Title: Infatuated With Mississippi
Series: End of the Road
Disclaimer: If Logan's not mine by now, I should at least have the lease rights.
Summary: Betsy contemplates her place in Logan's life.
Author's note: This story takes place two years after "At The Crossroads".
Thanks to the usual suspects for bravely previewing this in its raw form.
The English countryside mansion that served as the base of operations for the Excalibur team had enough bedrooms that each senior team member had their own suite, but the ongoing game of musical beds meant several of the rooms were often left unoccupied.
The previous night had been no exception.
Elizabeth 'Betsy' Braddock, the telepath also known as Psylocke, stretched out her long, elegant legs and pointed her immaculately pedicured toes. She was lying naked in bed next to the equally nude form of the most perfect example of the male specimen she'd ever seen – Logan. Or more appropriately after last night's raucous tumble – the Wolverine. The man certainly knew just when to unleash the animal within. Her body bore the physical evidence of their copulation in the form of pale bruises, while her mind registered the blissful satisfaction of being claimed – wholly and completely. Logan owned her body and soul, although it was too bad she couldn't establish the same claim on him.
He'd never promised to be exclusive, so by now she was used to sharing him with other women, but it was his fantasy lover she had a problem accepting. He'd been projecting again last night and while she knew she ought to be highly insulted that he'd been thinking of another woman while he was inside her – the sex was just too damn good for her not to take what she could and under whatever terms he offered it. It had been two years since he'd last seen her, and yet Logan's passion for this other woman had not abated in the slightest. One day Betsy would have to meet this Marie who consumed him so utterly.
Betsy looked over at her bedmate, the dark green Egyptian cotton sheet was bunched around his waist, exposing his glorious bare chest that was rising and falling in the gentle rhythm of deep sleep. She swept the sheet aside to study him. He was simply exquisite. Her perfectly manicured fingers feathered through the dark hair that fanned across sun-kissed sculpted pecs. Her eyes followed the path of dark hair that trailed down onto his rock hard abs, swirled around his navel and finally merged into the nest of curls surrounding his cock. He seemed to be partially erect at all times. Betsy wondered if that had anything to do with his healing factor and jokingly speculated if whatever it was that kept him in that state could be extracted and used to give Viagra a run for its money. She smiled when she thought about how Logan prowled around, never in the least bit embarrassed that he displayed a permanent bulge in his pants. The twinge of jealousy it incited in her best friend secretly delighted her, especially when she told her how much larger he got at full mast. Of course she never shared with that same friend that he dreamed of another and not only did she know about it, but willingly tolerated it too.
Even his bedroom was decorated in various hues of green – her favorite color. It was just one more not-so-subtle reminder that while Betsy may have the lease rights on his body, someone else held the deed to his heart. Even if that person didn't know it. Betsy was a powerful telepath, a fierce warrior and member of Britain's most elite fighting squad and yet she was utterly powerless when it came to Logan. All he ever had to do was flash her a sexy grin or lift an eyebrow and she was his. The sexual hold he had over her both scared and thrilled her all at the same time.
Just then Logan shifted in his sleep and the movement made his cock jump slightly. To Betsy it was an invitation and she leaned down, licking at it first, before taking it into her mouth. Under her skilled ministrations he was soon fully erect and moaning softly, his eyes still tightly shut. A firm hand on the back of her head pushing her down further let her know that he was now awake. She obliged by taking him deeper into her mouth – licking and sucking him with practiced ease. After a few minutes the shudder that rippled through him signaled that he was about to come and Betsy braced for the gush of hot salty liquid that would soon fill her mouth. He thrust his hips up and cried out her name as he climaxed. Betsy swallowed both his juices and her tears at the sound of the other woman's name escaping from his lips. Now fully awake he rolled her under him and with his instantaneously renewed erection proceeded to remind her why she put up with his being 'unfaithful'. She closed the mental link between them because she wanted – needed – to believe it was her this time, and not the brunette with the white streaks, that he thought of as he was thrusting and panting above her.
Afterward, lying propped up on the mountain of pillows she watched him saunter lazily toward the bathroom – the view from the back almost as good as the one from the front. Almost. At the entranceway to the bathroom he turned and motioned with his head in invitation. She didn't need to be asked twice and sprang off the bed to join him. Soon she was impaled on him as the steamy water rained down on them.
Later as they were dressing, the phone rang. Betsy answered it and heard the familiar small voice on the other end coming across the line from an ocean away.
"It's the kid," she said tersely, as she handed Logan the phone.
Betsy rarely used Sara's name – not that it mattered, because Logan himself fondly referred to her as 'mini-Marie'. He'd even left his most prized possession with her – his dogtag – just as he'd once given it to her mother. Betsy tried, and usually failed, to hide her irritation that the little girl was Logan's one tangible connection to his fantasy. It was less than six degrees of separation, and a little too close for comfort in her opinion. The fact that Marie would've had to dial the number for Sara wasn't lost on her. It meant that she was most likely nearby as the child talked to Logan – something that probably wasn't lost on him either.
She wondered what Marie thought of a woman answering the phone in Logan's room – if that raised any jealousy in her. Probably not. After all Betsy had met Scott Summers, a mighty fine specimen in his own right, who'd made her panties dampen the moment she'd set eyes on him. She'd blatantly propositioned him the first chance she'd had to get him alone, and he'd politely rebuffed her offer. Apparently Marie inspired a lot of ardent devotion.
Scott's visits were an all-too painful reminder that he had what Logan considered rightfully should have been his – and what could have been. It was readily obvious exactly what ~ or more accurately who ~ was the point of contention between the two men. Away from the reined-in atmosphere that was life in Westchester and its forced politeness, Logan didn't feel the least bit obligated to keep up the pretense that he even tolerated Scott and never made the slightest effort to hide his contempt. On his own turf, Logan was openly hostile and conspicuously scowled murderously at the man he considered a rival. Scott, confident in his relationship with Marie, refused to be baited, which just served to irritate Logan even more. He was always particularly surly right after Scott left, knowing the man was returning to the loving embrace of his family – and most importantly, Marie's bed. Sometimes Logan's vexation manifested itself in very heated lovemaking sessions, which left Betsy physically satiated but emotionally destroyed.
Betsy sighed in frustration as she finished dressing, knowing any chance of a repeat performance with Logan happening anytime in the next hour would be non-existent now that he was engrossed in conversation with his 'Angelface'. Just what in the hell could a grown man have to talk about with a five year-old anyway? She left to go get some coffee, not because she wanted to afford him some privacy, but simply because she wanted to put some space between herself and Logan's Westchester obsession.
She'd contemplated tossing out her birth control pills and giving Logan his own cub. However, the reality of him being seriously pissed off at being tricked into fatherhood, not to mention she really had no desire to embrace motherhood, always made her reconsider that plan before she had a chance to actually implement it. Besides, the only one Logan would ever consider being permanently lashed to already belonged to someone else. It was a situation that wasn't likely to change anytime in the foreseeable future and until he finally accepted that, everyone else – herself included – would continue to occupy second place in his life. Or technically third, as 'mini-Marie' was firmly ensconced in the number two spot.
The only photos that graced Logan's wallet were several of Sara, and one of Marie herself. Marie had sent him the photos of Sara, but Betsy figured neither she nor Scott knew he had the one of Marie. On far too many occasions, she'd caught him with his wallet open, gazing wistfully at the photos. She was tempted to 'accidentally-on-purpose' drop his wallet into the trashcan. Oh sure, he could get Marie to send him more photos of Sara, but at least he wouldn't be able to replace the one of her. Betsy prayed that her feelings toward the child and her mother didn't bleed through the link she'd established with Logan. She really needed to permanently sever that link because all she ever read from him was his unabashed desire for Scott's wife, and continuing to torture herself so masochistically was pathetic.
She returned from the kitchen with two mugs of coffee just in time to see him hang up the phone.
"Sara was a wood nymph in her kindergarten play," Logan announced proudly, a rare genuine smile adorning his face.
"That's nice," Betsy replied, unable to keep the tinge of bitterness out of her voice.
"Marie's gonna e-mail me some photos." He looked practically giddy.
At the mention of her name Betsy felt a shiver flash through her. Even if she did adore the crinkles at the corner of his eyes whenever he smiled, she couldn't help but be pissed off at the reason for his current disposition.
"You spoke to Marie?" she asked tensely as she handed him a mug and sat down next to him on the bed.
"No, that's what Sara told me," he replied and then as it dawned on him the tone in which she'd asked, he added, "And so what if I had spoken to her?" His voice was a snarl and his hazel eyes bored into her with burning accusation, his good mood instantly gone.
"Oh bloody hell, let's not go there again, Logan," Betsy said in resignation as her hand rose up in a 'stop' motion.
"You brought her up, Bets," he reminded her.
"Sod off!" she snapped for lack of a better response.
"Fine!" he bit back as he stood up, stomped into the bathroom and slammed the door shut.
"Git!" she shouted at the closed door.
Betsy knew he was going in there to jerk off while thinking about his precious Marie and the tears were falling freely as she got up to go seek out some comfort chocolate.
"Damnit, even fabulously hot, multi-orgasmic, scrap-me-off-the-ceiling sex wasn't worth this bullshit." She thought as she headed toward the kitchen. Although she knew that by tonight she'd shamelessly be back in his bed, letting him act out his fantasy and pretending it didn't bother her.
Meanwhile, fed up with lying to himself that he could live without having Marie in his life on a daily basis, Logan was wishing he'd have a valid excuse to return to Westchester.