Venice Queen

DISCLAIMER : This story is based on the characters and situations seen in the movie. Sadly, they don't belong to me. No money is being made by their utilisation in this fic. It's only for fun !

WARNING : This is a NC-17 story. It involves sexual situation and dirty talk. D/s - Slight Minor - Possible BDSM in the
next chapters. Don't like, don't read.

AUTHOR'S NOTES : I'm French and I 've nerver gone to America. So all of the locations and characters are born from my imaginary. The city that I call " Venice " was inspired from the Red Hot Chili Peppers song. Take no offense if it doesn't match the reality. And, as English isn't my mother-tongue, I'd appreciate any advice on my vocabulary or the construction of my sentences. It's my first smut-fic. Sorry if it's not very good yet ! Thanx. Luz.

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TITLE : Venice Queen

Chapter title : Silver moon

Rating : NC-17

Pairing : Logan / OC

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Venice. The sun. The beach. The topless bars. And the most famous of all : ' The Venice Queen '. Known from east to west of California. Or so I've heard.

And here I am. Sitting at a secluded table, in a dark corner. Alone. Lost in a fog of cigars and beers ... well ... as much as that fucking healing-thing let me ... 'can't get drunk enough to drown the visions ... to forget ...

The terror in her eyes ... her cries for help... they haunt me ... more than the flashs of my lost memory. Those I can live with, just bad dreams, but her ... she's real. She was young and beautiful, full of hope and fears and doubts. She had found a home. People who accepted her for who she was. A family. She had a future. A life to live ... and she died ... because of me.

I had promised to take care of her and I failed ... I failed her ...

So I left. I left New York, the school, the X-men. Even my great Quest of the Past. I dropt everything and I went off. And now I wander about, like the lost soul that I am ... useless ... empty ...

I don't fight anymore, 'cause if I did, I could kill one of those pieces of shit ... I'm too hollow to care anymore ... So I've left the North and its fight-cages, for the South and its hot bars ! Less dangerous ... and so much more entertaining ! Like this barmaid.

Leather skirt. Black top. Blood-red lipstick. And long, long red hair ... 'wonder if she'd mind me calling her 'Jean' while I fuck her ...

Whatever ... I'll fuck her anyway ... as I fucked dozens and dozens of girls like her : bairmaids, srtippers, up-town girls thrilled to flirt with a Big Bad Boy ... hell ... they got their money's worth, 'cause the Wolverine doesn't flirt ! The Wolverine *fucks* !

And when It wants to fuck, nothing can stop It ... and certainly not an angry boyfriend ... or a girlfriend ... well ... three's company as they say ...

Anyway ... I don't think I'll have this kind of problem here ... and not with this chick !

The redhair brings my beer and grins at me suggestively when she slips my bill in her bra. I whisper a dirty comment in her ear and slap her lovely ass. She chuckles and winks at me before going back to the bar.

'Guess I'll have to wait the end of her duty to have my little fuck. But I don't mind. I'm a predator. I can be *very* patient when I have to.

All of a sudden, the lights go out and the hubbub fades. Spotlights flood the stage with subdued red lights and the music starts ... a low, heady rythm that pound in my head ... and I find myself staring at the creature who made her appearance ...

She's dressed like an English schoolgirl, her hair piled on top of her head, a few red wisps framing her childish face. Her body lasciviously coils up the rod in the center of the stage. And she dances.

Her hips sway slowly with the music. Her bare feet seem to fly over the floor while the motions of her legs hypnotize me. Long, smooth legs that I crave to feel wrapped around my waist. She arches her back, one hand clutched to the rod at nape level, while the other ghosts over her breasts, her stomach, her navel, to eventually touch her center. She caresses herself through the skirt and her head falls back. Her lips part and a low growl vibrate, deep in my throat, echoing hers.

And the real show begins.

Oh, yeah ... she knows her job ! Her fingers are clever. They caress, stroke, tease, driving her preys mad before undoing one button after another, revealing her creamy skin, bit by bit, and I can feel the lust crawling under my skin ... taste its bitterness on my tongue ... One by one, the layers fall at her feet : the blazer ... the tie ... the skirt ... 'till there're only her shirt and knickers left.

The knickers are thin, black satin, so provocative and feminine, and my hands twitch, eager to feel the soft material under my rough fingers. Her white shirt is wide open, exposing the valley between her breasts. She doesn't wear a bra and I find myself licking my dry lips when it's her skin that I want to taste ...

She turns her back on us, and the shirt slides along her arms. Slowly, her hands move up her delicate shoulders to unleash her hair. The wild curls fall like a red waterfall, and when she faces us again, they hide her sensual forms behind a thin, glowing veil. Like a dare.

She dares us to come and strip her of that last barrier. She dares *me*. The blood rush in my ears, but it's not lust ... not anymore ...

I *need* her.

Her body. Her skin. I need to be on her ... *inside* her ... I need her to be mine.

The loud growl that escapes me gets lost in the wave of clapping and whistling breaking in the bar. As the music fades, I meet her eyes. They're wide and dark ... like hers ... like Marie's ... and something is so wrong with them ...

They don't fit with her ... like her hair ... but when the spotlights go out, I realise they're not red. It was the lights reflected on them.

Her hair are pale ... too pale to be blonde ... but not white either ... They shine like the moon. As sparkling as silver.


TBC