Mystique has always wanted him.

To Logan, that has never been a secret. He has heightened senses, after all. He first picked it up during their fight on Liberty Island. Ironically, he’d sensed it right after she’d kicked him in the balls, and didn’t that just take the cake. She’d smelled wet and hot and ready and in any other situation Logan would’ve had her up against the wall and would’ve fucked her brains out. But as it was, he was too preoccupied with kicking her ass into next week.

When she slipped into his tent that night at Alkali Lake, wearing Jeannie’s face, he should have known. He should have noticed she smelled wrong, that she wouldn’t come to him that night, not after what she had told him outside. But he was a little too lovelorn to notice.

The scars were a dead give-away, though. And that night in the tent, he hated her. Not for showing up looking like Jean, not for donning Storm’s features, not even for trying to kill him on a regular basis.

He hated her for tempting him with Rogue.

When she had looked down at him with Marie’s chocolate eyes, all sorts of promises in their depths, Logan had been tempted, so much that it scared him shitless. He didn’t throw her out because he didn’t want her. He threw her out because he knew that he’d make her wear his little Marie’s face while he fucked her.

And he didn’t know whom he hated more – her or himself.

Then one day, three months after Alkali Lake, he stumbles across Mystique in one of his favourite bars about an hour’s drive from Westchester. Saying he’s surprised would be an understatement if there ever was one. He never took her to be the social type.

When she walks up to him with a pretty face and blond hair, he ignores her. Ignores her snide remarks about their mission. He even ignores her when she talks about Jean because, doesn’t that lead to all kinds of uncomfortable places. But when she starts on Rogue, he finds his hand around her throat before a single thought has even formed in his head.

“Don’t ever say her name again.”

She merely smirks at him, challenge in her voice and heat between her thighs. “Sore spot?”

“No,” he’d growls. “You simply don’t get to say her name.”

“Would you please let go? I’ll have to scream.” Sweetest smile on earth. Makes him want to wipe it off her face. He lets go and she rubs her neck. “My, my. I bet you like it rough.”

He doesn’t grace her with an answer, just gets up and moves to leave. He’s almost at the door when he hears her voice over the music.

“I could be her, you know?”

Mutants aren’t really an eyebrow-raiser in this part of the country but a few heads turn when the claws come out.

Laughter drifts across the room, laughter like honey and milk, and his hands, clenched into fists, tremble.

God, it’s so tempting.

But this time, he retracts the claws, opens the door and steps outside. Takes a deep breath, walks to his motorcycle and drives away. Her laughter still ringing in his ears.

Two weeks later, he meets her again. This time, he picks up on her scent as soon as she steps through the door. She walks over to him, her hips swaying, and he realises she wears Rogue’s eyes.

His knuckles itch.

She gets herself a drink and slides into his booth, smiling knowingly. “Hi there, handsome.”

“What d’you want?”

She takes a sip and smiles, gesturing at him. “Can’t I sit with an old buddy for a drink?” He just raises his eyebrow at that, and she laughs harshly. Then her tone turns silky. “You know exactly what I want.”

Her foot sneaks up his thigh then, and he shifts in his seat. For a second, Rogue’s features flicker across her face, but then it’s another woman again, a different woman with big, chocolate-coloured eyes that hold promises of things he doesn’t dare dream of.

He downs his beer in one go.

“You up to it?”

It’s a challenge, and he doesn’t know whether he wants to refuse her. Hell, he should. He should either hand her over to the X-geeks or just high-tail it out of there.

But he does neither.

“I am. But under one condition.”

“I’m all ears.” Her foot moves up higher, and he shifts again.

“You tell anyone about this and I’ll rip your fuckin’ throat out, take a picture and hang it on my bedroom wall.”

Mystique smirks. “Whatever floats your boat, sweetie.”

“And one more thing. You don’t talk. Ever.”

Her foot finds its goal then, and his eye twitches a little. She tilts her head to the side, smiling softly. “We have a deal.” And she changes, blond hair turning brown and white.

Logan thought his dirty, dirty little secret would be safe. No one really notices when he returns from his bar trips smelling like smoke and alcohol and sex, and no one really cares either because he’s Logan and getting drunk and having one-nighters is what Logan does.

But one night, after he almost killed Mystique for whispering his name in Rogue’s voice, Ororo finds him in the kitchen, crying his eyes out in self-disgust. And when he later fucks her on the kitchen counter, he wants nothing more than to put his knuckles to his head and just fucking end it all.

Ororo never mentions it afterwards and he hates himself even more for that. Because now he’s not only hurt himself, he’s hurt a friend.

Two months into their ‘thing’, he finds himself fucking her against the wall of the ladies’ room at a dingy little bar 20 minutes from the mansion. He knows he shouldn’t let her get this close to the place he calls home now, but she found him sooner than he’d expected.

She’s holding on to the toilet stall, making it rattle with their movements. Her harsh pants fill the small room, echoing off the tiled walls, filling his senses. Clouding his mind so much that he doesn’t hear the door opening and closing again. Doesn’t hear the sound of boots on the tile floor, the little surprised gasp that falls from full lips.

But his mind becomes frighteningly clear when he hears that voice.

“Logan!”

End