"Bub." he rumbled, his voice a gravelly mix of awe and amusement, "I gotta give it to ya. Never in my entire goddamn life, and trust me, it's been a long one, would I have ever thought I'd see the day Emma Frost got… tamed."
He shook his head, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. "And by a loose cannon, a goddamn trouble-making sonofabitch like you, no less." He took another hearty swig. "You sure did a number on her. Hell, we could hear her screams clear across the damn compound. Sounded like a banshee gettin' its wings clipped, then deciding it kinda liked it."
Logan drained half of the remaining bottle in one impressive gulp, then casually tossed the empty aside, the glass shattering somewhere in the rubble. "So, what's your secret, bub? Spill. You packin' some kinda special power down there? A mutation for the ol' one-eyed trouser snake?" He gestured vaguely downwards with his chin, his gaze pointed. "Or you got some fancy, high-tech bio-enhancement? Some kinda Stark high tech-level super-cock, maybe?"
Ranger smirked, leaning back, the picture of nonchalant confidence. "Nah, Logan. It's all natural. Just good genes, I suppose." He paused, then added with a deliberate, almost arrogant understatement, "And it might be because it's… comfortably above average. That, and I just happen to possess a rather… robust stamina. Years of practice, you know?"
Logan snorted, popping the cap off another whiskey bottle with his thumb. "Don't you dare try and act all humble now, bub. You ain't foolin' anyone. You had a whole damn platoon of those half-assed super-soldier wannabes out there listenin' to you drill Emma into a state they couldn't achieve even if they mainlined that faulty serum of theirs for a week straight. And you for damn sure left the male mutants in this place questionin' if they'd ever be able to satisfy their women the way you clearly can. The looks on their faces… priceless." He tossed the freshly opened whiskey bottle to Ranger, who caught it effortlessly. "The girls, bub. The girls in this base? They're lookin' at you different now. Like you're some kinda goddamn sex god walked outta their wet dreams."
"Yeah, just what I need." Ranger said, taking a long pull from the bottle, the burn of the cheap whiskey a familiar comfort. "Female Mutants deciding not to attack me purely because they heard I was too good in bed." He chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "But, I guess that's a start. 'The One Who is a God in Bed.' Not a bad title to have on my resume. Might open a few… doors to bedrooms."
"You're damn right it's a title you wear with pride, bub." Logan smirked, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Own that shit. So, any hints? How'd you get Emma Frost, the Ice Queen herself, to basically melt and offer to sit on your lap for the whole damn war strategy meeting like she was your personal goddamn throne warmer?"
"And why would the mighty Wolverine, the legendary stud of the X-Men, need hints for something as rudimentary as that?" Ranger countered, taking another deep gulp. "Besides, with that healing factor of yours, you should be able to go for days. Round after round. Stuff any normal male here could only dream of. That alone should make you a god among women. Or." Ranger's smirk widened, "don't tell me you've got some… performance issues, Logan? Some trouble keeping the old adamantium cigar lit?" He deliberately let his gaze drift down to Logan's crotch. "I mean, you are an X-Man, after all. Emphasis on the 'X' if you catch my drift."
"Careful there, bub." Logan growled, but there was no real heat in it, just a gruff amusement. One adamantium claw, long and wickedly sharp, slid out from his knuckle with a familiar snikt, glinting in the dim light. A silent, playful warning.
"Why? Did I hit a little too close to home?" Ranger laughed, taking another swig. "X-Men. Seriously."
Logan let out a booming laugh, the sound surprisingly unrestrained. "Finally! Someone who gets it! Someone with a goddamn sense of humor around here. All the others, they're so damn uptight about being 'homo superior' and the next stage of evolution, they forget how to take a goddamn joke, let alone make one."
"Whose brilliant idea was it for the name 'X-Men' anyway?" Ranger asked, genuine curiosity in his tone, though his eyes still held a mischievous glint. "Because, looking at some of the… less virile specimens on your team, it certainly looked like they were specifically recruiting men without dicks. Or at least, men who'd forgotten how to use 'em." His gaze flicked pointedly to Logan's crotch again.
"Yours should still be there, though, right?" Ranger smirked. "It heals, doesn't it? From any… enthusiastic overuse?"
"And it works a helluva lot better than yours ever could, bub, even on your best day with all your fancy tech!" Logan shot back, his own laughter echoing Ranger's. He reached down and gave his crotch a demonstrative, if somewhat crude, adjustment through his pants. "This old dog's still got plenty of bite. And plenty of bone."
Both of them roared with laughter, the sound a welcome break from the tension that usually permeated the base. They clinked their whiskey bottles together in a mock toast and took another deep drink.
"Logan. Go and prepare the mutants. They are to return to Krakoa within the hour." Storm's voice, sharp and devoid of humor, interrupted their camaraderie. She stood in the doorway, her expression disapproving, her arms crossed.
"Ah, c'mon, Jeannie could handle it, Storm." Logan whined, sounding like a kid being called in from recess. "I just found a guy who actually understands how to crack a joke that doesn't involve mutant registration acts or the impending apocalypse. You should know how damn rare that is on that stuffy island of ours."
"Logan. Now." Storm's eyes began to glow with a faint, white light, tiny arcs of electricity crackling around her fingertips. Her voice was flat, commanding. "NOW."
"Geez, Storm, why you gotta be such a goddamn hard-ass to poor old Logan all the time?" Ranger interjected, his tone deliberately lazy and provocative. He shot Storm a smirk. "Or do you not respect him because he is… or rather, he was… a man, before he joined the 'X-Men'?"
"Oi, bub, mine works just fine, thanks very much! Better than yours ever could, pretty boy!" Logan protested loudly, his hand instinctively going back to his crotch, giving the fabric of his pants a pointed tug. "See? All present and accounted for! And ready for action!"
"Logan! Stop this childish, vulgar display at once!" Storm shouted, her voice cracking like thunder, the electrical aura around her intensifying.
"Tch, party pooper." Logan grumbled, but he pushed himself up. He grabbed the nearly full crate of whiskey bottles he'd stashed nearby. "Well, kid." he said to Ranger, slinging the crate onto his shoulder, "looks like the fun's over. See you soon, I guess. Probably on some goddamn battlefield." He paused at the doorway. "And don't forget that promise you made me, bub.
With a final, wolfish grin, Logan, the Wolverine, sauntered away.
Storm turned her full attention to Ranger, her expression a mask of regal disapproval, the faint scent of ozone clinging to her. "Ranger. While I admit I did not harbor much hope for your decorum, it still… shocks me… to see you behave in such an uncouth manner. But I suppose that is a given, considering who and what you are." Her voice was clipped, her English direct and unadorned. "A man as shameless as you is nothing but trouble for everyone."
"It matters not one whit what you, Ororo Munroe, think of me or my alleged 'shamelessness'." Ranger replied, his own voice smooth, articulate, a deliberate contrast to her blunter speech. "I am not one to fold under peer pressure, nor am I a malleable teenager to be shaped by your particular brand of self-righteous ideology." His gaze, cold and analytical, pierced through her stern facade. "Besides, a certain degree of… shamelessness… is often required for one's voice to penetrate skulls as remarkably thick as yours appear to be."
"Ranger." Storm warned, the electricity around her intensifying, arcing now from her hands to the ground, "just because circumstance has forced us into a temporary, uneasy alliance does not mean I will not strike you down for any more insolent words you dare to speak." The ground beneath Ranger's feet began to vibrate faintly. "Do not think you can hide behind the skirts of Emma Frost forever. Even her considerable reach, her influence, is something the Professor has deemed her capable of only within certain… acceptable parameters. Once she oversteps those boundaries, her power, her position, can be rescinded just as easily as it was granted."
"Ororo Munroe." Ranger's voice dropped, losing all trace of its earlier levity, becoming a silken, dangerous whisper that seemed to cut through the crackling electricity. "Remember one thing, and remember it well. What is mine… is mine. And I do not take kindly to threats, veiled or otherwise, against that which I consider mine. Emma Frost is mine. If you, or any of your mutant brethren, so much as breathe on her in a way I deem inappropriate, I shall not merely destroy a part of your precious island of Krakoa. Next time, I will ensure the entire goddamn landmass, and every self-proclaimed 'superior' being upon it, is permanently relocated to the bottom of the deepest ocean trench." He met Storm's furious, crackling eyes without flinching. "Remember that, Storm. That woman, Emma Frost, is now mine. She is, in every conceivable way, mine."
"Ranger, your empty threats mean nothing!" Storm retorted, her voice rising, though a flicker of uncertainty now warred with the anger in her eyes. "Do you truly believe the forces you encountered on Krakoa represented the full, unbridled might of mutantkind? No! They were but a minor contingent, a mere fraction compared to the true heavy power we can unleash! You are still drawing breath, still walking this earth, as a courtesy, a temporary reprieve granted to you by the Silent Council and the desperate circumstances we currently find ourselves in. You would do well to always remember that. Your leash is a short one."
"And I am so profoundly grateful." Ranger said, his voice dripping with mock sincerity as he placed a hand over his heart and gave a theatrical shiver, "that I am treated like some rabid, uncontrollable dog, kept in its cage only to be let out on whichever unfortunate neighbors its esteemed master deems worthy of being bitten." He looked up at the ceiling as if addressing a higher power. "Oh, benevolent gods, help me! Free me from this mortal coil of benevolent captivity! For the mutants generosity is simply overwhelming!"
"Ranger! Do not make fun of this!" Storm's eyes, now blazing white with contained power, narrowed. "Warnings are seldom given by us to those outside our kind. And you, you are perhaps the only… human… lucky enough, or foolish enough, to have received this many warnings and still be permitted to walk."
Ranger smirked, then, with a speed that belied his casual posture, he closed the distance between them. The crackling electricity that had surrounded Storm seemed to stutter and dim as his own Turbo energy, a cool, cobalt blue aura, flared to life, effortlessly negating her elemental display. He approached Storm, his hand, now visibly engulfed in that same blue Turbo energy, moved with deliberate, insolent slowness. It wrapped around Storm's body, more specifically, her ass, his fingers digging into the surprisingly firm flesh, squeezing, kneading it like particularly stubborn dough.
"You… insolent… creature…" Storm cried out, a mixture of rage and shocked indignation, her body tensing, ready to unleash the tempest within.
But Ranger hushed her, his face mere inches from hers, his voice a low, dangerous purr directly into her ear before she could fully retaliate. "Let me hazard a guess, Ororo, as to why Krakoa, despite my rather… provocative actions… hasn't yet unleashed its full, righteous fury upon my humble person. It's because most of your true powerhouse mutants, the ones who could actually pose a significant challenge, were rather preoccupied, weren't they? Busy safeguarding a very specific, very crucial group. A group of five, I believe. The ones who oversee your precious resurrection protocols." Storm's eyes widened, a flicker of genuine shock replacing the fury for a split second. Ranger's fingers, still infused with Turbo energy, tightened their grip, a subtle, almost intimate pressure that sent an unwelcome shiver through her.
"So, until those five have successfully refined and fully secured your… rather convenient method of cheating death." Ranger continued, his voice still a soft, knowing murmur, "most of your heavy hitters wouldn't dare risk an all-out confrontation with someone like me. Too much at stake, wouldn't you agree?" Storm tried to suppress a gasp, a small, choked sound of dawning comprehension, but it escaped her nonetheless.
"And no." Ranger added, anticipating her next thought, "I didn't glean this particular piece of sensitive information from your new associate, Emma. She, for all her influence and ambition, does not possess the requisite authority or clearance to be privy to such… foundational secrets. None of the Hellfire Trading Company personnel were granted access to that particular data stream, were they?" Storm's legs felt suddenly weak, but Ranger's grip, firm and unyielding, didn't allow her to falter, holding her in that uncomfortably intimate, dominant position.
"If any of your mutant colleagues, Ororo, attempt to read Emma's mind, or cause her any physical harm, or otherwise interfere with what is now mine." Ranger's voice was a silken promise of retribution, "I will ensure that this rather explosive information regarding your resurrection protocols is disseminated globally. To every government, every agency, every news outlet. Imagine the chaos, Ororo. The panic. The renewed, intensified fear and hatred directed at your kind." Storm's eyes, though still clouded with a potent cocktail of lust and fury from his touch, now held a new, sharper glint of defiance, of a warrior trapped but not yet broken.
"So, let us endeavor to keep things… civil between us, shall we?" Ranger suggested, his tone almost reasonable now. "I have no inherent desire to fight with mutantkind, nor do I wish to be positioned as your implacable foe. But you, and your rather impetuous colleagues, seem determined to make me do things I would rather not."
Storm still had that furious, yet undeniably aroused, look on her face, her breathing shallow, her body rigid in his grasp. "Consider this." Ranger murmured, his lips brushing her ear, "a small… payback… for your earlier, rather ungracious welcome."
Then, before she could truly process his words or summon her full power, Ranger kissed her. It wasn't a gentle kiss, nor was it passionate in the conventional sense. It was a kiss of dominance, of assertion, a final, dismissive punctuation mark to their confrontation. He held her there for a long moment, then, just as abruptly, released her as he heard a sharp, indrawn gasp.
Ranger turned, his expression unreadable. Jean Grey stood there, her face a mask of stunned disbelief, her eyes wide as she took in the scene – Storm, disheveled, breathing heavily, her face flushed with a mixture of rage and something far more… complicated, and Ranger, standing calmly, as if he'd merely been discussing the weather.
"She wanted it." Ranger stated with a dismissive shrug, his voice devoid of any apology or explanation. He then turned and walked away, leaving Jean to watch as Storm, the mighty Queen of the Elements, slowly sank to her knees, a trembling, beautifully broken mess, while Ranger, as carefree and unconcerned as ever, simply departed.