Lucy laughed, the sound both amused and slightly dry. "Jinx."

"Lucy, much as I enjoyed giving Ms. Tilby a well-deserved comeuppance, had I known what you were going to do . . ." Hank began solemnly.

"Would you have stopped me?"

Hank paid the parking and drove past the booth before replying. "No, but it would have been nice to have been in on the ruse."

"She was being rude and condescending," Lucy sighed, "and I figured it was one of the few things that would shut her up. I was right, too."

"Yes," Hank rumbled, "That was apparent. I think you took a few years off of me as well, though."

Lucy shot him a sidelong glance. "Because I intimated you were a virile stud? That's hardly an exaggeration."

"The stud appellation I can argue about; it's the virility that stuns me," Hank explained gently. "That adjective is a portal to a discussion we have not yet had."

"Yeah, well I figured it wasn't a topic you were going to be very positive about," Lucy murmured glumly. "So I thought I'd indulge myself in a little wishful thinking there."

Hank gave a little chuff, the sound gusting between his bottom fangs. "You will be . . . a wonderful mother, Lucy. You have all the best nurturing instincts in the world. I have no doubts on that front in the least."

"Yes, and here comes the big 'but,'" she rolled her eyes, even as a small grin crossed her face. "To quote PeeWee Herman, 'everyone has a big but."

"I'm trying to have a mature discussion here and you're bringing in PeeWee Herman?" Hank snorted. "I'm insulted."

"You're stalling, my love. Just come out and say what I know you're going to say," Lucy shot back quietly. "You don't want to have a family."

"I do want to have children," Hank countered, gripping the steering wheel a bit more tightly. "Stop making assumptions, please."

Lucy blinked, taken aback by his quiet tone. "You do?"

"Wanting that comes naturally. More so since you came into my life," Hank sighed. "Surprised?"

"Yes," Lucy murmured honestly. "Hank . . . I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put words in your mouth, but you've never talked to me about this, never said a word, so . . ."

"Not all your assumptions are wrong, dear heart."

She craned her head to the left to stare at him, finally speechless.

Hank managed a grin at that, savoring its rarity before adding, "Nevertheless, 'wanting' and 'doing' are very separate drives, Lucylove. Wanting a thing doesn't automatically mean it becomes the wisest course of action to undertake. Not even when it comes in a package as tempting and wonderful as you."

"Yes, yes, flawlessly logical, Spock," Lucy snorted, her expression soft. "Now get to the real issue, as if I didn't know."

"It's too . . . risky, Lucy, for all sorts of reasons. I've undergone no fewer than three mutations so far in my life, all of them taking me further from the human template each time. Who knows what sort of genetic legacy I may be passing on to our children at this point?"

The words hung heavily in the quiet car, and neither Lucy nor Hank spoke for a while. The bands of light from the streetlamps crossed along the body car as they drove on, and finally Lucy sighed. "Hank . . . I understand your concerns, probably better than anyone else. Not only am I a mutant myself, I've worked with young mutants for nearly a decade now, and yes, there are some risks and heartaches and terrors in not knowing what might happen."

"And here's your rebuttal," Hank murmured, shooting her a sidelong glance of patient affection. She stiffened a little and he could see her debate about whether to be annoyed or amused at his comment.

She sighed instead. "But that doesn't stop me from wanting to have a family, Hank. From wanting to get pregnant, or adopt and raise children."

Hank blinked. "Adopt?"

"Well certainly," Lucy replied with an earnest smile. "It's not the process but the product that counts, right? Not that the process isn't a hell of a lot of fun---"

"—the process is sublime," Hank murmured, "a physical, spiritual, emotional pinnacle of joy, my love. Let's not discount the process, but yes, I understand that the product has a great deal of merit as well. And *should* of course, even if it's not the product of our, er, particular process. Did that make any sense?"

"Yes," Lucy assured him. "Selfishly, I'll admit the idea of being impregnated by you has a lot of appeal, my darling, but if you have doubts, then we can always test, and see precisely what we're dealing with. I wouldn't be adverse to that."

"Testing," Hank echoed, his voice slow and curious. "You're serious."

"About this, yes. I just never quite knew how to . . . bring it up," came her soft little chuckle. "It's not easy to toss into casual conversation, you know."

"Agreed," Hank gave a nod. "But it's generally further down the line in a courtship, if we're going by the traditional timeline."

"It is, but in this case, I feel a push to circumvent the conventional patterns, Hank. You love me; scent never lies, and the knowledge that you do does my soul good. My scent tells you the same, and this love goes deeper than I can consciously control. Such a thing is rare, and a little frightening," Lucy admitted softly, her voice shaking a bit.

Hank reached one big hand over and took hers, finding the natural grip easily even as he drove. "I know. We are unconventional people caught up in a world that sets standards for courtship we don't, or can't, generally follow. Nonetheless, I would like to at least propose to you and be accepted before we start having children. If only for my mother's sake."

"And Aggie's," Lucy laughed softly. "She'd say it doesn't matter, but I know she'd be pleased if things went in the right order."

"Aggie as well," Hank acknowledged with a wry grin. "It was in the game plan, Lucylove; I hope you're aware of that."

"Beating you to the punch is fun."

"Proposing is fine. Getting pregnant without me is a no-no."

"You're essential to the process," Lucy assured him, laughing. "You and all your genetic goodness."

They arrived at the parking structure for Hank's townhouse; he pulled in and parked, his expression a cross between amusement and thoughtfulness. "I suddenly feel an overwhelming urge to propose to you right now Lucy; however, the ring is upstairs in my sock drawer."

"Since we were heading in that direction anyway . . . ." she murmured, her words trailing off.

Hank came around, scooped her up out of the passenger seat and lightly carried her into the townhouse over her laughing objections. Lucy knew she wasn't difficult or heavy for a man who regularly bench-pressed close to a ton even on his worst day, but for the look of the thing she protested anyway.

He ignored her splutters, stopping periodically to nuzzle her face and kiss Lucy everywhere but her mouth in a slow, sweet tease that left them both keenly aware of each other. Hank loved the feel of the velour of her dress, the squeezable sweetness of her ass and the glitter, dark and mysterious in her eyes.

Hank carried her up the stairs and brought her into the bedroom. The room was dark, but the glow from the hall spilled in through the door and lent their profiles a gleam in the muted shadows.

"You are . . ." he whispered, and stopped, not sure what simile or metaphor could possibly encompass all the aspects Lucy held. The adjectives piled up in his thoughts: complicated, sensual, frustrating, sweet, intelligent, solitary, wise, frightening, loving, talented, compassionate, infuriating, determined—

" . . . essential," Hank finished, "you have moved me from a two-dimensional life into one filled with new depths, one richer in both the tangible and intangible, Luyu Ofelia San Marcos, and what I desire most in it is to be yours and for you to be mine."

Her hot little breath brushed his face as her hands came up to slither into the fur around the back of his neck. "I am my love's and my love is mine," Lucy whispered urgently. "Always, Henry Phillip McCoy."

The shiver down his spine made him shudder; the sweet emotion flowed through him and Hank brushed his mouth against hers. "Please marry me."

"Yes."

"Excellent answer. I will do my utmost to live up to that honor, my heart's treasure." As he spoke, Hank gently laid Lucy on the bed, the two of them in the dark now, still entwined but neither quite sitting nor lying. Lucy clung to him, kissing his nose and cheeks, her lips warm against the fine fur there. He felt her tears, hot and damp as they wet his own face; Hank kissed them tenderly.

"This is—"

"The good kind of crying, yes," Lucy assured him with a wet little chuckle. "Definitely the good kind." She slid her hands along his big frame, working his buttons open, groping with a loving and single-minded intent that amused Hank.

"I sense you want me," he murmured, his voice bemused.

"What gave it away? My fingers here . . . or maybe here?"

"Oh there, very definitely," Hank managed breathlessly. "My word, you're quite the . . . manipulator."

"Less talking, more undressing, please," Lucy urged, and her tone brooked no argument. Not that Hank wanted to offer any; his own attention was now on matters in hand rather than on mind.

It didn't take long to divest Lucy of her finery; Hank did it slowly, giving her garments and body the same reverential treatment, delighting in making her squirm.

"Patience," he crooned in a deep whisper. "Good things come to those---"

"—Shhhh," Lucy replied, pushing him back onto the bed and slithering up along his warm and furry form. "Speak to me with no words, Hank."

He looked up at her over him, reaching to brush back her curly hair from her face and smiled.

It was quiet, and the most uniquely serious lovemaking Hank could ever remember indulging in. Erotic, yes—Lucy was always that—but infusing the whole of their kisses and nips and touches lay a beautiful sense of deliberation that Hank found intensely arousing.

He savored her wholehearted caresses, and when she rose up on her knees to straddle him, Hank caught her waist, bracing her as she guided him between her damp thighs.

"You are mine," he murmured, voice slow and deep, "and I am yours---" So saying, Hank surged up, thrusting into Lucy and feeling the wild heat of her around him.

She arched up, her expression fierce and solemn at the same time. "It is so---" Lucy whispered, and she dropped her hands on his chest.

They rocked together, a blend of muscle, fur and skin, melding so well that for a long time neither of them wanted to let go of the other, and Hank took a glorious moment to savor Lucy's climax before his own flared closely after hers, their pleasure blending again in the lovely, intimate union.

*** *** ***

Logan sat in the big chair in the Rec room, one eye on the doorway. The heavy volume sat propped against one thigh and he had one finger wedged inside marking his place, but his attention wasn't on the prose.

He held his grim expression, although it was difficult. The whispered arguing out in the hall told him exactly who was still up and trying to get an early peek at the gifts. Logan couldn't truly blame them; the stacks were impressive, but rules were rules, and if certain people didn't get their butts back into bed, he'd have to haul them there himself.

"Unless you three out there are bleedin' you better be in bed," Logan growled. His words were more Scrooge than Santa, but effective; a sudden scamper and thumping of doors finally brought a grin to his stern features. A stray giggle let him know that certain young ladies weren't taking his threat seriously, but that was permitted too.

It was Christmas Eve, and everyone was in a fairly good mood.

Logan glanced down at his book, memorized the page number and closed it. He breathed in the deep, sweet scent of pine and relaxed a bit, pleased with the tree he'd cut and hauled. It was a lovely Douglass Fir, nearly ten feet tall, filling the far corner of the Rec Room and lending a stately presence above to the presents below.

He relaxed a bit in the serenity and shifted his glance out the window where the night was clear. Snow was predicted by morning, but for the moment, the view down the long front lawn was clear.

Tomorrow, he'd hitch up the sleigh and haul whoever wanted to go out to the end of the drive and back, just for the hell of it. The horses could use the exercise, and most of the kids had never been in a sleigh anyway.

Another sound caught his ear and he heard the professor's wheelchair roll in. Turning, Logan flashed him a quick smirk, and Xavier nodded, a twinkle in his eye. "Lonely is the vigil on Christmas Eve."

"I dunno about lonely, given the lurkers out there," Logan replied gruffly, but the other man caught his amused expression and his smile deepened as he rolled his chair closer.

"It's been a while since we've had students so . . . . young," Xavier acknowledged. "I find that both refreshing and worrying, Logan."

"Yeah," came the response. Logan cocked his head and gave a gusty sigh. "Makes us more than just teachers sometimes."

"Yes," Xavier agreed. "It's rather disconcerting to consider we are surrogate family as much as guardians and mentors to our charges here. It adds a degree of enormous responsibility."

Logan shrugged. "Better to be here with people who understand you're not a freak than out where the real monsters are, professor. Better to learn about fighting with teachers and time-outs than in dark alleys against assholes with baseball bats."

"Succinctly put, if somewhat . . . blunt," Xavier chuckled humorlessly. "I agree, Logan. And while it's a responsibility I accept wholeheartedly, it's not one I would mandate on anyone else."

Logan locked gazes with Xavier, and scowled very slowly. "Nobody's forcing anything on me; I'm here because it's the right place to be. When I need to go, I go—that's part of what makes it easy to come back. Yeah that kids are getting' younger, but somebody's got to show'em how to survive and do the right thing in this world. I'm not a saint, not by a long shot, but I still know good from bad, Professor."

Xavier smiled, a gentle and compassionate expression on his face. "Thank you, Logan. You've just re-affirmed my faith in the season."

Logan gave a pleased grunt. He slowly set his book down, heading to the ornate mahogany bar. "Yeah? Then how about a brandy for the both of us while we keep the sneaky peekers away?"

*** *** ***