They'd cleared out of the sleazy little motel shortly after dawn, much to Rogue's annoyance - that only gave them around four hours' sleep, and she was tired and cranky. Logan did his best to placate her with a sausage-egg-and-cheese biscuit from McDonald's, but she only mumbled a thank you and munched at it crabbily, dropping crumbs all over the Harley's black leather seat. He wasn't terribly thrilled about that, but he let it go for the sake of keeping the peace; she was cross enough as it was, and he didn't need her sulking for the next two hundred miles. She did crack a smile when he growled after burning his mouth on the damn hot coffee he'd bought, and he wasn't sure if she found the growl funny or the fact that he'd just hurt himself, so he merely raised an eyebrow at her and let that go, too.

Breakfast finished, they continued on down the highway; it was a warm, clear morning, and Logan was immensely glad they were going west - driving into a sunrise that bright would've hurt his sensitive eyes something fierce. Rogue was unusually quiet, but he just assumed it was because she was still tired and bitchy; her arms were wrapped tightly around his ribcage, and her forehead was resting on the back of his shoulder, so she couldn't be too terribly pissed, he figured. Another hundred miles or so, and he'd stop at a decent motel or roadside inn, get them a room, and let her sleep. That would put them behind schedule a little bit, but then, he wasn't much for timetables anyway. That was more Scott's thing.

He sighed. Scott. Jesus, he hadn't thought about the team or their dead leader once since the trip started, which had been the point. After the memorial service for Scott, Jean, and Xavier, Rogue had withdrawn from the rest of the school, spending far too much time in her room and generally skipping out on life. Things had gotten worse when Bobby had dumped her for Kitty, and the students' rumor mill was currently buzzing about him having told Rogue that she was "disturbed" and needed "professional help" - as if anybody in the school's general populace wasn't disturbed over the recent events. Logan had gone to her room and knocked tentatively, and when the door was opened, he'd found himself with an armful of sobbing girl. She'd begged him to take her somewhere - anywhere - as long as she could get out of the mansion, away from the kids and the sympathetic looks and the whispers, and Logan had agreed, for no real reason other than that he needed a break, too. So he'd promised to take her on a road trip to wherever the hell they ended up going, and she'd actually looked up at him and smiled for the first time in what, to him, had felt like forever.

Their current course was going to take them through much of the northern section of the United States, and then up across the border into Alberta, Canada, which was where they'd met; he'd mentioned the big rodeo in Calgary, and she'd gotten excited about it, which he supposed was a good sign. He had a sneaking suspicion she just wanted to call bullshit on the story he'd told her about his being able to ride a bronco, which was fine with him - if he had to get thrown a good nine or ten feet from the back of a bucking horse to snap her out of her depression, then so be it. Not that he'd actually get thrown, of course - if they needed the money by the time they got there, he'd hang on to that rope with everything he had and win every cash prize available. But that was thinking ahead quite a bit - they'd only just crossed into Wisconsin, and they had a long way to go, especially if they were going to have to stop every few hours so Rogue could pee.

The arms around his midsection loosened and slid downward a bit. Hmm. Must be going to sleep again, Logan thought, and turned his head a little so she would hear him better. "Hey," he said, and Rogue's arms went back up to where they'd been before. "Stay awake, kid - I don't want you fallin' off."

"Ah am awake," she huffed, her tone sharp and irritable.

"Yeah, you jus' be sure you stay that way," he replied, getting somewhat annoyed, and turned back to face the road.

Ten or fifteen minutes later, the same thing happened: her hold on his ribcage lessened, and her arms began a very gradual slide down toward his hips. "Dammit, kid," he said, loudly, and her arms once again returned to their starting position. "Stay awake! I ain't spendin' all mornin' scrapin' yer ass off the asphalt - got me?"

"Yes, sir," she answered, in such a bratty voice that Logan was tempted to pull over, put her over his knee, and spank her until she stopped being so damned obnoxious. The mental image that thought produced was far too appealing for his liking, so he filed it away in his brain under Things I Shouldn't Think About But Do Anyway When I'm Jerking Off Because I'm A Dirty Old Man and gunned the Harley up to seventy-five.

Not half an hour later, her arms started to slide down again. By this time, Logan was figuring he'd better find a fucking off-ramp and get the girl someplace to sleep, because he wasn't going to spend the next two hours trying to keep her awake and getting snarked at. He could only take so much, and his temper was notoriously short when he was aggravated. So this time, he didn't bother to say anything to her - she was still leaning securely on his back, and if she started to slip, he could wake her up in plenty of time to keep her from falling off. And if all else failed, he'd put her up in front of him and hold her up until he could get her into a bed. And that thought was getting filed away, too.

Rogue's hands, which had been tightly clasped together, relaxed and slipped downward with the movement of her arms; her palms eased down over his abdomen, her fingertips brushed his ornate belt buckle, and the big green sign on the side of the road read NEXT EXIT: 5 MILES.

Okay, he thought, I can handle this for five more miles. No problem.

Her arms slid further down, her hands coming to a comfortable stop directly between his legs.

Four and a half miles. I'll live. It'll be just fine and dandy. Yessirree.

Her fingers curved inward as they rested against the Harley's seat, and the result was that her hands ended up cupping his crotch, her fingertips tucked neatly under his balls, her palms cradling his cock - which was starting to harden. Shit.

Four miles. Son of a bitch, four goddamn miles!

She made a little noise in her sleep, and her hands twitched reflexively; given their current location and position, that was pretty much akin to her giving his naughty bits a teaser-squeeze, with a smidgen of a grope on the side.

I should wake her up, he thought dimly, trying to focus on the road. She can't know she's doing that...

The heel of her right hand pressed against his stiffening shaft and rubbed downward.

Any minute now, he would turn his head and say something and wake her up. Aaaany minute...

He felt her warm breath in his ear as she whispered, "Logan..."

He pulled the bike over onto the shoulder and screeched to a halt, spraying gravel in all directions. Turning to face her, he discovered she was not only wide awake, but looking at him from under her lashes, smiling coquettishly.

"What the flamin' hell d'you think yer doin'!?" he exclaimed, vexed beyond his ability to use his indoor voice.

She shrugged and smiled a little wider. "Alleviatin' the boredom?"

His brows knitted together angrily. "Whose boredom," he asked tightly, "yers or mine?"

She shrugged again, which unnerved him further. "You bored, too?" She leaned closer and slid her arms up over his shoulders, but he grabbed her wrists and held them firmly - a bit too firmly, judging from her wince of pain.

"Ya don't do shit like that just 'cause yer bored," he snarled, patience dangling by an uneasy thread. "Don't. Play. With me."

She jerked out of his grasp and folded her arms, glaring at him. "What makes you think Ah'm playin'?"

He smoothed his sideburns down with one hand, trying to keep his temper in check. "You keep yer hands up where they're s'posed to be, or put 'em on the grips by the seat. Understand?"

She narrowed her slightly red eyes and gave him a rather appraising stare. "You tellin' me you didn't like that?" She pointed at the noticable ridge in his jeans, her gaze never leaving his face.

He resisted the urge to growl at her and replied, "O' course I did! Jesus Christ, darlin', I'm a man!"

Her lips curved into what might have been a smirk. "So what's the problem?"

He turned back around and white-knuckled the handlebars. "You jus' keep yer hands where I toldja."

She heaved a short, grouchy little sigh and wrapped her arms around his ribcage again. "Fine."

He guided the Harley back onto the road and took off, jaw set, eyes dark. What the hell was she thinking, pulling a stunt like that? He made a mental note to never let that girl get sleep-deprived ever again - it obviously made her do bizarre things.

He was glancing up at the EXIT: 1 MILE sign over the freeway when he felt her hands slide up under his t-shirt, her palms shockingly cool against his skin.

"What're ya doin', darlin'?" he asked, voice sounding a bit weary even to him.

"Mah hands're cold," she replied, stroking the soft hair over his muscled belly.

She wasn't lying - her fingers were icy, and the feel of them dancing over his abdomen was doing wicked, wicked things to him. However, he figured he'd just get her some gloves when they got to town, and she'd be fine. He chuckled. Imagine, him having to buy Rogue some gloves because she hadn't brought any!

Apparently, she took his amusement as a sign to pass Go and collect two hundred dollars, because the next thing he knew, those cold fingertips were inching down under the waistband of his jeans and brushing the end of his still-hard cock. "Holy--" he blurted, and drove off the road.

He'd meant to just pull over onto the shoulder again, but he was finding it difficult to think straight - for some reason - and misjudged the distance; he ended up going down a steep embankment and driving into a wooded area at the bottom of a ravine, and thank God she got ahold of his ribs again for that, or he might've found himself growing back parts he really didn't want to have to grow back.

He finally managed to stop the bike about two feet from a fallen tree that had been hit by lightning or something, and killed the engine. "Son of a bitch!" he raged, getting up to pace furiously. "I swear, girl, I have half a mind to--"

"To what?" she asked, doggedly.

He glared at her, then looked away, swiping a hand through his hair. The truth was, he didn't know if he wanted to hit her or kiss her - and he wasn't sure which one bothered him more. "Ferget it."

"Oh, no," she insisted, and got off the bike to come and stand in front of him. "What is it you wanna do, Logan?"

"Look," he gritted, "I know yer havin' a rough time. And I know ya jus' got dumped. But jus' because ya gave yer virtue to Icecube, that don't mean you should go and throw yerself at any old man that happens to like a decent grope. Yer better'n that, and I ain't gonna be the rebound guy."

She slapped him. Hard. "How dare you?" she cried, cheeks pink with anger and embarrassment. "What kinda girl d'you think Ah am?"

"Not the kind that'd go fer a slap-and-tickle just because she's bored," he retorted, refusing to feel guilty. "Yer goin' too far, too fast, and it ain't good fer either of us."

"Oh! That kind," Rogue snapped, voice rising. "Like you've got room to talk, mister! Ah've got your memories, you know! Let's see..." She searched inwardly, digging through the neighborhood of Memory Lanes in her head until she found Logan's. "Ah'm a little rusty since Ah got the cure, though - was it four girls in Calgary, or five?"

He growled. "That's different!"

She folded her arms and glared at him. "Why?"

"Because yer a..." He paused, realizing it might not be in his best interest to continue on this track.

"Why, Logan?" She stalked up to him and looked him squarely in the eyes. "Ah hope you weren't gonna say 'Because you're a girl' or anything along those lines, because Ah might have to kick your ass."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Think ya could, huh?"

Her right hand came up to slap him again - but he brought up a forearm and blocked, knocking her hand away easily. "You--"

"My ass ain't gettin' any more kicked, darlin'. Try again."

Weeks, months, years of pent-up anger, frustration, and fear exploded within her; she flew at him in a fury, punching and kicking, using every technique she knew. Unfortunately for her, the knowledge she was drawing from was Logan's, both from his memories and from the hours and hours they'd spent sparring and battling various whatnots in the Danger Room. As a result, he knew every move she was going to make almost before she did, and every time he blocked, dodged, or parried, she got angrier.

It was so like him, she thought, to be just avoiding the blows, never fighting back. Stupid man! Supposedly the biggest badass on Earth, and yet whenever there was a major problem, he picked up that bad ass and put it on the Harley and ran like shit. She aimed a kick at his ribs and he stepped back, making her spin around lest she lose her balance; she expected him to come up behind her and grab her, but he didn't. He just stood there, waiting, so she leapt at him, bellowing a short, sharp attack cry, just as he had taught her.

"That's it," she shouted, tears she didn't remember crying running down her face. "Just run away, Logan! You're so fuckin' good at that!"

He blocked the punch she'd aimed at his face and ducked the next one. "Think my ass is still pretty unkicked, though. Weren't you payin' attention in any o' those combat classes, kid?"

"Ah'm not a kid!" She grabbed a tree branch overhead and drove both feet forward, hoping to hit him in the chest, but he merely grabbed her ankles and gave a mighty tug that sent her crashing painfully to the ground, the air leaving her lungs in a great whoosh.

"No?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Ya look to me like a cranky, overtired kid that needs a spankin' and a nap."

She snarled at him and rolled over on her side to bring her leg up hard into his groin; he hadn't been expecting that, and took the blow full-force with a howl of pain. "Didn't see that one comin', didja?" she smirked, still gasping for breath. "That's 'cause that one ain't one of yours - that's a good old Mississippi Nut Crunch."

Crouched on the ground, hands cupping his throbbing crotch, Logan looked up at her from under his brows and growled, finally angry.

Rogue got to her feet and took a defensive stance, hands flattened into blades and poised in front of her at perfect forty-five-degree angles - just the way he'd taught her. "C'mon, Logan," she challenged, a smile curving her lips. "Show this kid whatcha got."

He launched himself at her, roaring, and slammed into her with more force than she could block, moving too fast for her to dodge. He drove her straight backward about four feet, bringing her to a brain-jarring halt as they crashed into the fallen tree; the trunk was thick and solid and broken off its stump at an angle, making the part she collided with up high enough to catch her squarely in the back. Her ribcage ached from first the fall, and now this, and she was wondering if he was angry enough to break bones; his hands wrapped brutally tight around her shoulders, he shook her roughly to make her look up at him - and then he was kissing her.

It took her a second to realize that was what he was doing, because no one had ever kissed her like that before - it was hard and demanding and forceful, the sheer pressure of it pushing her head back. But when she did tilt her head back, trying to accomodate that weight against her lips, his hands left her shoulders to tangle in her hair, pressing against the back of her head, holding her there. His lips were surprisingly soft, and the rough, scratchy whiskers on his upper lip and chin complemented them nicely; his tongue traced the fullest part of her mouth, demanding entrance, and she found herself twisting her fingers in his hair and opening her mouth up to him. He tasted like coffee and cigars, bitter and sweet; he explored her mouth eagerly, hungrily, with deep velvety strokes that made her forget to breathe.

She arched backward over the tree trunk, and his mouth began to work its way over her jaw and down her neck, his kisses becoming licks and bites that made her gasp and clutch at him. "Logan," she whispered, and he responded with a growl, one hand toying with the zipper on her jacket. "Logan, please..."

"Please, what?" he said, pulling the zipper open and slipping a warm hand into her coat to stroke her breast through the thin cotton of her t-shirt.

She inhaled into his touch, pushing her breast against his hand. "Please, please..."

His thumb stroked across her hardened nipple, teasing it into an aching point. "What, darlin'?" he whispered against her throat. "What is it you want?"

"Logan... Logan, Ah..."

He pulled her shirt up, eased her bra cup aside, and closed his mouth around her nipple; she gasped so loudly it was almost a shout, and dug her fingers into the collar of his jacket. "What d'you want, darlin'...?"

His warm breath on her skin, his hot mouth and wicked tongue... oh God, she couldn't think straight, let alone form a sentence. She was so wet she could feel it, a deep throbbing ache that gnawed away at her sanity and stole her senses. "Logan... don't... don't make me say it..."

He inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of her arousal, savoring the sweet torture of it, knowing he couldn't...

He pulled away from her, leaving her bent back over the fallen tree, one breast exposed, her skin flushed, chest heaving. "If ya can't even say it, darlin' - we ain't doin' it." He straddled the Harley, his back to her, and hit the ignition. "C'mon," he said loudly, over the noise of the engine. "Next town's only a few miles away."

She blinked, embarrassed and confused, her lust-addled brain refusing to comprehend what had just happened. "Logan...?" She walked around the bike, straightening her clothes, and came to a stop in front of him, looking down into his unreadable expression. "Logan!"

"Come on," he said, without looking up.

"No! Logan - what the hell was that just now? Why're you--"

He raised his eyes to hers, his gaze dark and tinged with a kind of heat she'd never seen in them before. "Sucks to be left wantin', don't it?"

Her jaw dropped. "You-- you were just-- you son of a--"

He growled at her, patience gone. "Look, will ya get on the flamin' bike? I smell rain comin', it ain't too far off, and I'd really like to get us into a room before the sky opens up and starts dumpin' on us."

She folded her arms and fixed him with a look of pure fury. "Oh no, you don't - you don't do that to me and then just stop and tell me what to do! Ah got half a mind to--"

"To what?" he asked, doggedly.

"Gah! Ah swear, Logan, if Ah don't hear some explainin' real soon, Ah'm gonna--"

"Kick my ass?" he asked mildly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

She gritted her teeth and gave him the finger. "Start talkin', Logan. Ah'm waitin'."

He grabbed her by the upper arm, pulled her down into his lap, and kissed her fiercely, pressing her back until she was leaning on the handlebars of the bike; she fought him at first, refusing to let her lips soften, thumping his chest halfheartedly, but soon enough she forgot her anger and was welcoming his kiss, opening up to him, drawing him closer.

After two or three minutes of being kissed that thoroughly, Rogue could barely remember her own name, let alone why she'd been angry. "Uhmah.. wh..."

He gave her a rare, warm smile and hauled her close, his lips brushing her ear as he rumbled, "I didn't bring any condoms on this damn trip. That means if you wanna see what I've got, I gotta make a stop at the mini-mart before we get a room. Get. On. The. Flamin'. Bike."

She practically leapt onto the buddy seat, wrapping her arms tightly around his ribcage, and hung on for dear life as he peeled out and drove the Harley back up the steep incline to the road.

Back on the highway, Logan pushed the motorcycle to eighty miles an hour, trying to get to the next exit before he lost it and fucked the poor girl right there on the yellow line; and as the big green road sign that read NEXT EXIT: 3 MILES loomed into view, Rogue's hands slid down his front and stopped right between his legs. "You're doin' eighty," she said into his ear, peering over his shoulder at the speedometer.

"Ain't fast enough," he gasped around the sharp intake of breath he took when she squeezed his cock through his jeans.

She drew his zipper down and slipped her fingers into his open fly, giggling. "This fast enough for you, sugah?"

He groaned. "Shit."

"What?"

For an answer, Logan pointed a thumb over his shoulder - and when Rogue turned back to look, she gasped. "Aw no..."

Logan pulled the bike over and refastened his zipper as quickly and subtly as possible, trying to make his erection go away with the sheer force of his will. "Just sit there and look pretty, darlin'. It'll be all right." A shadow loomed over his shoulder and then down onto the pavement, and Logan put on his best Polite Face, sighing.

"Somethin' wrong, Officer?"


END.