Maybe I'm Just A Fool For Loving You
It was a miracle. For once Logan avoided having the Professor telepathically transmit threats in his head for smoking inside the mansion by just going ahead and smoking outside to begin with. Outside in Xavier’s garden, Logan looked out over the landscape and enjoyed his cigar. Surprisingly, he wasn’t just taking in the beautiful scenery of summertime with the birds singing and the flowers in the luscious prime of their bloom. No, Logan was actually thinking pensively about something he had been noticing the past couple of days.
He was starting to get headaches, which shouldn’t be abnormal considering he was a teacher in a school full of mutant children. However, they weren’t normal headaches per se. It was like he was hearing things, and sometimes he’d be assaulted with pain in his eyes. On one occasion he could have sworn that he saw something. The whole experience was reminding him of how he’d get déjà vu and recover a few of his past memories when he was somewhere he had been before. At first he thought it may have been a student who couldn’t control their powers or were purposefully doing this to him. When these episodes continued, though, he realized that no student here could be that powerful. Now there was just the matter of finding out why this was happening to him and how he could prevent it further.
Outright he refused to go to Ol’ Chuck. That man had poked around in his head enough, and Logan would feel vulnerable going to him for help. More often than not, these episodic headaches took place when he was in Darcy’s vicinity. It was tempting to ask her for help, too, but he was loathed to bring up how the headaches happened when they were being intimate. Unsure of how telepaths would react to news like that, he didn’t want to make her think that he was not having a good time with her, though the headaches did kill some of his sex-drive. That always put him a rather pissed-off mood.
Now here he was, deeply inhaling his cigar smoke and puffing it out through his nose. His brow was furrowed, distracted by his tumultuous thoughts and maybe just a little moody. So caught up in his problem, he didn’t notice Darcy’s arrival until her little hands touched his shoulders with the gentlest touch. At first he flinched, off-guard, but when she continued to slide her palms down his chest and press the length of her body against his back, he finally relaxed, momentarily at peace. “Can I have a taste?” her voice was in his ear, damp and warm, so sinful against his eardrums. Part of his was amused because he knew she had to be standing on her toes to be doing this.
With a rumbling chuckle, he carefully turned around in her arms and offered her the cigar. Any observer would be able to tell that she was special to him if he was willing to share his precious, illegally imported Cuban cigars. “Of course, darlin’.” His hands easily slipped around her middle, his thumb softly twitching back and forth across the material of her clothes. He wished he could feel her warm skin underneath instead.
Darcy took the cigar, her amber-orange eyes shining at him impishly. She was up to something, but he didn’t know what exactly. It was only when she put the tip of the cigar in her mouth, the tip of her clever tongue flicking out to lick it, and took a long, almost sensuous drag that he knew what she wanted from him. He was excited by the thought, and watched her release the cloud of smoke from her lovely mouth with half-lidded eyes. “Thanks for the drag, Carcajou,” she stuck the cigar back in his mouth, his lips catching her fingertips in a small kiss. “but I wanted a taste of something else.” Her smile was wicked and his eyes were riveted on her face when he felt the touch of her hands untucking his shirt.
Logan started smiling, too, the cigar stuck between his teeth. He puffed away at it, not willing to stamp it out yet and leave it for later but wanting to finish his treat now before he moves on to a better reward. While her hot, little hands crawled underneath his shirt to drag her claws over his skin, his own hands started undoing the little pearl button on her white shirt. Everything was going smoothly and perfectly – he couldn’t even remember what he was thinking about before she placed her hands on his body – but then the headaches started throbbing in his temples to the rate of his heartbeat that was steadily increasing.
That’s when his hands started fumbling, not from being unsure but from being distracted by the pressure coming from behind his eyes and pounding on his eardrums. He was at half-mast but already his libido was failing him. It was like when he tried to give Darcy oral pleasure one time and while he was doing a great job, he had to stop when she almost snapped his neck with her thighs. Afterwards she apologized, but he was hesitant to that again anytime soon.
Sensing his distraction, Darcy renewed her attack by placing her mouth on his neck the way he always liked. At the feel of her sucking at his pulse point, the headaches were momentarily abated until they too came back with more intensity. This particular headache was worse than any of his previous ones, and didn’t think he was going to be able to go through with this with Darcy if he was suffering the whole time. This had to stop before he got nauseous. “Darcy, please, stop. I can’t do this right now. I’m sorry, darlin’.” The regret in his voice was overshadowed by the pain. Why was this happening to him?
Immediately Darcy ceased to touch him and moved completely out of his grasp. When he opened his eyes and looked at her, it was too see the sexiest sight he has ever known yet. Her shirt hung open with the top half of buttons completely undone. Underneath she was wearing that black bra that he knew unclasped in the front because it was one of his favorites to have her in. There was light blush spreading from her cheeks down the column of her neck to her chest, and she was breathing slightly heavier than normal. Oh, but it was her eyes that made him stop breathing. They were wide behind her glasses and slightly hurt. “What did I do wrong, Logan?”
“You didn’t do anything wrong, it’s just…” He trailed off. Logan wanted to assure her that it wasn’t her fault, but was unsure of how to explain his problem.
“Just what?” She took him by the hand and led him to bench. Once they were both sitting down, she started buttoning up her shirt. His hands reached out to stop her. Her hands stilled in their movements, and she looked back up at him, confused by the mixed signals she was receiving.
With a pathetic twist of his lips that was supposed to be a smile, he mumbled to her, “I have a headache.”
She stared at him for a moment before she laughed, “That’s okay. We can always do this another time.”
“No,” Logan tried to explain, “I mean whenever we are together and we start,” Helplessly his hands gestured between them, “This, well I start getting a headache.”
The smile dropped away from her face and Logan mourned the loss. His headache was already feigning away as was his lust. All of this was so confusing and he was very disappointed that he couldn’t properly be with his love whom he adored and who adored him in return. “So you haven’t been having as much fun with me as I have been having with you, Carcajou?”
“Not for the past week or so.” He sounded so morose, and felt that way, too. What the Hell was wrong with him?
“Can you describe what’s been happening?”
“They’re like normal headaches,” he started, “but then they’ll get increasing unbearable the further we go on together.” His hesitation to describe it further was brief before he continued on, “When you cum or when I cum my headache really hurts, like someone is hammering my brain.” Felling like his descriptions were paltry, he mulishly muttered, “Sometimes I hear voices, though, I don’t know what they are saying. Once I was nearly blinded by some bright, white light. Closing my eyes didn’t help. It was seared on my eyeballs for a good couple of seconds before I could blink it away.” With a shrug, he summed it all up with, “Maybe I’m just crazy.”
As he continued to expound on his headaches, Darcy’s thoughtful expression morphed into one of horror. He noticed when she went white because she was normally never so pale. Logan stopped talking and she started sputtering apologies. “Jesus Christ, Logan, I’m so sorry, sweet baby.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and started feverishly pressing kisses to his forehead. Confused, he didn’t push her away, but he didn’t have a chance to ask what she was talking about. Darcy quickly explained her actions, “I think the headache was me, darling heart, it was my telepathy powers. In moments of extreme stress or intensity,” she stressed the word, “my mind will reach out and connect with others to vent the emotions and feelings. I’m sorry, precious baby.” She sounded truly apologetic.
“Wait,” Logan situated them until he could look at Darcy face to face. “Is that how you normally feel when you and I have sex?”
“God, no!” Darcy protested. “That being said, though, having sex is hard to enjoy when I can hear everyone else in my general proximity. I can block it out, but that requires concentration that I don’t have during good sex.”
His eyes lit up with understanding and his male ego was purring at the stroking her words did for him. “So what I’ve been hearing is…?”
“Other people in the mansion. That white light, though, that was my orgasm. I’m not really sorry about that one.” Her voice was wry and proud at the same time.
“Does that mean we can–?”
“God, yes!” Darcy hissed, already unhooking her bra from the front. “I’ll be sure to not let you get caught up in all that again.”
“Great,” Logan growled as he pounced on her to take one of her tightened brown nipples in his mouth. This time when he had sex, the only reason he had for his head to hurt is when he slammed it back on the wrought iron arm of the bench when he came. That headache problem, thankfully, never happened again for him.