Watching Bobby and Kitty skating on the pond hurts much more than I initially thought it would. Sure, I’m jealous and frustrated, but to actually see him flirt with her so openly – he could beat me into a bloody pulp and it wouldn’t hurt so much. I don’t really think while packing my things, but once I reach the hall downstairs, I feel eerily calm.

I’m not surprised when Logan steps into the hall and asks, “Need a lift, kid?”

He attempts to look casual, but I know he sees this as fulfilling his promise to me. “No.”

“Where you goin’?” He eyes my bag, my coat, and I don’t even have to actually say it.

Instead, I look at him, my heart in my eyes. “You don’t know what it’s like, to be afraid of your powers. Be afraid to get close to anybody.”

He frowns, and I know he doesn’t like hearing me talk about this. “Yeah. I do.”

I sigh. “I wanna be able to touch people, Logan. A hug. A handshake.” I swallow, and his eyes darken. “A kiss.”

He steps closer to me, and I half expect him to ask if I’m doing this for Bobby, but then he says, “You really enjoy feeling sorry for yourself, don’t you?” I stare up at him, dumbfounded, and he takes my silence as confirmation. “Look at yourself, Rogue. You think you have it tough? Remember that fancy diplomatic thing I had to accompany Storm and the Professor to?” I nod, still unable to formulate a reply to his accusations. “There was this guy. His name is Black Bolt. He can never, ever speak, because one word from him is enough to evaporate a whole city.”

I have to look away, because what he says is true. There are people out there who have it worse than me. Lots of them, actually. But can’t I feel sorry for myself anyway and am I not allowed to want to change my situation?

“Marie, look at me.” His voice is soft, but it allows no argument. I meet his eyes, dark and earnest. “Do you trust me?”

I smile lop-sidedly. “Of course I trust you, Lo-“

I don’t get any further because suddenly his lips are on mine and his hand is in my hair and his other on my face, and it takes me a full 5 seconds to actually process this information. And then it takes me another 10 seconds to realise that nothing is happening.

He pulls back and I stare at him. He smirks. “Gotcha.” His hand is still on my cheek, and all of a sudden the drain starts and he pours into me. He jerks back, but he’s still smirking at me.

I dropped my bag when he kissed me, and as I take an involuntary step away from him, I stumble over it and land on my butt, knocking my head into the door.

He crouches down next to me, his face serious. “Guess you and the Ice Prick didn’t try that in a while, huh?” I can’t do anything but swallow hard because it’s true, and he grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet. “Marie, you’re stronger than this. You don’t have to throw away a part of yourself. You can learn to control it.” His grip on my hand tightens. “Like I learned to control myself.”

And then he pulls up my sleeve, and my eyes widen because no one is supposed to know, but of course he’s not fooled. He traces a thumb over the already closing cuts, quickly enough so that my charged-up skin doesn’t react, and looks at me.

“And you can learn to control this.” I look away, but he puts a hand to my head and makes me face him. “You will never cut yourself again, do you understand?” I nod before I have a chance to think it through, and he gives me a little smile. “Good.”

Picking up my bag, he leads me back to the stairs, and I can’t help but stop there and look at him questioningly. “Why are you doing this? Why don’t you just let me make my own mistakes?”

He quirks a grin, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I care about you, Marie. A great deal. And if this thing is permanent... I’d lose you, and I’m not... That’s not something I can accept.”

I smile shakily. “That’s probably the sweetest thing anybody ever said to me.”

He grins again, but this time it’s a true grin. “Don’t tell anybody, though. I got a rep to lose.” He winks at me, the tension that filled the hall draining away. “Sleep tight, kid.”

I watch him go, the hall falling silent. “You too, Logan. You too.”

The next week passes in a blur. Magneto attacks Worthington Labs, nearly destroying the whole complex. Bobby and Slut Girl have their big moments, one kicking Johnny’s ass, the other saving the golden boy.

Logan made me stay behind, and even though I know why he does it, it stings. I know he thinks I can’t face temptation, but watching the news cured me of my desire to be normal. The interviews with mutants who, predictably, were not welcomed back by their families hit too close to home for comfort, and only strengthened the resolve to deal with this that Logan awakened in me.

They return in the dead of night, looking battered and defeated despite having won the fight, and I don’t dare ask what happened. Logan asks me to come to his room with him, and we just sit together in the darkness until he falls asleep at 4am. I watch him sleep, and again I wonder how I could ever have thought of jeopardising this.

The Mansion falls back into its routine easily enough, the majority of the students never even suspecting that a war like none before has been fought right under their noses, and I find myself pushing the memories of the darkness in the team’s eyes’ when they returned to the back of my mind. It is simply too easy to let myself be sucked back into the normal routine of the school.

Time passes, and two weeks after the fight on Alcatraz island, I sit through my final Literature class exam. The weather has brightened, and I find it hard to concentrate on the text, especially with Jubes popping her gum next to me every 20 seconds. I sigh, frustrated. Finishing the essay with a relieved look at my watch, I lean back in my chair, sighing deeply.

The others finish as well, one after the other, and Logan looks up. “Everybody done? Put ‘em on my desk, then you can go for lunch.” The usual commotion of class dissolving, and I grab my bag, taking my essay to the desk, putting it on the pile forming there.

Logan looks up briefly. “Rogue, stay behind. I need to talk to you.”

Jubilee appears next to me, putting her essay on the pile, and she snickers as she leaves with Peter in tow, winking at me at the door. I just roll my eyes at her and make shooing motions in her direction. They leave, both grinning, and the door closes with an awful air of finality.

Logan rummages through one of the drawers of the desk, then pulls out a newspaper and motions for me to come closer. I drop my bag on the floor, and he stands behind me.

“Put your arms on the desk, palms down.”

I look at him, more than just a little confused, but his face is unreadable. “Why?”

“You said you trusted me.”

“Yes, I said that, and I do, but why do you want me to put my arms on the desk?”

“Listen. I’m not gonna harm you, I promise.”

I realise with a sort of detached, clinical interest that he said ‘harm’. Not ‘hurt’. I shoot him one last look, then I lean forward and put my arms on the desk, awfully conscious of the way I’m presenting myself to him.

He places the newspaper between my palms, one of his fingers brushing against my hand lightly as he draws back. “Read this.”

It’s an article about the cure, and my breath catches in my throat – it’s not permanent. I would have thrown away the trust and love of my people for something that would have come back to pinch me in the ass.

“Read it out loud.”

I almost shrug – where can be the harm in that. Clearing my throat once, I focus on the words in front of me. “Following the riots on Alcatraz Island on Monday, Worthington Labs have issued a statement saying that the shot known as the Mutant Cure is not permanent...” He just stands behind me while I read, but as I reach the word ‘permanent’, he moves forward, and then there’s the sharp pain of being slapped. I gasp both in shock and surprise and a little pain, and turn around to look at him. My face has to be one big question mark, but he looks totally calm.

“Continue.” I stare at him. Is he kidding? He has to be kidding, or maybe I’m hallucinating because there is no way in Hell that Logan is spanking me in his classroom. Or anywhere, for that matter. I continue staring, and he gives me The Eyebrow. “Go on.”

At a loss for words, I turn back to the newspaper in front of me, fighting to regain my voice. “Mutants from all over New York,” another hit, now on my other cheek, “who had received the shot reported that”, another, and another, “their mutations re-activated, usually within,” three more in rapid succession, “10 to 14 days after the shot.”

I finish with a gasp, my breathing ragged, my face flushed. I note that his breathing has picked up as well, and I turn to look at him over my shoulder. If the (very impressive) bulge in his pants is anything to go by, he’s thoroughly enjoying this. And, as some detached part of my mind that is probably made up of all the people I absorbed so far notes, so do I.

Dear God, it feels good. It feels right.

Our eyes meet, and I know that he knows. Hell, he can probably smell it on me. His face is impassive as he says, “Read it again.” But his eyes... Everything he’s feeling right now is in his eyes, and my knees turn into jelly.

Breathing deeply, I turn back to the newspaper, and read. And again. And again, until I collapse in a gasping heap on the floor and my insides are on fire. He drops to his knees next to me, leaning his head against my shoulder, breathing heavily.

“God, Logan, that was...”

His hand is on my hip, his fingers digging into my flesh, and I wince. I really don’t wanna know what my butt is going to look like later on. His breath brushes against my skin, and I shiver. And then... Oh God, his hand slides between my legs, and his mere touch is enough to push me over the edge, “Yeah, baby, just like that,” and his other hand comes up to stifle my cry, and I arch into him as he increases the pressure, and stars explode before my eyes.

He holds me as I come down from my high, but then he releases me and gets up. Through my orgasm-induced haze, I note that he’s still hard, and I reach for him, making him stop. He looks down at me, his eyes clouded with lust, and I smile a little. “Let me...”

My hand slides up his leg, but he side-steps me, shaking his head. “No. You’re not ready.”

Um. What? “Yes, I am. I’m ready.”

He grabs my arm and jerks me to my feet, growling. “No, you’re not.” One look into his eyes tells me that he’s only barely restraining himself, and I swallow hard, the growl that vibrates through us both making the hair on the back of my neck rise. “Don’t confuse me with your little boy toy, Marie. You know me. You know what I’m like when I lose control. Don’t make me lose it. Deadly skin or not, I can’t promise you that you’d walk out of here in one piece if I did.”

I swallow again, nodding shakily. “Okay. Okay. I’m not ready.”

His gaze softens, and he slides one leather-encased hand over my cheek. “Don’t think I don’t want you. God, I do. But there’s a lot you have to learn before you can take me on.”

I smile lop-sidedly. “Aren’t you the modest one.”

He lets go of my arm, and I rub it absent-mindedly. For some reason, this hurts worse than my butt does. I won’t be able to sit for a couple of days, but that’s something I can deal with. Actually, the thought of the bruises that I know will be there gets my juices flowing all on its own.

He sits behind his desk, bringing the exam papers into order, and I lean against the edge of the desk, watching him. He looks up briefly, his eyes unreadable. “You’ll be late for lunch.”

I cock an eyebrow. How easily he falls back into the teacher/student relationship. I lean down, catching his eye, but he turns away. “Why?” The question comes out much softer than I intended to, and he looks at me, serious but distant in a way that makes me shiver.

“I don’t want to talk about this now, Marie. Just... just go.”

I’m taken aback, and move away from the desk. “Logan...”

“You’ll only get mashed potatoes if you don’t hurry up.” His voice is strangely flat, and I swallow hard, disappointment and confusion gripping my insides.

What the hell is going on?

Logan and I spend the next 3 days avoiding each other, 3 days which Bobby spends chasing me down the hallways, trying to convince me that nothing ever happened between him and Slut Girl, but my mind is elsewhere. And to be completely honest, I stopped caring about the crap he pulls a long time ago.

It doesn’t matter anyway. Even if he’d never so much as looked at her, he’s not occupying my thoughts anymore. No, my thoughts are with Logan, back in his classroom, with the heat he ignited in me, and how he shoved me out into the cold.

I still don’t know what happened, or why. One minute he was about ready to jump me and fuck me into next week, and before I know what’s happening, he’s all business and basically throws me out on my ass.

And the worst thing – every night since then, the feeling of Logan’s hands on me, every blow, has been haunting my dreams, making me jerk awake in the middle of the night, his name on my lips and my panties drenched with my juices. And each time I wake up, I’m certain I can hear footsteps out in the hall.

On the fourth day after out little encounter, I wait for him outside his classroom. I’m sick of this, whatever it is, and I want some answers.

Logan hesitates for half a second as he comes down the hallway and sees me, his hesitation only visible to a select few who know how to read him. He glances at me briefly before entering the room, and I close the door behind me, locking it. That earns me another brief glance plus The Eyebrow.

“Somethin’ you wanted, kid?”

I try to ignore how badly the old nickname stings as I stand there, leaning against the door. He does his best to look busy, fumbling with the papers on his desk, but it’s obvious how tense he is, how much he wants to be somewhere else. “We need to talk.”

He doesn’t even look up, tries just a little too hard not to pay attention. “’bout what?”

“I know it’s you, outside my room.”

Now he leans back in his chair, giving me a long look. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

I sigh deeply, rubbing my forehead. “Look, if, if I did something wrong, just tell me, okay? But I deserve some answers.” He doesn’t react, and I walk over to him, putting my hand on his shoulder. “Logan, look at me. Please.”

He looks up, obviously reluctant, and I turn my back on him, pulling up my skirt to reveal my naked butt to him. He draws in a sharp breath at the sight, and I know exactly why. I’m still covered in bruises, my white skin adorned with green and blue.

His cover breaks then. “God, Marie.” It’s barely above a whisper, but it’s enough.

I turn around, catching his eye, and his conflicting emotions are clearly visible on his face. I take his hand in mine, softly letting my fingers play over his knuckles. “Why did you send me away?”

He tenses even more, looks away. “It was wrong to even think about it.”

“What makes you think it’s wrong?”

He meets my eye, and his voice trembles ever so slightly. “You’re a kid, Marie...”

I groan and step away from him, from the desk. “For God’s sake, Logan! Who are you trying to fool? Do you really think it’ll come true if you just keep telling yourself that I’m too young? I’m almost 22, Logan. Legally allowed to drink and have kinky sex if I want to.” I look at him again, and he looks completely lost, and it hits me. “What, you think you’re not good enough for me?”

He half-turns away, looks ready to bolt. “I’m not.”

The seriousness behind those two simple words, his tone, hits me square in the gut, and I rush around the desk, taking him into my arms and burying my face in his shirt. “Logan, don’t. Don’t think that, please. We’re both no angels, so please stop putting me on that pedestal.”

He touches my chin then (and where do the gloves come from all of a sudden?), makes me look at him. “Marie, what happened... it’s only a taste of what... of what I am.” He chuckles grimly. “Scooter’d say I’m a dirty old man.”

I slide my fingers through his mutton-chops, over his ears and through his hair, and I’d swear he actually purrs at that. I smile a little. “Well, maybe I like dirty old men.” He laughs at that, and I slide my hand down his neck, over his chest. “What you said... that there’s more...” I’m blushing, but hell. “That a promise?”

He growls deeply, and before I can blink he has turned me around and bends me over the desk, pushing against me and making my butt hurt in all the right places. “Darlin’, you have no idea what you’re gettin’ yourself into.”

My voice is breathy, trembles. “No, I guess I don’t. But it doesn’t matter. Just make me come like that again, Logan. Please.”

Dear Lord.