Stress Relief

Saturday night, before the memorial service, Logan heads down to the kitchen for a beer. Ororo is already there. They chat for while, about baseball and other things, but end up heading down to the Danger Room.

Ororo scoots back and /grins/. "You and danger. Why am I not suprised? ... come on."

Logan grins and nods at her. "Let's go."

The trip down to the Danger Room is fairly uneventful. For an installation that looms fearsomely large in the psyches of the students, it's really fairly mundane looking, at least from the outside. Ororo presses her palm against the handlock, and lines her right eye up with the scanner. "Munroe, Ororo." If there's one thing this place is, it's /secure/. Despite acting completely nonchalant, when she steps into the control room she murmurs under her breath, "We'll have to do something about the cameras."

Logan hears her whisper, but doesn't respond. Super Special Enhanced Hearing comes with its own share of responsibilities. "Impressive," he murmurs.

She slides into a seat in front of the control panels and fiddles with a few controls. "Soo... what do want to take on first? Trust me, you'll want some warm up."

Logan raises an eyebrow, but nods. "You know the system better than I do. You choose."

"All right." Another few flicks of the buttons, and then she stands up. "Light offense. AI level three, threat level..." She glances over at Logan and grins again. "Five, let's call it. Two subjects. Go."

Logan grins. "Only two?" He shakes his hands -- almost like jazz-hands, but with closed fists -- and his claws tear through his skin. His flinch can just barely be seen around his eyes.

Ororo glances over, and heads through the door, her eyes already showing white. "Only two of /us/."

Logan laughs and follows her through, rolling his shoulders back and cracking his neck.

Storm clouds gather and roll overhead within the enclosed space, which is at the moment some kind of tropical forest. Lightning crackles a few times, and then there's a very loud peal of thunder. Well, in as much as a roaring, charging, rampagning pack of vicious fanged lizards sounds sort of like thunder.

"Lizards," Logan states, amused. He has no intention of underestimating his opponents, though, and crouches, ready for action, glancing at Storm out of the corner of his eyes.

"Could have been worse," she says calmly, snapping out one arm and throwing a pair of the snarling beasts back against the wall with a concentrated blast of wind. "Could have been the speedweasels."

Logan snorts, spearing a lizard with his claws and dragging them up through its belly and chest, then tossing it aside. "Speedweasels?" He slashes adamantium blades across the chest of another lizard, sending it squealing to the ground.

From the air where she's now hovering, Ororo nods in between bolting another set of lizards. "You don't want to know. Believe me." One of the fried reptiles gets back up, shakes it's head, and launches a vicious bite at her ankle. Unfortunately, she's low enough down that it gets her, dragging nasty teeth across her tendons. "Oh, that wasn't enough for you?" ZAAAAAAP. News flash: roast lizard does /not/ sound tasty.

Logan wrinkles his nose at the smell of fried lizard and beheads a lizard with his claws. Accidentally. Mostly.

In fairly short order, the lizards are all -- well, not dead, but a reasonable technical approximation. The squall still rages overhead, even as Storm returns to the ground. Rain starts to trickle, then splatter, then pound down, drenching them within seconds. "... oh, look. We're all /wet/. Oops."

Logan laughs, letting the rain rinse away the blood on his hands. He doesn't bother retracting his claws yet, letting them rinse, too. "Oops."

There's still a small smudge of blood on his cheek. She saunters over and wipes it away with one finger. "Now, is that lizard, or you?" Smiling provactively, she licks the blood off her fingers. "Hrm. You, I think."

Logan watches her with a raised eyebrow, grinning. "So, do I taste better than the lizards, then?"

She swirls her tongue over her fingertips and shrugs, meeting his gaze coolly. It's just a matter of who's the first to break, now. "Well, /I/ think so..."

"Glad to hear it. 'd rather not think a reptile was preferable to me." Logan shrugs, grinning, and then flinches as he retracts his claws, stretching and wiggling his fingers. He not-at-all-subtly lets his gaze travel over Ororo's body, then meets her eyes, but doesn't say anything.

"Are you insinuating something about my..." She quirks an eyebrow and watches the finger wiggling. "Preferences? Besides, you could always taste for yourself." Hint. Hint. Hint.

Logan nods. "That's a very good point." He reaches out slowly with one hand -- which is covered in blood, his and the lizards' -- and takes hold of Ororo's wrist, drawing her hand toward himself. He meets her eyes as he licks her finger, tongue sliding over wet, blood-sticky skin.

Her eyebrow quirks a little higher, and she actually laughs, wiggling her fingers as the one is licked clean. "Well, now, that isn't quite what I meant, but... see?"

"Not bad," Logan says, grinning and releasing her hand. "I've tasted better."

"Oh, /have/ you now?" She curls her fingers up into a fist, cracking the knuckles.

Logan laughs. "Blood, Ororo. Blood. I've tasted better than my own blood." He gestures toward her fisted hand. "Your skin, of course, tastes heavenly." He's smiling, amused, but his eyes say that he's not kidding.

"Why, thank you." Her grin intensifies a little, and she licks her tongue over a slowly bleeding split in her lip, courtesy of Lizard Number Three. Sauntering over, she grabs a handful of his t-shirt and uses it to pull him closer. "But, see, my /mouth/ tastes a lot better." Not even waiting for the next round of banter, she kisses him /very/ hard; she's quite good, but very... aggressive.

Logan is surprised, but not surprised enough to delay his reaction. His hands immediately come up to rest on her hips and he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding out over her lower lip. "You're right," he murmurs against her lips.

She laughs and pulls back just a little, tugging away from his mouth and teasing. "You know, you owe me a couple of these..." Tugged closer by the hands on her sides, her hipbones graze against his pelvis.

"Mmm," he growls. "I guess I do." He dips his head closer to nip at her lower lip, offering to pay his debts.

But she keeps pulling back, moving just far enough away that their mouths are seperated by a fraction of an inch. The way she's grinning makes it evident she's /enjoying/ this. "... you owe me more than that -- but who's counting, right?" She relinquishes her handful of t-shirt and slides her hands over the muscles his chest. Fingers splayed out on his pecs, she strokes his nipples with her thumbs. "You got any condoms?"

Logan shakes his head slowly, his eyelids drooping slightly. "Don't usually carry 'em around with me, expecting sex to fall into my lap." His fingers tighten on her sides and he frowns.

Storm snorts and slides her hands down just a little further. "Doesn't look like your /lap/ to me... damnit. Well. I /was/ just accused of being self-destructive..." The memory pisses her off, largely because, damnit, she's /tempted/. To relieve her frustrated, she leans foreward and bites at the side of Logan's neck.

Logan's moan is low and quiet; he tilts his head to the side immediately, baring his neck for her mouth, for her teeth. His hand slips around from her side to rest over her navel, fingers pointed down. He curls his fingers in, dragging them up over her clothes and skin, and murmurs, "Sorry about that."

She sucks in a sharp breath and stiffens, a shiver running down her spine. Still ticklish, her next reaction after the reflexive jump is to bite harder, gnawing at the flesh, then dragging her wet tongue over the mauled skin and blowing on it. "Don't use them?"

"Yeah," he replies after a moment of dazed pleasure. "Usually. Never can tell if a woman's on the pill or not." He shrugs one shoulder and slides his hand down a little, and to the side, so that his fingertips brush the top of her left thigh.

Wet denim catches under his touch; it's still raining, and they're soaked -- in her case, in more ways than one. She spreads her legs just a little, automatically. Her teeth settle back into the grooves of an older mark, and she worries at it a while before answering. "Funny, that wasn't what I was mostly worried about."

He laughs and then laughs again, more quietly. "Healing factor, remember? I don't get sick; I can't." He shrugs again and shifts his hand so that his pinky slides into the crease where her thigh meets her body, nestled in wet denim and hot flesh.

"Is that like..." Her mouth pulls away, and in exchange she starts tugging at his shirt, "'I'm clean, I can tell when a girl is sick'?" Squirming, she tries to make herself move away, but only widens the gap between her jeans and her skin.

Logan shakes his head, unbuttoning and unzipping her jeans to give himself more room to maneuver. "You don't have to trust me, we can go upstairs and find some condoms." His hands shift, one to cup her breast, the other to tangle his fingers into the tiny curls covering his ultimate goal for the evening. "And," he murmurs, "No. I can't smell the 'sick' on them any more than you could."

Her hand drops from his shirt to slap playfully at his wrist. "Hey, hey... whoa there." Pulling her head back, she finally makes eye contact again, blinking thoughtfully a few times. "Seriously, though? You mean that? ... I guess if you can survive being shot, a virus is nothing..."

He grins when she slaps at his wrist and withdraws his hand, fingernails scraping over her skin. His thumb brushes over her nipple and he murmurs, "Yep. I can't even be a carrier, because my immune system essentially eats the virus for breakfast." He shrugs a little, unconcerned.

She closes her eyes and leans back, shivering, trusting he won't let her spill over on her ass while he's still got a grip on her. "Mm. Good. Then fuck me."

One hand, settled flat at the small of her back, holds her up. He slides his other hand down to cup her ass, lifting her up. The hand on her back slides up to steady her and he waits for her to wrap her legs around his waist, intending to walk over to the wall and lean her against it.

She wraps her thighs around his back, crossing legs at the knees and locking them. Her fingers dig into his shoulders from behind to steady herself, as the height difference makes chewing on his neck a bit more impractical.

He walks quickly but carefully to the wall and leans her against it, tilting his head to nip at her jaw. His hands remain on her ass, fingers curling into it.

She cranes her head back, crown touching against the wet-slick metal of the wall. "Do that... harder." Her thighs squeeze his waist for emphasis.

Logan obeys, gnawing on her jaw with sharp teeth that draw tiny red lines of blood on her dark skin. "Like that?" he murmurs, dragging his lips over the cuts.

Eyes closed, she just nods and lifts her chin to give him better access. Her nails do the same thing to the flesh of his back, raking in parallel tracks on either side of his spine.

He moans, giving a full-body shiver in response to the heat of blood trickling down his back, and bites down /hard/ on the spot just behind her ear.

She spasms a little, shoulders tensing up in a protective reflex. It's like a minor orgasm. Legs and arms tightening, wrapping around him harder, like a snake constricting it's prey.

He groans at her response, making a path of bitemarks from her ear to her shoulder, each of them slightly harder, deeper than the last.

Lightning cracks along the ceiling in a harbinger of how very close to gone she is. It echos in her fingertips as her grip loosens, her very touch electric, flashing with white hot energy. They're illuminated for a moment, just like that, clinging to each other with the force of a hurricane, before the thunder rolls and they're plunged back into the cold and anonymous darkness.

He breathes, hard and fast against her shoulder. He rocks against her and licks the bitemarks one by one, then takes her earlobe between his teeth and tugs.

Her right eye opens a sliver, a sharp crescent of white. "Teasing me?" She grabs a handful of his hair and grinds her crotch into his, smirking just a little.

He groans, pressing against her, and bites down on her neck again, overlapping two of the previous marks.

"That's it..." She swallows harder and grips his head harder. "There. /Harder/." Wounds layer over wounds, and she feels even a milimeter's more depth, a fraction more pressure. There's not a lax muscle in her body, everything as taught as a bowstring. /Fuck me/, she said, and he is. Penetration comes in many forms. She bares her throat completely, surrending in the most bestial sign of submission there is.

He tightens his jaw over her neck, biting down harder and grinding himself against her. He can feel the heat of her body through the damp denim and he wants to be closer to that, so he pushes harder, stroking his cock against her, through their clothing.

It rubs up against the seam of her jeans, which rubs up agaisnt her /right/ where she needs it most. Just a few minutes of grinding herself against the denim and she comes, hard and sharp, a compact starburst of sensation that flashes scarlet and white behind her eyes. Aftershocks shake her a few more times before regains her senses, and reaches down to start fumbling with her zipper. /Fuck/ condoms. That wasn't enough, wasn't /nearly/ enough...

If he's surprised by her sudden willingness to remove her clothing, he doesn't say so. Instead, he lifts her again, detangling her legs from his waist, and settles her feet back on the ground to make it easier for her to remove the jeans. While she's fumbling with her zipper, he's leaning forward to nip and lick at her jaw, the wounds on her neck, her collarbone.

Pop goes the button, down goes the zipper, and sodden denim peels away from her skins to reveal a glimpse of the long plane of her hipbones before she shoves it impatiently down and kicks the jeans off. Storm doesn't wear underwear; go figure. She makes appreciative little purring noises in her throat as his bites sting along her flesh, and then reaches for /his/ fly.

From her collarbone, he works his way down to the top of her left breast, groaning as she slips the button free of its catch and slides the zipper down.

She works his cock free and strokes it, using her nails /and/ the faint traces of lightning that still cascade over her fingers. Shoulders shifting, she arches her breast, breasts thrust foreward.

Lightning dances over his cock and he bites down, hard, again on the upper swell of her breast as his body, his cock, jerks into her hands and he moans against her skin, coming into her hand, through her hand. As the shivers subside, he releases the flesh between his teeth and winces for her, noting how deeply he's cut her. He licks at the wound apologetically, then runs a calloused hand down the front of her body.

A trickle of blood runs along with it, already darkening in the wet air. Screams gurgle an abortive death in her throat, and she shivers a few times, there being a limit to how far pain can go before it ceases being erotic. Mostly erotic. Five kinds of fluids soak her skin now, and the one between her legs never stopped. She quirks up one eyebrow at the molten semen splattering her hip, and then grins good-naturedly. "... what I get for showing off, I guess."

He chuckles quietly. "Nothing that the time it'll take for us to get upstairs won't cure."

"Mm. Excellent. I do believe the first floor bathroom does in fact contain condoms. And a shower."