She set up one of the dining chairs in the middle of the kitchen floor, setting the comb and scissors on the counter nearby.
“It’s easier if it’s wet,” she said a little hesitantly. “The kitchen sink has a sprayer...”
She lost some of her nervousness then, focusing as she was on containing her laughter as he contorted himself to fit his head in the kitchen sink. He shot her a look that threatened a water fight if she got too enthusiastic with her spraying, but she conscientiously managed to only wet his hair.
He straightened up, rubbing the towel over his hair. Then he shook his head like a shaggy dog, spraying water droplets on her and making her giggle again.
She settled him in the chair with a dry towel around his shoulders.
“Anythin’ specific you want?”
He shrugged.
She combed it back and forth for a minute, trying to decide. “I won’t cut it too short, but I’ll get it out of your eyes, and shorter in back if ya like.”
He grunted his assent.
She was still nervous at first, but relaxed into the task surprisingly quickly. At first she used only the comb and scissors, but as she got further she used her fingers to hold the hair, snipping along them. He had been right -- her mutation did take long enough to kick in that the occasional brushes against his scalp or neck were not an issue.
She concentrated on the feel of his hair in her hands, his quiet breathing, the patter of sleet against the windows, and she realized that for the first time in a long time -- maybe the first time since her mutation activated -- she was feeling more pleasure than anxiety in touching someone.
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Logan sat in the kitchen chair, lulled into a state of pleasant lassitude by the snip of the scissors and the feel of Marie’s fingers gently feathering through his hair. The nervousness in her scent had faded away, and now nothing but the soft, sweet scent of her surrounded him. His belly was full of the delicious meal she had cooked, his body still warm from the fire despite the storm raging outside. Soon he would be out there again but for now he felt safe, and warm, and...
It took a little while of thinking for him to identify the rest of what he was feeling. The loneliness had been a part of him for so long, he hadn’t realized what it would feel like to have it gone. It was just constantly there, like the ache of a healing bone. Now -- at least for tonight -- the ache had disappeared. It was like Marie’s company had seeped inside him, filling up all the empty spaces with her warmth and comfort.
He hadn’t known what to expect from tonight, had second-guessed his promise to come to dinner a hundred times after he left her. And yet, it had just been...easy. She didn’t treat him as if he were stupid, like the dumb beast others seemed to think he was. Like he thought himself to be, most of the time. Even when his words got tangled up and he said the wrong thing, or when he ran into the ever-present roadblock of things he couldn’t remember...she didn’t seem to mind at all.
She didn’t seem to fear him, either. Most respectable women did -- they would see him coming and scurry away, pressing closer to their man if they had one, as if those slack-jawed and paunchy men could really protect them from a predator like him. They made him feel like dirt.
And the women who weren’t respectable -- the fight club groupies, who pawed him as he left the cage -- they made him feel even worse. At the same time as he reviled their touch, shrugging free of their grasping hands, they also brought into his mind half-remembered -- or half-imagined? -- images. Images of using women, roughly and cruelly. Of letting the darkness inside him have full reign, of letting the beast out to slaver and rut.
How far had he gone, in the part of his life he couldn’t remember? Had he taken women by force, or was he just remembering the kinds of things that women like that would allow? The images would haunt his dreams for weeks afterwards, and he would wake with his body hard and unsatisfied and his mind sickened with his fears of what he might have done in that gaping chasm of time that was lost to him.
He closed his eyes, chasing away the dark thoughts. He couldn’t even think of women like that -- not now, with Marie’s gentle hands on him, her soft enticing scent filling his lungs. He let her nearness soothe him. She was the opposite of those kinds of women. She was all gentle, hesitant touches where they were grasping and groping, soft sweet blushes instead of lascivious leers.
And yet for all her shyness, she was more erotic to him than those other women could ever be. What he felt for her was so much deeper -- a slow, fevered burn. It was lust and yearning, desire and adoration, all mixed together in a way he had never imagined to be possible. He wanted every part of her -- to hold her close to him, to rub his scent on her, to mark her body with his teeth, to hear her cry out his name as he...
The growl rumbled from him involuntarily, and the snipping of the scissors stopped.
“Oh. Did...did I hurt ya?” she asked.
He shook his head, unable to trust his voice. After a moment she started again, the new rush of nervousness fading again from her scent.
He took a deep breath, trying to get his thoughts under control. He wondered why he was pushing her so much about her mutation. He knew she thought he didn’t understand how scared she was, but he did. He could smell her scent spike with nervousness, her dark deep eyes shadow with fear when she thought about touching him. She was worried about hurting him, and that only made something in him burn hotter. No one had ever cared about him like that.
Maybe there was a purpose to his worthless, aimless life after all. Maybe this healing, which had so many times seemed like a curse, might actually be a gift. One he could use to give her a gift in return. She wanted touch, and maybe he could give that to her. In the meantime, he had a healthy respect for her mutation. He vividly remembered the searing pain he had felt when he touched her for too long, but it didn’t bother him. It was part of her.
Maybe that bite of pain was what was needed to keep his beast at bay. To make sure that he didn’t push her too far, too fast. To make sure that animal from his nightmares never tainted her. In the meantime, his instincts were telling him that this was what she needed. Not just touch, but the touch of her skin to his. And what he needed...
God, what he needed was this. The snipping of the scissors had tapered off, and now she was brushing both hands gently through his hair, fingernails scraping his scalp from time to time and making him shiver. He luxuriated in the soft, sweet touches, trying to suppress his shivers of pleasure. The way she touched him -- with tenderness, with care. It seemed to feed some craving he didn’t know he had -- not for sex, but for affection. She stopped to blow the clippings from his neck, her warm breath on his nape sending a delicious jolt of arousal through him.
Even as his mind wandered among visions of pushing her back against the kitchen counter, tasting her for the first time and her mutation be damned -- his body remained in its helpless languor, drinking in the first and only gentle touches in his memory.
She seemed to have settled into a similarly dreamy state, the running of her hands through his hair now undeniably a caress, all pretense of the haircut abandoned. A slow, sleepy arousal started to permeate her scent, washing over him. Their combined scents pooled around his body, and he thought he had never scented anything so delectable in his life. It made the beast in him surge closer to the surface. Wanting to protect her. To mark her and keep her. To show her that she belonged to him, and he belonged to her...
The growl rose up again, low and deep, and her hands stilled in his hair.
“Oh,” she said, a little breathless. “I’m sorry, I must have...I’m done, I guess.”
She shifted around in front of him, carefully lifting the towel from around his neck and setting it aside, her hands shaking slightly.
“Let me just make sure it’s even from the front,” she said, feathering her fingers into the hank of hair at his temple.
“Marie.” He hardly recognized his own voice, thick and raspy with arousal.
She froze with her hand in his hair, her indrawn breath the only sign that she registered his hands as they brushed lazily up her hips to settle, warm and firm on her slender waist.
He pulled -- slowly, inexorably -- and she followed until she was sitting on his lap, straddling him. A low groan ripped from him as she sank her weight onto the hard ridge beneath his jeans, echoed by a soft, wordless noise of excitement from her.
She was blushing again but her eyes were bold, the luminous depths of them fixed on him, waiting with breathless anticipation for what he would do next. He looped one forearm behind her hips, holding her steady, while his other hand rubbed slowly up and down her back.
“Marie,” he said again, dipping his head and breathing the words into the soft skin of her neck, feeling her pulse jump in response. He brushed his lips gently against her throat, flicking the throbbing pulse point with his tongue, reveling in the hushed shocked noise he drew from her.
It was his first taste of her -- just the ghost of her sweet saltiness on his tongue, and it was intoxicating. He growled again, a deep rumble against her skin, breaking the contact for a moment to reset her mutation before pressing his mouth to her throat again. He felt drunk with the scent and sound and taste of her. Instinct took over, the rush of possessiveness impossible to resist as he lapped gently at her skin before nipping her sharply with his teeth.
He pulled back, slightly shocked at what he had done even as his arousal blazed higher seeing his mark on her skin. Instead of recoiling in disgust at his feral behavior, she responded with a broken moan and a slow instinctual undulation of her hips against his.
“Logan,” she gasped, her hands clenching on his shoulders, and his name on her lips was the sweetest sound he had ever heard. Her hands were moving over him now, tentatively touching his chest through the soft flannel of his shirt.
His arms tightened reflexively, pressing her even more firmly against his hardness, making them both cry out. He couldn’t stand it any longer, his hand winding into her hair to hold her head still as he kissed her for the first time. Her lips clung to his, softly, sweetly, and then he was coaxing her mouth open beneath him, pressing deeper, tasting her fully for the first time, until his head spun...
She pulled back, startled. “Logan!”
His head drooped for a minute before he jerked it upright, and he realized that her mutation had kicked in, stealing his strength.
“Are you okay?” she was asking anxiously, her voice coming to him as if from a distance.
“Yeah,” he breathed. His hand tightened in her hair again as he shook off the effects of her mutation. “Hell, yeah,” he ground out before diving back in for another kiss, taking advantage of her shock to delve into her open mouth. Savoring her, soft and warm and delicious and Marie...
He felt her hands pressing against his chest and reluctantly pulled back, just enough to break contact. He kept his lips just a fraction from hers, their breaths still mingling.
“Are you...are you sure you’re okay?”
“Better’n okay,” he murmured. He leaned into her but she drew back, and so he settled for placing a line of soft sucking kisses down her throat. “Much better,” he mumbled into the slightly damp skin. God, if only he had the words to tell her how this felt for him, to be able to touch her like this. Never in his wildest imaginings had he really thought that she would give someone like him access to her sweet body. That someone like her would give him these gentle touches, sending joy rushing through him with every tender stroke of her fingertips.
“Logan...”
He focused his hazy mind and realized she was still worried, her small body trembling slightly underneath his hands.
He tamped down hard on his arousal, bringing his head up to meet her gaze, his hand rubbing soothingly up and down her back. He had to do this right -- make this right for her. He couldn’t lose sight of that.
“Yeah, darlin’?”
“Are you sure you...” She halted her words abruptly. A slow smile started to spread across her face. “Darlin’?” she asked.
He had felt a jolt of fear when her words stopped, wondering if the unconscious endearment had scared her, but her smile made the tightness in his chest ease again. He nodded. He ran his fingertips over her cheek, tracing the delicate flush of pink over her cheekbone.
“Darlin’,” he repeated, looking into her eyes. “Marie,” he said, skimming his thumb over her kiss-plumpened lower lip. “Mine,” he growled, the word escaping him without conscious thought.
Her eyes flared with an answering heat and this time she kissed him, pulling his head to hers, exhaling her soft sound of excitement into his open mouth. He felt the slightest buzz of her mutation this time and pulled free for just a moment before returning, kissing her soft and deep, sucking gently on her tongue.
He felt the buzz again -- he was attuned to it now -- and pulled free once more. He buried his face in her neck, breathing her in, paying more attention this time, pulling free as the buzz began. He wasn’t wrong -- that took a little longer that time.
She shifted in his lap, sending another jolt of arousal sizzling through his veins.
“Ah, fuck, darlin’...” He muttered the words into her skin, holding her still.
He placed a final sucking bite against her neck, lingering regretfully for a long moment before straightening up, cradling her head against his shoulder.
She grasped his shirt in her hands. “Did I do somethin’ wrong?...”
“No,” he growled, his hands tightening reflexively around her. “Hell, no, baby. I just...” He sighed, trying to will his body under control. “I wanted to give you time to get used to this. To take things slow.”
She nuzzled into his shirt. “Maybe we don’t have to go slow. Logan it feels so good...”
Christ, she was luscious, so supple and responsive in his arms, and his body was aflame. He growled, pushing up into her softness again before he managed to gain a semblance of control over his actions. He was breathing hard, his arms shaking as he pulled her gently to stand before him.
He stood up also, knowing that if he didn’t leave now he would never be able to force himself to go. And as much as his body was screaming at him to stay, his instincts were telling him to take it slow and careful with her. If her mutation was still activating it meant that she was still afraid on some level, and he wanted touch for her to be nothing but pleasure. And for him -- maybe slow and careful was what he needed too. This was new to him too, and already he felt the beast within him scrabbling to the surface, howling at him to make her his completely.
He reached out, using her hair as a screen to cup her face in his hands. “Marie...” The words failed him.
She reached out also, stroking his cheek so tenderly his eyes closed with the pleasure-pain of it.
“I know,” she said, her eyes understanding. She touched her lips wonderingly with her fingertips. “I got a little more of ya, when you were kissin’ me. Just a little of what you were feelin’.” She smiled. “Logan, it was...beautiful.”
He couldn’t help it, he pulled her into his body again, hugging her tight, hoping to wordlessly communicate all that he couldn’t express. She hugged him back, pressing her face into his chest, breathing in his scent for a moment.
Finally he let her go, stepping back. He was already starting to feel cold, just at the thought of leaving.
“Do you hafta go?” she said quietly, echoing his thoughts.
No, he thought. Never want to leave you. “Yeah,” he said, moving to the door before he lost the battle.
“I’ll...maybe I’ll see ya tomorrow,” she said.
He allowed himself to touch her one more time, his hand cradling her cheek, and she closed her eyes, nuzzling into his touch. “Tomorrow,” he said.
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She sighed as his hand left her cheek. She knew he was right about this -- she didn’t even know what exactly they could do together if he stayed, and as heedless as they both were becoming she could hurt him again, even worse. Still, though, she felt as if he was tearing a piece of her away when he opened the door.
“Oh,” she breathed in surprise.
The rush of cold air came in, bringing with it a flurry of snowflakes. She hadn’t realized it but the sleet had changed to snow, blanketing the porch and the woods beyond in a thick carpet of white.
“It’s...it’s so lovely,” she said.
“Yeah,” he agreed, but his eyes were on her and not the snow. Finally he turned away, walking with a heavy tread down the porch steps, leaving his large bootprints in the snow. At the bottom of the steps he turned to look at her one more time, his golden gaze searing through her, his newly-shorn hair already dusted with snowflakes.
“G’night,” he rumbled.
“G’night,” she echoed. She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering, but nevertheless stayed in the open doorway, watching him until he disappeared into the darkness of the woods.
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