I ... In Which a Promise is Made

Logan grimaced as he walked into the room they shared, his body still aching just slightly from the beating he'd received. He rolled his shoulders a bit, visibly sighing as his healing factor worked its magic ways on his many aches and pains. Marie was quiet behind him as she closed and then locked the door. Still silent, she sat down on the bed, pulling off her boots and releasing her hair from its now messy ponytail.

He leaned against the door, enjoying for the moment the simple pleasure of watching her. She stood up once more and his enjoyment took a more lascivious turn as she stepped out of her uniform. Standing up, she stretched and sent a lazy smile his way, absolutely comfortable in only her bra and panties, a matching lacy black and of course ... long, black gloves, practically sheer in their thinness. She reached one of those glove-encased arms out to him, speaking softly, "sit down."

Pulling away from the door, he grasped her hand and obeyed her command. She let go of him and stepped back as he sat down heavily, tiredness threading throughout his body. She kneeled before him, pouting at his expression and then giggled lightly. "In thirty minutes you'll be right as rain while the rest of us will still be in agony. You'll get know sympathy from me, Wolverine."

He merely grinned, knowing she was right. And then his grin faded, concern coming into his eyes. "You hurtin'?"

She shook her head back and forth. "Nah, I'm fine. I was talking about the proverbial 'us' - you know, the rest of us mutants in general." She leaned close to him, her breath whispering against his face. "I did the easy stuff - you guys risked your lives ... especially you."

And the humor was gone from her voice.

"Rogue ... " he began, still in 'mission-mode.'

Shaking her head again, she laid a finger upon his lips. "Logan, I'm serious. You, more than anyone else, go into the fray as if you're impervious to everything. And yes, I know you are more impervious than most - but you are not immortal and you can die. And I don't want to lose you.

"I love you, Logan."

And this time his voice was almost a sigh when he said her name, her real name - the name that he alone knew: "Marie ... I just know that I can get away--"

And again she cut him off, this time with words. "Yeah, you can get away with more than anyone else, I know. But it doesn't make me worry any less. Do you know that Jean - Jean, for God's sake! - looked at me in damn near pity when you jumped off the roof?" And that was something ... as the older woman frowned upon their relationship still, while everyone else had accepted it with relative ease. "Logan, it's ridiculous. Yes, you can take it, but what about me?" And she clearly spoke now. "I don't. Want. To. Lose you.

"Promise me." Her voice was soft, yet as hard and steady as steel.

He shook his head. "Promise you what? That I won't do my part, that I'll walk around on fucking tip-toes while everyone else gives their all? Marie, you know that's not me."

"I know. I know that and I don't expect that. I just want you to promise me that if you have a choice - one that will accomplish the same end with little difference in execution, that you will take the safer one. Like, taking the stairs instead of jumping off the roof?"

"The time -"

Cutting him off again, she said brusquely, "The time it took your healing factor to kick in, and your stability and sense of balance to return would have just about equaled that quick jaunt down the stairs. In fact, Scott was down them before you were quite ready to jump back into the fray."

She took a deep breath. "I just want you to promise me that you'll think every now and then, 'Gee, is the adrenaline rush worth Marie having a heart attack?' Okay?"

He was silent for a moment before meeting her gaze head-on, and he saw true worry there. "Okay, I promise. I'll ... " and he paused, looking down as he found himself about to say words he'd never thought of, let alone thought he would ever utter. And then he looked back up at her and saw that same anxiety holding her entire body taut and the words came easily. "I'll be careful."

The tension eased out of her immediately and the soft smile that spread across her face made him feel like a churlish lout for not having seen how much this bothered her before. But his words had calmed and reassured her and she radiated peace now. He was lost in contemplation - something he found himself doing quite frequently where this young woman was concerned. If being a bit more careful made his girl smile like this, he'd have no problem keeping this promise.

None at all.

She rose to her feet, and that smile was still upon her face. "I'll be right back." He watched her go, taking stock of the gentle sway of her hips, and the long undulation of her dark hair, streaked with white and he felt much, much better all around - body and mind.

---

II ... In Which a Bath is Prepared

He was in the same position she'd left him in when she returned a few minutes later, the door opening to the sound of the bath water rushing and he felt his blood start to thicken. They were going to take a bath. In other words, they were going to fuck. He began to rise to his feet, but she was before him and pushed him right back down.

"But, but ... the bath." Amazing how something as common as the sound of running bath water could turn him into a mindless idiot focused on one thing. Of course, it wasn't quite so amazing once it became clear that immersion in water was the only way that he and Marie could have skin-to-skin, no-careful-maneuvers-around-clothing-and-condoms-and-tricky-positions, sex.

"Not yet," she all but purred as she knelt before him, leaning back on her haunches. "You need to take a bath. You're covered with sweat and grime and blood. You need a bath. There are bubbles and lavender-scented soap." He grimaced, but she blithely continued, "You can take a shower tomorrow and use something manly, but tonight, I'm in charge." She began pulling off his shoes.

"Marie, I can take off my own shoes."

She smiled up at him, that flirty minx's smile that never failed to arouse him. "But I want to take care of you." She laughed lightly and completed the task. He grinned and shifted slightly. Leaning over, she began unzipping the various zippers, and unsnapping the various buttons of his uniform. She pushed it down his shoulders and arms, leaving his chest bare, which she then took advantage of posthaste, running her gloved hands - with just a hint of dampness - over the hard, hairy texture, heated and heavenly.

Logan let out a long sigh that ended on her name, "Marie."

She pulled back slowly and leaned away from him. "Up," she commanded, her voice husky, and he stood up, all the while looking down at her, his eyes transfixed on her face -- her smiling, sultry eyes, the flushed line of her cheek, the tantalizing curve of her lips. Those lips curved even more as she pulled the uniform off completely. He settled down again, awaiting her next command.

"Up," she said again, her voice rising slightly on the one word.

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Why did I just sit back down, Marie?"

She just smiled. "I didn't tell you to sit back down, now up." He stood up. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of his black underwear and her smile dimmed slightly as her breathing quickened. He swallowed and looked up at the ceiling as she slowly, gingerly pulled them down. 'Oh, he was definitely up,' he thought with a mental groan as Marie kept her position, kneeling before him, her breath whispering against his aching shaft.

And that was the only part of his entire fucking body that was aching now. Every nerve ending seemed to dwell and pound and scream in the pulsating flesh that of this very moment was practically begging for a touch, a kiss (no, no, can't go there), entry ... that's it! Goddamn entry. He wanted to be inside of Marie right now, thrusting and pounding and pouring his every breath and thought and need and desire into her as the water dove and swam against their joined bodies.

The mental growl found a voice, petering off damn near into a whimper that became her name and a plea ...

"Marie, the bath." He looked back down at her - she hadn't fucking moved! "Now."

Her eyes slowly rose up his body and she met his expression with a smile, sweet and gentle and you would never know to look at that smile that she was capable of such torture. The smile grew to wicked proportions, but then her next words were heaven-sent: "Your bath awaits you. Let's go."

---

III ... In Which Rogue Cleans Logan Up

Logan slid into the scented, hot water as Marie stood silently watching him, the continued flush heating her face. He settled down and rested his elbows on either side of the tub. He turned to her, impatiently waiting for her to take off all of her clothes and join him. She knelt before the tub. "What the hell are you doing?" He thought it was a fair enough question.

She raised an eyebrow. "What does it look like I'm doing?" And she smiled that smile again as she reached for the fucking pansy-assed lavender soap that was wonderful when she used it, but not so wonderful when she planned to use it on him.

"It looks like you're wearing too much clothing and on the wrong side of this tub." The water was hot and nice and would be a hell of a lot nicer if he were sharing it with her.

The smile remained on her lips. "All in good time." And she dipped her hands, clad in those long gloves, the sheerest shade of ebony into the hot, hot water, her fingers brushing against his thigh for a scant second. His eyes slid shut; he let out a very, deep, steadying breath. He opened his eyes and met her serene gaze.

"Do we have to use that soap?"

The sensual smile spilled into a grin. "Okay, we'll start with your hair." She placed the soap on the side of the tub and reached for the - you guessed it: strawberry-scented - shampoo bottle, opening it up, her grin was now a smirk. Pouring a generous amount into her hand, she sat up straighter and leaned over him, sinking her fingers into his thick hair. Logan stared straight ahead of him, finding the mingled lavender and strawberry scent almost pleasant. It was hard to mind some fruity, floral smells when he had such a lovely view. Marie leaned over more to get the back of his hair and the pleasure in his view increased as the cups of her bra dipped before his eyes. He sighed happily.

Pulling back, she reached to her side and grabbed a jug of water she'd set there earlier. "Tilt your head back," she commanded and he obeyed. She rinsed his hair out, carefully trying to keep the sudsy shampoo out of his eyes. Succeeding, she knelt back down and set the jug on the floor, and sweetly asked for the soap. Without argument, he simply handed it to her.

"Thank you."

She lathered the scented soap in her hands and Logan found himself mesmerized by the twirling, swirling action. He could smell the scent of lavender filling the air, filling his hyper-senses and he breathed it in, his arousal heightening. And then she was touching him; his eyes closed as she ran her hands -- the silky material of her gloves, wet and dripping a sensual touch upon his flesh, -- down his chest, lathering the suds over his muscled arms, around his side, rubbing up and down his back. His breathing became heightened as her fingers wound about his throat. He arched his neck and surrendered to her ministrations.

With a soft smile, she leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. He felt the electric pull run swiftly through his body and took steadying breaths, the taste of her lips even for that brief second worth the very small price he had to pay. Smiling shyly, she traced his lips with her finger, safely covered and he opened his mouth slightly, nipping at her. She grinned and pulled back, reaching for the empty jug. Dipping it into the water, she emptied it over his shoulders and chest, washing the soap away. Marie then sat back again and waited.

"Marie?" he questioned softly.

"Logan, stand up." Her voice was soft, a sensuous slide of honey that sent a tingling sensation roughshod through his body.

He stood up.

Marie leaned back slightly, and released a shaky breath. Reaching for the bar of soap once more, she looked up at his face, that minx's smile upon her lips again, as she lathered it up. Her gaze remained locked upon him as she set the soap down, and laid her hands upon the side of his hips. He raised his eyes skyward, releasing his own shaky breath. Her gloves were dripping wet and slick with sudsy soap as she stroked the outside of his legs. Breathing in softly, quickly, she circled her fingers around his ankles beneath the water. And then up her hands went again, gathering up the soap still on his legs as she slid her fingers against the inside of his calves, his thighs.

His hands were clenched at his side and his breathing was heavy and a strangled groan escaped from his throat as her fingers wound about him, stroking the length of him. "Logan," she whispered his name as her eyes dropped from his face. With a shuddering breath, she released him and sat back. "You need..." She paused and licked her lips. "You need to rinse off."

---

IV ... In Which Immersion in Water Brings Satisfaction

He was silent and still for a moment and then slowly slid back into the water, casting his gaze about the room. Seeing the sheer scarf that she had left in here earlier, he snatched it up and wound it about one hand. Reaching out, he cupped her cheek and with his other hand, placed the soft material about her lower face. His mouth opened as his upper lip stroked the pillow of her bottom lip. Softly, he suckled on her lip through the scarf, his breath mingling with hers. Her tongue slipped out, pressing hungrily against the sheer cloth, and he felt the groan tremble from her as she was denied greater access to him. Soothing her with his lips, he dropped his hand, resting it against the small of her back.

She rose onto her knees, leaning more into his kiss. Against his mouth, she whispered, "love you," and he pulled away, smiling into her eyes - a soft smile that she alone brought out in him and as always, that tenderness arose in him the primal desire to make her his. He rose to his knees and with a grunt, pulled her over the rim of the tub and into the water with him. There were quick brushes of skin against a skin, but they were so brief that he barely felt a thing.

"Logan!" she cried out, laughing, but her laughter quickly dissolved as she sat upon his lap, the water swelling well past their hips. She moaned as she felt his hard thighs pressed against her bare flesh. Squirming, she moved against his throbbing shaft. His own moan was buried in the double threat of cloth and skin as his lips moved down her chin, sliding down her throat, the scarf trailing in the water. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her hands clinging to his neck, her fingers entwined in his hair.

"Logan," she whispered softly in a half-sigh, half-moan as he carefully, very carefully, slid the straps of her bra down, while she unhooked the clasp in the back, letting the black lace fall unfettered between them, drifting in the water's currents. He palmed the soft pillow of her breast in his hand, his mouth fastening upon one hardened peak and the friction of soft silk against the tightened bud was nearly unbearable in its painful pleasure. Sitting up straighter, she tightened her grip about his shoulders, her fingers clutching at his hair, his name a constant cry upon her lips ... that cry growing in fervent need which he responded to.

Pulling back, he reached under the water, unable to wait one second more and hooked his finger around the band of her underwear with a feral grin. Tearing them off, he flung them over the side of the tub while Marie sat up straighter. The scarf lay across her shoulder, translucent upon her chest as his hands dropped beneath the water, moving in between them.

He parted the folds of her flesh and with a growl pushed into her, a cry wrenching from her lips at his intensity. Looking down at him, she gloried in the savage look upon his face, savoring the wild glitter in his eyes as his hips thrust upwards, his hands on either of her hips holding her in place, the water splashing all about them. She clutched at him, her nails all but ripping through her sheer gloves as she raked them across his back.

Her legs were wrapped around him and with every upward plunge, she settled more firmly upon him, grinding into him, urging him on ... urging him to go harder and faster, harder and his hands tightened against her hips, and the room distilled to just the two of them connecting as deeply ... as intimately as two souls, two bodies could.

Everything slowly spun back into place as he fell back, his breathing coming in shallow gasps as she carefully steadied herself, hands falling from his shoulders, resting on either side of the tub. She didn't move; her eyes were closed as the tremors ran through her body, ripples of pleasure weaving through every part of her. And then she opened her eyes at a slight growl from him. "Love ya, babe," and he was still growling and she felt it sing and dance through her blood. She gazed at him and fought the incredible urge to just lean over and kiss him for all she was worth. Of course, even if it wouldn't have killed him, she still didn't have the energy to do it. She could barely summon a nod in response. He grinned and in that grin, she amazingly found the strength to move and so she did, wiggling experimentally atop him.

"You all recovered, sugar?"

He sat back up, that grin reaching Wolverine-state. "Oh yeah. Goddamn, I love taking baths." He caught the trailing scarf and pressed a hand against her back as he lowered his mouth to her breast, sending heat spiraling through her body again.

"Me, too," she murmured as her head fell back and he hardened inside of her, his hips already begin to jerk beneath the water. "Me, too."