Touch-Me-Nots And The Men Who Love Them
"So you're involved with a woman who's not exactly or entirely human, can kick ass and looks gorgeous while doing so, saves the world – or at least your small corner of it – on a regular basis, and if she touches you, it could kill ya. Have I got that right, Specs?"
Logan Cale nodded glumly. "Yeah, that's just about right."
Wolverine took a long drag on his beer and said thoughtfully, "Huh. Déjà vu all over again."
Cale cocked an eyebrow. "Meaning…?"
"Bub, have I got news for you," Wolverine drawled. "Marie – no, sorry, goes by Rogue now, but she'll always be my little Marie to me – is the same way. I got it a little better than you, since I don't stay dead when she touches me, but unlike you, there's no cure. Not a sure one, anyway."
"How do you handle it?" Cale asked curiously. "I mean, we can't stand being apart, but when we're together, neither of us can relax because we're afraid of touching."
"Well, see, there's your first problem: you have to relax or you'll go crazy," Wolverine instructed.
"We court death every time we come within two feet of each other," Cale complained.
"And you'll die a whole lot quicker if you don't loosen up," Wolverine countered.
Cale sighed heavily. "I know, I know… It's just so hard. Being with her, and not able to touch her..."
"So near and yet so far," Wolverine quoted softly.
"Exactly," Cale said a sharp nod of his head for emphasis.
"But you know…" Wolverine drawled slyly. "There are ways around that."
"Ways?" Cale asked uncomprehendingly.
"Buddy, allow me to introduce you to the wonderful world of gloves, scarves…" Wolverine paused a beat for emphasis, then finished with a lecherous grin, "…and nylon body suits with strategically placed holes."
Cale's eyes lit up.