FIC: The Scent of Rain: 1/1: NC-17: Logan/Ororo
- Title: The Scent of Rain
Author: jenn (jenn@...)
Rating; NC-17, PWP
Summary: What do you think?
Archiving: None. Gift to a friend. See, I ALWAYS remember.
Author Notes: I should be ashamed of myself. If I had shame, that is.
* * * * *
The steam room was unoccupied, and Ororo slipped in, unwrapping the towel
now that she could be assured of privacy. Public nudity meant nothing to
her--but she'd noted in the Mansion that others did not share her opinions
on the subject and, true to her nature, she'd adapted herself to achieve a
balance between natural inclination and the comfort level of others.
She liked the quiet of the room--the heat sinking deep into her aching
muscles, the soft sound of the steam hissing gently in her ears, the thick
walls assuring that whatever went on outside this room, it wouldn't invade
her peace, and she wanted peace.
How endlessly odd, that she could say that with such sincerity and still go
out so often to fight. How ironic, that she trained six hours every day in
the arts of war. Closing her eyes, she was at home in herself, surrounded
by the living silence that bespoke a perfection she had always wanted inside
herself, that she'd never quite achieved. If the most violent impulses of
nature were her mutation, she was the calm center that wondered, sometimes
with bitterness, why she couldn't have received the gentler aspects of it.
The door opened and Ororo grabbed for her towel, turning to see the intruder
that walked in as if he owned the room. And she resented it, even though
she shouldn't, even when he turned on that charming smile that had melted
more than a few young female hearts around the mansion.
Difference was, she wasn't so young that she could be fooled by it.
"'Ro." Another quick smile, and he made for the opposite bench without
further conversation--she liked that about him; he didn't waste words, and
despite her resentment, she took in with some interest the loose drawstring
pants marked with patches of sweat, the long bare torso, the utterly
unreadable expression as he closed his eyes and took a long breath that
spoke more to her of satisfaction than exhaustion.
And she, who understood nature, was no more immune than anyone else to that
specific hint of pure sexuality he exuded without effort--or the fact she
hadn't seen him this relaxed in a very long time.
The mission had been good for him, all things considered
"Have a nice night?" she asked, without even meaning to, and got a quirked
eyebrow and a slight grin for her trouble, without ever opening his eyes.
"There are definite compensations to being an X-Man," he answered
provocatively, eyes still closed, and Ororo found herself moving on the
bench to sit opposite him, an eight foot separation that seemed far less
lengthy than might first appear.
"Use those abilities for the good of humanity?" she asked softly, and he
opened one eye directly on her new location--somewhat startling, and she
felt herself draw back a little, from the sheer intensity there, unmuted by
"Abilities?" A pause and both eyes opened on her--animal eyes, with the
same mysterious clarity, as if he was hiding everything and nothing at all.
Cool on her skin, appreciation when they slid up her without trying to
conceal what he was doing, and goosebumps leaped to life beneath that
intense regard. "Comes in handy." He crossed his arms across his chest and
her eyes were drawn down again, onto the drawstring pants that held her eyes
even when she didn't mean to stare, and she slowly let her gaze lift to meet
Slowly, he leaned forward until his elbows rested on his knees. The slight
hint of a smile turned up his lips as he met her gaze. Then slowly stood
up, every muscle moving liquid-smooth under his skin, and he padded toward
her. Ororo found herself standing up, leaning back against the wall, his
hand bracing beside her head, and he leaned close, taking a deep breath.
"I like your scent," he whispered, close to her ear, and his hand slid to
the top of her towel, held by the tips of her fingers, tracing a slow path
from the exposed skin of her chest to the hollow of her throat.
"What is it?" she murmured, perfectly still as the finger slid slowly
across her shoulder, drawing a line in the sweat and water, lifting wet hair
from her back.
"The forest after a storm," he answered, and a brush of teeth against her
ear, so light the skin of her back shivered, goosebumps rising in a line
down her spine. "The desert at sunset." Another brush, lower, against the
pulse of her throat, and then against her ear again. "Life."
She turned her head to see him and then a touch of her mouth, a ghost of a
kiss, a brush of air against her skin. She shut her eyes, leaning forward
as fingers threaded through her hair, drawing her closer, no force in it at
all, and that surprised her. She'd expected something else entirely.
"Don't move," he murmured, kissing her again, tongue sliding between her
lips, against her teeth that she parted at the gentle insistence, the
careful slide of his free hand across her shoulder, ghosting across the edge
of the towel and she let it fall from slack fingers. A knowing hand slid
down, across her chest, over her breast, cupping lightly and he deepened the
kiss. Exploring her mouth while his hand slid over the strong muscles of
her stomach, down over her hip, up around to the small of her back, easing
her back against the wall until it lined her spine and then he moved, so
suddenly it startled her, he was kneeling at her feet, nothing of either
submission or control, nothing at all. He lifted her thigh, drawing it
across his shoulder before a hand traced the line of her knee, sliding
upward until he brushed against her--
"Yes," she heard herself say, as he pressed her legs apart, sliding closer,
and then her other leg was lifted and she was braced against the wall and
over his shoulders without anything else to support her. Her hands flew
down, grasping frantically at cool tile, then one slid to his head, and she
heard the soft growl, almost a purr, that sent a shiver up her spine.
Lightly, a tongue brushed against her, and she arched into it.
"Balance," he murmured, shifting closer, and she'd never felt more
vulnerable in her life. Then another brush of his tongue against her, the
hand on her thigh moving to her hip briefly, then sliding downward and
inside of her, a shot of heat going through her body. Another low growl,
and Logan switched gears and licked the length of her, driving another
shudder through her entire body.
Ororo shut her eyes--she was deep in the forest, thick wet heat surrounding
her body, soaking into every pore, a rich heat between her legs beginning to
burn through her. She moaned softly at the feeling, fingers sinking deep
into thick dark hair, heels pressed into firm flesh, her body beginning to
tremble, nails digging deep into warm, water-slicked tile. She heard her
breathing, loud and harsh in the quiet broken only with the soft growl that
made her shiver and the sound of the steam jets overhead.
When she came, it was delicious, a rolling wave that climbed up through her,
and she smiled as her head slid forward, and gently, she felt herself
lowered to the bench, hands sliding up the length of her thighs, her sides,
up to her face, and a brush of lips against hers, salty-tangy, herself.
Opening her eyes, she stared into unreadable hazel ones.
"You taste like the ocean," he whispered, and her towel was slid gently over
her trembling body. Eyes closing, she leaned against the hot tile and heard
the door close, a smile still trembling on her lips.
--If you're going to have alfresco sex, make sure it's not on a nest of fire
ants, or at least make sure you're on top . --Te, being helpful