Careless Moment, Lifetime Regrets

by Kerri

Part 8

They stood outside of Charlotte's apartment as she unlocked the door, fumbling a bit with the deadbolt. Logan waited patiently, wondering if she'd invite him in. She'd been quiet on the ride into the city, he assumed the amount of alcohol she'd drunk had something to do with it until he got a look in her eyes. She was scared. Damned scared.

Of him or herself? The ballsy, aggressive, mouthy woman was gone, leaving a quiet, terrified girl to face him. Any other time he'd feel pretty damn good finally getting the upper hand on the situation, but this didn't feel like a victory.

She looked at him. "You want some coffee?" She regretted the offer as soon as the words left her mouth.

"Sure," he answered.

She opened the door and he followed her in.

He stared around the living area, it was like something out of an old movie. This wasn't just an apartment, it was the damned penthouse. Two stories, with a sweeping staircase up to the second floor, a library off to the side, french doors that opened onto a balcony. Even a grand piano in an alcove. The furniture looked old, a lot like the stuff Xavier had before he started taking in mutants. Now his stuff was all either trashed, or as close to worthless as it could get.

He couldn't imagine her raising a boy here, not any boy of his.

She disappeared through a swinging door, giving him a glimpse of a modernized kitchen. He followed, not wanting her out of his sight.

~*~*~*~*~

Remy pulled into the garage to find Jazz waiting, Jubilee and Angelo with him. He'd been calling his mother's apartment for hours and she hadn't picked up the telephone. When they heard the Harley, Jubilee suggested asking Wolvie if he would take them into the city to check on her, anything to see if they'd fight some more.

"Your daddy took her home," Remy told the boy. "She be okay. Dey talk a li'l, get to know each other again. Ev'ryt'ng be jus' fine."

After witnessing his mother's upset, or rather her utter fury, Jazz didn't think it would be that simple.

"We'll just wait for Wolvie to get back," Jubilee suggested. "He won't hurt her, Jazz."

"Maybe we should worry 'bout Wolverine, chica," Angelo remarked.

~*~*~*~*~

Charlotte had a can of ground coffee out of the freezer and the coffee maker ready to go. Logan took a seat at the table, watching her move around the large space, trying to puzzle out the shift of attitude, then giving up entirely. What did it matter?

"Cream and sugar?"

"What?" She'd startled him out of his thoughts.

Patiently, she repeated herself.

He shook his head. "Black."

The kitchen was completely modern, with up-to-date appliances and a large, restaurant style refrigerator and stove. A second staircase in the corner, spiraling up to the ceiling. The glass cases lining a wall contained formal dinnerware and crystal.

"This where ya live?" he asked.

She set two large mugs on the table. "Not now. We used to, but the last couple of decades we've spent most of our time at the summer house and in San Francisco with Thomas. We come here occasionally, enough to keep it stocked and ready. I guess I'll be staying here more often now with Jess in Massachusetts. I'd get a place closer, but I think that'd embarrass him.

"He's a nice kid," Logan said. That sounded stupid to his own ears. His own son, and all he could say was 'nice.' What else could he say after knowing the boy less than 12 hours?

"Yes, he is," she said simply.

They waited in silence while the coffee finished brewing, then she brought the pot over to the table and poured the steaming liquid into both cups.

"Tell me 'bout him."

"What exactly do you want to know?"

"How 'bout why he looks like a kid an' he's old 'nough to be someone's gran'pa."

"He's not completely human."

"That's why ya both look so young?"

"My mother was Torelan. Very long life. His mutation comes from you."

"I really don't remember."

"I know." *I believe him.*

"Ya still wanna kill me?" Might as well find out now.

"Yes." *I want to kill you in every twisted way I can imagine, and my imagination's pretty damn good.*

"Now?" At least she was honest about it.

"No." Right now she didn't have the will to try again. It hurt too much.

Charlotte turned in her seat to get up and away from him before she did something foolish. She didn't like where this was going, what she was feeling inside. He stopped her, his hand on her arm. It felt warm, comforting. Damn him.

"Sure?" he asked, his voice low, thumb stroking her wrist, feeling her heart beat erratically. The woman who painted her face with his blood not 6 hours before was frightened, and he knew it.

He just didn't know why.

"Yes." She was surprised by the heated fire in his dark eyes, mesmerized by those eyes, unable to look away.

Logan pulled her closer to him, reaching out to touch her face, as if he could remember by fingertips alone. He warmed his hands against the flush heating her face. Every unnamed voice inside shouted at him to kiss her, taste her, touch her, remember her.

He stroked a thumb over the full lower lip, watched her lush mouth part in a bid for more air, felt her tremble. He had to kiss her. Whatever the consequences, he had to kiss her. He pulled her down to straddle his lap, her thighs spread over his legs. Now he could smell her, the scent of her drifting around him.

One hand wrapped around her neck, bringing her face to his, her lips to press against his own. Her hands rested on her legs; one came up to brace against his chest in a futile effort to keep him away.

He closed his teeth on that luscious bottom lip, biting gently, then sucking softly. A moan escaped her.

Charlotte closed her eyes, focusing on the sensation of his mouth on hers; hot, gentle, a shiver of uncertainty. This was not wise, not in the least. Not when she could remember their time together and ache for the missing time in between, the lost man she'd known before. That man was inside this one, and she desperately wanted to reach him. Didn't she?

When he pulled back, she moaned at the loss, sliding her hands over his chest and around his neck into his hair to bring him back to her. She brushed her mouth across his, feeling the tenderness in him, the rough whiskers surrounding his lips. This she remembered very well, too well. The memories welled up in her, her eyes prickling with unshed tears.

One trickled down her cheek. He moved to catch it, using the tip of his tongue to taste the salty drop from her skin. "Don't cry, darlin', it's okay."

He crushed her against him as more tears fell. She cried silently; it couldn't even be called crying, really. She made not a sound, not a single muscle twitched. The tears rolled over her cheeks, dampening his shirt where she laid her head on his shoulder.

She lifted her head to brush her lips over his again, a small moan of surrender as his opened and he slid his tongue into her mouth.

Logan deepened the kiss, becoming more urgent and demanding. Only when the need for air pushed at them did they break apart. He buried his face in her hair, unwilling to let her go, kissing her jaw and ear, inhaling her, drowning in the essence.

He tried to focus his chaotic thoughts. He wanted this woman, badly, but he had to play fair on this. "I should go, darlin'," he whispered, not meaning it, but he had to give her the choice. Warm, callused fingers traced the contours of her face, wiping the still damp skin.

"Logan," Charlotte hesitated. How could she say she wanted him to stay, that she didn't want to be alone. Her nice, safe, ordered world had been turned into a snow globe today because of him, the emotions floating down in soft drifts only to be shaken again, to whirl around her. Damn if she didn't want him to keep holding her, kissing her.

Keep shaking the globe. Keep making her feel more like a person and less like the emotional zombie she'd been for so long.

Her fingertips trailed over his jaw, her voice so soft he had to concentrate to hear her words. "I should send you away with another promise to kill you, but..." she took a shaky breath and rested her forehead against his, "...I don't want you to go."

The most wicked smile she'd ever seen spread over his face. One hand tangled in her hair, the other circled possessively around her waist, pulling her up against his chest, his mouth taking hers again, his tongue stroking deep and deliberate against hers. She could feel the heat lick up through her, feel the bulge in his jeans pressed intimately against her.

Charlotte tried to get up, to suggest they go up to the bedroom, but he wouldn't let her loose. "Bed," she breathed against his mouth.

Logan shook his head. "Can't wait that long," he told her roughly. He snicked out a claw and slipped it inside the waistband of her pants, ripping the sturdy denim, baring her against him. The scent of her assaulted him, coaxing a growl from deep inside.

She lowered her hands from his shoulders to the bulge in his pants, grasping him firmly in one hand, the other fumbling with the button and zipper.

He let go of her long enough to help her with his jeans, nearly ripping his own in his haste. As soon as he had the fly undone, her hands were on him,

Logan clenched his jaw in the struggle to keep control of himself. Her hands were soft and sure, cool against his hot flesh. He took her hands away, placing them back on his shoulders, sliding his hands around her hips to lift her up and bring her down on him.

Charlotte stiffened with a gasp, her head falling back to expose her neck to him. 'Too much, too big, too fast,' ran through her head, 'it's been more than 25 years since the last man, dear god, help me....'

He held still for a long minute that lengthened into several, waiting for her body to adjust to him. She was tight, so tight he almost disgraced himself a second time, gritting his teeth against the urge to move. His breath was measured, consciously controlled, but it wasn't going to last much longer. He wasn't going to survive. She was killing him now, without a weapon, without words, just her body quivering around him. He was lost to this battle, and he didn't care.

Logan took a firm hold on her and surged out of the chair to press her against the high counter. Grasping her hips, he moved in a combination of deep thrusts and slow withdrawals. She couldn't catch his rhythm; he held her off balance, she couldn't find a way to brace herself. Her head slumped over, biting into his shoulder while he growled his pleasure into her ear.

She was breathing hard now, her lips parted. Her head came up to stare into his eyes. He saw wonder, terror, excitement, as the shattering release overtook her. She cried out his name with something akin to hatred in her voice. Her hands gripped painfully on his shoulders, arching back away from him, her body tightening around his.

A look of near-agony flowed over his face, his breathing hard and fast. She'd never heard anything more raw and wild than the sound he made as he reached climax.

They held each other, the faint sobbing in her dying away to leave her resting weakly against his chest. He collapsed back into the chair, the movement forcing him deeper into her, a gasp escaping her. He groaned again.

"I'm too old for this," she murmured, tracing a fingertip along his jaw.

"For what?" She didn't look old enough for what just happened, or for what he had in mind at this moment. He'd never felt like more of a pathetic, dirty old man than he did right now.

"I've got a comfortable bed upstairs, much better than this chair."

"That an invitation, darlin'?"

"Do you need one?" He was going to make her say the words, wasn't he?

He brought her face up to his, eye to eye, and waited.

She was too vulnerable to fight this one. In the morning she might hate them both, it was a sure-fire guarantee, but right now she was safe. She craved this moment of security for her soul. It had been so long.

"Stay with me."

Logan didn't gloat over her weakness. He picked her up, carried her out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

End Part 8.

[next part]

back to Kerri's stories | Cyke and Logan archive | comicfic.net