Bulletproof Soul - Part 7
Fic: Bulletproof Soul - Part 7
Rating: Teh NC17. Finally.
Genre: Shipperfic, Angst
Post X3/Movieverse
Words for this part: Longer. The situation called for it. 4,583
Disclaimer: Yawn.
I'm gonna stop with airing my insecurities in my author's notes ha ha ;) Just, read & if you like let me know & if you don't stop or give me some pointers!
Warning: NC17 means Adult content, kid.
Previous parts;
Read from the start HERE
She walks slightly ahead of you down the hall, her arms folded and her head down, in that surly teenage way. It reminds you what you’re dealing with and you’re halfway glad this has happened, in that she might not want to talk to you all night and that would be best for everyone you think.
But you take that back once she walks into your room; ducking through with her head still bowed as soon as you open it - heading straight for the bathroom and locking the door behind her. You think you see her shoulders jump just before you lose sight of her and you feel like complete shit that you’ve made her cry.
You head to the fridge but stop short, leaning on the counter and staring at the floor. You don’t want a beer; you don’t want to run away. You bite your lip as you examine the new feeling.
You want to talk to her.
The sound of muffled crying travels easily to your ear as you press it against the bathroom door. You screw your eyes shut, giving yourself one last chance to chicken out and jump on the bike but when you open your eyes again, you’re determined.
“Marie. Open the door.”
The crying stops.
“Please.”
Her voice is level but you know she’s fighting to control it.
“I’m fine, Logan. I just want to be alone.”
“Tough shit. Open the door.”
More silence.
You look over the heavy door and its handle. “It’s gonna cost a lot to repair this if I have to break it down.”
You hear some shuffling and then the lock clicks but the door doesn’t open. You turn the handle and it works, you look in to see her walking back to sit on the edge of the bath. She perches there, staring at her toes.
Now what?
You move opposite her, leaning on the sink with your arms and legs crossed. You stare at the top of her head for the moment, still angry and stewing and thinking if she’d just pushed that prick away then you wouldn’t be in this position. But she wipes at some silent tears - trying to do it without you noticing and it dampens down your anger, or at least, gets you to direct it at yourself instead.
You blow a long breath out and uncross your limbs, leaning forward on your thighs.
“Marie...shit, what can I say. I’m an asshole, alright? A king sized asshole.”
She shakes her head, still trying to wipe those tears discreetly.
You push off the sink and perch on the uncomfortable ledge with her, touch a hand to her face. She braves a look up at you, trying to smile though the tears are still falling.
“Jesus.” You bring your other hand up to wipe the tears with your thumbs as they’re falling but you can’t keep up with them. “Please don’t cry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
She shakes her head again and tries to look away but you’re still holding her face between your hands so she can’t.
“No, it’s my fault. I don’t know what I was doing. I’m just a bit messed up that’s all.”
You lean across and grab some tissues from the box on the sink. You’ve never been good with crying. Not that you’ve ever really stuck around longer than this - at the first sign of tears or anything vaguely vulnerable in that way you’d be out of there. In the past that is - what you remember of it. Before her.
She takes the tissues from you and wipes her eyes, dabbing at that damn eyeliner that’s smudged now. A vague thought crosses your mind that you’re sure most girls would be jealous that she can still look so heartbreakingly pretty despite that.
“I just...I thought it was the answer, y’know? The cure - that I could have a normal life for a change. That I might get to know what it feels like to be able to hold someone’s hand or to have someone want me and not have to be scared of that. I think I’d even let myself imagine that I could maybe have children one day...” She gives a shaky laugh and wipes her eyes again. “It’s stupid, I know.”
You frown and shake your head. “It’s not stupid. And you don’t know what they might come up with next.”
She smiles and nods wearily, then leans her head against your shoulder. “Yeah. There’s always hope, right?”
You nod, and bring your hand up to rest on her head, your fingers moving in her hair. Her hand is on your thigh and you stare at it, confused by everything coursing through you, the jealously, the effort you have to make to hold yourself away from her. You know it’s all wearing you down when it finally breaks through to you that it’s just you and her, only the two of you, alone in this room and that may as well be the whole world in the grand scheme of things right now.
She turns and buries her face into your shoulder and she’s crying again. And you let your hand run over her back, trying to comfort her and yourself at the same time you think.
“Logan.”
You look down to see that she’s tilted her face up to you. And she’s close, so close again and warmth floods through you, burning off any desire to protect her from you anymore.
You’ve lost and you know it.
Then when she speaks, she undoes your last shred of restraint.
“Will you just...please...put your hands on me.”
Your heart is pounding just about out of your chest and you frown down at her, wiping her tears again and tucking her hair behind her ears. You hold her face and curse yourself - fucken hate yourself for being such a weak excuse for a friend to her. Then you dip your head and kiss her.
She responds, but slowly at first, as if you’re going to pull away. You’re not.
In fact you hope you’re not scaring her because at the first taste of her lips you realise that every minute since you kissed on the bed, you’ve just been biding your time till you can feel that tongue again, the warmth and softness of her. You grip the back of her head now, tilting yours to explore her mouth deeper, blocking all stray thoughts to stop, out of your mind.
Her hands come up to grip your t-shirt at the front of your chest as her mouth moves against you, her tongue moulding to yours like she’s done this a million times before though you know damn well she hasn’t.
She moans a little against your mouth, her breath coming in gasps and you pull back just slightly, not to stop because you think you might be past that, but just to look at her face as she is now. She opens her eyes reluctantly, her lids heavy as she looks at your mouth, frowning. Tears are still flowing and you shift your thumbs to smear them, still holding her face close. She takes a shuddering breath and starts to speak.
“Don’t...”
“Shh. I’m not. But you’ve gotta stop crying, Marie. Please...” You bring her lips close again and murmur against them. “Please...I can’t do this with you crying.”
She nods and you pull at her bottom lip with both of yours, but silent tears are still falling. You brush her hair back from her face studying her, wishing suddenly that you weren’t in a bathroom. You hesitate for just a second, as if to make one last effort at sanity, before you scoop your arm under her knees and the other around her back. Her arms wind around your neck and her face presses into your collar as you pick her up, so effortlessly. She feels tiny against you, and right.
You take her to the bed and lay her down, reverently because if you’re actually going to do this, you have to do this right. Guilt still presses in on you, but it’s fading fast, being replaced by the need to have her closer and a rebellious thought to screw the consequences if this is what she wants right now.
And she does, of that you’re pretty sure with the response you get when you lay down next to her, stretching yourself out along her length and propping yourself up on one elbow to watch her face. You’re pressed against her and she’s looking up at you, her fingers come up to trace your face which you can barely stand but for the fact that at least she’s stopped crying now.
You run a hand from her hip and up her waist; dipping under her top and pushing up till your fingers touch the rough lace of her bra. She arches up, against you, her every move exaggerated because no one’s touched her like this before, you know.
Her breath is loud and you try and control yours but it’s coming faster at the noises she’s making. Her hands bunch into your t shirt, dragging it up your back and you reach your hand over your head to help her pull it off.
Hell in a hand basket, that’s where you’re going. You know that don’t you?
Shut the fuck up.
You inner thoughts are drowned, almost completely by the feel of her, the sound of her breath and your giddiness at finally coaxing her hands over her head to drag her top up and off.
Her arms grip you as soon as it’s off, pulling your exposed stomach flush against hers and she gasps loudly, you check her face to make sure she’s okay. She nods, but her eyes are closed and some tears are escaping again so you kiss her, deeply, trying to drown out her thoughts too.
Her leg hooks around yours; trying to draw you on top of her but for some reason you’re not ready for that. You don’t want to give in to lying on top of her, like you’ve been dying to, not yet because even though you’ve caved, you want to make it about her first.
So you pull back a little and she makes a little sound of protest, before you run your finger inside her bra cup and pull the lace down.
You watch her face as her eyes fall closed again, her head tilting back and pushing her hard nipple up to you and you think briefly of telling her how beautiful she is before you give in and take it in your mouth.
The moan she makes nearly undoes you as you swirl your tongue over the tight bud, licking and then sucking gently. She pushes her fingers into your hair as you do, arching right off the bed now. She looks down at you, her face incredibly flushed.
“Logan, please...”
You stop and look into her eyes as you trace you finger inside the other bra cup, exposing her there too.
“Shh.”
You bend your mouth to her other nipple and she reacts again, almost like she’s been given an electric shock. It’s so obvious she hasn’t had anyone touch her like this before and the thought drives you a bit insane with wanting to possess her, all of her.
Mentally you scold yourself. It’s about her. Only about her.
That’s new because though no one’s ever complained, you haven’t ever gone on a mission to be the world’s most giving lover at any point but this, well this is different. This is her.
You pull her bra straps down and wind your arm around her waist, pulling her up even further to give yourself better access to her small but perfect breasts. The nipples are pink and rock hard, just how you’d pictured them, back when you used to tell yourself you never picture them.
And it’s driving her crazy, you can tell as she writhes underneath you, gripping your head and shoulders. You run your hand over her stomach, wanting to give her as much feeling of skin on skin as you can.
She pushes her hips deep into the mattress as she arches again and makes a noise of frustration.
“I want...”
“I know.”
But you know then that you can’t give her exactly what she wants. She’s nearly exploding now and you’ve taken barely any clothes off, so you can’t take it as fast as she wants to, even if you want to. God, you want to.
Reality rears its ugly head again though when you realise you haven’t even got any protection so giving in to those urges isn’t even a luxury you can afford right now. But you won’t let her know that, not yet.
Instead you move your fingers to the button on her jeans and undo it slowly, dragging the zip down as you watch her face. Her eyes flicker open and you watch them carefully for any uncertainty but they’re just heavy with need and longing. So you kiss her long and deep, tracing her lips with your tongue as you dip your fingers in and under the waistband of her panties.
She pushes up against you and you fall still, knowing how sensitive she is and how slow you have to take this. Your restraint is surprising even you now, but when you open your eyes to watch her face; her eyes closed, head back, her mouth open, you’re amazed to find that that’s enough for you right then. You’re satisfied to watch her like this, more beautiful than you’d imagined.
When you find how wet she is she cries out and you watch her, fascinated as she arches off the bed again. You trace her with your fingers, loving the velvet soft feel of her and the way she presses up into your hand. She’s practically panting and you tear your eyes from her face long enough to lower your mouth to her nipple again. You’re trying to draw it out for her but she moans, and you only need to gently stroke her twice before you feel her come, her whole body overwhelmed in that moment while you watch, and listen to her cry out.
“Wh...I...”
You smile because you know she’s incapable of speech and press your lips against her ear.
“You okay?”
She nods, her eyes still closed, her hand resting lightly on her forehead now. You reach across her and drag the bedspread up and over to cover you both, pull her in tight against you, like you wanted to last night. When she realises what you’re doing, she tries to protest, though her movements are still weak.
“But you...”
“Sleep now. We’ve still got time.”
You might be lying to her but she nods sleepily after a while, buries her face in your neck. You lay there, listening as her breathing evens out and her pulse slows and swear you don’t know yourself anymore if you can go to sleep right now. But you kiss the top of her head and feel yourself relax anyway, realising you truly don’t care for once about your needs. Besides, the guilt has failed to kick back in yet, even though you’re waiting for it. And so just before you sleep, you shake your head and promise yourself that if it takes forever, you’ll do all you can to make this right.
*
You’re naked and drowning, the surface within sight but you can’t break it and the pain is unbearable. You thrash and scream but the words come out only as bubbles and masked faces peer at you bluntly through the water, unmoved by your struggles. You scream more, pulling at the binds that hold you down, yanking at them in hopeless fear, the terror overwhelming you.
Then she’s there, leaning in and reaching two hands into the water, gently - so gently - taking your face. You can’t see her clearly until you break the surface but you knew it was her, you could see the white streak framing her face. She smiles at you and you wonder what there could possibly be to smile about when you both are in danger, here in this lab that all your nightmares are made of. But you look around quickly, and no one’s there - no one but the two of you. She runs her hands down your arm and releases your wrists from their shackles and you watch, trying to focus on her and the calm she brings.
Her hands bring yours to her face and you kiss her, wildly, desperate to feel her and know she’s really there. She smiles and kisses you back, pulls your wet body against hers and leans into you, sitting up as you are now, in the tank.
Then there’s pain, more pain, different to before but familiar all the same. You pull back to look at her face and the calm smile is gone, her eyes fill up with tears as she steps back from you, shaking her head. The pain stops when she lets go of your skin and so you reach for her again. But she won’t touch you and you cry out her name when she turns and runs, leaving you alone in that hell again.
*
The dream woke you abruptly and you flinched, gripping her tightly once you felt she was still pressed against you. You lie still for a moment, taking stock of where you are and what’s happened - the dream has thrown you altogether. You haven’t had those dreams for a while, but a painful memory rushes back to the worst time. Waking up to find her impaled on the end of your claws, her face frozen in shock.
You squeeze your eyes to block it out, but it’s difficult - realising that you dreaming like this again with her so close is putting her in that same danger again. You lay her back a bit and watch her face, she’s sound asleep. Her chest rises and falls and she looks so peaceful you can’t help but feel a little better for it. You lower your face to her collarbone, running your nose along her skin to her shoulder and back, drinking in her scent.
You’ve learned that scent of hers, over these last few days more than ever - so much so that you don’t know if you can be without it now, and the thought scares you.
It makes you extract yourself from the tangle of limbs you’ve made with her and head to the bathroom, before grabbing a cigar and sliding open the balcony door.
The smoke curling into the air calms you, making you realise how edgy you really are. And so you should be, right? After all, you’re a lying sack of shit.
You said you’d always take care of her. You promised even. You don’t think you’ve promised anyone anything before that.
You lean on the railing, exhale angrily into the warm dark night. This doesn’t qualify as looking after her.
Sure, it’s giving her what she wants. But like Storm said (even thinking Storm’s name brings a wave of guilt so bad you nearly need to sit down) she’s not wise enough to know what she wants. You glance through the window at her body, lying still under the blanket. And she’s surely not equipped to give you what you want.
So badly. Despite all the torment you’re putting yourself through, there’s no use denying how much you want her. You’re relieved you could keep it in check but that doesn’t mean your thoughts aren’t running away on you. You think it might be the Wolverine in you that still thinks of going in there and ripping the blanket and her clothes off and taking her, as if she’s experienced in any of this and it wouldn’t scare her senseless.
You shake your head and look away. It’s too late to turn back now.
And now that you know how responsive she is, how intense her senses are, you’ll never be able to unlearn that. It’s burned into your brain for eternity, you’re sure.
You glance through the window and back to the bed and it’s empty, you lean forward a bit to see that she’s walking towards the sliding door, the blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
She steps onto the balcony and you don’t say anything, just watch her walk silently to you, gripping the blanket tightly around her. Her eyes squint a bit against the dim light out here as she stops right in front of you, looking up through her hair.
“Are you alright?”
She turns her head to lean her cheek on your chest and doesn’t wait for your answer before speaking again. “Come back to bed.”
You touch your lips to her head and finally give in to wrapping your arms around her, feeling like she’s too fragile, too breakable to hold. You breathe in deeply and inhale her, closing your eyes.
Without moving her head from your chest she opens her arms, spreading the blanket like wings to wrap around you too. Both your chests are bare - only her bra is between you, and you feel her sharp intake of breath once your bodies are in line. But you just stand there, silent for awhile, breathing each other in, you think.
“I know what you’re doing.”
You look down into her eyes when she tilts her face up placing her chin on your chest.
“Do you just.”
She nods. “I feel you, remember? In my head. As much as ever. I know the way you think.”
You raise your eyebrows at her, then look away to the view, putting the cigar in your mouth again instead of answering.
“You beat yourself up.” She squeezes you tighter, still looking up at you. “Don’t do that, Logan. Promise me you won’t do that for me.”
You take the cigar out and look back down at her then because she’s so right.
“I think my promises don’t mean much, Marie.”
She kisses your chest and whispers against it. “Don’t say that.”
You stub your cigar on the railing and leave it there, bringing your arm back around her to pull her in close. With your bodies in line like that, you can’t ignore the feel of her, soft against you.
You bring one hand up to stroke her hair, realising that you crave to touch her just as much as she wants you to. She tips her face up again and searches your eyes and you drag your thumb across her lips trying to decide how long you might be able to resist them.
“I’m sorry. About...before.”
You frown at that, and realise she’s actually blushing a little. You shake your head, study her face. Trace her features with your thumb.
“Don’t be. You don’t need to be.”
“But you...”
You press the pad of your thumb over her lips. It doesn’t stop her talking though.
“I just want to give you ...what other women give you.”
You close your eyes and pull her close, nestling your face into her neck.
“You give me more than that.”
She pushes back though, determined. “You know what I mean.”
I know exactly what you mean.
You lead her gently to a sun lounger on the deck, meaning to sit her beside you. Instead you end up lying back into it and she curls up into your lap - which isn’t the best idea for what you have to say next. Especially when you realise for the first time that she’s taken her jeans off and is just in her underwear under that blanket. You clear your throat and feel grateful that your jeans are still between the two of you, before you remember what you were going to say.
“I can’t do that.”
She stops settling herself against you and frowns up into your eyes. “Why not?”
“Because I can’t.”
“I can’t...I won’t get pregnant if that’s what you’re worried about. I had to have an injection for that when I took the cure, so...”
Suddenly discussing this is making you feel strangely uncomfortable. “It’s not just that. There’s other reasons.”
She bites her lip, choosing her words. “Like what.”
Your throat feels like it’s full of gravel when you answer.
“I just...you could do so much better, Marie.”
She smiles and her eyes roam over your face, studying you.
“Better than a guy who’ll regenerate if I accidentally kill him?”
Her answer is so ridiculous you grin, spontaneously, and then laugh, a real one. The first real one you’ve had in ages and it feels a little alien. Her laughing in your lap doesn’t do you any favours though, especially when she throws her head back and you grip her tightly, trying to still her and your desires at the same time.
She brings her eyes back level with yours and her smile drops a little.
“I can’t do better than you, Logan. You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”
You close your eyes, loving and hating what she says all at once.
“You don’t know that. You haven’t...you don’t know that.”
“Well okay, let’s say I don’t. Then just please let me make the mistake. I’m a big girl; I can pick myself up again.”
She shifts deeper into your lap and maybe because there’s some truth in what she says, you let your hands move from her waist to her arse, your fingers digging into her flesh through the blanket. Maybe she is right. You don’t know but with her arms around your neck and your senses full of only her, you don’t think you’re in the right position to give it any rational thought. And she feels so damn good, and you’ve been so good, for so long, you just want to feel her. Once.
That’s what you tell yourself when you turn your face towards her and her hands move to your jaw, holding you there because she probably senses your mind hasn’t given full approval to your body yet but your body’s forging ahead anyway. You decide right then that she’s a little bit wicked and then you feel her lips.
So soft that you almost flinch, but when they open immediately against yours and you feel the heat of her tongue everything stops, and falls down around your ears.
You grip her tighter and she does too, her fingers pushing further into your hair and clutching you to her like you’re going to pull away. You feel how hard you are and know that she does too, and decide that pulling away is a damn good idea. She lets you, but you know she’s not happy about it. Still, she just sighs and tucks her face into your neck, resting there, and you look out to the view, your fingertips brushing her shoulder.
“So what do you want to do tomorrow?”
She drags her nails idly over your chest. “This.”
You shake your head and mutter into her hair. “Hell in a hand basket.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Let’s go inside.”
*Part 8 HERE