Title: His Phantom Lover
Subject: Wolverine/Rogue non-brotherly/sisterly
love. Which means that I might explore feelings of a sexual nature so...
Rating: A definate NC-17 part to begin with.
Author: Kia Mira
Summary: Memories of an erotic nature surface after Wolverine saves Rogue
on
the Statue of Liberty. Logan is tormented by a mysterious woman that
haunts
his soul in the waking hours as well in his dreams.
FEEDBACK!!!! at kia_mira@bellsouth.net
Disclaimer: If I owned them I wouldn't be posting here. LOL so just keep
that in mind.
His Phantom Lover
He was lying on the ground. His body relaxed. Logan knew he was happy.
It
was odd. Almost like a memory. He just knew as he closed his eyes that
this
was a happy time for him. That it wouldn't be like the other dreams that
plagued him. Not the gut wrenching fear inducing memory scapes that caused
him to harm Rogue. Sighing he breathed deepily of the heavy forest scents
that hugged the grassy palet on which he lay. Letting the dream wash over
him.
A cool breeze wafted over him. He smelt her a moment before a hand
flowed
over his chest. The trim nails raking over his masculine nipple and
combing
the hair that surrounded it.
Logan tensed his body hardening from the sensual caress. He started to
open his eyes, but there was a tinkling of laughter and a hand pressed
lovingly to his eyes keeping them closed.
He couldn't help himself. He knew that he was powerless to do anything
other than what she wanted. She moved her fingers from his eyes and
feathered them through his hair. Raking his scalp the same as she had his
chest. It sent a raging desire through him. He could feel his need
swelling
up inside him. It was powerful and he knew he wouldn't be able to stand
much
more.
Logan tensed further as he felt her lips on his chin. Swallowing hard
to
tamp down on the desire to end the sweet torment that rippled through him
as
her teeth nipped where her lips had been a moment before.
She moved unerringly down his neck to his chest and Logan couldn't
take
it any more. With a predatory growl he flipped their positions. Looking
down
at her he couldn't make out her face. Her pale arms above her head
tangling
in the thick auburn hair that framed her face. His lips found hers. They
were cool and sweet. He could feel his soul merging with hers. His tongue
delving into her honey sweet depths dancing with hers in the ageless dance
of love. They were equals she and he. Logan couldn't remember ever having
felt so completely in tune with anyone. The way he was with her. With
another growl from deep in his throat he plunged his rigid body into hers.
Sinking into the hot welcoming depths.
He was all at once at peace and tormented by the feelings that coursed
through him at their joining. Waiting for her to adjust to his intimate
invasion he slid his hands up her arms and weaved their fingers together
in
her hair. He smiled down at her and though she remained faceless he knew
she
smiled back.
The peace that flowed from her soul into his made his heart clinch with
an unnamed ache. With a desperate longing for the peace of a few moments
ago
he lowered his mouth to hers again and began to move within her. Stars
appeared behind his eyes as he moved within her.
He slid his lips over her chin and down her neck until he felt
something
cold against his lips. Forcing himself to pull back he focused on the
offending object. He jumped away as the object came into focus.
He awoke with a start sitting straight up in his bed. His body
straining
in sensual heat. With a tortured groan he flopped back against the leather
jacket he was using as a pillow. His hand reaching for the cigar he hadn't
finished before going to sleep.
"Dammit!" he muttered as he chewed on the unlit cigar.
It was the same everytime. Oh, the places changed, but everytime he
would
be at peace and wanting. She would come to him and they would go up in
incendary flames. Her smooth flesh leaving a trail of fire and need over
his
body.
He would wake up the need heavy in his body. He would wake up and she
was
gone. The feel of her lips a ghost's whisper. An odd since of familiarity
hovering an the edge of his consciousness. Each time his body hard and
straining for HER.
His phantom Lover. Always near, but ever absent. Skimming the edges of
his soul.
He was uncomfortablly aroused again. With a growl of frustration
rumbling
through his chest as he pushed himself up off the forest floor. Pulling
his
leather jacket up with him.
It had been four months since that fateful night on the Statue of
Liberty
and the dreams were becoming more and more detailed. He was sure that he
would remember more about the phantom that loved him in his dreams, but
left
his physical body a rioting mass of frustration. With each passing day he
was more and more sure that the phantom was someone he had known before
the
surgury. Before he was made into this beast of a man. Before his life had
been torn to ribbons. Only pain inducing flashes of unimaginable torture
remaining.
He felt more and more alone with each sunrise. More desperate each time
the sunset. Desperate for he knew not what.
Four months and he had found nothing at the Canadian Army base The
Professor had told him about. Four long months that had taught him of need
and want and of all things, love. The professor had called to him two
weeks
ago. Across the thousands of miles that seperated him from the School.
From
his really big round room.
He had called to him while he slept and had blundered into one of those
dreams. This dream had been tender though. Not consuming. He had been
sitting in a chair outside a restaurant. She had been there. Her pale hand
clasped in his. She was smiling through unshed tears. He remembered the
dress she wore. It was a pale grey. The skirt long and it looked as though
it had several layer's. A deeper grey shirtwaist that hid the corset
beneath. He knew it was there. He had removed it several times in the time
they had been together. He had also laced it manytimes. As he had this
particular morning. It was a husband's right after all.
A Husband's right! that phrase had flitted through his sleep leaden mind
just a split second before The Professor walked into his dream. And it had
faded into billowing cobwebs of color. He had been very angry at the good
Professor for interupting the memory. He knew that had that sequence been
allowed to play out a major part of his past would have fallen into place
and made the whole a bit clearer. In rage he had turned on the Professor
ready to tear him apart, but he had said quietly three words that had
stopped him in his tracks and sent him on his mad dash pack to
Westchester,
New York.
"Rogue needs you."
So after waking again with no hope of sleep returning he climbed on his
bike or more to the point Cyclop's bike and headed down the road home. He
would be there in another eight hours.
"I'm coming." he breathed as the bike speed along the early morning light.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, I have never really written a scene as was seen in
the
first half of this fic so if it is bad I only want light flames easily
doused and if it is good. Send lots of adultion my way.
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