His Eyes
by
LoganLuvr
Disclaimer: Marvel owns em' all.
Author's Note: I have heard that the eyes are the windows to the soul, and in my estimation, Logan's eyes are heaven.
In those first moments of consciousness, there is a state that hovers somewhere between sleep and reality. When a woman takes that first deep breath, heavy-laden with musky masculine scent; When she stretches with cat-like grace and sighs softly to herself, feeling not only the pain of her exhausted muscles, but also the hot, wet, painful pleasure that still radiates between her legs. . .
It is in these moments that pure sexual satisfaction can sometimes exist, although it is a rare thing.
It was to one of these rare moments that Jean awoke that morning, and, as most women do, who have been lucky enough to find themselves there, she lingered at the edge of sleep, holding on desperately to it. Jean sighed again, breathing in deeply and rolling over onto her stomach, shielding her eyes from the early-morning light with her arm. She rolled her pillow up into a comfortable ball with the other arm and, drawing in his scent with a deep shuddering breath, she whispered his name. "Logan. . . "
She didn't want it to end, this magic time. She wanted to dream, to remember, but before the delicious memories could come. . .
She grimaced as the sound of the shower turning off brought her yet a little closer to consciousness.
More sounds from the bathroom, bare feet padding softly to and fro, the sounds of a man brushing his teeth. . . then the footsteps came closer.
She lifted her head drowsily, blinking her eyes against the light, longing to see the beautiful face of her lover. He was wrapped about the waist with a thick, white towel, his lean, muscled body still glistening and wet. He was drying his hair roughly with another towel and, as his hand dropped it to his side, he finally met her gaze.
"Morning Hon'," he said softly, his soft brown eyes looking at her lovingly.
She blinked again, holding her hand up to shield her eyes from the sun and, rising in the bed to see him, her heart caught into a gut-wrenching knot.
"Scott?" she asked, her breath coming quickly and her head spinning, careening out of control.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice giving away her state of mind.
He frowned slightly, confused. "Nothing . . . Are you okay?" He sat down on the bed next to her, searching her face for answers.
Her mind was at once frantic, elated and sickened. . . too many emotions at once. . .
She looked into his soft brown eyes, trying desperately to understand why she felt this way, why she was upset, why she wasn't throwing her arms around him and. . .
His eyes. . .
She looked, stared, her heart sinking to her stomach. "Scott, something's wrong. . . "
He was immediately concerned. "What is it, Jean? Why are you looking at me like that?"
She blinked and swallowed hard, trying to focus, trying to make sense of it, trying to remember. . .
"Scott. . . "
"What? What is the matter?"
"Where is your visor?"
Her chest felt heavy, a crushing weight starting to press her down toward the bed, back and away from him. She leaned forward, straining against it.
"How is it that you are looking at me. . . ? And you're not hurting me. . . ? Something's not right." She backed away further, allowing the pressure on her chest to take her further into the bed, her stomach groaning, a nauseating dread beginning to take over.
Scott moved onto the bed over her. "Jean, there's nothing wrong, I'm here. . . I was here with you all night. . . "
"No. . . no. . . " she protested weakly, closing her eyes and shaking her head slowly from side to side. "You're dead. . . you're dead, Scott. This can't be real. . . "
When she opened her eyes, he was gone.
A flood of relief surged through her body, but the weight, the heavy, dead weight was still there. Scott was dead.
She had awakened to this same cold, stark truth every morning for a long time, but it was different today, and she wondered about it. She had dreamed of Scott many times, and had always been so thankful for the small bits and pieces of time that she was able to spend with him, there, in her mind. It was like a reprieve, a quiet, private place where he still lived, moved, and breathed her name. . .
This was the first time that she had wanted it to be a dream, that she had been disappointed to see him. A little surge of guilt rippled through her.
Maybe she could finally move on, move beyond the lonely, dark days which she could survive only long enough to get to the nights, hoping that she might meet him again there. . . where she could see him, touch him. . .
She shook her head, there was nothing. . . she felt nothing. Nothing but the hard, dead weight in her chest. It pressed her deep into the bed, pushing, hurting. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe. . .
Jean opened her eyes, blinking slowly, the morning light bringing with it the familiar painful blast of reality, of another day.
She felt strange, out of place, as if everything about this moment was off. . . weird. She was not in her room, and the deep, heavy pain in her chest was still there. She instinctively glanced down to find its source.
Another deep sigh of relief followed as she blinked and focused on the crushing weight pressing her down into the bed. She was in Logan's room.
Her heart-rate quickened as her eyes trailed slowly up a soft, smooth bicep to a broad, white shoulder. He was a solid man, and the weight of his whole arm across her breasts was considerable. She turned her head carefully and saw that his face was turned away from her, his dark, black hair wild and beautiful. She could feel his deep, rhythmic breathing and feel his body swell and sink with it.
So much of his body was in contact with hers, all the way down to their toes, and she closed her eyes and sighed, taking the time to feel every inch of him. His arm was out-stretched completely as it covered her, and she could feel the soft, thick hair of his under-arm warm against her shoulder and neck. The hair of his chest was course, rough against the tender skin of breast and her side.
She breathed his deep scent in, filling her lungs with him as her mind moved down to where their hips met. . .
He was amazingly soft-skinned. His hard, muscular thigh was pressed tightly against hers, his leg bent and lying up over onto hers slightly, its wiry hair a stark contrast to the smoothness of her own. She smiled. . . he was lying as close to her as he could possibly be without crushing her completely.
Jean lay there thinking for some time, allowing the memories of the night they had shared to seep slowly into focus. Chills rippled through her body as she began to remember. She had been amazed, almost frightened at the ferocity of his love-making.
She suppressed a giggle. He had been right about her. He had shown her that her body was capable of more than she ever thought possible. She licked her lips, wincing slightly at their soreness. Memories of his mouth came to her, his hard, rough kisses. . . and his tongue. . .
"God. . . " A new wave of chills spread across her, shivering down her spine and out over her arms. His tongue had a life of its own. The things he had done to her with it. . . She closed her eyes and shivered.
And his eyes. His eyes. . . the way he had looked at her. They were dark and flashing, mixed with such fire, adoration and out and out lust. It was interesting to her that she was so into his eyes and, in thinking about it, she decided that it must be that she had never been able to look into Scott's eyes. She had looked into Logan's eyes for hours, watching them as he moved deep inside her, bringing her with him to heights of unimaginable pleasure. She couldn't wait to see them again.
Logan drew a deep breath in and sniffed, slowly turning over and snuggling close to her side, mumbling unintelligible words and pulling her nearer to him with his arm. Jean took his stirring as an opportunity to turn and get a better look at his face. She lay there staring at him for a long time. The lines of his face were smooth, devoid of anger or impatience, calm and at peace. His long, thick black lashes fluttered softly over his cheeks. The only sign of his usual state of mind was the intermittent flaring of his nostrils. He looked so tranquil lying there, but she knew him for the animal that he was inside. She had been with this beast all night, and her body tightened at the thought. . .
She wanted him again. She wanted his touch, his tongue, his eyes. . . she leaned forward slowly and kissed his strong, soft arm gently.
She looked up to his face. There was the slightest hint of a frown and his breathing changed just a bit. She smiled and moved slowly up his arm, starting with the baby-soft rounded inside of his bicep, then up, over the top, up his shoulder. Kissing him softly at first, then harder and longer as the need grew stronger within her. She could tell he could feel it, his breathing had sped up and his jaw was set firmly. She smiled and opened her mouth, trailing her tongue slowly up his arm, watching his jaw clench tighter as he drew in a sharp breath. She frowned.
Still he didn't open his eyes.
Jean leaned in toward him, breathing softly into his hair. She licked his neck slowly and whispered tantalizingly in his ear. "Wake up, you animal. . . I. . . need you."
With that, Logan wrapped his arms around her tightly, groaning softly as he lazily rolled over onto his back, pulling her up and on top of him. She grinned victoriously, but it changed quickly to a pout when he still refused to look at her.
Jean decided that two could play this game, so she slid her legs down and around him and was just sliding back to mount him, when strong hands moved quickly to her thighs, pinning her there on his stomach. His breath was coming quickly now, his chest rising and falling heavily. He wore a slight frown and, when she tried to move again, his hands tightened and he shook his head slightly. His nostrils flared in and out as his hands began to move softly over her body, her stomach, her legs, to her breasts. . .
But still he refused to open his eyes. It was maddening!
Jean reached down and took one of his hands in her own, bringing it slowly up to her face. She took his first finger completely into her mouth, running her tongue up and down it slowly, seductively, watching his face closely for a reaction. He frowned more deeply and she heard a faint rumble roll through his chest. He tugged his hand from her grip and traced her lips with his wet finger, then slowly left a tingling, damp trail down her body, between her breasts, down her stomach and further, till he pressed his thumb into her hot, wet center. He began to rub softly and she bit her lip to stifle a cry.
He seemed to sense that she was sore. He rubbed gently, coaxing her slowly until the pleasure reigned over the pain and she pressed his hand deeper with her own, groaning softly and raising up higher onto her knees to allow his hand more freedom. He pressed harder, moving over her with magic fingers, drawing a sharp gasp out of her open mouth. When she whispered his name, his hand slowed and then stopped moving. She begged him to continue and a little smile of satisfaction moved across his lips as he moved his hands to her hips, guiding her back, up and onto him. She cried out as he pulled her down slowly over his hardness, his hips rocking up to meet her. He filled her completely, and it hurt, but not nearly as much as it drove her almost wild with pleasure. He smiled and moved his hand to work its' magic again. Her hands moved over his once more, willing him to bring her home. He played her softly, gently, maddeningly slowly, while his other hand urged her to move slowly up and down.
The tight pressure of his hardness completely filling her from the inside combined with the slow, persistent coaxing of his warm thumb was the closest thing to heaven she had ever felt, but she desperately wanted to see his eyes. Almost lost in the overwhelming rhythm of his movements, she managed to whisper a shuddering plea.
"Logan. . . pleeaasse. . . look at me. . . "
Logan clenched his jaw tightly and shuddered, and then he opened his beautiful, dark eyes and she knew immediately why he had waited. The deep, dark frown and the sheer torture behind his gaze told her that he wasn't playing a game. It was everything he could do to control the beast lying behind those eyes. He had known she would be sore after last night and he was being careful for her. It was all he could do to wait for her to come before he let himself go, deep within her. He was waiting for her. . .
She met his fierce stare and held it while she allowed herself to let go, letting his hands and his hardness bring her higher, to the edge. Her nostrils flared in and out and she opened her mouth, gasping sharply as he brought her closer. . .
"Logan. . . Uuhh. . . "
His eyes grew darker yet, filled with a deep fire of passion barely contained,
"Come with me, Logan. . . " she moaned softly.
His snarled deeply as his fingers dug into the sides of her hips roughly, moving her up and down on his body, harder and quicker and with one final, delicious thrust she felt him let go, pulsating and shuddering inside her. They came together, eyes locked in a contest of wills. His eyes told her everything he was afraid to say, but still, as his body slowly ceased to convulse, his traitorous mouth moved seemingly against his will. He silently mouthed the words "I love you."
She dropped down onto his torso, her body still throbbing with pleasure, her fingers trailing tenderly through the coarse, black hair of his powerful chest. She sighed softly against his skin, and answered him in a breathless voice barely above a whisper. "I love you, too, Logan."
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