Title: Yester Life: His Phantom Lover|
Author: Kia Mira
Fandom: X-Men (movie)
Rating: A definate NC-17 part to begin with.
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.
Series: #3 in the "Yester Life" series
Category: Wolverine/Rogue non-brotherly/sisterly love. Which means that I might explore feelings of a sexual nature so...
Disclaimer: If I owned them I wouldn't be posting here. LOL so just keep that in mind.
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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.