Author: Devylish
Title: Interesting Subject
Rating: PG
Words: 1021
Pairing: Ororo/Storm
Fandom: X Men
Disclaimer: on my profile
AN: First foray into Xmen fic. Unbeta'd.

Sometimes,even a goddess needs to let her defenses down. Needs to be given to, vs being the one to give. Needs to call out to the night, vs having others call out to her.

Ororo didn't often get that luxury. The luxury of letting go. The luxury of not carrying the weight of her small world upon her shoulders.

There were classes to prepare, teachers to oversee, papers to grade, students to mentor... and then, of course, there was the small issue of keeping mutants alive and safe in a world that wanted nothing more than to destroy those they didn't understand.

So, no... it wasn't often that she found time... or a safe place... to let her self be free.

***

I watched the den door open, and studied the man who walked in. He had a thick, shaggy head of hair and sideburns and he was wearing a leather jacket and jeans. Jeans that fit him too well.

I watched him lift his head and sniff the air lightly; he turned his head to the side and found me in my corner, curled in a chair with a notebook and pencil in hand.

"'Ro. Was wonderin' where you'd gotten to."

"Found me." My tone was shorter than I'd intended. The students were all gone, away for spring break, so the school, for once, was basically empty; containing just me, Logan, and one or two other teachers. I'd wanted to take some of this time to just... unwind... draw, write... maybe even read a senseless romance. Logan's 'finding me' in her little corner hideaway, was an unwanted distraction.

But then again, the man was always distracting.

"What's crawled up your craw?"

"Nothing's crawled anywhere." I re-situated my pad of paper, hoping Logan would catch the hint.

Unfortunately, wolverines don't do subtle. He sauntered closer to me... settling on the arm of the chair that sat across from mine.

"Why're you hiding?"

"I'm not hiding, I'm relaxing."

He reached for the notebook in my hand and before I could stop him, he'd flipped it around in his hands.

Shit.

"Logan, give that back."

"Just taking a peek, 'Ro. I see you with this thing every once and a while... i've been curious about what you put in it." He stopped flipping about half way through the sheets of paper and I knew he'd found them. Found the sketches I'd made of him.

Oh, I drew everyone. The kids, Charles, other teachers, trees... but Logan... in every sketchbook I'd worked in since his arrival – he owned his own section... a scattering of pencil or pen drawings showing him....

I watched him turn the page and I tried to remember which drawings of him were in this book.

Logan looked up at me, his eyes piercing. "When'dya do these?"

I shrugged and pulled at an invisible piece of lint on my pants.

He asked the more important question next, "Why'd you do them?"

"Why does anyone draw anything?"

"Don't go gettin' all philosophical on me 'Ro. Why are there...three, six, ten drawins' of me in your book?"

"You're not the only one I've sketched... Charles..., Kitty..." I offered with quiet deflection.

He stared at me.

"Fine!" I offer an excuse. ""You're an interesting subject." He shut the book and I found myself unconsciously watching his hands. Whether in his human form or in his mutant guise, his hands... they fascinate me.

"Half man, half beast?" He offered softly.

I roll my eyes and then I let out a frustrated sigh. Logan is the only one who can make me do that; the only one who can make me fall into the behavior of my childhood: rolling my eyes, raising my voice to yell at him like a child. "Please, all of us are half something here."

"But you don't have ten pictures – drawin's – of all of 'us' in here." He waves the book at me. "Jus' me. Why?"

"I told you, you're an interes --"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm an 'interesting subject'."

He hands the pad back to me and I try not to look anxious as I accept it. I pass my fingers over the notebook and I can still feel the residual warmth of his hands on the cover.

He's staring at me now; at my hands. I stop caressing the book.

"You-you're a contradiction Logan."

He snorted. "Me? I'm plain as day 'Ro. Just a mutant tryin' to live his life."

It was my turn to snort – delicately. "You fight for good, but you're ambivalent about it... about being good. You walk around like a brute, but with the kids? The children? You can be so gentle." I almost bite my lip as the last word slips out of my mouth.

He growls lightly, not appreciating being called 'gentle', but realistically speaking, gentle was the only word I could use. It described him... with the children.

My thoughts and my eyes skip to his hands again. I wondered, faintly, if he would be gentle as a lover. If both – all – parts of him would exist as a lover.

I shake my head lightly, clearing my thoughts of his hands; his gentleness, his anger, his laughter, his strength... his warmth. And suddenly, I was uncomfortable. Even more uncomfortable than I had been when he took my notebook. My head and my stomach suddenly felt light. I hated it when he made me feel this way.

Uncurling my frame from my chair I stood up, "I'll leave the study to you."

I'd almost made my way out of our corner, when I felt his hand.

He was holding my wrist.

My voice was calm, smooth when I made myself face him, "Logan?"

I forgot that my pulse, my breathing, even my scent, would give me away to him. I forgot... until I saw his nostril's flare. Pulling my arm out of his grip, I did something else that only he could make me do. I ran away.