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The First Wedding Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters May 24, 2002 10PM Buffy sighed in her sleep as Logan’s heavy, calloused hand traced abstract patterns on her upper thighs. Every few strokes he dipped between her legs, grazing the delicate skin briefly. Her left eye winked opened a smidge. Leaning his head against his hand next to her hip, and facing her feet, he didn’t seem to notice her slow return to lucidity – or if he did notice, he gave nothing away. Sighing inwardly in a moment of absolute, unfettered joy, she drank in the sight of him. Then she closed her eye and relaxed into his touch. She loved him more than life, more than air, more than anyone else she’d ever known. She didn’t realize how much she loved him until she learned the source of their initial attraction. For a moment during Xavier’s story she had thought about it, but she was too astute to allow herself to believe that all she felt was the result of a spell. She knew what a love spell felt like, after Willow’s accidental matchmaking over a year ago, and this was so much more. For few seconds, she opened both eyes and allowed her gaze to drop to the taut skin of his shoulders and back. Following the line of his spine, Buffy realized that he was undressed. In that briefest slice of time, a vision of the palpitating waves of his back muscles fixated itself into her mind and fueled a tiny fantasy of the feel of those muscles under her hand. Smirking a little at herself and at his slower than slow exploration, she willed sleep to return for a few more minutes. But his hand scalded her, burning intricate traces of red heat and light that she could see behind her sealed lids. Insistent caresses, patterns, sonnets written in the language of his desire edged her closer and closer to arousal. Not asleep, yet not fully awakened yet, she shifted against the bed, parting her legs further. Logan smiled as he dropped one hand between her knees and pulled her calf to one side, garnering access. Glancing up at her face, he saw that despite the goosebumps rising on her lower stomach, Buffy had not yet roused completely. But the gate of her body’s liquid desire had flung itself open, like a picket fence pushed wide by the wind in the sleepy, clean suburban neighborhood where she lived. Before Buffy, he’d never met anyone so shiny and flawless; he hadn’t known that such purity was possible. Despite the struggles and mistakes of the past, despite the fact that she was raised in the most violent and ugly hidden world imaginable, his woman was radiant, lit from within with the kind of blindingly brilliant love for the world that he’d always scoffed at as myth. He inhaled deeply, and pulled her in until he could almost taste her. Almost. Lethargically, he lifted himself up and knelt between her now parted thighs. Pushing forth one adamantium claw deliberately, between the knuckle of his middle and forefinger, he ran the cold metal gently up along her right outer thigh, hooked the string of her bikini panties and sliced through. Buffy sucked in a quick breath, her eyes flying open warily. “Shh darlin’… just let me,” he soothed in a rumbling, deeply domineering voice. Buffy allowed her eyelids to drift back down. Gaining her acquiescence, he repeated the action on the other side. Then he extended the remaining two claws and turned his hand over. As he pressed the dull side of his claws upwards along her stomach, underneath her silk tshirt, Buffy’s torso undulated and her breathing became more ragged. As soon as he had hooked the lace fabric connecting the cups of her bra, Logan stopped. Suddenly, he lifted his hand, cutting the bra and shirt away easily as if they were no more tightly woven together than gossamer mist. “Logan!” she cried as she looked down at her now parted clothes. But his smile was stunning and she couldn't help but smile at him in return. He was grinning broadly, like a little boy with a new toy. Retracting his claws, he moved the shirt and bra out of the way. All he wanted to do was see her, touch her. Everything else, the perpetual fear of hurting her, the urgent demands of his hardening body, and any concerns about waiting until after they were married, fled. I love you, he thought determinately. This was his woman, she was a rare, undeserved gift, and they had both waited long enough. He brushed the back of his hand down the side of her face and neck, then rolled his hand over and shocked her once again with the rough pads of his fingers. She was so excruciatingly silken. The skin of her body dampening with perspiration under his hands seemed impossibly refined. Circling both breasts once, he watched her pulse quicken as he allowed his hand to drift down to the deliciously fragrant source of his every fantasy for the past several years. Before he reached her haven, he lifted his hands and slipped both under her legs to push them further apart. Stretching out until his legs dangled over the end of the bed, he laid his head on Buffy’s right thigh. As his hair tickled the inside of her leg, Buffy jerked slightly, sucked in two bursts of air, and then released them druggedly. Covering her sloping mound with his palm, he pulled back the torn panties. Teasingly, tauntingly, he flickered his fingers over and around her downy center, and she pulled in another breath, releasing it with a soft purr. She was so responsive. He shivered slightly, thinking of the pleasure they would share. “Damn baby,” he murmured. “You’re so… I’ve been waiting so long to see you.” Continuing to torment her with breezy grazes, he turned his head and placed kisses behind her knee. Then raining kisses on her with a confluence of gravelly consonants and vowels, he whispered against the skin between her knee and the apex of her thighs. “I… want… you… I… want… you,” he said, repeating again and again like a chant, “I… want… you.” Buffy’s hips rolled against Logan’s mouth, as he breathed, “I want you,” against her soft core, and slid his tongue through her curls to slowly, voraciously lap up her flooding moisture. Her bones melted into pure liquid ecstasy. Lifting his eyes to hers, he offered her a look of male cockiness at its supreme pinnacle of power, and continued on, kissing and tasting her opposite thigh. More urgently he growled into her skin, “I want you... I want you.” Buffy’s hands reached for him, but he stopped her. Grasping her wrists roughly, he asserted, “Not yet.” Logan pushed her palms beneath her thighs, and she grabbed on tightly. Reaching up and across her body, he opened the nightstand drawer and pulled out a small black bag. Buffy saw the bag. She was intrigued, but too lethargic to ask about it. Bringing it to the bottom of the bed with him, he quickly unzipped it, plucked out a red bottle of Wet, clicked up the cap, and poured a generous amount of the cold gel onto her hot center. Buffy gasped at the contact, shivering as Logan began stroking her soaked clitoris, starting from the very top and tightly circling down to the peak, “I want you,” he intoned resonantly, and the sound of his dark, deep voice slammed into her lower body. Replacing his fingers with his tongue, he licked at the tiny ridge of nerve endings, rolling his tongue over her. Buffy gazed down and him lovingly and was overwhelmed by his stark beauty lit by moonlight flowing freely through the broken window. A warm breeze taunted her breasts, and she lifted her hands to massage the tight peaks. Sliding his hand lower, he pressed two fingers into her entrance and stopped. Moving them slowly in and out, he whispered, “I want you.” She shivered again, and rolled her hips, matching the motion of his quickening fingers. “More,” she begged. Her stomach muscles tensed and her hips strained, trying to find her illusive orgasm. Her body strove for release, her hips almost outpacing the frantic rate of his tongue and fingers. Suddenly, the rest of her body went numb, every nerve fixated on the sensations he was creating as he began tracing circles around her anus. “I want you,” he muttered against her aching clit. “I want you… I want you to come for me, baby,” he droned, and then suddenly he turned his head to the side, sucked her tiny bundle of nerves into his mouth and worked it with his teeth. Keening little cries burst from her throat and rippling fire ran in all directions through her veins. “That’s it, darlin’… let go…” he said. Her hips bucked violently and the muscles inside her grasped at his fingers. Shockwave after shockwave of the sweetest pain and pleasure licked at her skin from within, and she reached for his head, fisting his hair in her hands. As the waves subsided, she released his hair. Her breathing returned to normal. Logan slid his fingers out and sat down beside her, kissing her mouth gently. Buffy looked up at him, devastated for a moment by the look in his hooded, haunted eyes. He needed her. He needed more. Suddenly, it occurred to her that perhaps a little revenge was in order. Suppressing an inappropriate giggle, Buffy schooled her features and deadpanned, “That was really wonderful, Logan. So relaxing… Would you like me to count that as today’s backrub?” Logan’s smug grin slid down his face and his jaw dropped open. “No? Ok,” she shrugged and rolled over onto her stomach, before continuing, “Go ahead then, massage away.” Feigning impatience, Buffy droned on, “Honey, I’m waiting…” “Waiting…” he ground out angrily, as he leapt over her and landed a foot from the bed. “I’ve been waiting for years. Do you know how many massages I’ve gone without since we met? Do you know how many perfectly attractive women I’ve turned down?” She shrugged with mock disinterest. “It’s not as if I’ve been jumping into bed with every man who has propositioned, either. And there have been tons… hottie men a plenty, coming at me from every direction... No points for that. Sorry.” A warning growl burst from his throat, but she chose not to notice, as if she were decidedly unimpressed. Unexpectedly, he took hold of her hips and pulled them to meet his body at the edge of the bed. Pushing her knees apart and dropping her legs over the side of the bed, he lifted her hips high in the air and rubbed his demanding hardness against her. Buffy struggled a little, just for show, but grinned into the covers and fisted the fitted sheet as he slammed into her. “Ahhh yesss… so big,” she moaned as he hammered harshly into her still-wet center. She tried to get some leverage to push back, to meet his thrusts, but he was untamed, chaotic, relentless. Laying down over her, he bit her shoulder and wrapped his hands under her, gripping her breasts savagely, holding her in place. The promise of paradise was just beyond his reach and he pursued it with abandon, reveling in the tingles racing from the tip of his erection to his scrotum and down his legs. “Yes Logan,” she sputtered against the bed. “Fuck me… God… I-I… always fuck me…” “Waiting… so long… Ahhh... Sweet Christ… so tight…” he groaned as he pounded her velvet, wet warmth into the bed. Buffy rocked against the mattress, her body riveted over and over the by aching pleasure he created. His chest pressed harder into her back, as one hand snaked down and slipped between her folds, spreading them apart as he worked her clit once again. “Buffy… been so long… don’t… can’t hold back…” he mumbled as the tingling in his sac crested. Just as it tightened, he felt her inner muscles lock, clenching, rolling, and dragging at him. “Yes. Yes. Ye…yyesss,” she cried as she climaxed again, his cock jerking fitfully inside her, branding her. As his pleasure subsided, Logan sighed and kissed her gently between the shoulder blades. Not yet ready to withdraw from her, he rolled them both over onto their sides. “Baby, I bit you,” he groaned as he tasted the faintest coppery trace of her blood in his mouth. “Sss’ok. Just let me lay here for a minute…” Buffy panted. Logan pulled himself from her and she nearly cried out from the awful emptiness of separation. Drawing her over and into his arms, he kissed her forehead gently, then tucked her under his chin. “I knew the angry sex would be good,” she bragged with a lilt of feminine satisfaction. “You did that on purpose!” he accused. “Paybacks. I just can’t say enough good things about paybacks right now,” she laughed. He slid his hands into her hair, lifting her head until she met his eyes. “Show me,” he instructed firmly, but she shook her head. “Later,” she denied as she nudged his growing erection. “I’m starving. And sore. I don’t have your instant recovery time…” “You just need some practice,” he teased. Rolling over, he rose from the bed and strode carelessly over the clothing scattered on the floor to the bathroom. Bending over, he pulled a fresh washcloth from under the sink and turned on the faucet. Rinsing out his mouth and then splashing water on himself until it was too hot to bear, he wet the cloth and brought it back to the bed. Buffy moved over to accommodate him as he sat down. Carefully, Logan spread her legs and washed away the remnants of their first time together. “Mmm…” she said, under the gentle ministrations of his hand, “Much better.” “I think there are some chocolate chip cookies downstairs. Do you want anything else?” he asked. Buffy just sighed contentedly and rolled over. “Buffy?” he murmured, kissing her shoulder. But she was already asleep. Logan was still a little wired, but not particularly hungry, so he laid down. Instinctively, he put himself between Buffy and the bedroom door, and pulled her into the protective circle of his arms. For a long while he simply listened to her breathing, marveling at the realization that he would never be alone again. Where she went, in this life or the next, he would go also. Before he drifted off, he pressed a soft kiss to the bite mark he had made, nuzzled his face against her hair, and muttered, “Mine.” Previous Chapter A Slayer's Heart Menu Vows
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