Chance Encounter - Wolverine/X-Men Fanfic

Chapter 16: You wanna go hard, baby? We can go hard.

Max watched Logan knock back his fifth beer in the last five minutes.

"You trying to get trashed, cowboy?" she asked, picking at the bowl of peanuts on the bar. They'd gone to a roadhouse dive that Logan made a beeline for the moment they were off the mansion grounds.

"Can't." he grumbled, placing the empty beer on the counter and reaching for the next one. He had five more lined up.

"Mutation won't let me."

Max gave a sober nod, sipping at her coke. Her kind couldn't really get drunk either, so she'd stopped trying years ago. It was too damned expensive to try to get anything remotely resembling a buzz on, and she'd never really liked the taste of alcohol. It left her mouth dry and just ended up making her thirsty. The twang of seedy country music echoed out of an old jukebox in the corner, making Max's lip curl.

Ugh. The only country song she'd ever liked had been Devil Went Down to Georgia.

"How can you listen to this crap?" she asked, looking out at the mostly empty bar. Perhaps it got more rowdy at night.

Logan eyed her and knocked back the rest of his beer, his tone derisive.

"Your taste is in yer mouth, girl."

There was laughter in the depths of his eyes as he reached for her and kissed her. Max was surprised that she really liked the taste of beer on him. It washed off the taste of that shitty cigar he'd been smoking since they first stepped up to the bar. It sat in an ashtray off to his left, smoke curling in a lazy swirl just above it. She grinned and pulled out of the kiss, catching the bartender glaring at her. The woman was obviously disappointed that he was with somebody. Max looked back over at Logan who was pulling another beer off the bar and knocking it back.

"Do you even notice them?" she asked.

He quickly drained the beer, then burped. "Notice who?"

Classy. Max rolled her eyes at him.

"You're like the pied piper of rough sex, and you're not even aware of it?"

Now that they were out in the world, among pinks, Max couldn't help but note the reactions of most women when they saw him. Did it really not register with him?

"You don't say." he replied with a pleased grin.

Max slowly slid her hands up his thighs and his grin grew wicked.

"Is it a pheromone that women respond to, or is it just you? And why is it that almost every female we run across has that little heated spark that lights up in their eyes when they see you?"

She was honestly curious. Was it also what attracted her so strongly to him as well?

"Oh." he murmured. "That."

And down another beer went. He'd have to ask for more soon.

Max stood before him, sliding her hands around to the outsides of his thighs now. He eyed her as the beer quickly emptied into him, happily journeying to parts below. He placed the empty back on the bar and said, "Fuck if I know. I just know it happens. Why?"

"Some of them give me the black look when they realize that you're with m,." she explained, not being entirely comfortable with it.

In the pack, nobody really cared. Mated pairs still slept around, but the bond was usually solid enough to withstand almost anything. Pinks were almost painfully demanding and possessive of their mates, and the pairings didn't usually last that long because they tended to look for all the wrong things in a partner. Turnskins were more pragmatic about the whole affair – which wasn't to say that there weren't dramatic tussles from time to time. Blood in her kind always ran hotter, so disagreements usually jumped pretty quickly into bloodloss – but as soon as the conflict was over and wounds were healed, the dispute was considered settled.