****************** 
Title: Still Pool (a sequel to Kinds) 
Author: John Duffin 
Rating: R (sexual situations and explicit language) 
URL: Not to be posted 
Disclaimer: The characters belong to Marvel. 
Notes: Inspired by ebonbird's "Kinds".  This story 
occurs after the (as yet unreleased) Sisyphus Engine. 

For: You know who you are. 

****************** 

The morning was chilly and humid, the kind of weather that suggested a 
sweater and hot chocolate.  It was not quite cold enough to freeze, so the 
lawn, where it could be seen, glistened with dew-drops.  It was not quite 
dawn, and most of the inhabitants of the Xavier Institute were still in 
their beds. 

Wolverine strode, shirtless, from the open door of his cabin.  His jeans 
had seen better days, frayed at the cuffs and along the seams.  Used to the 
winters of northern Alberta, Wolverine disdained the chill of autumn in New 
York.  The sandals he wore had clearly been scrounged from the mansion, 
since they were too small for him.  Also scrounged from the mansion were a 
big set of fireplace tongs, in which he held a blackened, smoking stone. It 
had been carefully cleaned, removing the tiny particles of soot that his 
fireplace had deposited. 

He crossed over the lawn to the lake (really more of a pond than a lake). 
Wisps of fog that had risen from the lake and the river curled around his 
feet and blurred the lines of his body.  His sandals made muffled crunching 
sounds in the dying grass of the lawn, though the volume was deadened by 
the fog.  Perversely, the frogs that peeped and croaked in the lake could 
be heard very clearly.  He carefully set the stone down on a piece of tin 
foil that lay in a recess on the shore. There it sat with diverse others, 
banked over hot coals, awaiting their service. 

He glared at the lake, willing the frogs to silence, but they couldn't see 
or hear him and so ignored his threat.  What they were doing awake and 
active in such weather, he couldn't imagine. 

Shrugging, he stepped into the waters of the lake and cast around with his 
foot for something at the bottom.  He'd been out at the lake every night 
for a week, working patiently at shaping the silty bottom.  He'd dug out a 
small pit and lined it with rocks, and carefully laid in smooth slabs of 
slate in a semi-circle around it.  More rocks, more clay, and more slate 
created a pair of benches.  It was pain-staking work, and he had to clear 
out the pit every night to keep it from filling up with silt. 

He found the object at last, a shovel that had been half-buried, and he 
pulled it up with his foot.  Taking it in hand, he drew a deep breath and 
plunged down into the water.  So covered, he used the shovel to scrape the 
accumulated silt to one side of the pit.  After another breath, he dug the 
bulk of it out of the pit with two pulls.  Some inevitably became suspended 
in the water, and would slowly settle back into the pit, but that was all 
right.  Everything was ready. 

Actually, the hardest part had been keeping the kids away from the lake for 
the first few days.  Autumn had been unseasonably warm, and now that the 
kids had come up from Massachussetts, they were always looking for 
something to do.  They probably wouldn't stay long, but all of a sudden, 
there had been twice as many people to deal with. 

Lasting secrecy was impossible, but Logan had planned on avoiding the 
smart-ass comments for a little while, at least. 

Wolverine nodded in satisfaction and climbed out of the water.  He shook 
the excess water out of his hair like an animal, and slicked it back with 
both hands.  While they were still wet, he bent to touch the rock that 
he'd brought out first.  He withdrew his hand quickly, shaking it to take 
out the sting.  Still hot. 

Logan jogged across the lawn, glancing at the sky as he went.  She'd be 
waking up in the next few minutes, and he planned to be there when she did. 
He jumped to reach the rope that he'd bribed Lebeau to leave up there the 
night before, and pulled himself up, hand over hand, to the roof. 

Once he got there, he pulled up the rope behind him, coiling it as he went, 
and shucked off the sandals.  They were another "contribution" from Gambit, 
albeit one that the Cajun wasn't aware he'd made.  He'd find them the next 
time he got the urge to sit on the roof. 

Come to think of it... 

Logan padded across the roof, as silent as any thief, and dropped to all 
fours to scuttle unobserved.  The wind was right, which didn't help his man 
stay hidden. 

"Sheddin' the coat was smart," Logan whispered hoarsely to Gambit, who was 
propped up against the chimney.  "But that scentless soap?  It ain't." 

"Jus' came up here to think, mon brave." 

"Do it somewhere else.  Or at least, point your peepers the other way." 

"Headed for the greenhouse?" Remy asked, an impish grin on his face. 

"I didn't come up here lookin' for you," Logan replied.  He sidled past the 
Cajun, trusting that the man would listen to him. 

"A word of advice?" Gambit said. 

Wolverine turned his head, waiting. 

"Treat her real good, Wolverine.  I'll be perturbed if you don'." 

Wolverine snorted and moved off again, mindful that the rocks wouldn't stay 
warm forever.  The shingle of the roof was damp, which made footing 
precarious but silence easy.  The worst part, naturally, was going to be 
crossing over the glass that made up the greenhouse.  Slippery as all hell 
when it was wet. 

Careful to lay down each foot flat, with the weight on the balls of his 
feet, Logan began to shift his way across the slanted glass that made up 
the wall or roof of the greenhouse.  No slips, no squeaks, no creaks. 
Perfect.  He sat down to wait beside the window which she usually came 
through in the morning. 

A sudden knock at the glass, right underneath him, startled the Canadian so 
much that he nearly fell off the roof. 

Storm cranked open the window and rested her arms on the sill, smiling at 
him warmly.  "Good morning," she said. 

"How'd you hear me?" he asked.  "Hell, I couldn't hear myself." 

"I could see you sitting up there, Mr. Secret Agent," she chuckled.  "I 
took down the wax paper last week." 

He shook his head at that, and laughed.  "It's always the friggin' details 
that make an operation go screwy."  She was gorgeous that morning, with 
bed-tousled hair that cried out to be touched.  Her robe wasn't tied very 
well, and Logan could see a line on her breast, caused by sleeping on 
tangled bedsheets.  She always smelled so good, even when she'd just gotten 
out of bed.  'Course, that always smelled good, too.  Maybe she scented her 
sheets. 

"So, tell me," she said, levering her body out of the greenhouse.  "What is 
my surprise?" 

"Surprise?" he asked, feigning ignorance. 

"Jubilee told me last night, after I returned from Genosha, that you have 
not been sleeping in your cabin for the last two nights," Ororo murmured, 
leaning into his ear and tickling it with her soft breath and tousled hair. 
"You have been keeping people away from the lake.  So, I ask you again, 
what is my surprise?" 

He turned his head to inhale her breath, like he had that morning in the 
motel.  It was sweet and sharp.  Orange peel and parsley and cinnamon were 
mixed together together in a bowl beside her bed, and he opened his mouth a 
little, to taste them in the air. 

Ororo's eyes were dangerous, pools of water that hypnotized him.  How did 
she do this to him?  Her lips were parted, and she moved her mouth toward 
his, grazing his top lip with her bottom one, breathing pretty much right 
into his nostril. 

"Tell me," she breathed.  She could feel the rest of the world retreating 
before this man, this friend and lover.  Her arm snaked, as if of its own 
volition, to touch him.  Her hand was resting on the great, hard muscles of 
his shoulder.  The skin was rough underneath the wiry hair, and he was wet 
to the touch.  She shivered, almost in time with him, but she did not kiss 
him as she wanted to, or let her hands creep over his body. 

"I'll show you," Logan said to her quietly, and picked her up, quite 
unnecessarily.  Her legs folded together under the robe, which was coming 
open.  A little bit of skin peeked out around the hastily-tied belt.  She 
could feel the cooling breeze in her hair as he padded carefully to the 
opposite side of the roof.  The soft, sensitive skin of her thigh picked up 
every nuance of muscle and hair on his stomach, against which it was 
pressed. 

"Your jeans are wet," she whispered. 

"They'll dry," Wolverine said, coming to the edge of the roof.  "Hang on 
tight." 

He leaped off the edge of the roof, sending a little thrill into the pit of 
her stomach.  He landed lightly enough for a man who weighed more than 
twice what she did, but it was still a little jarring. 

His bare feet scuffed through the wet grass, leaving footprints that she 
could see over his shoulder, though not for long.  The wisps of fog 
swallowed them up, as indeed they tried to do to the mansion, turning it 
into a hazy outline. 

Logan carried her to shore and set her down, but she clung powerfully with 
her arms.  The smell of his musk was strong, even muted by water, and his 
wet skin was enticing.  She felt her robe riding up against his body, and 
so did he.  His strong, thick fingers shrugged the parted edges of her robe 
aside, at the waist, and encircled her. 

"Think o' this as a replacement for your shower this mornin'," he said 
huskily. 

Her eyes were solemn, rather than playful, as she reached down to his waist 
with long, clever fingers and unzipped his jeans. 

"Careful," he said. 

The zipper revealed a thatch of black hair and intensified the scent of 
man.  Ororo had to squat to trace the contours of his muscles as she tugged 
the waistband of the jeans.  They gathered in an untidy heap around his 
ankles. 

Her fingers made light touches in the crook of his knees, stroking the skin 
where it was more sensitive.  She ran her cheek against the skin of his 
thigh, which elicited a little growl.  The hair on his legs was soft, and 
it tickled her. 

She rose to her feet, ever so slowly, running her hands up his body and 
over the great muscles of his naked buttocks, which were clenched against 
his desire.  His penis, emphatically erect now, trailed a line down her 
body as she stood, drawing a line between her breasts and across her 
stomach, until it caught against the much-abused belt of her robe.  He 
groaned as she straightened up, dragging down the belt until it was almost 
open, almost untied. 

His fingers moved to complete the operation, but she smiled and took them 
in hand, enjoying the few moments of denial that she could muster against 
the inevitable.  "Step into the water," she said. 

Logan smiled at her, a rare sight indeed, and knelt down to pick up the 
tongs. He dropped three stones, carefully, into the pit and listened to 
them hiss. The water bubbled around them.  Then, he stood up without using 
his hands (how did such a heavy man do such a thing?), just working his 
knees and ankles to lever himself up, and walked a few steps to a little 
pond, where he knelt again.  Water bubbled up here and trickled down the 
rocks that he had lain there years ago.  He took a long-handled ladle, 
dipped it into the cold water, and washed himself with it.  First, his 
thick hands, which were chapped and calloused.  He followed with his arms 
and the rest of his body, his movements reverential but also business-like. 
A last ladle of water was tipped over his head, and then he stood up and 
walked back to the heated water.  He levered himself down onto a bench with 
his hands, and sighed in satisfaction. 

Ororo locked eyes with him, making sure that he was watching, and let the 
robe slip off of her shoulders.  She cradled it under her beautiful, 
rounded breasts, pillowing them with it, and stared at him.  He stared 
back, and gave her a look that made her heart race, so she pressed her 
hands against her body, under her breasts, and pushed the robe down the 
rest of the way.  Its folds straightened out briefly over the gentle curve 
of her hips, and then she was as naked as he, as he'd seen her a thousand 
times before.  He would never tire of it, could never be blas‚.  He could 
barely fake nonchalance, actually. 

Her smooth buttocks flexed at him as she walked over to the spring, and 
knelt to wash herself as he had done.  She kept her back to him, so he saw 
the cold water trickle down her back and over her buttocks, but he had to 
imagine the slick breasts, the drops of moisture that clung to her pubic 
hair, until she stood up and turned around. 

Why was it so different when a man washed himself and a woman did?  Maybe 
it wasn't, or maybe she was just more aware of her body than he. 

She didn't pose for him.  She did walk slowly and carefully in her bare 
feet, until she came to the edge of the water.  Ororo seemed the essence of 
composure, but he could smell her musk, and he knew that she was wet in 
anticipation of him.  His erection swelled a touch more, until it was 
almost painful. 

She was so beautiful, it was hard to choose what part of her to watch as 
she stepped with pointed toes over the heel of the bench.  Her legs folded 
as she sat down across from him, and he saw her snowy pubic hair disappear 
into the water, and then the gentle curve of her stomach, and then, at 
last, she settled in far enough that her breasts were mostly submerged, 
floating.  All he could stare at was the slender column of her neck, her 
fine jaw, the exotic blue cat-eyes that promised, demanded so much. 

She moaned in pleasure at the warmth of the water and stretched her legs, 
straightening them until they were pressed against the insides of his 
thighs.  He parted them until her feet were resting against the bench 
between his legs. 

Ororo looked him in the eyes, taken in by his electric stare, and pointed 
her feet at him.  Now, the toes of her feet were pressed against his hair, 
and her soles skimmed his soft, pliant sac.  She rolled her feet, careful 
not to press too hard, but smoothing his balls between the slate bench and 
her feet.  They were heavy in the warm water.  His eyes widened in 
disbelief and he groaned.  His hands took her ankles, and he chased his 
fingertips behind them with a gentle touch, stroking up her leg. 

He groaned again, and straightened his arms, folded his body so that he 
could touch her, but her legs held him away.  She met his eyes again, 
grinned and bit her lip.  She bent her legs a little, allowing him to make 
some progress, but froze him in place as she leaned back and took his penis 
between her feet, pulling up his shaft once before releasing him. 

Logan growled deep in his throat and surged across the gap, pinning his 
arms against the bench to trap her there.  She leaned back, resting her 
arms on the grassy shore that Logan had cut away to make this pool.  Her 
breasts eased out of the water, water dripping down her body, and Logan 
attacked, first kissing her throat.  The stubble on his chin rasped against 
her soft, wet skin, and he blew softly into the hollow of her throat, still 
letting out little growls.  His tongue flicked out, teasing her skin.  She 
felt him lever his knees onto the bench, so that he was above her, and one 
of his hands snaked into her hair.  The other brushed at one of her 
nipples. 

Her skin was never so sensitive as when he touched it.  She laughed out 
loud, but he knew what that meant.  One of her arms encircled him and held 
on to his muscular ass, and he was on her mouth, kissing her.  The kisses 
were hot and open and wet.  He began to thrust his hips back and forth, 
touching nothing but air and water, but she felt his legs move against 
hers, and his buttock clenched and unclenched under her hand. She clutched 
it ever tighter, kissing him ardently.  She felt his fingers circling her 
nipple, and she moaned into his mouth.  He pinched it, very gently, and she 
thrust her hips at him, naked in her need to feel him inside her. 

His hand moved from her breast, and streaked under her body to take hold of 
her own pliant, generous ass.  She lost her grip when he pulled her farther 
up, out of the water.  He bent, thrusting his hips back out over the water, 
away from her body, and he began to lick her nipples. 

Her hand, having lost its purchase, found it again in his hair as he 
flicked his tongue over her nipple, which was now as wet and hard as it had 
ever been.  She quivered, holding him there as he took her between his lips 
and pressed them together.  She inhaled raggedly, and trusted him to hold 
her up.  Her other hand snuck down between his legs and she took a gentle 
grasp of his shaft. 

He stiffened in surprise, though his penis could hardly get any more stiff. 
She pulled at it, in long, even teasing strokes from the root of him to the 
ridge behind his head.  The third time she did this, she felt the warm 
wetness of fluid dribble down to her fingers, a hint of what was to come. 
She changed her grip, holding his penis with her five fingertips, and 
repeated the motion.  He growled and thrust, maybe involuntarily.  She took 
his head in three of her fingers, and rotated them back and forth around 
him, and he groaned her name around the wet noises he was making at her 
breast. 

He levered her up again, and she lost her grip.  She was sitting on the 
shore, now, with her legs dangling in the warm water, and he moved his head 
purposefully between her legs, holding them apart as he buried himself 
there. 

She gasped as his blunt nose creased her lips and touched the tender pink 
skin between them.  He inhaled deeply, taking in all the musk and wetness 
in her scent.  His stubble scuffed her soft skin, heightening her 
awareness, and she became wetter still, staining his face and lips with the 
warm liquid from inside her body.  His tongue parted her, and he tilted his 
head, so that his tongue travelled from the bottom of her slit to the top, 
and his nose ground against her.  His hands met over her thighs, between 
her legs, and found her clitoris, which he massaged between his thumbs as 
the texture of his face and tongue made her tremble. 

Ororo bucked her hips and moaned, pressing her soft interior against him, 
willing him to climb up onto the shore with her and fill her up.  Instead, 
he continued his exquisite torture with tongue and fingers.  She grabbed 
his hair in handfuls as she felt herself contracting inside.  He was 
relentless, now spreading her lips with his fingers and teasing her 
clitoris with his stubble. 

"Logan..." she gasped.  "If... you... do... not..." 

He paused at last, moving his hands over her supple body, under her 
buttocks and across her back, levering her up a bit from the ground, and 
coming to rest behind her shoulders.  He smiled at her, though she sensed 
it rather than saw it, and he dropped his weight back into the water, 
twisting his hips and torso, and she shrieked involuntarily as she was 
whipped into the air and plunged back into the warm water.  She came to 
rest on his lap, as he must have intended.  His coordination was without 
flaw.  She was astride him now, sitting up, her knees a little bruised from 
sudden contact with the bench.  She leaned down and kissed him, tilting his 
head back.  One of his hands smoothed down her body to grab her ass, which 
he clutched, and the other snaked over to grab the tongs and deposit 
another hot stone in the water.  She could feel its heat as it passed 
behind her back. 

He pulled her closer, and she could feel his penis, rock hard now, press 
itself insistently against her stomach.  His other hand returned and 
pressed itself against her back.  He moved it up and down her, and she 
thrilled to the slip-catch sensation of his wet flesh against hers. 

She pushed herself up higher, straight up on her knees, framing his face 
with her breasts.  Logan could feel the difference under the water, the 
wetness of her and of the water.  Her fluid was thick and intimate against 
his body. 

She settled herself down on him, leaving on his body that would swiftly be 
washed away, and then he stopped her, holding her body up, teasing her a 
little with the head of his penis as it was just making first contact with 
her moist opening.  She bent over his body and bit him on the neck and 
bucked her hips insistently.  He steadied her, both hands now under her 
buttocks, trusting that to line himself up properly, and he pulled her down 
onto him.  He snagged, did not enter her, scraped the underside against 
her.  She moaned, and bit him again, and this time he took himself in one 
hand, her ass in the other, and sheathed himself in her properly. 

She was tight, and warm, and inviting.  She let go of his neck and put her 
hands on his shoulders, pulling herself up and down on his shaft, assisted 
by the hand he had on her backside.  They kissed, and he moaned around her 
mouth as he felt her grip him, pulling him deeper inside her, nuzzling 
against her cervix at full extension.  The ridge of his head tugged at the 
soft folds of her skin inside as he pulled her up, and he could feel the 
pressure building inside him, but he fought it, and it was her who moaned, 
her whose breathing became ever more ragged, but he exploded inside her 
before she could have an orgasm of her own.  He rubbed her clitoris 
manically, while he was still hard inside her, and she was bucking and 
moaning and wriggling on top of him, and then he felt her come, feeling a 
series of contractions on his shaft as she held her eyes closed and 
clenched her fists behind his head. 

They sat like that for a while, joined as one flesh, and at last she opened 
her eyes and stared at him, with the solemnity that most people interpreted 
as coolness but he understood as carefully reined passion. 

"Good morning," she said. 

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