Snow (sweptawaybayou) wrote,

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Fic Post

Okay, so this was due wwwwaaaaayyyy back in January. And I'm totally lame. lady_t_220 made a deal with me. She'd write me RPS and I'd write her Wolversmut.

She came through with this story that's so freakin' hot ... if you haven't read it? Go. Do yourself a favor.

The Closest Thing to Crazy

And I finally, finally, finally finished this ...


By Snow

Don't own 'em. Don't know 'em.
Beta by entrenous88
Anything good here is her doing. Any mistakes are all mine.

For lady_t_220
Set during X-2, suggesting a *little* more time elapsed before Jean and Storm leave the mansion to find Kurt. And Prof. X and Scott go visit Magneto in the plastic prison.

Logan knew the third time he met her in the hallway that month that she was his for the taking. Knew it from the smell of her, of her arousal, the salt in the air that he could taste on his tongue. The words she whispered, ‘No, no. Logan, please, don’t. No.’ did not mean a thing.

The mansion was a big place. Much larger than it looked from the outside, and it looked pretty damn huge from the air, from the roads. Logan knew this because he’d seen the surveillance photos that the X-team had managed to ‘acquire’ from the government. Although that didn’t matter, because after he’d been there for only a week, he had memorized the entire compound, from the student’s dorms to the classrooms. The spare attic spaces where dust and cobwebs covered trunks full of books and papers and the occasional weapon, to the libraries and offices that gave it such an official, officious look when parents who weren’t in the know came to visit. He mapped out the basements, the secret passageways, and of course the training rooms and weapons storage that the X-team used. The places that were pristine and stainless steel, chrome and light, where even the bravest mouse or the random spider seemed unwilling to encroach.

And when he’d returned from his failed self-discovery mission to Canada, he found that very little had changed -- some of the faces on the students, a couple of the teachers. But the building, the grounds, the secret, hidden places where a man could stash beer and cigars, go hide when the constant chatter of children ground into his nerves like shattered glass on flesh, were still there for him.

So Logan knew that the room he pulled Jean into was a safe place. He knew that it was not used, probably forgotten and infinitely abandoned.

They’d met in the hallway again. Crossed paths like they did four or five times every day. Jean’s flickering glance burning though him like fire, her slim, delicate fingers moving to her hair, tangling through it nervously and Logan would watch her pass by, inhale her scent, as though he hadn’t already marked it in his mind. As though he wouldn’t be able to find her by scent alone in a blizzard, in a hurricane or in the humid jungle of the Amazon.

What was different about this time? Had she fought with Scott? Gotten tired of his priggish, uptight manner? Become fed up with his constant worry and fear, for her, for the school, the way he took every concern on his shoulders like a lead weight, letting it drag him down? It didn’t matter to Logan. What did matter was that something was different this time. Instead of the sharp, curt shake of her head, he saw hesitation in her eyes. Instead of the tight, thin smile she usually gave him, her lips were full and open, the pink of her tongue flashing at him as it touched the edges of her white teeth, then darted back into the dark recess of her mouth. Her hand did not flutter nervously to touch her auburn hair; she almost seemed to reach for him. Those perfectly manicured fingernails grazing the soft flannel of his shirt, before retreating to rest on her slim hips.

Logan knew she was his, even if just for that moment. And he was going to take full advantage of whatever had happened to put her in his hands.

Jean’s perfume filled his senses as he shut the door behind them with his boot, still holding her arms in his hands. She wrenched out of his grasp and moved. But not towards the door, no, she backed further into the room, an old, unused library. The books on the shelves musty and were out of date; most of the kids carried laptops with them and rarely picked up a hard copy of a book now. There were two small rectangular tables made of cherry wood, with matching high-backed chairs. All so well crafted that even covered with a light sheen of dust they seemed to glow in the semi-darkness of the room.

It was deep winter. February. Bitterly cold outside. Nothing about the weather bothered Logan, but the long nights, the gloomy gray days that seemed to be over as soon as they brightened had put all the adults in quiet, tired, contemplative and apathetic moods. Even the kids’ behavior was somewhat muted.

February had that effect. It made everyone, even if they didn’t realize it, think about mortality.

It just made Logan itchy. Made him want to strip, run through the snow in the freezing moonlight and howl at the full moon. Made him unable to sit still for more than fifteen minutes. Made him more monosyllabic than normal. And it made him horny. He could smell every menstruating female for miles it seemed. Knew all the women’s cycles in the school.

Storm would watch him warily as he walked the halls. She knew. She could feel it also. The underlying current of tension that dwelt within, and she kept pressing herbal teas and special fruits on him. Calming, soothing. No thanks. Just living at the school was too civilized for Logan.

He would go for long rides on his, well, Scott’s motorcycle. Race through the barren, brown and yellow countryside. Ride until his hands and legs and face were numb, until his healing mutation was fighting off frost bite and hypothermia. Then he’d return, and sit in front of the fire, drowsing. Waiting.

Always waiting.

But now, with Jean here in front of him, her silk blouse shimmering in the dim light from her fast breathing, her skirt tight, framing her long legs, the gentle curve of her ass, Logan was no longer waiting.

He walked towards her, stalked her across the room. She moved, until the dark wood paneling of the wall in between two large windows stopped her. Then she was completely still, facing him.

Logan never took his eyes from her face. Never broke the stare. He could smell nothing but her in this room. Could hear nothing but the frantic pound of her heart, her quickly drawn breath, the little gasp that escaped when he finally stood right in front of her. He licked his lips.

“You want this?” he asked, his voice low and quiet. And he watched her. She didn’t answer him but for the almost imperceptible nod of her head. “You gonna hurt me if I touch you?” And there it was again, only this time, a tiny, negative shake.

Logan smiled, “You gonna keep saying No?”

And now it was Jean who let a small grin curl the edges of her mouth and there was another nod.

“Well, good.” Logan whispered, almost a growl, “It wouldn’t be sex with Jean, if you weren’t saying No.”

Then he leaned down, brushed his lips against hers. Testing their softness, tickling her with the short, wiry stubble on his face. He ran his tongue over her mouth, closing his eyes at the electricity that shot through his body, tensed his muscles and made his cock painfully hard in his worn jeans.

Logan pulled an inch or two away, “Did you do that?”

Jean shook her head, confusion flitting through her eyes and Logan shrugged, took back the space. Kissing down the side of her face, from her temple to her jaw, tasting her skin in his mouth. Sweet wine and exotic spices and he groaned as it flooded his senses. Logan had to step back again, his instincts pushing him to fast, brutal motions. Everything he didn’t want for this encounter. He had to take a breath, a deep breath. He opened his eyes and looked at her again. Jean stood, back pressed to the paneling, her hands gripping the window recesses, knuckles white and her eyes closed. Her back arched and her breasts stood firm and full, nipples peaked against the silk. Logan rubbed the callused pad of his thumb over one and smiled as she gasped at his touch, even through the thin cloth.

“Like that?” He asked and Jean nodded. Logan did it again, with a little more pressure this time. “Then take off your shirt.”

There was one moment of hesitation. One moment where Logan thought that this was over, that he was not going to have her, then it was gone as her hands flew to her shirt, unbuttoning it quickly, her eyes still closed.

Logan matched her, movement for movement with his own flannel shirt. “Pull it out of your skirt.” He whispered as Jean had stopped at the waistband. Her fingers tugged at her shirt and Logan felt his cock swell again, felt that surge of heat in his groin at the sight of her delicate lace bra. It peeked in and out of his view as she finished opening her shirt. When she reached the bottom, her hands shook, holding the tiny hem.

“Take it off, Jean,” Logan said. Still that little thrill of surprise when she did.

He reached forward, covering her bare shoulders with his palms, then sliding them down to the lace of her bra. Cupping her breasts, holding them, weighing them in his hands, then releasing them.

“Bra too.” Logan kept his face still, perfect for poker, for not showing amazement at all, not spooking Jean as she watched him through half-open eyes. A cool, emotionless look on her face as she reached behind her back, unhooked and slipped her bra off of her arms, let it fall to the floor.

“Like this?” She asked and leaned back against the wall, ran her fingers up her ribs. Held her own breasts in her hands, squeezing them, pinching the nipples and gasping.

“Yeah. Just like that.” Logan said, thinking that if she was trying to faze him? It wasn’t working. Not at all. And fuck. If she touched herself like that once more? He was going to come in his jeans like a schoolboy. “Take off your skirt.”

And again, Logan matched her button for button, letting his pants fall as she dropped the small amount of material that had been covering her waist. Tiny little panties covering her, small amounts of red hair curling around the elegant lace, Logan, of course, had nothing covering him. His cock stood out from his body, hard and red.

Without being told, Jean slipped her panties off and Logan’s sensitive olfactory senses were freshly assaulted with her scent. Wet and hot and lusty.

“Touch yourself,” He said. Jean’s eyes snapped wide open, looking straight into his.

“Only if you do.” She smiled, her long fingers tracing patterns on her breasts, then down to her taut abdomen and thighs. Skirting around her pubic hair, dancing about what Logan had lusted over for months, what he craved.

He kept his eyes trained on her face as he slid his own hand down his chest, feeling the soft hair, almost thick enough to be thought of as fur. The down that covered his hard muscles, thinning out on his abdomen, then thickening again as he moved lower. Finally finding his cock, hot to his touch. Logan inhaled as he wrapped his fingers around himself tightly, and saw Jean’s eyes widen as she watched him reach lower, pull on his balls, then move back up. He saw her bottom lip slip into her mouth and her white teeth bite down on it.

Jean’s hands roamed on her body, one flirting with her breasts, teasing and twisting her hard nipples. The other down, between her legs, long fingers sliding in and out and even in the fading light of the short day coming to an end, Logan could see the shine as they were coated with her fluids.

Her mouth opened, her soft lips parted as she gasped and Logan tightened his fist on his cock, gathering some of the wet from the end to smooth his movements. Resisting the urge to close his eyes. Realizing that there was no need because the fantasy that he had masturbated to for months was standing right in front of him.

“Logan.” Jean’s voice was a low-pitched whine and all he had to hear.

He stepped forward and captured her mouth with his, pushing her head back with the force of his kiss. Devouring her mouth, soft rose red lips that melted under his and her small tongue, hiding from his, dancing away as he swept through her mouth, tasting her teeth. Logan slid his fingers down the silk skin of her arm to her find her hand and pull it up to his lips. He leaned back, keeping her eyes locked on his as he licked her fingers clean, felt Jean shudder against him. Logan’s mouth watered at her flavor. Honey and strawberries, salt and musk and heat, so much heat. He moved down her, kneeling slowly, kissing and biting her skin as he lowered himself. His rough, callused fingers pinching and pulling on her nipples, forcing Jean to curve her back, press into his face.

When he was on his knees, Jean’s fingers in his hair, Logan filled his mouth with her center. Burning the tender skin of her inner thighs with the stubble on his cheeks and jaw. His palms on the back of her legs, pulling them further apart, kneading the tense muscles with his fingers.

“Logan.” The sound of Jean’s whisper wound through Logan’s body as he knelt in front of her. Tightening his balls and made his hips jerk forward, his cock ache and twitch. His lips parted her folds, his tongue dipping inside of her only to pull back and find her clitoris. Catching it between his teeth, sealing his mouth around it and sucking. The tip of his tongue flicking over it in random patterns. Jean’s hands found the top of his head, her fingers digging through thick, soft hair, nails scratching his scalp.

Logan was drowning in the very smell of her, the taste on his tongue, flooding his mouth. Her skin under his hands as he pulled her closer. Bringing her up to the edge again and again. Following her body’s rhythm only to back off when she was just at.that.point. Ignoring the pull of her fingers twining in his hair. The high-pitched whining noise that he was dragging out of her, the small pants and low, gruff moans that he couldn’t stop. That he didn’t even try.

Finally following the sharp pain of her fingers, Logan stood up. His mouth moving over her body, stopping at her breasts to lick and bite and suck. Gathering them in his hands, moving them together, his mouth on one nipple then another, then the other and Jean’s body pressed against his, her hips moving, pubic hair rubbing over his cock. Then he was at her mouth, crushing his lips on hers, the fingers of one hand on the back of her head, buried in her hair. The other down between their legs, positioning his cock at her entrance, almost passing out at the wet heat he could feel on the head of his dick.

“Want inside of you, Jean. I need to be inside of you.” Logan moaned, growled against her face, his tongue flicking out to lick the soft skin of her cheek.

“Please, please, please …” Jean answered. Her hips pushing against him, as if she was incapable of any other coherent thoughts.

Logan’s eyes opened as he thrust into her, moving slow, an inch at a time. The room was shrouded in dark, the afternoon becoming evening before anyone was ready for it to happen and Jean’s skin almost glowed in the gloom that surrounded them. False light from the snow that covered the ground outside the large windows reflecting back into the room and Logan felt as if he was living in a dreamscape. That this couldn’t be real. Only his sharp sense of time, his animal side taking over, keeping him alert when the human part of him only wanted to pass over to the other side. Complete inside of Jean. He pulled out -- until just the head of his cock was inside of her. Waited for that beat, that breath and her fingers digging into his back, scratching him. Proof that she needed him. Wanted him.


Dressing again. Jean’s hands shaking over buttons and zippers and eyes averted. Logan leaned on the wall by the door while Jean finished. Catching her arm before she could open it and walk out and escape him.

“Jean.” His voice a low growl.

“Don’t,” She looked at him, her eyes clear and dangerous and she was not smiling. “This didn’t happen.” The door to the old library opened and closed and Logan was alone.


It was cold and dark. The days too short, the nights were long and empty. Snow covered the ground and the wind could freeze tears on cheeks. Spring seemed too far away and summer would never return. The month made everyone crazy. Made things happen that shouldn’t, that normally wouldn’t.


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