They had been talking for a while–well, alternating between serious bonding speech and casual banter–and somehow the subject got around to Jean Grey.

“I really don’t blame you for being attracted to her,” Rogue muttered into her tea. Logan’s brows raised. Most people verbally berated him at every opportunity, and even if they didn’t he could sense the animosity–hell he could practically smell it. Rogue, however, smelled honest. She usually did, with him, and he appreciated it.

“Really?”

“Yeah, Ah mean she was perfection incarnate, which might be daunting were not for her personality, and she was a natural redhead, which is sexy to anyone with good taste–and dark, dark red too. Very attractive to anyone with any real sense–very sexy.” She peered up at Logan who was looking at her quite oddly. “What?”

“Is that just me in your head calling her sexy, or…” Aw, he’s so cute when he’s awkward. Well, as cute as wolverines get anyway–cute in a rough, animal way…manly. Rogue stifled a giggle, but indulged herself in a faint smirk.

“Logan, Ah have all male psyches in mah head with me, here. Should bisexuality really be a surprise?” she drawled. Logan seemed to relax a little, though his eyes turned appraising for a moment, and Rogue wondered if it was because of the revelation itself or her sheer boldness.

“Suppose not,” he acknowledged, and then looked faintly thoughtful. “Especially with me in there,” he muttered, tone half-amused but his eyes apologetic. Rogue surprised him by shrugging it off with utmost casualness.

“Stranger attractions have resulted from people in mah head,” she informed him ruefully. “Ah could not be happier that they faded quickly.” Logan quirked a brow at this. His amusement remained, though it was slightly tinged with concern.

“Like what? From who?”

“Er…” Rogue looked nervous, blushing slightly and trying to hide behind her tea mug as Logan took a patient swig of his beer. “Magneto,” she said finally.

“Say no more. I think I can guess,” he offered. Snorting slightly, Rogue laughed.

“Oh, no you can’t,” she sniggered.

“Really?”

“Let’s say that they’re more than ‘old friends’ eh?” Rogue looked positively impish, though her cheeks flushed in embarrassment under the suggestive eyebrow wiggle she shot him. Logan stopped mid-swig, a drop of beer trickling off his lower lip. With great effort, Rogue kept herself from ogling it and focused on looking smug and forcing the blush away. The information took a long moment for Logan to absorb, and eventually he swallowed his mouthful of beer and set down the bottle.

“Yer shittin’ me.”

“Sugah, Ah shit you not,” Rogue returned, straight-faced and solemn despite the glint of amusement still visible in her demeanor. Logan grimaced a little.

“Him and Chuck?”

“Yep.” She was quite solemn, and had finally stifled that unruly blushing. Logan allowed himself another pause, grimace still in place.

“That’s a little disturbing,” he relented. Rogue arched a brow in an elegant sardonic manner that competed with his own trademark eyebrow raise, yet that remained her own entirely. “Not the gay part. Just…”

“Tell me about it. Ah partially experienced it for a day or two,” she muttered, tapping her head with a gloved finger. Then paused. “So homosexuality doesn’t bother ya?”

“Do you see me abusing Popsicle Boy?” he countered. Rogue choked, glaring at Logan’s smirk, then meeting it with her own.

“Before or after we broke up? As I remember it…”

“I never abused him,” Logan complained.

“He has at least a couple of scars that might suggest otherwise,” she muttered.

“Danger Room sessions: you can’t prove a thing,” Logan said quickly, picking up another beer after dropping the empty one in the nearby recycle bin.

“You do know I have him in mah head? I got a memory of your little ‘warning’ speech,” she teased. Logan, however, scowled seriously.

“When did he get in there?” Rogue blushed a little.

“Uhm…”

“Maybe I will abuse him-“

“Logan!”

“What happened, Marie?”

“It was at his house after the attack on the mansion, Logan. It was just a kiss for chrissakes.” Logan visibly eased. A slight pause passed them as Marie stood and moved across the kitchen to pour herself some more tea.

“Did you just assume by the flannel that two guys would make me uncomfortable?” he asked.

Rogue peered at him through the steam over her mug as she sat back down. Resist the urge to rib him about the arguments between him and Scott and the fact they border on the homoerotic. I could swear its all alpha-male-induced unresolved sexual tension.

MARIE! shouted the Logan in her head. Carefully, Rogue kept her face impassive despite her amusement that he’d woken up, keeping her eyes on the real Logan, who appeared mildly expectant.

“Ah don’t assume anythin’ with you, Logan. You know that,” she replied seriously, her southern drawl a little more pronounced. “I think most of my idea it might unnerve ya was how much ya ribbed on John, even before he left,” she explained. Logan snorted.

“He was just an ass.” He paused abruptly and arched a brow. “Wait…you’ve got him and the popsicle both in there?” he inquired, letting the suggestion hang, the mischievous glitter in his eyes not muting it in the least. Rogue flushed even more heavily and cleared her throat.

“Uh...heh...yea.” Clearing her throat again, she let him draw his own conclusions. A thought occurred to her.

“How did you know both of ‘em are…”

“Part of the people-readin’ I picked up cage fightin’,” he muttered. Rogue nodded, but soon a wicked gleam appeared in her eyes.

“You get any offers?” she needled suggestively. She might as well have elbowed him, winked and said ‘Nudge-nudge, say-no-more, say-no-more, eh?’ Logan brushed it off.

“I always get offers.” Another swig of beer and he was passive as could be.

“Not from the women,” Rogue sighed, rolling her eyes. Logan kept his eyes shut as he lowered the bottle, his body stiff. He wasn’t blushing, but to Rogue–so used to reading him–he might as well have done so. Understandably, she smirked evilly. He opened his eyes and half-glared at her, daring her to mock.

“Yeah. A few.”

“Funny I don’t have any of those memories,” she mused. Logan shot her a mild glare, but inwardly found himself thinking, ‘thank god!’ Her smirk only widened. “So did you…”

“Never had the inclination. No attraction there at all,” he assured her, and she sensed his honesty. Rogue pursed her lips, almost disappointed. Her thoughts turned inward and she missed the fact Logan’s eyes lingered on her lips, causing him to lick his own quickly.

Well considering the places he fights in, I’m not surprised that his offers would have been less than attractive. Scott is a pretty-boy, though so maybe...

She could feel the Logan in her head seething, but speechless with either disgust and horror or pure shock–she wasn’t sure. Scott has a pretty mouth. Pausing, she had one of those moments where she was unsure if that last thought was hers or had come from one of the other inhabitants of her mind, but brushed it off.

“I figured as much, but I have to ask, Sugah. Part of my determination not to assume with ya,” she half-teased. Logan smiled a little. Her inner Logan however was finally beginning to sputter outraged comments and she couldn’t contain a deep blush and amused giggle.

“Marie?”

“Er…let’s just say that mah mind was pretty corrupt even before everybody else moved in…and the part of you still in there is a bit flustered with some of that corruption,” she giggled. Logan raised a brow curiously as Rogue sniggered helplessly.

“Okay, damn it, now I’m curious. Tell me.” Rogue shot him a slightly panicked look. Now he was reallycurious. She tried to hide behind her tea mug, inching lower in her seat.

“Er…” To her great relief, a creak behind her signaled a new arrival in the kitchen. Logan’s hackles raised slightly. Close call, she thought, but then got a look at their visitor and had to cover her mouth to keep from releasing the hysterical laughter that bubbled up her throat so threateningly. It was Scott, pretty boy to the extreme with ruffled bed-head, wearing only rumpled flannel pajama pants. Oh Dear Jesus, she thought helplessly. Her eyes darted between the two men in their characteristic Moment of Tension™ that they used in place of an actual greeting. Homoerotic? Of course not, Rogue, you’re just a pervert.

“Couldn’t sleep. You guys?” Scott asked casually.

“Just talkin’,” Logan replied–not scathing, but not friendly either. Rogue could do little but nod, and as Scott turned to open one of the cabinets, she let her forehead rest on the table. There was a faint ‘thud.’

“Rogue, are you okay?” Scott asked, his brows contracting over his visor as he looked at her over his shoulder.

“Fine!” she said quickly, shooting upright again, but blushing so hard she could feel the blood pulsing in her skin all the way down her neck. Logan found himself pondering, not quite innocently, exactly how far down her blush could go. Scott pursed his lips slightly and Rogue’s eyes flickered toward the movement. As Rogue forced herself to think of anything but at the two attractive men in the kitchen with her, Logan’s voice in her head interrupted:

Okay fine–he does have a pretty mouth.

Rogue fell out of her chair.

“Rogue!” Scott and Logan sounded alarmed, but their concern was met with a peal of hysterical laughter. Exchanging glances, Scott and Logan communicated only confusion, but before they could move to her aid, Rogue pulled herself back into her seat, stifling the still wild laughter behind one hand, and keeping her eyes tight shut. When she opened them she looked at Logan as if she’d never seen him before–it was frighteningly similar to the look he had given her when she commented on Jean’s sexiness. He paled visibly.

“What did I say?” he demanded, clearly aware of some terrible thing spoken in Rogue's head. Scott looked utterly confused, and rightly so.

“Uhm…” he began. Rogue pulled herself together enough to reply.

“Head corruption, Scott. I’m…” her eyes flickered to his mouth again involuntarily and she forced down another fit of giggles, her ribcage quivering with the effort as she immediately met his gaze again as best she could through the visor. “I’m really sorry. Just some…internal conversation.” The Fearless Leader’s brows furrowed.

“That doesn’t sound healthy.”

“It isn’t,” Rogue assured, but was still grinning like a fool.

“What did I say, Rogue?” Logan asked solemnly. Rogue considered for a moment that she might lie and tell him it was Johnny or something, but instead found herself embarrassed beyond words. Her inner Logan seemed to be feeling similarly. She took a few deep breaths and rested her forehead against her hand.

“On my twenty-first birthday, when you get me drunk like you promised, I might tell you,” she sighed. Scott’s brows raised, but he was less surprised than he let on, until Logan grumbled under his breath and pulled a small notepad from his pocket. Rogue was surprised as well on that point.

“You keep a list of things to ask me when I’m drunk?” she squawked. Logan grinned wickedly as he pulled a small pencil from the binding and scribbled casually.

“Serves you right for saying that as much as you have,” he countered. Rogue pouted. It was Scotts turn to inquire incredulously.

“Does this happen a lot with you two?”

“Surprisingly often,” Rogue admitted.

“Number twenty-seven…” Logan muttered as he scribbled. Scott shook his head, taking a drink from the glass of water he’d come downstairs for in the first place. He surprised them by smirking faintly.

“Mind if I join your twenty-first-birthday binge so I can find out what about me you found so funny?” he inquired. Logan and Rogue both blanched.

“He was involved?”

“Well she didn’t collapse into hysterics until I got here…”

“Marie…”

Rogue had the distinct look of a deer in the headlights. Her eyes flickered from Scott’s gaze, to Logan’s, to how delectable both she and most of the people in her head seemed to find Scott’s mouth when he smirked like that, to Logan’s mouth which she admitted was equally enticing before at last flicking up to his eyes where they lingered for a long moment before she picked up her tea, now cool enough to drink, and took a slow, casual sip. Both boys looked so expectant, and slightly smug in Scott's case. Fuck 'em

What an enticing idea! That was Rogue's own anticonscience, and she pushed it aside with practiced ease.

“I guess you’ll just have to get me really drunk, Logan,” she teased. Her dark eyes told him she had blackmail, and he was disturbed, trying to think of anything involving both himself and One-eye that could be blackmail…and make her laugh like that; it did not bode well at all. He visibly paled and found that he could see her teeth as she smirked behind the rim of her mug. Damn, she has a pretty mouth...

“I think,” Rogue slurred, her voice slightly muffled from behind her gloved arm. “That I should have a question limit.”

“It’s hard to hear you with your face pressed into the bar top, Rogue,” Scott said placidly, contemplating his half-empty beer, and the buzz he felt, and generally wondering if he should stop. Logan had already caught him slurring a few times.

“She wants a question limit,” Logan clarified, tossing back a shot of whiskey carelessly. Rogue’s gloved hand shot up and pointed at him without her head lifting from the table.

“That’s it ezzac-ally,” she stated, poking his leather-clad bicep. Though slurred, her speech actually held less of a southern accent when she was drunk. She fell into an accent made up of the combined speech patterns of everyone in her head–often with disturbing results. “Mein Herr,” she added, causing Scott’s eyebrows to raise above his ruby shades.

“Kid, the German is freaking out our Fearless Leader,” Logan informed her.

“Arschloch can deal with it,” she growled. Scott reflected that there were few things scarier than Magneto’s words spoken through the filter of Logan’s speech pattern. Among them were those same words with that same filter coming out of Rogue’s mouth. He shuddered visibly, and was relieved to see Logan equally perturbed to some extent. Logan idly pushed a shot of whiskey toward Rogue, obviously hoping it would chase away traces of Magneto by strengthening his own presence. Rogue lifted her head a little and peered at the shot for a moment before straightening on her barstool and tossing it back with as much seasoned practice as Logan, but also a certain flair of class that was her own. She was a picture of feminine roughness, her back slightly arched and her neck stretched. Logan found his eyes lingering on her throat as she swallowed easily, savoring the burn. He felt a slightly different burn and looked away quickly, digging his checklist from his pocket.

“Forty-two,” Rogue said, slamming down her empty shot glass. The men on either side of her shot her identical strange looks.

“Forty-two?” they inquired in unison, and then shot each other identical looks of horror. Rogue burst out laughing, leaning forward over the bar top again and pulling herself together enough to settle for drunken giggling. One glance at the stupefied disgust on Logan’s face set her off again. Somewhere amidst her near-hysteria she managed to clarify that forty-two would be her question limit and that they both needed to read something about hitchhiking.

“Ready for the Q&A, then, Kid?” Logan finally inquired once she had at last tapered off into silent sniggers that caused her ribcage to quiver as she contained them. This quivering also brought Logan’s attention to her chest at an extent he found unhealthy. He cleared his throat uneasily.

“Yea–Yes, Sugar, I’ll see about them questions now,” she managed, still fighting down amusement. She turned to Scott and fluttered her eyelashes at him. The Fearless Leader had the grace, and blood alcohol content, to give a faintly flustered blush. “Since you’re new to the game here, Scott, do ya want to start us off?” Logan admired the way Rogue made Scott squirm. He had shown up as a spectator, strictly because of one question he wanted to hear the answer too, and they all knew Rogue was not yet drunk enough to answer it. Patiently, Rogue kept her Mississippi mud-colored eyes on him as Logan signaled the bartender for another round of shots.

“Why did you keep the streaks?” Scott blurted suddenly. Rogue looked mildly surprised, then thoughtful.

“Hmm. I kinda like ‘em. Something about them goes with mah skin, too. Like those poison dart frogs that are all really brightly colored so you know they poison–well this shock of white” –she twirled half of it in her gloved fingers– “is just like that.”

“And you like that?” Scott asked, softer now, and slightly incredulous.

“It’s part of who I am. It’s part of my trademark now,” she mused. “But I know what you’re thinkin’ about maybe an unhealthy reminder or something. That’s not it. More like a scar I’m half-proud of. I survived what happened to put it there, I love the people who helped me and I know they care for me, and I’ve gotten stronger and become who I am because of it.” A moment of heavy silence passed over them, Rogue looking away from the respect the two men seemed to intent to stare at her with. “Don’t look at me like that. Damn. This is supposed to be happy drunk birthday night. That’s two questions, forty to go.”

“Two?” Logan protested.

“Why I kept them and if I liked it. Two questions, sugar,” Rogue purred. Logan scowled faintly and gestured for the bartender to leave the bottle.

“You’re not drunk enough by half, Kid,” he growled. Rogue gave her brightest smile with a wicked, shameless edge to it that made Logan’s face feel twice as warm the shot of whiskey had.

“I blame your influence,” she countered and easily lifted her next shot to her lips. Scott caught Logan’s eye in mid-stare this time and enjoyed the momentary look of disconcert on the other man’s face before he recovered enough to shoot Scott a harsh glare. Behind his beer, Scott only smirked faintly and behind his glasses he narrowed his eyes in a way that, had Logan seen it, would have clearly read “gotcha!”

“Question three of forty-two, Logan,” Rogue demanded, lifting the bottle and refilling her own glass. Logan cleared his throat and fumbled with the notepad. He arched a brow at the hasty list and cleared his throat.

“What the hell were you and Jean giggling about that night a few months back?” he growled.

“What night?”

“You had a carton of mint chocolate ice-cream. Jean had a glass of fruit juice or somethin’…”

“Oh yeah!” Rogue sniggered a little. “You had been diggin’ in the refrigerator, and both Jean and I–in unison–tilted back in our seats to look, shot each other a conspiratorial look and eased back. Then you pulled back and stood up with a beer looking clueless and we just kinda lost it.” She enjoyed the disturbed look on Scott’s face and the mixture of confusion, interest and embarrassment on Logan’s and sniggered. “You had a piece of gum stuck to your back jeans pocket, Logan,” she managed. Scott required a full two seconds of recovery time before he burst out laughing. Logan looked torn between embarrassment and rage. “Jubilee had gone the whole day terrified that you would notice it, find out it was her fault for sticking it to some seat, and no one would find her body.” That at least brought an altogether disturbing grin to Logan’s face.

“They won’t, once I get my hands on ‘er.”

“Logan, what have we told you about your claws and the student populace?” Scott warned.

“Fine. No claws. How deep is that lake a few miles into the woods?”

“What have we said about the student populace and murder?”

“Grrr. Fine. She lives.”

“Good.”

“But she gets moved to my gym class.”

Both Scott and Rogue flinched and shuddered visibly. Logan merely looked back to his list.

“Why the hell do you always giggle when you hear that seventies song?” he asked. Rogue giggled. “Yea, like that.”

“What song?” Scott inquired, setting aside his empty bottle and ordering another beer.

“Stuck in the middle with you…” Rogue half-sang half-slurred, then broke off and giggled in a distinctly evil fashion. Scott seemed to contemplate for a moment.

“I think I know why…”

“Really?” Rogue looked at him curiously.

“Reservoir Dogs?”

“Damn straight!” Rogue crowed, punching him in the shoulder. “How is it that you’ve seen that movie and not him?” she jerked her thumb at a scowling Wolverine. Scott sighed, rubbing his temples.

“I made the mistake of letting St. John pick a film for movie night one time…” He managed a weak grin at Rogue as she patted his shoulder consolingly.

“I feel your pain,” she offered and tapped the side of her head. “It was his influence in my head that persuaded me to rent the thing.”

“St. John and the curse of Quentin Terentino,” Scott sighed.

“Will one of you fuckin’ explain this to me?” Logan demaned. Rogue turned to him, and did indeed explain the torture scene from ‘Reservoir Dogs’ very dramatically, complete with many illustrative gestures, off-color singing from herself and an unwilling Scott and her attempt to mimic the dance with a straight razor that was somehow less dramatic when all she had at her disposal was a spork. Both men regretted that they had no camera.

“Queshh-tee-on five of four-tee-two,” commanded Rogue, slurring even more now that she and Logan had gone through half the whiskey bottle.

“Why did you have a spork in your pocket?” Scott asked before Logan could again pick up his notepad.

“Leftover from my lasht trip to Taco Bell at two in the morning with Kurt. It wash after a mission and we decided they made good weaponsh. Eye-gouging tools,” she answered, almost spilling her whiskey.

“Don’t waste another question by asking her about technique, Scooter,” Logan said quickly, having seen the query form on Scott’s face before the man even opened his mouth. Scott scowled. Logan read off of his list:

“Have you used and or exaggerated your Southern accent for the sake of manipulation?” Rogue choked. Logan smirked.

“Er…I don’t know what ya mean,” she said quickly, the question catching her off guard and sobering her a little.

“Oh come on,” Scott muttered. Rogue looked at him in mild horror. “I witnessed you deliberately take advantage of those poor boys when you in my class. One “shugah” from you and your homework and Bobby’s would be mysteriously similar for a week.” Rogue flushed guiltily, gave a faint smirk.

“It certainly improved my grades some weeks, eh?” she mumbled.

“Any other times?” Logan asked innocently. Rogue fluttered her eyelashes at him.

“Does using it on you count?” she purred, enjoying the way his jaw dropped. From the warm fuzzy place where her inhibitions used to be, a voice reflected that he was incredibly attractive when he was shocked. Another voice from the same place countered that he was always that attractive, but shocking him was certainly satisfying. She licked her lips and Logan found his brain function compromised. Scott felt like a third wheel, and inched a little away from the pair as far as his barstool would allow.

“Why ‘sugar’?” he interrupted their romantic moment. Rogue shrugged, and Scott swore he could hear an audible rip when she removed her eyes from Logan.

“Just somethin’ my momma used to say,” she said idly. “It mus’ be a Mississippi thang.” Logan regained himself and poured them both another round of shots.

“What do you have against cowboy hats?” Logan read off of his list. Scott looked bewildered when Rogue shot him an apologetic look.

“Er…”

“Rogue?” Logan asked pleasantly, pleased to sense Scott’s discomfort.

“One of the people in my head–I refuse to say which except that it ain’t Logan–had this…fantasy of...” trailing off, she mumbled very quietly.

“Okay, even I couldn’t heat that,” Logan growled.

“Mr.Summersinonlyacowboyhatcowboybootsandchapsseducingthem,” she said quickly. A long silence followed. “Singing,” she added weakly and picked up the whiskey bottle. Scott’s face was an odd puce color and Logan was laughing so hard his eyes threatened to water. Rogue bypassed shots and took an impressive swig from the bottle, shuddering appreciatively. Logan took it from her, still laughing weakly.

“Why did I come here again?” mumbled Scott, his voice slightly strangled. Behind his visor his eyes were squeezed tightly shut against the mental imagery. When that really didn’t help, he let them snap open, a great effort of masculine will keeping him from whimpering.

“I’d rather not remind ya,” Rogue muttered.

“It can’t be worse than that,” Scott scoffed. When Rogue failed to reply he gave her a pained look. “Please tell me it doesn’t get worse.”

“Uhm…define ‘worse’” Rogue said delicately. Scott blanched. “Where are we…question––eleven I believe.”

“I don’t think you’re countin’ sober, kid.”

“I am and I say it’s eleven.”

“Fine…hrmmph,” Logan conceded, flipping to the next page in his notebook. “Is popsicle boy gay?” Rogue nearly pulled a spit take. Scott again shut his eyes very tightly.

“If this is at all related to the previous question, and the answer is affirmative, I may have to borrow that spork of yours to carve out my eardrums,” he whimpered.

“No, Logan, he is not,” Rogue snarled, shooting Logan a glare. Logan only smirked smugly. When Summer sighed in relief and covered his face with a hand, Rogue hurriedly turned to Logan and mouthed ‘He’s bi.’ Arching a brow, he silently returned ‘really?’ and Rogue nodded quickly, gesturing to her own bust as if it were obvious. Logan coughed and looked away. Too quiet for a normal human to hear, Rogue whispered into her shot glass, “That fantasy was from John anyway,” causing Logan to choke. Scott looked up.

“What was that?”

“Nothin’, Mr. Summers. For the safety of your psyche you don’t wanna know anyway,” Rogue said quickly. Scott accepted this reluctantly.

“Next question, please. Something to get those images out of my head…”

“I think I’ll take a break, actually,” Logan mused. Scott sneered.

“Question twelve, Logan,” Rogue sighed. Pouting, Logan muttered a disgruntled ‘fine’ and checked his list again.

“You mentioned something about Magneto’s sense of humor effecting you––what did you mean?”

“Er…I told you to ask me that later because it’s so hard to explain, and being drunk is not gonna make it any easier or understandable, sugar.”

“Just try,” Logan encouraged. “I’m curious.”

“Well obviously,” Rogue muttered, and rested her chin on the back of one hand, thinking. “It’s something like sarcasm but more snide and refined. Black humor, obviously, but an appreciation of a type of irony that is behind his crush on Anthony Hopkins’ Hannibal.”

“Okay, that is creepier than the thing with him and Wheels,” Logan choked. Scott shuddered.

“Logan stop asking such disturbing questions!”

“The questions aren’t disturbing. Rogue, ease up a little, you’re scarin’ Scooter.”

“Aww,” Rogue pouted.

“If you were still in any of my classes, Rogue, you would suffer. As it is, I’m going to have to plot,” Scott grumbled, surprising them by taking a shot of whiskey.

“You could always run while you still can,” Rogue offered sincerely.

“I will definitely consider it,” Scott said into his shot glass. Logan muttered something against Scott’s masculinity under his breath and Rogue kicked him in the calf.

“Ow! Those heels are fuckin’ lethal!”

“And you don’t even have to walk in ‘em drunk,” Rogue countered. “Or were you referring to how my ass looks when I walk in ‘em?”

“Er…”

“What’s the matter, Logan, you look flustered,” Scott inquired innocently. Rogue turned on him.

“What do you think, Scott?” she cooed. Again, the fearless leader blushes. Rogue wonders if she should tell him it goes well with his lips.

“Ahem–next question,” Logan called.

“Yes, moving on,” Scott concurred weakly. Rogue sat back on her barstool, satisfied in her feminine power.

“As you wish, sugars,” she shrugged. Login fumbled with his list.

“Hmm…well let’s skip this one,” Logan muttered.

“What? No way, Logan. Let me see!” She peered at his list and sniggered. “Ah can answer that.”

“I’d rather you not, I think,” Logan growled under his breath, but Rogue was already looking contemplative.

“It was that thing about yellow spandex.”

“Oh god,” Logan groaned.

“Yellow spandex?” Scott looked far too amused and intrigued. Logan jabbed a finger at him accusingly.

“It was your damn fault, and she’s not gonna explain it to ya.”

“I’m not?” Rogue pouted. Logan growled dangerously. “Fine. Sheesh. Question fourteen, the one-third mark.”

“Wait a minute…Magneto and the professor?”

“You don’t wanna know,” Logan and Rogue said in unison. Scott felt some sanity-preservign mental block appear in his mind to keep him from inquiring further.

“Question fifteen, then,” Rogue said.

“That one shouldn’t count,” Logan growled.

“I’m the one bein’ interrogated, I get to decide what counts,” she returned with equal growl. Logan scowled, but did not dispute her claim again.

“Alright, what is this ‘noodle incident’ that you and Jubilee keep mentionin’ but not explainin’?” he read. With an audible groan, Rogue picked up the bottle again.

“Oh god…all that pasta…”

“Okay, I’m curious about this too,” Scott informed.

“Terrible things with pasta…”

The bartender was getting worried about the group that took up the far end of the bar tonight. The two men were apparently interrogating the younger woman. After the last question, the man in the sunglasses finished the last third of the whiskey bottle they had ordered earlier, the hairy man had ordered and drained another bottle, and the woman had fallen off her stool laughing.

The bartender decided he did not want to know, and left them to it.

“Dear God! Rogue, there are things I need not know about my former students! Never! EVER! And now I may never be able to eat pasta ever again!”

“Heh…heh…well ya both just had t’ ask,” she giggled, getting back into her stool with Logan’s help. “I’m all overheated now, you guys got me laughin’ so hard,” she accused, untying the fine silk scarf from around her neck and fanning her exposed throat. Logan swallowed thickly, told himself to be strong and ordered yet another bottle of whiskey. Scott called a cab.

“What’s the matter, Scooter?” Logan taunted.

“I know the limit of psychic-psychotic…psycho damned...damage...damn...I’ve had enough tonight,” he slurred. Logan and Rogue shared an amused look. “Oh you both jusht shut up.”

“I didn’t say nothin’, Sugah,” Rogue crooned. Scott huffed.

“You’re both evil,” he grumbled. Rogue gave an evil laugh that sent a shiver down Logan’s spine. Scott glared at both of them as best he could behind his shades. “Alright, alright then I’ve got a queshtion.”

“Yes, Scott?” Rogue still sounded amused.

“Queshtion shixteen, or whatever.” He was smirking now. Rogue’s smile did not fade, but it somehow ceased to reach her eyes. Oh Hell, she thought.

“Just ask it, Scooter,” Logan grumbled, opening the new bottle of whiskey. He wasn’t looking. He did not see the wicked edge to Scott’s grin. Rogue had already decided that: alcohol + fearless leader = Scott’s evil alter-ego. She had also made a promise to herself never to provoke this alter-ego ever again. In contrast to the staunch and starch-pressed leader/teacher/mentor, the mind freed by whiskey was like unto the Norse god of chaos. Restraining herself from the, surely drunken, urge to hit Scott over the head repeatedly and scream “Bad Loki! Bad Loki!” Rogue steeled herself against the mischief she sensed herself about to be subject to.

“Why are you still wearing gloves?” Scott asked. Rogue stiffened, her smile dropping utterly. Oh F**king Hell.

“Who the Hell told you?” she hissed. Scott suddenly looked sheepish.

“Oh uh…that’s my cab.” He bolted. Rogue nervously glanced at Logan through her hair, now fallen in her face. His drink hovered, not quite touching his lips as the information sunk in. She bit her lip. As if sensing it somehow, Logan’s eyes finally focused again and chose to lock themselves to her lips. He seemed to snap out of it and look into her eyes more seriously.

“…Marie?” he asked softly. Rogue ran a hand through her hair nervously. He didn’t have to ask what Scott meant. No gloves meant…And that meant...

“Ah still don’t trust it,” she murmured. “Charles and Hank keep telling me Ah’ve got control but it’s not…how can I test something like deadly touch on someone?”

Logan’s pulse raced unnaturally. He set down his drink slowly, staring at her, but she did not–could not–look at him. She shivered when he brushed her hair out of her face and tucked it back behind her ear, his gloved fingertips grazing her skin. Unconsciously, she leaned into the touch like a cat. His touch lingered, his other hand picking hers up off the counter before it’s companion joined it, just barely touching her shoulder and tracing her arm before taking hold of her wrist. His other hand pinched the tip of her glove and he looked at her seriously.

“Do you want to know?” he whispered. Rogue’s mouth was dry, and she stared wordlessly into his eyes for a moment.

“Yes,” she whispered finally. Logan tugged at each fingertip, loosening the leather’s hold over her hand and watching her pupils dilate. Interesting…He at last tugged off the whole glove and watched her pale hand exposed: long fingers that seemed impossibly delicate, scarred knuckles from too many fights, and carefully maintained nails not too long so as to interfere with her fighting or working, but not truly short. Her skin was almost ghostly pale, and Logan’s eyes roved over it as if mesmerized for a moment. Then he let her go, and let her reach for him.

Her exposed hand hovered where he left it for a moment, uncertain and unwilling to believe it was free. Slowly, she touched the sleeve of his jacket, her brow drawn in curiosity. She so rarely got to really touch things, and the rough leather felt good. She skipped up to the collar of his flannel, testing it between her thumb and forefinger, enjoying the feel of fabric careworn into softness. Lifting her hand again she hovered at his jaw line and looked into his eyes. Logan inhaled sharply at the wonder in her gaze, the wariness. Deliberately, he pulled off his own gloves, watching her eyes dart to the movement and back to where she almost touched his face. He inclined his head, just a little, closer to her hand. Then she was touching him, her whole face painted in concentrated amazement as she traced the edge of his jaw, cupped it in her hand, and felt no pull, no drain. Her breath quickened, but no longer out of fear.

Logan tried not to groan at her touch. Warm, impossibly soft fingers holding his face so gently, so worried for him. Then, they traced up his cheek, explored his cheekbones and the skin over his temples, then stroking his brow and tracing back just into his hairline near his ear. Her face was flushed and wordlessly amazed.

“Wow,” she breathed, and smiled weakly, her eyes shining with emotion. “Wow,” she said again, even quieter. Logan grinned, pride shining in his eyes, closing one of his bare hands over hers, and letting the other wipe the single tear from her face.

“You did it, Baby,” he congratulated. Rogue squealed and threw herself at him, laughing weakly but with pure joy. Logan wrapped his arms around her, grinning. He tensed a little as she stabilized herself post-fling by settling in his lap, but pushed aside his lust in favor of being proud of the woman in his arms as she threw her remaining glove aside behind him and settled from her giggling. Finally she pulled back to look at him.

“Thank you,” she said, and the emotion in the timbre of her voice could have melted adamantium. Logan cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheekbone, forcing his other hand to rest on the bar.

“Anything for you, kid,” he returned. Rogue shook her head and pressed her forehead to his. Logan swallowed.

“Can Ah get that in writing?” she teased. Logan wondered if she had been like this before she manifested: so physically expressive. Was it just the alcohol? No, she seemed to sober up quite against her will when Scott asked about the gloves. Damn, Logan thought, I may have to thank the bastard.

“Why, darlin’, what exactly do you plan on askin’ for?” he inquired, only aware of his Freudian slip after the endearment had escaped his lips. She raised a brow and he felt the movement more than he saw it. His eyes kept darting, against his commands, to her breasts.

“Ya said you had one big question for me after tonight…”

“Yeah?” he murmured. He had. He really, really wanted to ask it now.

“Care to skip ahead to that one?” She batted her eyelashes and gave a delicate pout. Logan’s eyes stayed on her lips. They would be the death of him. His hand on the bar moved to rest at her waist, watching her eyes sparkle a little.

“You’ll still have to face the other ones sooner or later,” he demanded. Rogue shivered as one his thumb just barely slipped under the hem of her shirt and brushed the pale skin beneath. Her eyes fell shut.

“Ah know. You’re a stubborn one, Sugah,” she purred. The hand still on her face shifted and his thumb brushed her lips. Rogue felt her breath catch and looked deep into his eyes. The question was right there. Her eyes dropped to his lips and she tilted her head, preparing to answer.

Logan groaned softly in relief as their lips met, his fingers sliding into the thick silk of her bicolor hair. She surprised him, her small tongue brushing along the seam of his lips, which parted at her invitation, letting his tongue curl around her daring one. He felt her gasp and press her body against him, one of her hands formerly tracing his chest through his shirt sliding down to his side to avoid being trapped between them. His hand on her waist traced the warm flesh of her hip and slid further under her shirt to trace strange shapes on her lower back until she let out another moan.

They were lost in each other for a moment until someone from the pool tables near the back of the bar offered a wolf-whistle and a cat-call. Logan felt her lips curl in amusement and they gently pulled apart, sparing an annoyed but entertained glance for their audience.

“Back to the mansion, then?” Rogue murmured, eyes still somewhat curious behind the sheen of excitement. Logan gave a faint purr that she felt through her whole body.

“Stay with me when we get back?” Logan countered. Rogue blinked a little in surprise but smiled a little wider.

“How long, Sugah?”

“Always.”

“Logan...Yea. That sounds good. Really good,” she breathed, her heartbeat racing.

“Happy Birthday, Marie.”

“Love you, too, Logan.”

He smiled, and when she moved to leave his lap he instead caught her legs around the knees, wrapped an arm under her back, and lifted her bridal style in one graceful movement as he slipped off the barstool.

“Logan!” she cried in surprise, then trailed off into laughter. He liked to see her laugh.

“How much you bet that Scooter’s still out there waitin’ for his taxi?”

“Hmm, Ah bet we could catch a ride in it, too,” Rogue mused. Logan growled playfully.

“I think you have a different ride to catch, darlin’.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” she promised as he maneuvered them out the door.

“Interesting idea,” he mused.

“Pervert.”

“Love you, too, Marie.”