By the time lunch rolled around he was incredibly grateful. This totally sucked. Word had apparently gotten around that this Cyke character had called him out and the newbie had allegedly been spared an ass-kicking by Dr. McCoy. Only here half a fucking day and he was already the school pussy.
Some giant fat ass tried to shove him into a locker…HIM! Only thing that had saved him from that penultimate embarrassment was a flash of the claws that backed Tubbo off, but also earned the unwanted attention of passing Principal Darkholme, who gave him detention for “menacing display of mutation.”
“Consider yourself lucky, Mr. Logan. You’re new here so it’s not a full week. Next time it will be.” She gave him a level stare that elicited giggles from the kids behind him and pointed whispers at his back that he clearly heard.
The blob who had tried to stuff him in the metal coffin was given a mild scolding and sent to his next class. “Fucking teacher’s pet,” Wolverine muttered as Blob sauntered past him, only to earn a hard shove that left a dent in his locker from where his head banged against it. Now he couldn’t get the damn thing open. His smokes were in there. Fucking great.
He skipped the cafeteria completely, not only to avoid the assholes who’d apparently already decided he was their personal piņata but because he had a better idea for lunch. He walked behind the gym, the universal spot for the shiftless and shady to hang out and break some rules. Sure enough, the ground was littered with cigarette butts and a couple of fellow losers were propped against the wall. He earned a few surly nods and returned them, then assumed the position against the wall with them.
This school sucked worse than all the others put together. Previously he’d been big man on campus or at least the resident badass. Years of carefully practiced attitude and posturing out the window in a single rotten morning, and he was now relegated to the bottom feeder pool by the super-powered punk asses of Mutant High.
He pulled his trusty pint of whiskey from his jacket and took a slug. Never leave home without it. Noting the interested eyes of Mohawk and the earthquake guy, he passed it over. Quickest way to make friends and influence people: booze. Not that Wolverine wanted friends, but since things were not at all going his way having a posse might not be a bad idea.
“Bezerker,” Mohawk said as he nodded his thanks and passed the pint back.
“Wolverine.”
“What kind of a name is that?” Earthquake sneered.
Wolverine cocked an eyebrow, took a meaningful long pull from the hooch then stuffed it back in his pocket. The guy’s gaze followed the motion. “Yeh, and what’s your fucking awesome handle then?”
The lanky kid muttered.
“Sorry, what?” Wolverine heard him just fine, just wanted to hear him say it again. It was fucking hilarious.
“Avalanche,” he said defiantly, his eyes narrowed in embarrassment. The ground underneath Wolverine’s feet rocked slightly.
“Neat trick,” he growled. Yeh, he could use a posse like this.
“Whatever man. You can call me Lance, I don’t care,” he lit a cigarette moodily.
He pulled out the booze again and passed it to Lance. “Logan, but don’t call me that.” He quirked a grin at the other teen and peace was made when the corner of Lance’s mouth hitched momentarily before taking the pint.
Just as the hooch made the round back to Bezerker (AKA Ray), screaming, roaring sound surged and around the corner tore the most kick-ass Kawasaki KLX 450R Wolverine had ever seen. Bikes were the only thing in this world he loved almost as much as knocking someone’s teeth down their throat or hiking some slut’s knees over his shoulders.
The rider slid to a stop, spraying gravel all over them. Wolverine coughed as the dust cloud cleared, pissed off at the black leather clad figure on the bike. When the helmet came off his revised his attitude from pissed to horny. Long ebony hair streaked with white tumbled down well past the shoulders of one fine-ass looking chick, goth as all get-out. Red the Cheerleader would have to wait.
“Lance!” she called her voice raspy and thick with Southern summers. “Guess what I got?” She flashed a black American Express card that clearly wasn’t hers.
“No way. I’m still on KP from the last time you dragged me into your shit,” Avalanche turned away from her take the pint from Bezerker.
Her eyes lit on it. “Bad boys, tsk tsk. Lemme have a hit.” She held out her hand imperiously, like someone used to getting what she wanted.
“Not mine.” Lance nodded to Wolverine and handed the pint back to him.
He appraised the girl in front of him. Shit, straddling that bike she was sex on wheels, literally. “Whaddaya gimme for it, girl?” He walked over to her and tapped the flask against one of her leather clad thighs.
Her black slicked lips smirked at him. “Well, I got lots to offer.” Hot shit, she was so game.
“How about yer name?” He leaned towards her a bit more, impressed she didn’t budge an inch. That move usually made most people take a few steps back. Ballsy, he liked that.
“Oh, I get called all kinds of names,” she teased, her lips pursed in a thoughtful expression.
Playing coy, nice. This little piece was right up his alley. He inhaled and was mildly disappointed he couldn’t smell even the slightest hint of arousal. But that was okay, he’d make her ooze it later. He did however smell something almost as enticing as the smoky sandlewood that was her natural scent. “How about a smoke?”
She unzipped her jacket and he was about 2 seconds from sporting enough wood to run the Louisville Slugger factory when he saw her sheer mesh shirt, red as blood, and a lacey black bra on view. She reached into an inside pocket of her jacket and pulled out a pack of Marlboro Reds. She withdrew one with slim, leather gloved fingers and held it out.
“Nah, the other smoke I know ya got in there, sweetcheeks.” He grabbed her hand, and she gasped and tried to pull away, her eyes pissed off now. He plucked the joint from the pack and tucked it behind his ear, then handed her the bottle. She snatched her hand from his and pushed him back hard.
Damn she was strong. He was down with that. A bit of rough was just his thing.
She unscrewed the cap from the bottle and took three long draws. Her neck arched invitingly, and he could already visualize himself putting a shitload of hickeys on it.
The stuff of champions this one was. Wolverine was on target now, this chick was gonna be his no problem. She let out only a small gasp as she swallowed the last burn of whiskey and handed the bottle back. He winked at her and took a sip. Her taste was fucking sweet on his tongue.
He tilted his head back for another taste and lost eye contact with her.
Bad idea.
In a split second a glove was off her hand and she grabbed him by the throat. Fucking fire ants crawled through his skin from the contact then turned into a swarm of killer bees from the depths of hell. His knees buckled, and he fell to the ground, his eyes wide at the face of the spitfire leaning over him. She plucked her joint from behind his ear and tucked it back in the pack.
“See ya later Wolverine,” she laughed and blew him a kiss, then kick started the bike and roared away, covering him in dust and gravel.
Avalanche and Bezerker lifted him to his feet, chuckling. It was like a rite of initiation around here: every dude who thought he could fuck with that girl learned the hard way.
Wolverine shook his head hard, and pulled away from the two other boys. “Shit, who was that?”
Bezerker was laughing his ass off and he slapped the smaller teen on the back. “That, my man, was Rogue.”
“Rogue, yeh? Shit, think I’m in love,” he chuckled. Any chick that could put him on his ass was definitely worth the price of admission.
Avalanche shook his head. “Trust me, you don’t wanna go there. That Rogue is one seriously crazy bitch.”
Might as well have waved a red flag in front of a bull.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Sorry, I messed up my posting and put up this story twice, then accidentally erased chapter 3. Hope it's all square not!
Pardon my stupidity.
I'm a comment whore. Feed the beast!
Pardon my stupidity.
I'm a comment whore. Feed the beast!