Growing up in the environment in which she had, Devon had made herself stick to a very strict work out routine to keep herself in shape. She had never been one to care about muscle tone itself, it was more about staying fit and flexible. After all, there was absolutely no point in even trying to keep up in a fight if you were so stiff you couldn't move. But, usually, she chose to exercise alone. Why she had chosen to meet Wolverine down here, she was not sure. She was perfectly capable of exercising by herself. She had done it her whole life, except for when she was learning something new.

She moved into the First Basement, delighted to find that she had arrived first and that it was empty. After all, at a quarter to two, most of the students had already been out for at least an hour. It had been pure coincidence that Wolverine had been awake when she had, and she still was not sure whether it had been good coincidence or bad. She moved through the basement and into the side room where all the work out equipment was before dropping her bag and not even bothering to turn on the lights.

She walked elegantly over to one of the mats on the floor, sinking down onto it with a grace and sophistication. She extended long, lean legs out in a wide angle and took a deep breath before beginning her stretches. In her former life, before she had gone to France, she had started training in ballet. She still remembered some of the stretches form that time, as well as the ones she had learned during her training, and combined them into a perfect routine that left her light and limber.

She took another deep breath from her diaphragm and stretched her torso and arms to one toe and grabbed it. She held her toe for several second before releasing it and slowly rolling her back until she was sitting straight once more and repeating to the other side.She moved up onto her knees before bending her back in an arch to flex all the tendons in her backs and her sides. She then flexed to each side before standing and grabbing each ankle in turn, pulling them up to flex the fronts of her legs.

She moved into the the boxing ring, slipping between the ropes and looked around to make sure she was alone. She should have a few moments until Logan arrived, at least. Enough for her to warm up. Once she was sure she was not being watched, she flexed her arm before tightening her hand into a fist and took a hard, right swing. She could feel the tense, tight muscles of her arm flex and release. She then repeated it with her left arm, only to a sharp pain pulse through her arm and her chest.

She growled softly, rolling that shoulder carefully. Her left shoulder had never been the same since the helicopter crash, always more tender than the other. She sighed softly, rolling it and closing her eye, waiting for the throbbing to subside. She had been so absorbed in her work out that she had not noticed another presence in the room, her senses not as on edge as usual as she had taken advantage of the room appearing empty. Her opponent had arrived, and she had not even noticed it.

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With a soft chuckle Logan lowered the lid to his laptop, watching the lights that indicated power blink-blink and listening as the cooling fan and hard rive both slowly powered down. He didn’t really like the fact that he had one, a laptop, but he had to admit that they were necessary things. Piddling about on it in the evenings wasn’t really his thing, but since his cabin had been partially destroyed and the Professor was missing, well, Logan didn’t really have that much to do. There was plenty he wanted to be doing, but none of it seemed to fall within the realm of able. Ororo had promised him that they would begin doing something, soon, that a plan would be made, a mission hatched, and he trusted not only her more than he trusted almost anyone else, but he strongly trusted her judgment. So he stayed, and waited, and played on his laptop, harassing the x-brats via the internet, learning the joys, and irritations, of instant messaging.

Normally at this hour he might be watching television, flipping through the sports channels and catching recaps from the day prior, or he’d find an old western, something with good ol’ Clint in the staring role, doing what needed to be done. A pack of cold Molson would be on one side, empty cans lined up like little tin soldiers on the other, lit cigar hanging from his mouth and a mostly full ashtray sitting on the hand made coffee table. Tonight, though, he was back in his old room in the mansion. It had long ago been designated his, even though it had been years since he had used it, having talked Chuck pretty early on into letting him build his own little home a piece away from all the annoying children. Someone had stayed in it since, though, or several someones, and Logan could catch faint traces of their scent hanging in the carpeting or on the walls, like whispers in a crowded room, tiny snatches that meant almost nothing.

It wouldn’t matter if others had been there, or hadn’t, the room had long ago ceased to be his, not that he had ever deigned to claim ownership of it before. This lack of ownership left him with a lack of comfort, and as a result he was much more restless than usual. Yes he could adapt to any situation thrown at him, as he had been doing for several lifetimes, but that didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.

Finding Frenchie online had been a coincidence, and he had only spoken to her because hers was the only name that popped up in the little box. They’d met once, for a few moments, but Logan hadn’t really been focusing on her, at all. No, his house had just been partially demolished, and his ire and frustrations had been focused on the smaller indivual on the scene. Not that she hadn’t gotten his attention, she had, in fact she was the one that made him wary, more so than the girl that had caused so much damage.

After was when he remembered. One of the last things that Chuck had spoken directly to him about, the two of them having a conference in Xavier’s office, was this girl. She’d been through some rough times, some really, really rough times, and had been subjected to a life similar to Logans. Though unlike with him, hers had come during her youth, when she was still a child, and that left her with certain … difficulties, that the Professor thought that Logan might be able to assist her with.

And that was it. Chuck disappeared, Logan got distracted, and Frenchie was running around doing her own thing. At least she had been. Fate had thrown them together once, and now again, Logan having just agreed to meet her in the first basement for a training session. Pushing away from the desk on which his computer sat, Logan quickly surveyed his appearance. Beat up jeans, bare feet, no shirt. The jeans would prove to be a hindrance, and no shirt wasn’t really kosher when working with the younger female student body. Logan wasn’t one to often worry about such things, but even he had a modicum of common sense.

Changing didn’t take long and soon he was in a standard white tank top, the soft-ribbed cotton stretching over the muscles of his chest and back, and loose black cotton pants. Shoes weren’t something he cared for, so he opted out, remaining barefoot as he left his room, shutting the door softly behind himself, before padding down the hall, the main staircase and to the elevator which would take him into the belly of the beast.

The temperature in the first basement was cooler than on the main levels, but Logan liked the chill against his skin. While he didn’t expect that much from the match to come, he was excited at the prospect of getting some sort of a physical work out, no matter how bland. Chuck had said that this girl was more than a little capable, but what did Chuck know when it came to such things?

She was warming up when he arrived, and he was shocked to she just how, little, she was wearing. And how bright the material was. As his eyebrows rose in questioning curiosity, his vision dropped lower, him quietly circling the ring checking out her stance. The Prof hadn’t said how old she was, but she was obviously out of the gawky teen years and leaning towards something else. Besides, there was never anything wrong with looking, was there?

A growl dropped low into the silence of the room and for half a second Logan thought that the noise had fallen from his lips. The corner of his lips rose in a wry smile upon the realization that it hadn’t come from him at all, but instead from her, as she worked a kink out of a twisted shoulder. “War wound?” He teased, voice low and dark like ground coffee as he slid expertly through the set of ropes across from her. “Sure you’re up to this, kid?” He continued, bouncing twice on the balls of his feet, pulling first one arm across his chest and then the other, stretching the muscles of his back. “I don’t wanna hurt you, or anything’.”

Devon froze as a voice, low and dark, spoke from somewhere to her side. She turned at the waist, not all the way, to watch him move into the ring. As she did, her clothes moved with her, the tight material of her top hugging her hour glass figure and the short length of her shorts accenting the long, gazelle like legs. She observed him with an arched brow before turning fully towards him, a smirk on her features that revealed nothing.

"I would hardly call it a war wound, more of a minor inconvenience." She explained simply, her head tilted slightly to the side. Though her eyes were trained on his face, her peripherals were taking in everything she could about him, trying to find a weakness. He was a virile specimen of a man, she would give him that. Tall and broad, not unlike anything she had fought before. But this one had a mutant gene. What it was, she was not sure yet, but it was nothing visible.

Her peripheral vision trailed over him, focusing perhaps a bit too long on the rippling muscles lining his body. The shirt he wore left very little to the imagination, but she was not sure why it fascinated her so much. She trained all of her attention back on his face, the smirk on her face still haughty and slightly arrogant. "Oh, I'm perfectly ready, old man." She replied, just as teasingly, her English accent hanging on every word. "The question is: are you?"

She waited two beats after he had finished stretching his arms across his chest before she moved away and more towards the center of the ring. She kicked off her shoes, kicking them out of the ring and relishing in her feet being free from the confines of her shoes. She preferred being able to actually feel the ground beneath her feet. It made for far more sure footing in a high, meaning she was less likely to misstep.

She then lifted her arms into a fighting stance, protectively shielding her chest. She looked more like a cat, ready to fight or flee at a moment's notice. Every part of her was tensed, delighted by the prospect of a little bit of physical exercise. She had not sparred with a partner since she had left the laboratory in France. Of course, she had kept up a strict exercise routine, but throwing punches was only useful when you had something to aim for. "Come on, Mr. Happy Fluffy Bunny. Let's see what you've got."

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He felt, more than saw her watching him as he moved across the space and entered the ring. He could have seen her, had his vision been fixed on hers, but Logan had the testosterone of several men pumping through his veins (at least that’s the excuse he more often used) and this left him with a tendency to be more observational when it came to the opposite gender. And this girl was a fine example of her sex, Logan needing in no way shape or form to use his imagination to find out just how much so. He was such a dirty, dirty old man.

And that fact left him grinning slightly as he moved almost lazily about the ring, stretching out muscles that didn’t need to be stretched. His smile only managed to grow as she pointed out their age difference, a defense mechanism he was accustomed to younger people using when he called them ‘kid’ or ‘kiddo’. Weakness number one, discovered, point to Logan. A mischievous sort of gleam took root in blue eyes, “I’m always ready, darlin.” he drawled, looking just a little smug.

The shoes that she had been wearing were discarded, and Logan’s estimation of her went up a notch. He had noticed her stance and lack of movement at his cabin, noticed that she was obviously more than capable, and had gone so far as to be wary of her. Chuck had mentioned her power, at some point in time, but Logan only ever half listened to the man, and the other stuff he had been spewing about the kid’s youth had been more interesting. He couldn’t quite remember what it had been, but he was more than sure he’d find out sooner than later.

“Fuck I hate that name.” He replied with a laugh, noting her stance, ceasing his light bouncing and shifting his weight, instead, to the balls of his feet, circling her with his own sort of grace. It was hard to imagine that a man built like we was and filled with all the extra weight of adamantium could even manage such, but he did, mostly thanks to his decades of martial art training. He feinted towards her, pulling back, hoping to encourage her into throwing the first punch, or launching any sort of attack. “You might wanna pull your punches, kiddo.” He warned. “I’m built of sterner stuff than I’m sure you’re used to, and I don’t want ya breaking any of those pretty little fingers.”

Devon could not help but roll her eyes at his laugh, staying ready to see if he would try to surprise her. But he didn't, and instead, took to circling her. Slowly, she put her arms down, but kept tensed in case she needed to react quickly, turning with him to follow him as he circled and observed her. She felt like a prized horse, the way he was watching her, as if he intended to make a bid or something of the sort. She hated that feeling, even though she should have been used to it by now. That was the way she had always been observed, like a winning experiment.

He feinted towards her and she moved quickly to counter it, only to have him pull back at the last moment. She nodded to his words, still watching his body more than his face, waiting for him to strike. "I've broken plenty of fingers, but thanks for the warning." She replied, her voice a soft, almost animal growl. He was trying to bait her into throwing the first punch, which was not her style, but his circling was slowly making her more and more happy to oblige.

He was moving incredibly quiet, especially for a man of his size. She was not quite sure what he meant by 'sterner stuff' and she could not help but wonder if that was male testosterone saying 'I work out every day'. Devon was not as broadly muscled or hard like he was, her figure far more soft and feminine. But she did have muscle tone, that was apparently in her thighs and calves as well as in the way she moved. It was more of a dancer's build than a fighter's build, but dancers had just as muscle as fighters, just not as defined.

She allowed him to simply prowl around her for a moment before she did finally attack. She rocked all of her weight onto one hip and brought the other leg up in a wide arched kick against his throat. She did not hit hard, as she knew this was merely for fun, but it was enough to get her point across. She was not going to do anything to avoid a few bruises from this little tussle, but she knew that if this was real, she would not have waited this long to attack.

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Logan was more than accustomed to having eyes rolled in his general direction. Men, they didn’t tend to do it as much, only the select few were brave or stupid enough to make such a disrespectful or mocking gesture. But women? Oh they rolled their eyes at him all the time. Be it the young ones, the teens, ignoring the danger that he presented, not knowing what he really was, their youth and naivety allowing them to openly dismiss him. Or be it the women, his teammates, having spent years in his presence, knowing him, knowing who and how he was, taking everything about him with a grain of salt. But this girl, she was neither, the life she had lived, of which Chuck had imparted only small amounts, had robbed her of her own ignorant nativity and her youth, but still, the number of the years she had been alive was a small one, and she was not yet a member of their team. In fact, she hardly knew Logan at all, but just as he had recognized her, and the self-assured confidence with which she held herself, he was certain that like had seen like on her end as well.

He prowled and she observed, the two of them well on their way to a decent little dance, each waiting for the other to strike, to show skill, or weakness. Her arms might have been down, but it was obvious that her guard was still up, and Logan was much the same. She was faster than him, in response time, that much was shown as he feinted and she reacted. It wasn’t hard to believe, Logan wasn’t the fastest when it came to fighting, but he was skilled, and he was solid, not to mention the whole healing factor thing.

The growl in her tone surprised and fascinated him, and a predatory grin stole across his features, curving one side of his mouth upward sharply, reaching to his eyes. “Like what you see?” The question was drawled, his smirk still firmly in place as their mutual observation continued. She was doing what any other in ring would do in her place, observing her opponent, sizing them up. “Could always take a picture.” He teased, doing some observation of his own, though he wasn’t concerned in the slightest about her skills, weaknesses or openings. He was simply drinking in the sight if her, hard planes, sharp angles and well rounded curves, all combined together to make an impressive figure. “It’d last longer.”

Her kick was well timed, well aimed, and if he hadn’t been paying so close attention to her other assets, his mind busy contemplating just how lithe that trained body of hers must be, he might have noticed it earlier, gaining the wherewithal to catch the it before the flat of her foot made contact. She had heeded his advice, or at least it seemed so to him, and the blow was light, just a tap, an acknowledgement of what could have been done. His hands were there then, finally, strong and capable fingers wrapping around a deceptively delicate ankle, turning it to over, him expecting her to keep her balance as he did so. He leaned towards the purloined appendage, the roughness of his sideburns grazing the sensitive flesh of her ankle, only to be followed by a quick brush of his lips, blue eyed vision never leaving hers. “First blood to you, darlin’.” He rumbled, releasing her and backing away, once more bouncing on the balls of his feet, still managing to smirk smugly, ready to begin again. He waited, amused, to see how she’d respond, to see if his little gambit would throw her off at all, and if so, just how badly.

Devon scoffed in response to his words, arching her brows. "What about you would I want to preserve?" She asked, her words holding a bit of a cold edge, intended to hurt his pride. And she left it at that, hoping that would at least deflate his ego a little bit, even if it was temporary. Men's egos were one of the things Devon did not deal with well, and it was usually one of the first things she attacked.

She was not surprised when he caught her foot, she had been ready for that much. And she had expected him to twist it and try to throw her off balance, so she raised up onto the ball of the foot that was still on the floor so she could turn quickly if she needed to. But instead, he turned it back straight and she followed with it, moving with the grace that only years of training could produce. She watched him carefully, as he leaned in towards her foot, long leg extended as she held her balance with ease.

The roughness of his sideburns on her skin had not been expected, and she arched a brow even higher as she watched him. Suddenly, lips grazed her skin, and an unexpected and unfamiliar shudder shot down her spine. She sucked in breath in a soft whimper of surprise before she could stop it, her eyes going slightly wide in surprise as she waited for him to release her. When he did, she immediately recomposed herself, making quite sure that would never happen again.

She watched him with an almost stony look on her face, a look which revealed or showed nothing. And she waited, watching him bounce on the balls of his feet for a long moment before springing again, aiming a kick at his ankle in an attempt to knock him off balance, even if it was just a little bit. Much as his lips on her ankle had done to her, it was more meant to surprise him than actual have any effect. If he wanted to play this little cat and mouse game, so be it. Devon had learned this game long ago.

And the secret to winning was looking like the mouse when you really were the cat.

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Ah how the kitten had claws. Her retort was aimed towards being biting, and her refined sounding accent made it almost even more so. That would be if Logan cared about such things. He didn’t. “You’re the one doin’ all the starin’ kiddo.” Came his reply, grin fixed firmly on his face, ego already large enough as it was, and all of that before she managed to swing her foot at his head.

Much as he had expected her to, the girl had no problems keeping her footing as he twisted her ankle in his hand, like he would to toss her away from him, giving himself a chance to counter attack, or regroup, if either had been needed. But that hadn’t been what he had done, and instead he felt through the pads of his fingers the sensuous shiver that went through her frame soon to be followed by a sharp intake of breath and the faintest of whimpers. Dark eyes went wide, and his own blue ones held her gaze for half a skipped heart-beat. His action had been meant to be teasing, flirtatious, nothing serious, but her reaction to it made it something else, and a heat boiled low in his abdomen in response.

It was, then, his turn to be put off balance, his guard up, but more against his reaction to her, rather than to the fight which she brought. Skilled as she might be the spar was just that, a match between two opponents without the fear of any actual injury, and even if it had been more serious, he wasn’t concerned about her overtaking him. No there was seriousness in another manner now, for Logan might be many things, but he tried not to be as much of a letch as the others might think that he was. But alone, in this room, at this late hour, with this girl and the primal and primitive way which they stalked one another, oh it didn’t bode well.

If he was a smart man, he’d forfeit and leave, bowing out of the ring and heading back up to his room. Hell, if he was smart he’d run far and fast, heading to sleep in the ruins of his cabin, or going even further and heading for the city.

But a smart man, oh that he wasn’t.

As she aimed at his ankle, payback he guessed for the damage he had done to hers, Logan focused his own attack elsewhere, allowing her strike to hit, hoping that she’d pull that one too, lest she hurt herself against his metal laced bones. Lacking any wasteful movement Logan reached for the elbow that followed the movement of her attacking leg, fingers moving to close around it should he be fast enough to catch her, which wasn’t all that likely. If he were the plan was to pull her forward, towards him, off balance and twisting her frame so that her back wound up pressed against his chest. The likelihood of that working, though, depended on many factors. If she evaded his grasp he would use the movement expended to try and get behind her, switching their sides on the ring.

Devon was not surprised when a hand wrapped around her elbow. For a moment, instinct found to take over reason and demanded she twist her own elbow hard to snap his wrist. But she had to remind herself that this was just a friendly spar. She was not a fighter anymore, not a killer. It was a hard thing to comprehend, that the life she had always known was over and a new, less dark one had taken it's place.

So instead she allowed herself to be twisted and pulled to him, her back pressed against his rock hard chest, pulled so close that the delicate arch of her spine and the curve of her rear were pressed firmly against him. The feeling of something akin to solid stone against her skin did something to her she couldn't explain, goosebumps raising over the delicately creamy skin. She could hear him breathe, could smell pine and musk and something that could only be described as 'Wolverine'.

She wasn't quite sure what was going on, having never experienced something like this before. She was not used to the closeness or the intimacy, the warmth of him pressed against her despite the cold of the air around them. Of course, she had been close- very close in fact- on more than one occasion to Dr. Butler, it had never been like this. His hands had been hard, yes, much as the Wolverine's were, but Dr. Butler had been intent of breaking her. This one simply held her elbow in a firm but gentle embrace, much like a mother crocodile would carry her young in her jaws. Jaws that would drop her babies onto to slaughter anything that threatened them.

It took her only milliseconds to regain rational thought, and her free elbow came back to collided with his stomach, with not as much force as she usually would put into it, but enough for him to feel it. If he did let her go, it would give her the opportunity to get behind him, where he was a little more vulnerable. And the idea of jumping up onto his back where he could not reach her, and bringing a forearm to lock across his jugular was becoming more and more of an appealing concept.

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Catch her elbow, he did. Strong fingers wrapping around something that, once more, looked that it was feminine and frail, though Logan was more than aware of the power and ability that was packed within it, him having dispelled that notion as soon as they began. The half a second hesitation forced his eyes to look for hers, trying to determine what had just occurred, why she had paused, even though to the untrained human, no pause at all had been made. He assumed, correctly, that she had been pulling whatever move she had been going to make, though he mistakenly assumed that it had to do with his warning. Little did he know what she had been planning to do. She would have been more than welcomed to try, though. There was no way her, nor really anyone else, would be able to snap his wrist at all.

Still feeling flirtatious, mocking the danger that lay beneath being so, the lecture he would be sure to receive from any of his fellow teammates, the disapproving glances from ‘Ro, the worry and disappointment from Jean, the outright anger from Scott for being so forward with a student. But she wasn’t really a student, she was whatever they were that came after being an X-brat, and the possible annoyance from Scooter almost made his actions even more worth it.

As her back molded itself to his front, Logan curled his frame slightly around her, hands moving to brush at her hips, fingers tracing the waistline of her oh-so-short shorts. “Gotcha.” Was breathed teasingly against her ear, his voice hardly more than a whisper as his fingers moved to dance up her rib cage. She smelled clean and young and fresh, and Logan had the strongest urge to run the flat of his tongue over her pulse point, tasting whatever it was that made her up.

The goosebumps on her skin and the way her scent changed sharply, her body reacting to him even if she openly wasn’t, the poor thing, encouraged Logan, but as he moved forward to follow through with his intention, getting close enough that his lips just almost caressed that softness of her swanlike neck, an elbow cut sharply into his stomach, catching him fully off guard and causing him to double over. “Fuck.” Bit out through gritted teeth, pain radiating through his body.

And then, as quick as lightning, or close to it, she was behind him, slender arm snaking around his throat and beginning to cut off his air supply. A growl began in his chest, bubbling upward, him masochistically elated at this turn of events. She wasn’t a fragile thing, at all, and he was made ecstatic by this. Made ecstatic and something else. “You little minx.” He snarled, hands reaching up to lock around her arm as he quickly bent forward, trying to fling her both off and over him, and onto the mat below.

Devon moved quickly as soon as he let her go, jumping up onto his back like a lion pounced a gazelle. One arm came up to press across his throat, pulling back against her body to cut off his air while the other grasped the hard curve of his shoulder. Her legs came up to wrap around his waist from behind, holding her own weight easily, her mouth breathing hard against his ear. She could feel the hard muscles of his back ripping against her front and her thighs, his hands coming up to grab her forearm.

"Learn when to bow to your superior." She snarled back in reply, trying to stay perched upon his back. However, the momentum alone knocked her off balance, much as an unexpected buck would from a horse. She was thrown up and over his head, her back hitting the mat and a soft "oomph" escaping her lips. She coughed in surprise, not having been expecting to be unseated so easily, and instead found herself looking up at Wolverine and the ceiling, instead of down at his shoulders.

She did not move to get up, forcing herself to remain perfectly calm and reverse the attitude he was using on her. She was not used to the more seductive side of her personality, having never needed it before. But, none the less, her eyes dimmed to a fiery, sultry burn from beneath dark lashes as she looked up at him. Slowly, she pushed herself up onto her elbows, arching one brow oh so slightly. "Congratulations, Wolverine." Her voice had turned to a deep, seductive purr, her English accent still clinging to the corners.

Her whole motive was to distract him, even if for a mere moment, and she arched her back slightly, causing the curve of her bust and the gentle dip on either side caused by her waist to become more apparent. She bent one leg at the knee, pushing her body up slightly, each move fluid and catlike. Just a few minutes more...

She rolled back onto her shoulder blades and brought one lean leg up over her head, aimed at his stomach. She had gotten a fairly good reaction when she had hit him there earlier, and could only hope for the same again.

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Even as she cut the supply of his oxygen, Logan found enough left over air to laugh at what she said about bowing to superiors. It was mocking and deep, rumbling through his chest and throat, spilling over his lips as his fingers closed around her arm. Still, he was surprised as she sailed through the air. Not for the fact that he had bucked her from his back, that he had expected, but the way the air left her lungs and the little cough shocked him. He was playing too rough, he needed to remember that she was not unbreakable.

One eyebrow rose as he looked down at her on the ground, him trying his best not to gloat, not to mock. But in all reality this didn’t have the serious feel of a real spar to it, besides, this little one was just a hair to sure of her abilities. It would be best for her, a real lesson, if Logan were to put her in her place, especially within the safety of the mansion.

Not that she was safe at all.

He smirked down at her as she lay, seemingly winded on the mat, his vision trailing lazily over her form, taking in what there was to see. It was habit more than anything, and no so much out of the whole him being a wicked and horrible, hell bound letch. “Thank you, darlin'.” He drawled, matching her purr, wondering just what the hell she was doing, not minding at all as he began to bend down, ever so slightly, intrigued and curious.

And that was when she kicked him.

Luckily at the angle they both were at it didn’t hurt nearly as badly as the elbow had. He ‘oofed’ himself, but there was no expletive, and no stars dancing across his vision. He reached, again, for her, strong fingers moving to close around the ankle of the foot that had been aimed at him.

Devon felt fingers wrap around her ankle, holding onto it firmly as they had before. She was still poised up on her shoulder blades, looking up at him through the crook of her legs. It was very uncomfortable, to say the least, and put her at a disadvantage. But she moved quickly, twisting at her ribcage and her ankle in his hand until she was laying on her back, her ankle still cradled in his grasp, elegant legs extended all the way down to the floor to her.

This was easier than she had planned it to be. He was no tougher than the goons she had faced on a daily basis at Dr. Butler's laboratory, no matter how much his male ego tried to make her think otherwise. Time to quit playing around and break out the big guns. She then twisted onto her side, aiming a kick at the forearm of the hand that held her, not bothering retraining the power of the muscles in her legs.

The minute her skin met his, a clang of metal reverberated through the room. A tremor of pain shot from the flat of her foot and up her shin into her knee, powerful enough that she let out a cry of pain, tears pricking the back of her eyes. Devon had always been good at dealing with pain, but this was different. For a moment, she was sure something in her leg had been broken and she pulled her knee up to her chest, crying out in pain again as she did.

She looked up at him with wide eyes, wet with tears. The usually cold and emotionless eyes were filled with something different, something Devon had forgotten. Fear. The last time she had felt such a powerful gripping in her chest had been many years ago, the last time she had cried after her 'evening' with Dr. Butler. As if the dam had broken, a wirlwind of memories came flooding back, whiskey amber orbs dancing with pure animal terror for a moment as she looked up at the man over her, cradling her injured leg to her body.

And the fight or flight instinct in her kicked in, that flash of panic gone and replaced with that dead look as she pulled her arms up under her to lift her up and aim a kick at his neck once more, this time very very cautious to make it just hard enough to surprise him but not hard enough to hurt herself again.

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Like with her elbow his grasp succeeded and Logan wondered at this. She was faster than him, much faster, but most were. Laura was one of the fastest he had fought against (other than Pietro, of course) and Devon, he reasoned, would be even faster. She was, though, at an unconventional and likely uncomfortable angle, and that could easily explain her lack of speed. Either that, or, he was getting to her, or, she was up to something.

He should have known it was the latter.

Just as the sound metal reverberated through the room and pain shot down her leg, it also radiated up his arm, a bruise forming and then healing within seconds, him releasing her from the shock of the ferocity of the impact. Now it was his turn to be off guard. “I told you.” He tsked, reaching down to help her up, to end the session, to let her accept the defeat that had been dealt to her.

But then she kicked at him again.

Really, he should have realized by now to watch the girl’s legs. Apparently they were her strong suit, and Logan did always have a thing for …

Though this time she did restrain herself, he had been leaning down to assist, worried that she had injured herself, concerned that it had gone to far. But the kick, it came seemingly out of nowhere, as fast as he would have expected, her foot clipping a tender part of his neck and catching him off guard causing an almost instantaneous reaction of his own fight responses, pain and ire raging through his veins.

Play time was over.

He swung at her, moving the leg that had just swung at him and connected away with his forearm, applying all his force behind it and knocking the offending leg to the floor. His lip curled with violence, a snarl ripping from his throat as the hand that wasn’t occupied in defending himself wrapped its fingers around her shoulder, a shoulder that had raised from the floor, him pushing it forcefully back down, all three hundred pounds of his adamantium laced weight behind it, pinning her to the floor.

Dark and dilated pupils threatened to swallow the bright blue of his eyes as he stared down at her, and brown eyes stared right back. Defiant, challenging, empty of fear and mocking him like she had been doing all evening as she toyed with him.

And there was something in that little battle of wills, a battle that wasn’t so small. All night he had danced around his attraction to her, brushing it off, he was attracted to a lot of people, what did it matter? But there, then, with her pinned below his body, something in him snapped.

He growled again, low in his chest, dark and heavy, much like the animal he fought so hard to not become, one hand moving to rest on her waist, keeping her down, pinned, below him. The smell of her surrounded him, clean and fresh, mixed with the sweet scent of her sweat and something else, something that made the feral part of him go mad. Droplets of water dotted her skin, clinging to her flesh and teasing him, he couldn’t take it, couldn’t resist, and his head dipped forward, tongue darting out quickly to lick a line up the graceful and swanlike expanse, him finally tasting her, and more than ready to drown himself in it.

Teeth came next, his canines just a tad sharper than normal humans the rest dull and straight clamping down on the part of her neck that connected her shoulder, claiming, marking, making her his. The fingers on her waist tightened as he ground his hips into hers, the motion as unmistakable as just how primed and ready he was, how instinctual all of this had become.

But as his fingers began to curl, dipping oh so slightly under the waistband of her shorts, more that prepared to divest her of them, Logan realized just what he was doing, with whom, and where. Flesh that was burning hot with need and lust was suddenly ice cold as his jaw unclenched and his lips and teeth moved away from her skin, his eyes taking in the perfect imprint of his teeth on the elegant curve.

Oh fuck.

Not even saying a word or making a noise he pushed himself up from the mat, trying not to think about what had just happened, what had just almost happened. Within seconds he was dipping through the ropes, leaving her still on the mat, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t run into someone in the halls in his state, as he padded down the corridors and to the meager refuge of his room.

Her body was pushed back down onto the mat by an incredible force that she had not expected. The bulk of her body was suddenly pressed into the mat, his warm and hard bulk hovering over her, holding her effectively to the ground. She glared up at him, unhappy with being pinned, her leg still pulsing from the blow to his forearm. The same, hard defiance glared in her eyes up at him, laying perfectly still beneath him, her heart racing in her chest in a rhythm she was sure he could feel even through her own chest with how close they were.

When he growled, she growled back in response, the noise a low rumble somewhere in the pit of her stomach. His hand grasped the curve of her waist and she resisted the urge to cringe, staring back up at him with the same cold, lifeless eyes that almost challenged the animal in him that she knew was being let loose ever so slowly, that same primal animal that was trying to tear it's way out in her. His face leaned in towards her and she turned craned her neck up to watch him.

But instead of simply invading her space, like she had expected him to, she felt something warm and wet slip along the curve of her neck. It took a moment for her to process that he had licked her, and her jaw fell open in surprise. It took a millisecond for her to gain enough conscience and control to form a sentence that made sense.

"What the fuck are you-" At that moment, his teeth connected with the delicate column of her neck, and her words tapered off into a low, wanton moan. Her entire body shuddered with a feeling familiar to when he had nuzzled her foot earlier, but much stronger. She felt her senses being set alight, her eyes closing and her head tilting back as his teeth marked her skin. He ground his hips against her and she found her own hips arching up against him, her body begging for something her mind didn't understand.

However, she was quickly brought back to reality as his fingertips began to curl under the waistband of the shorts she wore. She stiffened, breathing in hard, her hands going to push on his chest and try to dislodge him. But it seemed there was no need. He was already getting up and away from her and she sat up, watching him, her skin flushed red and her eyes wide.

Without a word, he climbed through the ropes and left the room. And, without a word, she watched him go. She licked her lips, exhaling when she was left alone. God...she needed a shower...

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