It's raining. It rained that night, too. The night they killed daddy. It was long time ago; I'm a grown woman now, but every time these rainy nights… I don't like it when it rains. Makes me feel like I was six years old again. Hiding under the table and listening grownups argue over some matter I couldn't understand. Every rumble of thunder, every crack of lightning makes me cringe and remember the sound of the gun. Single shot. Then heavy thud when my daddy fell from the wheelchair, his head hitting the carpet. I didn't scream back then. I couldn't. I wasn't even supposed to be there. It was way past my bedtime, and people would have been mad at me if they knew I had stayed up so late. So I just sat there and tried to stay out of the pool of daddy's blood when it started to spread. Grownups were still arguing. Then I heard another kind of noise. Glass breaking. Suddenly it got colder, and I just knew somebody had broken the window. And grownups weren't arguing anymore. They were screaming. They stopped doing it soon. Somebody was walking around, it sounded like looking for something. I didn't dare to move. I didn't even dare to breathe. Then those footsteps stopped in front of the table.

I had seen him before, talking with daddy. Big man with funny hair and beard. Not tall, but big. Muscled and broad shoulders. He pulled me out from my hiding place. Wrapped me in his jacket and carried to his car.

I must be a little slow on the uptake, but it took me all these years to realize who he was. Fifteen years, before I could connect the dots. Fifteen years worth of corny birthdays and Christmases with my 'family' and 'uncle Logan'. Fifteen fucking years during which I grew and matured whereas he didn't look a day older that the first time I saw him when I was four years old. Fifteen long years during which I imagined that I was the only. Only mutant left in this world.

"What do you think you're doing?" I try to muster icy edge to my voice, but it isn't working. He doesn't even look at me, just keeps throwing my stuff to a two large suitcases.

"Talk to me. I want to know what's going on." He's rummaging in my bathroom. Something falls from the counter; I can hear glass breaking. Shards crunching under the soles of his boots when he walks out from there, dropping armful of jars and bottles to the suitcase.

"Wolverine!" Now he stops and turns to look at me, narrowing his eyes.

"And don't you forget that, kid…" He murmurs from somewhere deep inside of his chest. Closes the suitcases.

"We're going for a ride. Get your coat."

He has taken me to a ride numerous times before, in his beat up Pontiac. To ice skating at Christmas, to carnival or to ice cream on birthdays. Lancaster's, Mary and John were always nervous and uptight when he came around, reluctant to let me go with him. Now that I know who he is –what he is- I can't blame them. But in the end, they really didn't have a say over that matter when 'uncle Logan' came and swept me to his arms. They were quite relieved when I turned fifteen and he stopped visiting. Just stopped. No phone calls, no postcards or mystery packages. No 'uncle Logan'.

"Where's Pony?" My nickname to his car when I was little. Instead of rusted heap of junk metal expensive looking black Hummer waits for us in front of my house.

"Somewhere in Nevada, I guess. Left me on the road," he grunts, throwing my bags in the car.

"I liked that car." I have to say something before I sat in. I have a feeling that where ever he's taking me, we're not coming back here. Not ever.

"I liked it too. Hop in. We have to go." I throw one last glance to my little house. It's not much, just a small, wooden house in suburbia, in serious need of painting, and porch is little rickety, but it's mine.

"Marie, we really have to go." There's more urgent tone in his voice. I can hear sirens from the distance. And somehow I just know they're not on their way to a scene of accident. They're coming for me.

We drive for hours. He keeps checking mirrors every once in a while and chooses small side roads. We have left the city behind ages ago. Now it's just Hummer, forest and us.

"They found you. I was hoping it wouldn't come to this, but I don't have any options left. You don't have any options left. They know you're Xavier." In other words, they know I'm a mutant. Who ever that is that they are.

"They want you dead. Do you want to live?" What kind of a question is that?


"I'll keep you alive. You'll keep me warm. Deal?" That solves a question I have been mulling over for past couple of hours. Question about who is it exactly I'm with now. There is no 'uncle Logan' for me anymore.

"We have a deal."

At dawn we finally reach our destination. Remote log cabin. Literally in the middle of nowhere. We passed last neighbors three hours ago. I don't have a clue where we are, but I have a hunch that it was his purpose all the time. I step out of the car and stretch my back. Breathe in. Clean, crisp air. Sun rising from behind trees, coloring dry leaves on the ground with yellow, red and brown. I catch a whiff of tobacco, and for a moment I'm standing next to 'uncle Logan', waiting patiently for a cone of strawberry ice cream. Then my gaze lands on him and 'uncle Logan' is gone. At his place on the hood of the car sits weary predator, beaten, tired to the bone. Evaluating me with bleary eyes.

"Come here." I walk to him. He scoots over the hood, pulling me standing between his legs. Throws away the cigar and places his hands on my hips.

"Turn your skin off." I do as he asks. We have a deal. He lifts his right hand. Thumb brushes over my lips, warm and coarse skin against mine. His eyes lock in to mine when I lick the pad of his thumb quickly. Just a small flick of my tongue over salty skin. First time I have ever touched another person like this. Without some kind of protective barrier between our skins. And I want it more. I can see the same need reflecting from his eyes. He leans closer and replaces his thumb with his lips. Hot and wet tongue sweeps over my skin, seeking entrance. He tastes of tobacco and exhaustion. Nips my lower lip with blunt teeth when I clamp my mouth shut and lets out a warning rumble. One hand over my buttocks, pulling me against him, the other tangling in my hair and yanking my head backwards slightly, forcing my mouth open. He slides down from the hood of the car, without breaking the connection. He's practically devouring me.

Finally he has to let go, to allow me to breathe. My lips are swollen. I'm glad I can't see myself from the mirror right now. But he seems to like what he sees. He leans to lick my lips gently, smoothing my tangled hair with trembling hands.

"Go inside. I'll give you five minutes. When I come in, I want you in my bed, naked." He sits to the hood of the car and lights a cigar.

"Go on. Door's open."

I don't know what to expect when I open the door. From the outside the cabin looks rugged. Very basic. I'm in for a surprise. I step in to a small hut, only to see a neat, spacious apartment with all the modern comforts. Kitchen, small living room, bathroom, and a bedroom. One bedroom with one bed. Wide enough for two. I start to back out and collide with something warm and solid. Hands clamp around my waist.

"Told you I wanted you naked on that bed…" He whispers, warm breath tickling my neck. I guess my little expedition around this place took longer than I thought. His hands delve under my jacket, one tugging the waistband of my jeans, other squeezing my breasts.

"We can do this clothes on, right here on the floor, but something tells me you would be more comfortable on the bed…"

Am I really getting aroused? He's stripping off my clothes, one by one. Nothing sexy or sensual. He's just taking them off to gain easier access. Coat. Jeans. Shirt. Socks. Bra. Pants. And I'm naked. On his bed. Rubbing my thighs together, because I'm so hot and tingly and tense, and his gaze sweeping over me makes my stomach curl. From arousal or fear? I don't know, but I don't care either when he starts to undress. Nothing sexy, slow or sensual in that act either. He's just removing obstacles from between us.

"I'm so fucking cold and tired…" He whispers, crawls on top of me and guides his cock to my entrance, sliding in. I can feel a small twinge. Not untouched anymore. I expect him to take what he wants and roll over. Instead he urges me to wrap my legs around him. He buries his face against my neck and wraps his arms around me, hugging me close. We just lay here, his thick and hard cock throbbing inside of me, and I'm quite sure this isn't the way to do this. I may be the oldest virgin in the world, but even I know something about sex. I'm not sure, but it feels almost like he's falling asleep on me. He's getting heavier; his muscles are relaxing.

"Lo… Wolverine?"

"Yeah…" He asks with a thick raspy voice.

"What… What are we… Do you want me to do something?" He moves a little, rolls his hips against mine, and his cock inside of me brushes against something and suddenly I can't breathe. It feels too good.

"Just hold me… This is good…" He murmurs and flexes his hips again, just a little, slowly. I can only whimper in response. He's so big, this should be painful. I should be screaming and crying. I might scream and cry later. Right now it takes everything from me to stay conscious to enjoy the feeling. He's nibbling my throat, licking my skin, crushing me against him almost desperately. He's rolling his hips against mine, sliding slowly in and out, every thrust pushing him deeper inside of me, stretching me wide open.

I fall to pieces in his embrace, encouraging whispers echoing in my ears. I'm cramping, scratching, kicking and biting. I can't even see, but I can hear his voice.

"Let go… That's it… Come for me…" I can taste blood. My teeth are buried to his shoulder. And suddenly his cock is getting bigger. Even bigger than it was before, and harder. He stops moving. He stops breathing. For few seconds he's completely still. Then he thrusts sharply, one deep stroke, deeper than before and I can feel him pulsing inside of me, filling me with his hot seed. He doesn't shout, doesn't kiss me, and doesn't roll over. Just lies on top of me, still inside of me, his face pressed against the side of my throat. He is heavy, but his weight feels good on me. He belongs there.

"Am I too heavy?" He asks, rising to his elbows.

"No. But I could use the bathroom…" I'm blushing. Considering what just happened I shouldn't have any reason to blush, but I can feel his come leaking out of me when he pulls out and helps me up from the bed. Thick, creamy gush sliding to my thighs. He just smiles and kisses me. Rubs my wet and slick pussy with his hand, sliding two fingers in. I'm still sensitive, and his touch makes my knees buckle. Two fingers aren't even close to the width of his cock, but my body doesn't seem to know the difference. My hips start gyrating on their own volition. I'm hanging from his shoulders, fucking his hand like there's no tomorrow. Suddenly he withdraws his hand and grasps my buttocks, lifting me up. My legs end up around his waist and his cock, hard again replaces his fingers.

"Bed or bathroom?" He whispers against my lips. I'm not able to answer. As corny as it sounds, I'm getting lost in his eyes. Earlier tiredness and indifference has changed to pure, liquid lust, and I'm drowning. He makes the decision and walks to bathroom, his cock still lodged deep inside of me. Every step grinds us together.

There's no bathtub, but he pushes me against the wall and turns on the shower. At first cold water makes my muscles tense, even those inside of me, and we both gasp and grimace, sensation almost too much. Luckily water is already turning warm and I'm able to relax. He starts slowly. Slow and gentle thrusts like earlier. Building the fire, pulling out almost completely before sinking back in. I'm trembling, waiting for the release. He's just staring at me, lips parted to a slight grimace, eyes devouring every inch of my face drinking in every expression. I can't look away. I can only stare back. Suddenly he lunges forward and I can feel his teeth clamping over my throat. He starts pounding in me with faster pace, as if he was trying to force me through the wall I'm leaning against. Force of his thrusts is enough to make me come. I don't have time to recover when he lets go of my throat, turns me around and impales me from behind, filling me with his come once again. I can feel his teeth clamping to my upper back, and it hurts. He really is biting me, furious growl echoing from the tiled walls around us.

I'm tired. Exhausted. Unable to move. I just want to curl up and hide. He's washing me. Soapy hands running over my body.

"Get up." Oh, I'm sitting on the floor.

"Get up." He means now? Okay… I can try…

"Good. Lets get you cleaned up." Warm water falls over me, rinsing away soap, saliva, blood and other bodily fluids.

"Put your hands against the wall." He shuts off the shower. Drapes a towel over me. Carries me to bed.

"Wait here." Is he kidding? Like I could move even if I wanted to… I'm so fucked up. Truly, deeply madly fucked up. If this is what he expects all the time, he's going to have to let me borrow his mutation. I have bruises in weird places, and a feeling that I won't be able to walk at all tomorrow. I close my eyes. It feels like I'm floating. Floating around, drifting slowly through soft and silky air, spinning around. I'm weightless. Strong hands curl around me, anchor me against warm and solid wall of muscle.

"I'm so fucking cold…"

It's raining again. I can hear engine of the Hummer outside. He's home. He's been away for two weeks this time. Week longer than ever before. I thought they caught him. Apparently not. Sometimes I feel like it would be better that way. Better if they found us and finished this once and for all. Usually those thoughts come to me when I'm alone and it rains. Big, heavy droplets drumming against the windows. Rarely when he's home. I'm too busy to think when he's home. Well, that's not completely true. I'm not busy. I'm completely unable to think when he's home. Multiple orgasms make it kind of difficult to form a coherent trail of thoughts. He's always cold, apart from the time he spends fucking me. He hates being cold, so we fuck quite often.

There are worse ways to pay the rent, really.