren’t really going out to
play poker with your dickheaded friend Mac tonight,
were you? You promised me you were coming to my
parents’ place for dinner this weekend.” And on and
on and on and on… Every time he turned around,
Jessan pointed out something else he was doing
wrong. Logan began to wonder what he was doing
right, and why she stayed. “I don’t know what you’d
do without me, Logan.” He was dying to find out.
She satisfied both their curiosities when he came
home to his crappy student apartment and found all
of the dishes, small items of furniture, CDs, and
refrigerator magnets gone in a clean sweep, and a
note on his computer monitor telling him to fuck
off.
Carol had been a different story. Logan wasn’t much
for getting poetic and sappy and all that shit, but
her hair really did look like spun gold the first
day he saw her lying stretched out on the lawn of
the campus outside the dorms, with her flannel shirt
tucked like a pillow under her head. They’d
occasionally made eye contact in the halls, since
some of their classes were in the same buildings,
but he never had the chance to speak with her until
she’d stopped him to let him know that he’d dropped
his novel for his least favorite English class. He’d
been about to tell her it was no big loss, and he
didn’t want it back, but when her fingers grazed his
as she handed it back, he’d almost been tempted to
drop it again in the hopes that she’d bend to pick
it back up. Anything for another quick peek down
that gauzy blue blouse. For someone relatively
slender and athletic, she still managed to be
stacked, and she had a few tiny freckles where the
neckline of her blouse dipped, telling Logan she
spent a lot of time out in the sun.
She had been the one to lean in and kiss him full on
the mouth after their first date, which had been an
action movie that he never expected her to want to
see. Logan couldn’t believe his luck. Again, too
good to be true.
Logan wore himself out with Carol. Always restless,
always on the run, busy, busy, busy…she never let
him just catch his breath. Every weekend there were
always canoes to be paddled, tents to be pitched, or
baseballs to be pitched. “Let’s go four-wheeling,
you’ll LOVE it!” Her eyes gleamed like blue topaz as
she pressed her breasts against him and wrapped her
arms around his neck, hanging from him, and he was
lost. Logan had broken his nose when he accidentally
flipped the damn thing over going over a grassy
knoll.
After the cartilage healed up, and pretty nicely, at
that, the nagging began, much as it always did. “I
don’t just wanna sit around on my butt doing
NOTHING. Why don’t you ever want to do anything,
Logan? Don’t you want to do ANYTHING with your
life?” It was never just a question. It was always a
tirade, even a demand. When he wouldn’t go along
with whatever she had planned, she had ten thousand
reasons why he was wrong. Why he was wasting his
life.
He decided not to give her any more of his life that
he knew he would never get back. The bridge of his
nose still ached just thinking about it.
Silver Fox had put him through his paces and taught
him how to question something seeming too perfect.
Black eyes full of laughter and long black hair that
fell like a shining curtain over them, tenting their
faces when they made love haunted him for a while
after she was gone. Logan couldn’t see a future
without her once, until she shoved that lonely
future right under his nose. Circumstances had taken
a nosedive after his mother announced that she was
leaving his father.
Things had been uneasy under the Howlett’s roof for
some time; Logan didn’t argue that fact for a
minute. His father retreated farther into his
business and spent more and more time nagging him to
finish school in the hopes that he could come to
work at the shop, since his older brother John had
never shown the interest nor the mechanical
aptitude. Logan wanted to get a degree in something
he enjoyed and that he’d be proud to tell people
about. Architecture had been his first love, since
he loved the idea of seeing a building from the
initial concept, literally, take shape.
Silver Fox was a nursing major moving at a leisurely
pace through her program, enjoying the occasional
party here and there and proving that college was
“the best four or five years of your life.” With his
mother’s unexplained absences on weekend trips and
his father’s face appearing more haggard and gaunt
each time he returned home for the holidays, it was
becoming harder to just throw caution to the wind.
Caution was strangling him. They’d kissed on the
second date, then kissed goodbye on her front
doorstep the next morning. Logan was addicted to the
sound of her voice whispering in his ear and the
sense of being easy in his skin when he was with
her.
Life had a way of getting in the way of things,
sometimes. He’d found his father pale and clammy,
clutching a bottle of aspirin and complaining about
pain in his jaw, which he clenched rigidly as he
explained “Just…having a bad…day, Jamie.” He didn’t
answer his son’s frantic question about where his
mother was as he ran for the phone to call the
ambulance. Logan wrapped his father in a blanket and
cradled his head in his lap while they waited for
the paramedics.
Turned out that Jonathan Howlett’s lifetime career
of bending over engines and holding himself in
myriad bad postures had left his circulatory system
in horrible shape; that was to say nothing of the
years of too much coffee, stress, red meat and
unhappiness. His children, his shop, and the pride
he had felt over a lovingly maintained home were the
only things that kept him going once Elizabeth had
moved out of their bedroom and into the guest bed
down the hall.
Jonathan later admitted to his younger son in the
hospital, while tucked under pristine white
blankets, “She told me that the only thing she ever
loved about me anymore was all of you, the
children.” His eyes were bloodshot and glazed with a
sheen of tears. Logan clenched his fist and ground
it into his forehead as he listened to his father
pour out his mother’s desertion. “She didn’t want
anything. Didn’t want any part of me anymore. None
of it made her happy. Not the Lincoln that I bought
for her on our anniversary – thirty-five friggin’
years, Logan, she threw away thirty-five years! –
not the house, not all those damn Hummel figurines
and other poncy, expensive crap cluttering every
shelf in the house. She just couldn’t stand my
presence anymore. She just stepped around me every
chance. Bridge club, choir practice – or so she said
– any excuse to get out of the house.” He doubled
over with a wracking cough; Logan leaned over to
adjust the cannula strapped to his face and poured
him a glass of water. His hands were shaking as he
held it to his lips to drink. “I know you’ve got to
get back to class, Jamie…”
“Like hell I do,” he growled. “I don’t gotta do a
damned thing ‘cept be here.” Silver said she
understood when he explained it to her. A few weeks,
maybe a month, to get his dad settled in at home and
take him to his appointments. They exchanged calls
almost every night. She offered to come see him and
help with things around the house, but he didn’t
want her to worry about the gas there, about missing
her microbiology mid-terms.
It didn’t bother him too much when the calls became
a little less frequent on her end. And brief.
Miss you. Miss you, too. Can’t wait til you come
home. Things are starting to settle down a
little…Uh-huh. Kisses. B’bye. Nursing was a
tough major. Her anatomy class was a real kick in
the pants; Logan told himself there were other
things he wanted to talk about than hearing how the
chloroformed frog’s heart was still beating, and
that the leg muscle twitched when she tapped it with
a probe. Talk of death frightened him and fed his
resentment of his mother, and he didn’t have the
heart for it. For any of it. He wanted his family
back, but he’d settle for his father.
Silver was slightly surprised when he called her to
let her know that he was applying to the university
for a leave of absence. “You have to do what you
have to do, Logan.” Sounded simple enough, sensible
enough. Accepting enough. Logan allowed himself to
place too much faith in those phone calls.
Some guy named Vic answered Silver’s apartment door,
smelling like Logan’s aftershave that he’d left for
himself in her bathroom and wearing his towel draped
around his hips. Big, brawny blonde guy that looked
like he drank his beer from a 7-11 Big Gulp cup.
Silver ran to the door, looking like she’d buttoned
half the buttons of her henley wrong as she yanked
the door from Vic’s hand and told him to go back to
the kitchen. Breathlessly she mumbled something
about not expecting him back so soon. Logan nodded
curtly and asked “Can I at least have my CDs back?”
Her face was blank except for a quiver of the corner
of her mouth before she turned to do as he asked.
“Just leave my stuff in a box at my place with
whoever answers the door.” Logan punched his Eagles
disc into his car stereo and let it wail as he
navigated to the dean’s office. He didn’t have time
to play these games or deal with this shit anymore.
He’d made a point of not playing the game since.
Ororo’s voice snapped his attention back to the
stage. Some business named Lensherr-Dane Fine Art
and Framing Gallery had donated one helluva homely
painting of oil paint-daubed lily pads that had been
slashed and slathered onto the canvas with a pallet
knife. Ororo kept the opening bid relatively low,
which seemed to be the way to go.
“Do I hear fifty? Fifty for this…unique,
one-of-a-kind piece?” Logan grinned at her skilled
turn of a phrase. One-of-a-kind. Logan heard a woman
behind him muttering that it would cover the damaged
patch of drywall in the guest room, and her
mother-in-law was the only one who ever stayed
there, anyway.
“Thank you to the Sleeping Beauty in the back, I now
have sixty. Going once.” Ororo plugged more winning
numbers into her Blackberry. As the next item was
moved onto the stand, Ororo exhaled a silent gust of
relief that it was almost over, and she peered
through the blinding haze of the spotlight. A small
movement caught her eye down front, in the seat
closest to the wall. Logan. He rested his whiskey
glass against his knee, still looking irresistible
in his costume, and still staring at her with a hint
of…hunger.
He winked at her. Her smile bloomed across her lips,
and Ororo didn’t doubt for a moment that she looked
completely thunderstruck.
The vouchers for a free tune-up and lube refill from
his auto shop were the last item up for bid, along
with the car detailing from Rory Campbell’s garage
down the street. Ororo felt a twinge in her lower
back from standing at the podium all night, but the
totals from the combined auction and ticket sales
had been staggering.
She opened the bidding at twenty dollars. Sleeping
Beauty bid twenty-five. Pudgy Supergirl raised her
paddle at thirty. Anna and Remy raised the paddle
shared between them at thirty-five. Bidders became
more hesitant as the price climbed. An impeccably
manicured hand raised the paddle in a flowing
movement at seventy-five. Ororo squinted as she made
out Emma’s smug look. Selene casually raised her own
paddle when Ororo asked for eighty. The minutes
dragged on as tentative bids from the crowd were
topped by the two witches three rows back. Emma gave
Selene a quelling look, which she disdainfully
ignored.
“Going once. Going twice…”Selene’s paddle didn’t
rise again. “Sold to…the White Queen. Please collect
your prize before the end of the festivities.” Ororo
thanked those gathered for the success of the
charity ball and excused herself.
With high-end collectibles and other desirable
prizes at stake, why would Emma bid so much on car
repair vouchers? She owned a spanking new Bentley
with a factory warranty…Ororo’s eyes drifted back to
“Batman” sucking a stray ice cube between his lips
as he swallowed the last of his whiskey.
Heifer!
Ororo snapped her Blackberry shut and jammed the
stylus into the slot. She handed it to the
facilities manager, asking him to deliver it to the
Alternative center on Monday, before she descended
from the stage. Emma and Selene were headed straight
for Logan. Partygoers swarmed the state to arrange a
time to pick their prizes up or have them sent via
courier. Ororo lost sight of Logan’s telltale bat’s
ears, until a rich baritone rasped into her ear,
“Let’s go, darlin’, ya owe me a dance.”
“I owe you a few,” she breathed, letting him lead
her by the elbow out the side exit.
They both drew in a hearty lungful of cool, fresh
air in the main corridor, thankful to be free from
the close press of bodies and too many colognes
duking it out in that space. Logan’s hand drifted
down her arm and found her hand, lacing his fingers
through hers.
“Hey Ororo, haven’t seen much of you tonight.” Scott
eyed her costume with interest. “I’ve really gotta
remedy that. Wow. You look hot.”
“I agree with the last part,” Logan deadpanned,
tightening his grip on her hand. He waited for the
introduction.
“Logan, this is Scott Summers from Accounting. Don’t
let the costume fool you, he’s a pussycat.” Scott
gave her a mock glare that drifted into a smirk.
Scott had indulged in a surprisingly extravagant
knight’s costume, complete with chain mail, heavy
gloves and boots, and a sword and scabbard adorned
with gaudy glass jewels. The Dark Knight sized him
up with a blank stare, until the Queen of Hearts
tugged him away.
“You promised me a dance,” Jean insisted.
“I promised you a few,” Scott chuckled. “Later,
Ororo.”
“Gimme a sec to wet my whistle, and we can head out
there, too,” Ororo suggested, watching Logan’s
shoulders relax as Scott and Jean took their leave.
“Wet your whistle…hold still.” Logan’s hand crept up
and cupped her jaw, tilting it at an angle to suit
him, and he kissed her long and deep. Logan captured
the tiniest trace of chocolate inside the seam of
her lips that remained from the tidbit they shared.
“I meant…a drink. But…that’s a nice start.” She
covered his hand with hers, leaning her cheek into
his palm. Logan grabbed a flute of champagne from a
circulating tray. She took a grateful gulp, then
released the goblet when he reached for the stem,
downing the rest, and covering the red imprint her
lips made on the glass. He set the empty goblet on a
side table and they made their way to the floor.
As Ororo’s body moved to the music, Logan saw her in
her element, doing what came naturally. His body
responded to the rhythm of her hips; he was
enthralled as her torso rippled, isolating her
shoulders, breasts, ribs and taut abdomen in
undulating, controlled ripples. His arm snaked out,
pulling her close, and his body fell in step with
hers, succumbing to the pulse and flow of her dance.
Ororo’s hands eased up his arms, exploring the
contours and smooth muscles of his shoulders before
she laced them behind his neck.
The music swelled and thudded through them. The Jack
Daniels flowed through his veins as Ororo’s
champagne fizzed its way through her system. She
wasn’t drunk by any stretch, but Ororo rode the
giddy, heady buzz of Logan’s presence, of his touch.
One song blended into another. Then another. There
was barely a sliver of space between them as the
music played on.
“He’s not very tall, is he?” Selene observed,
sipping her fuzzy navel.
“Good things come in small packages,” Emma reminded
her. She bit into the green apple wedge in her
martini. She’d already had her car tuned up a month
ago at the dealership, but who cared?
Ororo drifted to a dizzying stop as a slow song
wound its way around them. D’Angelo wailed “How Does
it Feel?” and Ororo wanted to cry out that it
feels amazing. Ororo’s voice sounded desperate
to her own ears as she murmured “Let’s get out of
here” against Logan’s mouth. She felt his slight nod
as she caught the mellow aftertaste of his whiskey.
They stayed just long enough for the song to wind
down to its last soulful notes before Ororo
retrieved her purse.
The lights in the parking lot were dim, and Logan
ignored the latecomers straggling in as they reached
his car. He’d no sooner unlocked her side of the car
before he drew her against him. Ororo felt herself
turned until her butt smacked up against the door,
and Logan stepped between her slightly parted legs
for closer access, zeroing in on her tempting mouth.
Any passerby would have been struck by the irony of
their costumes and the disparity of their heights
before acknowledging that there was something about
them together that just worked. Logan drank her
essence with indefinable thirst, spurred on by the
sounds of need clawing their way out of her throat.
Ororo’s deep, silky voice thrummed through him as
the kisses turned hot, and it formed words as his
lips traveled down her jaw.
“My apartment’s nothing to write home about,” she
moaned as Logan’s teeth found her favorite spot on
her neck, “but my bed’s pretty comfortable.”
“I’m that close ta just takin’ ya in the back seat
of my car, darlin’, it’s gonna be hard for me ta
wait that long.” His hands were stroking her and
threading through her hair.
“I need to see all of you,” she informed him.
“Your place it is, then.” He nibbled her earlobe,
steaming it and turning her knees to jelly in the
process. “Don’t mean it’s gonna be easy,” he
grumbled. He pulled her away from the door and
opened, helping her inside. She automatically
scrambled to open his side, yanking him in by the
hand. Another long, feverish kiss was all that they
could content themselves with before Logan turned on
the ignition. The sounds of Otis Redding filled the
car at low volume, occasionally broken by Ororo’s
shaky road directions. Logan’s hand on her thigh was
making it difficult to think.
Logan parked in the lot behind Ororo’s brownstone
and silently admired the tidy street and the
character of the building itself. His hand gripped
her waist as they made their way up the stairs, him
following a step behind to admire the curves of her
backside in the shining vinyl, tail and all. He
grinned for what seemed the umpteenth time that
night. He pressed himself against her back, lifting
tendrils of her hair away from her neck to taste her
again, and Ororo trembled as she tried her key in
the lock. “That’s wicked! Please, don’t stop!” Now
who was making it hard???
“This’ll go a lot smoother inside,” he mumbled
behind her ear. She finally managed to cram the key
into the lock and gave the knob a savage twist, and
they practically fell inside. Logan kicked the door
shut behind him and they stumbled against the wall.
He snagged the tip of his glove between his teeth
and jerked it off, caressing her cheek. “You’re so
soft,” he whispered, kissing her again, savoring how
she looked in the faint glow of the street lamps
shining in through her living room window. As his
finger skimmed the corner of her mouth, she turned
her face just a fraction and nibbled it, and Logan
was more determined to get her out of that costume.
His fingers worked themselves under the domino and
urged it off, letting it fall to the floor. “There
you are!” He grinned in triumph at the vision she
made, with her long white hair tumbling loose in
flowing waves.
“I’m right here.” She went to work on his other
glove, tugging at it and flinging it over his
shoulder.
“I’ve been dying to play with this all night,” he
admitted, fingering the metal zipper pull between
her breasts.
ZZZZZZIIIIPPPPPPP.
The cool air hit her flesh, making her tingle.
Through the widening gap that he’d begun, Logan took
in the sight of her smooth mocha skin and the hint
of red satin. A tiny heart-shaped plastic clasp
hooked together between her breasts, making his
fingers itch to relieve it of its burden and do more
mischief. He traced one fingertip idly between the
valley of her breasts, down her abdomen, making her
shiver. She reached for his mask, but he leaned
back. “Uh-uh. You first. I’ve been waiting all night
for this. For you.” A warmth spread through her
stomach at his words. “I want you outta this damned
thing.” She wrapped her arms loosely around his neck
while he continued to work. Her prop whip hit the
floor with a faint plop, and he fiddled with the
belt buckle, yanking it off with a swish, sending it
flying. He surprised her as he bent down and wrapped
his arms firmly around her waist, lifting her over
his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“What on earth…?”
“Gonna be tricky to get those boots off, kiddo.” He
plopped her on the couch so her long legs were
dangling over the arm. “I need room to work.” The
buckles on the boots were snapped open with casual
ease, and he grunted slightly, tugging on the boots
that seemed to mold themselves to her flesh. They
came off with some effort, and the vinyl encasing
her legs practically squeaked in protest. He blew
cool air between her toes, and damp heat flushed
into her core. Her moan was ragged as he kneaded the
ball of her foot with his thumb.
“I knew…you could manage it,” she hissed.
“Logan…you’re very good at that.”
“I try.” He mouthed her big toe teasingly and she
nearly came apart. Logan rose to his feet, still
looking dangerous as he loomed over her in his
costume. “Damn, darlin’, don’t look at me like
that.”
“C’mere,” she suggested, edging back toward the
other end of the couch. Logan unhooked his cape and
let it flutter to the floor behind him, and his
fingers dug under his mask, shucking it; the latex
made a small sucking sound as it was pulled away.
Logan scrambled over the edge of the couch, between
her parted legs, crawling his way toward her. His
body grazed hers as he eased himself against her,
into her waiting embrace, and he felt hot and solid
against the exposed parts of her flesh when he
kissed her. Ororo couldn’t recall how she got out of
her costume; frenzied hands roaming her and ragged
whispers in her ear pleading for her not to let go
of him came to mind. Her hair fanned out over one of
the throw cushions. Out of the blue, Ororo leaned
over to the coffee table and grabbed the remote.
“Plannin’ on watching the game, darlin’?” Logan’s
face was incredulous and amused.
“Nope.” She clicked play, and the red power button
lit up on her stereo console. She smiled up at him
as the compact disc was fed from its carriage into
the slot with a sliding sound, and she set the
remote down before pulling him back down to her,
clutching handfuls of his dark hair. His belt buckle
was digging into her bare belly, and she wrestled it
off with surprising ruthlessness. He chuckled at her
tenacity.
Ororo had the stereo set to “shuffle,” and the songs
played in random order. She silently thanked God
when her favorite one came on first:
It's been so long since I have got you lady
Since I have had yo brown legs wrapped around me
The smell of she just drives me crazy
Imagine what the sight of her can do
“Let me see you,” Ororo husked, stroking the stubble
along his jaw, pressing her fingertip into the
indent of his chin. He kissed her one more time
before he reared up, straddling her, and tugged the
hem of his shirt up one-handed. Ororo’s mouth went
dry at the sight of his broad chest and solid
pectorals, covered with a downy layer of dark hair.
It tapered down to a happy trail that kissed his
navel and lead below his waistband. A sigh of
approval escaped her as she ran her hands down his
washboard stomach. “This body of yours is your best
kept secret, Logan. Those coveralls of yours are
almost a crime, covering all this up.”
“Can’t fix cars in my birthday suit,” he reasoned.
Reluctantly he righted himself, pulling her up by
the hand. She led him to the bedroom, leaving the
door open so they could hear the music. More
streetlight infiltrated the room from between the
slats of Ororo’s mini-blinds, illuminating her lithe
form and wild, tousled hair. Her blue eyes glowed up
at him as she lowered herself to her knees,
encouraging him to balance himself against her
shoulder while she removed his boots. Her lips
nibbling him made the erection he already had strain
and twitch as she hooked her fingers into the belt
loops of his leggings and dragged them down. Her
hands skimmed his taut thighs and tickled the backs
of his knees as he stepped out of them, and his
hands clamped around her upper arms, pulling her
flush against him. The height difference between
them wasn’t so stark with both of them in their bare
feet, he was delighted to discover. He bent and
unsnapped the tempting little heart-shaped clasp and
was awed by the perfect breasts that greeted him,
their tips puckering under his gaze.
Suitelady don't worry
Ain't no end to what this ring wants to begin with
you
I've waited; suitelady,
Cause no man can tear asunder -
What my love can groove
“Beautiful,” he pronounced, his eyes sweeping over
her body with bare admiration and awe before they
bore back into hers. “I want you.” Ororo nodded her
assent before they collapsed on the bed in a tangle
of limbs. His kisses were liquid, drugging and
thorough. He worshipped every inch of her flesh,
letting his tongue swirl against the pulse of her
wrist and tease the bend of her elbow, dragging it
against the sensitive, soft skin of her upper arm,
making her shiver the entire time. He whispered how
beautiful she was, how good she tasted, how soft and
smooth she felt against her shoulders, plying his
words around the sweet feel of her nipple captured
between his teeth. She squirmed against him, giving
up on words of her own, with the exception of two:
“Yes, Logan.”
“Yesssss!” She lost herself in his touch as his
mouth sought out the undercurves of her breasts, as
he nipped her ribs playfully with his lips.
“Yes, Logan!” His skilled fingers caressed her with
care, making the nubbin atop her folds slick and
damp, straining for more.
“Logan…oh, Lo…gan.” Well, technically that was three
words. There was no more need for talk; their cries
were guttural and mingled, soaring above the music
as he thrust home. Ororo’s wrapped her arms and legs
around him and held on for dear life as he loved
her, moving with solid, heavy thrusts, filling her.
Her slick heat enveloped him, milking groans and
curses from him as his hips rose and dropped in a
rhythm that was overpowering. Her lips dropped open,
and long, keening sounds of fulfillment were rocked
from her between frantic nips and kisses of his
throat and collarbones. Her fingernails dug into his
back, but she distracted him from the slight sting
as she caught the crest of his ear between her lips
and suckled it. He never wanted the sweet torture to
stop, even as he prayed to her, and to God, for
release.
I never thought myself the kinda guy
The kinda man that would ever want to settle down
Statistics say it's crazy, passion won't survive
But something says naw, deep down, deep down
inside...
“Ororo…ORORO! Oh, God, darlin’, oh, God! Can’t
get…enough o’ you! Eeeerrrrgggghh!” He shifted and
unwrapped her legs from his waist, and bent them
over his shoulders instead, deepening the
penetration within her depths. The vibrations of
their lovemaking made her breasts knock together
enticingly, and Ororo’s eyes rolled shut as she
threw her head back, digging her fingers into his
thighs. It was too good. He just felt too damned
good…pressure throbbed and built up within her womb,
and she felt the first stirrings of contractions.
She clenched and tightened around him reflexively,
heightening the feelings for them both as he stroked
her pearl, plucking that final chord…
“Uh-uh, don’t hide from me, look at me, darlin’!” He
was so close; Ororo felt the tightening and rigidity
of his flesh, becoming even more turgid. Her eyes
opened again, pleading with him. “That’s it; I’ve
gotta see those beautiful eyes. I want ya ta watch
me when ya come.” She nodded, then bit her bottom
lip, strangling the soul-deep cry of satisfaction,
arching up off the bed as she came. Logan dropped
her legs as they spasmed with the initial shocks,
and he jerked and cursed as he found his own peak.
His arms convulsed around her as he climaxed, unable
and unwilling to let go. Her muscles continued to
quiver until they finally relaxed beneath him,
completely limp. Her breath stirred the hair at his
temple as he rested his head within the crook of her
neck. Her legs entwined themselves around his as she
stroked him, and she could do nothing more than
stare up at the ceiling with a ridiculous smile
plastered on her face. Logan was still breathing
hard; she counted the vertebrae in his spinal cord
by feel, growing better acquainted with the cords of
muscle in his back.
“You okay?” Her smile widened at his stifled laugh
against her skin.
“Mm-hmmm.” He lazily caressed her arm and wound a
lock of her hair around his finger. “Better than
okay.” He shifted himself slightly lower so that his
head was cradled against her chest. He kissed the
slope of one breast affectionately. Now that the
urgency had passed, he felt comfortable enough just
relaxing with her and talking in the dark, listening
to the soulful music filling the room and wrapping
around them like a blanket.
“You’re one very sexy man, Logan.” That funny little
tickle in the back of her skull sent tingles through
her body as she contemplated what to say next.
Logan, I like you. Logan, I want to see you again.
Logan, I’d hate it and wanna hurt somebody if this
turns out to be a one-night stand… She supposed
that their “lunch” together comprised a date, and
even him meeting her at the ball, but it was still
so soon…she hated not knowing, and that stupid
tongue-tied feeling of wanting to ask but being
afraid of the answer.
“Thanks. Feelin’s mutual,” he yawned as he snuggled
closer. His lips sleepily roamed her collarbones and
steamed her neck. Ororo emitted tiny whimpers as her
body began to respond to him again. “Smell good,
too.” He nuzzled her jaw with the tip of his nose as
he feathered kisses there. His sweat-glazed skin
began to cool despite the heat swirling through
Ororo’s veins at his renewed ardor, and she invited
him between the sheets to get more comfortable.
Logan rolled her on top of him so her silky hair
brushed his cheeks and chest as she kissed him, and
she proceeded to warm him back up.
“Logan?” she inquired, pausing to look up at him
through her lashes as she laved his nipple. He
bucked beneath the caress.
“Yeah, darlin’?”
“You don’t have to get up early tomorrow, do you?”
“Nope.” She anointed the other nipple in the
sweetness of her mouth.
“So if I promise not to steal the covers or snore
too loud, would you stay the night?”
“Oh, yeah.” Her tongue was playing havoc with every
nerve ending of his body, playing hide and seek with
his navel beneath the covers. Her muffled voice
drifted up to him as she found him again. His breath
hissed out between his lips. “JESUS!”
“Then I’m going to tuck you in, now.” He surrendered
to her again as she rocked him to sleep.
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