teasing

It starts--as it usually does--with a kiss. Soft and gentle, in a way you'd never know he was capable of from looking at him. He doesn't mean it to tease; he's just kissing like (and don't take this the wrong way) you'd kiss a baby. You know, when you lean close for a kiss and breathe in that sweet baby scent at the same time? But I'm not a baby, so it teases me in spite of his intentions.

I think he does it on purpose, because then I'm the one who moves things along, I'm the one whose breath catches when his lips brush mine for the hundredth time and, when I just can't stand it any longer, I'm the one who closes the gap till no breath escapes.

It's his way of shifting responsibility to me. Maybe it's the age thing. Sure, I'm younger--a lot younger--but I'm not even a teenager anymore, plus I remember more of the past twenty years than he does, so there's no creep-factor as far as I'm concerned. He still gets weirded out. I think he thinks he's some kind of lecher, out to screw the helpless, innocent girl.

That just makes me want to prove I'm not so innocent.

I try tease back, you know? I tell myself I'm going to wait him out. I'll take every sweet kiss with calm and fortitude; I'll make him be the one who gives in.

It never works; I always cave.

You'd think, with the whole 'crazy animal side' thing he has going, that he'd be the one who'd lose control.

Damn, I want him to lose control!

If my mama could see me now... Fuck. She'd probably slam the door in my face again and tell me she hoped I'd gotten myself fixed so I wouldn't give her any mutant grandchildren.

I know he likes it... intense. I know it. I've seen it, for pity's sake--in the memories I got from him. In one, he's with this woman (a redhead, of course! It's enough to give me a complex, I tell you!) and she's--God, I'm blushing as I write this--bent over some kind of table with her hands ah, bound, and he's... really going at it. She sure seemed to like it. That's all I'm saying.

It's not that I don't like the sweetness--Lord knows I love it... but sometimes it makes me worry that he isn't getting all he needs from me. I want to give him the other stuff, too.

The thing of it is, I would just ask him about it, but I'm afraid to. Yeah, afraid. Of all the things he has to be afraid of, I'm afraid of asking him to cut loose in bed.

I think sometimes he sees me as this delicate flower who shouldn't be sullied by base things. I don't want to be on a pedestal, but I'm afraid if I step down, he'll think I'm dirty, or something. I don't want him to see me like that.

I already know he hates the bracelet. I think he looks at it and thinks I'm marked by someone else, or maybe it reminds me of how I got it. That isn't true at all. When I put the bracelet on, I know I'm probably going to be touching Logan at some point during the day, which is always a good thing in my book. I'd kiss Magneto and Mystique on the mouth, if I could, for giving me this bracelet, and everyone in the damned lab they got it from in the first place. Maybe not all at the same time, ha ha.

They thought they'd found a way to make me want to join them; they didn't know the only people I want to touch sure as heck aren't on their side.

---

Marie set her pen down and closed the journal cover. It was almost time to join Jean and 'Ro for their 'you're almost on the team, and you're doing the hottest man in the mansion, welcome to the grownup clique' shopping trip/lunch.

She threw on a clean top and her new scarf and ran out the door, leaving her journal on the small desk.

---

tantalizing

...goddamn no good bike. Should just junk ya. Jesus, Marie looked good in that blue thing she was wearing. Wonder what she's gonna talk about with the terrible twosome. Wonder what she'd think if I did what I wanted to do when she came into the garage to give me a kiss goodbye.

Shit. Gotta keep that under control. Won't do any good scaring her off. She don't need any of my dirt all over her.

She hasn't told me anything about it yet, but I think she probably had it pretty bad on the road those eight months. I know people; I know there's a lotta folks out there who'd look at her pretty face and want to hurt her. She needs something clean and good right now. Fucked up as it may seem, I gotta try to be that for her.

It's bad enough I can't keep my hands off her as it is. Shoulda taken it slower. She was there, in front of me, like some tantalizing fruit, dangling just out of reach... It was either take her, or find someone else to stand in. I didn't want someone else. And when I want something, there ain't a whole hell of a lot of things that can keep me from gettin' it.

After she got that goddamn bracelet, I couldn't help myself. I was so proud of her--she fought like a pro. Barely had to be rescued at all. Then, in the jet on the way back, I go to cut off the bracelet and she stops me, says she wants to keep it. Then she kisses my cheek and there's no draw. Shit, I almost had her right there in the jet, with Scott in the cockpit. I waited though, for her. Waited about ten minutes after the plane landed before I was all over her.

She calls it her 'souvenir'. I love being able to touch her, but I don't want every time I do to remind her of those fuckers.

I just gotta make things nice for her now--show her she can trust me not to hurt her.

That's getting harder to do every day. The other night, I was goin' slow and kissing her all soft and nice, waiting for her to show me she was ready for more. It was takin' forever; then I caught her eye and knew--the girl was teasin' me! Nobody teases me. It was all I could do to keep from throwing her down and showing her who's boss.

I guess a big part of it is I'm afraid to. Yeah, I gotta admit it. Of all the things in the world that could scare the shit out of me but don't, I'm afraid of showin' my girl what a fucking animal I can be. No goddamn pun intended. I hate it; and I'm afraid she will too.

---

Logan tightened the last bolt on the bike and went upstairs to clean up. When he got to his and Marie's room, he noticed her journal--usually so carefully guarded--lying on the desk.

Nobody ever accused him of being a good boyfriend, he thought, opening the cover.

---

rollercoaster fear

Marie got home laden with shopping bags and more than a little buzzed from the cocktails that had comprised most of their lunch.

If I'd known that's what the grownup clique did when the went out, she thought, I'd have joined them a lot sooner. She'd resisted, imagining a lunch date with Jean and 'Ro to consist of polite talk about mutant issues supplemented by tea and sandwiches. Not raunchy sex talk and gossip supplemented by lemon drops and kamikazes. She'd learned more about Scott's prowess in bed than she'd ever wanted to know. Well, than she'd ever thought she'd know, at least.

Logan wasn't in the garage or their room when she arrived. She dropped her bags ceremoniously on the floor and flopped on the bed, thinking she'd take a little nap. When she started to take off her shoes, she saw it. On the desk--her journal, open. A closer look revealed a greasy thumbprint on the last page.

Shit. No one ever said he'd be a good boyfriend, she thought. Did he read it and split? She looked around, but most of his stuff was still there. Probably out in the woods, moping around, she said to herself.

Her head was really spinning from her liquid lunch, so she decided to nap it off and then seek him out if he hadn't come back. Who does he think he is, reading private stuff anyway, she thought as she kicked off her shoes and snapped the thick silver-gray bracelet from her wrist.

---

Logan had waited after reading Marie's journal, intending to meet her when she came back, but the Professor had wanted to talk to him and Scott about curriculum design. Nearly two hours of listening to Scott and Chuck talk about theories of education and special issues for mutant children had almost put him in a deeper coma than Marie's killer touch. "I can teach 'em to fight and defend themselves," he said. "But I do it my way."

"Of course, Logan," said the Professor. "But there are other issues to be--"

"Excuse me Professor," Jean said, sticking her head through the door. "But I really need Scott now. For work. I need him for work. He needs to help me in the lab, that is."

Charles nodded, an amused smile touching his lips briefly. "Very well, we can continue this at a later time."

---

When Logan got back to their room, Marie was sprawled on the bed, asleep. She smelled like vodka and lime juice. So that's what they do when they're out shopping, he thought, smirking. He tore a sheet of paper from her journal and scribbled a brief note. Putting the note on a pillow, he weighed it down with her bracelet and went back down to the garage to work on the bike some more.

---

Marie awoke slowly, conscious of a sharp pointy thing pressing into her cheek and sleep drool starting to form at the corner of her mouth. She raised her head, bleary-eyed, and saw she'd been sleeping with her head resting on the bracelet, which was tangled up with some paper.

Sitting up sharply and flipping on a lamp, she grabbed the paper and tried to make her eyes focus on the words written on it. "Put it on and meet me in the garage," it said. A glance at the clock told her she'd been asleep for four hours.

She jumped out of bed and promptly tripped over her shopping bags, landing with a hard thump. Scrambling up, she stumbled to the bathroom, only to be confronted with a deep sleep crease in her cheek from the bracelet, and the worst case of bed hair she'd ever seen. "Fuck!" she yelled, squirting toothpaste on her toothbrush and grabbing a hairbrush.

---

Logan was tinkering with the bike when Marie walked into the garage, stubbing her toe on a tire block. "Damn it!" she said, hopping on her uninjured foot.

Standing up and smiling, Logan asked, "How was your lunch date?"

"Fine. How was your reading my private journal?"

He smiled wider. "Did you have fun with Jean and 'Ro?"

"Yes. Logan--"

Wiping his greasy hands on a shop towel, he shook his head and walked over to her. "Uh-uh," he said. "I'm the one who gets to talk right now."

Her eyes widened and her breathing quickened. He slid one hand behind to the small of her back and pulled her to him. "I understand you don't want to be seen as some delicate flower," he said, twisting his pelvis against hers and biting her neck.

"Tha-- that's not what I wrote," she said, her voice catching.

"You're still talking," he said. "Don't." He ran his hand down her thigh and hoisted her knee till her leg was wrapped around his waist. With one swift move, he pinned her against the wall and ground into her. "You wanna meet the animal side, Marie? You want me to bend you over the Porche and fuck you hard? You think that would be a good ride?" His hand plumped her breast and he bit her neck, her breast, her ear, everywhere but her mouth.

Marie fought to keep her breath under control. His words both excited and frightened her.

"You wanna have your fun with the Wolverine, Marie?" Logan asked, releasing the claws and slitting her skirt and panties off with one cut. Her hot scent filled the garage.

"Stop it!" she yelled, pushing against his chest and slipping out of his embrace. She walked (as well as her weakened knees would carry her) away, turning around at the bottom of the steps to the old groomsmen's apartments atop the converted carriage house garage. "Yes," she whispered. "I want all those things. Because it's you. Logan. Not because... It's because I love you--all of you--and I want all of you. The sweet stuff and the... hard stuff."

He met her gaze and slowly strode towards her. She felt a flash of fear, but the good kind of fear. The kind you feel when a rollercoaster starts its ascent, clicking slowly up the incline, just before the first gut-wrenching drop.

"I try to control it so I won't hurt you," he said, not meeting her eyes.

"You won't." She stepped up on the first stair so she didn't have to stand on her toes to kiss him. Her fingers touched his chest and his mouth slammed against hers forcefully. Blood rushed to her head and she felt throbbing bursts of sweet pleasure run through her body in time to her heart beat.

His arms snaked around her and she lifted one leg behind her to the second step to brace herself. He raised one leg between hers and bent her back, taking her weight in his arms. His tongue licked hers--rough and slippery.

Her knees buckled and she collapsed back on the stairs. She gasped when her bare butt touched the cold step. Clutching at his shoulders, she pulled him to her. He slid a hand beneath her and maneuvered her body so it was flush with his. With his other hand, he dropped his fingers to test her readiness--she was slick and fire-hot.

"Logan..." she said roughly. "You-- it feels so good. You make me-- umm..."

"It's you," he whispered. "It's all you..." She pulled ineffectually at his shirt. Suddenly his hands left her body and she felt a chill; he stripped his shirt and jeans off in a flash, throwing them over his shoulder to the garage floor. She lifted her top off and then he returned, his chest flat and warm against hers.

She ran her palms over his chest, feeling the humming, almost electrical, pulse beneath his skin. He felt so alive.

A deep rumble formed in his chest when she ran her fingernails over his nipples and he bit her neck hard enough to leave a mark. He caught her hand and pulled it to his mouth; he didn't kiss it, like she expected. Instead, he brought her wrist to his mouth and licked along the edges of the bracelet, sliding his tongue between her flesh and the warm metal. It was decidedly erotic. She groaned when he sucked the inside of her wrist where her veins met her palm in blue pulsing rivers.

Without a word he nudged between her legs; she opened them to him and reached her other hand down to grasp him and guide him to her. He put his foot up a step and entered her in one swift thrust, pushing her up two steps.

She came instantly, crying out his name and wrapping her legs around his waist. Closing her eyes, she saw red-gold waves float behind her lids. She felt stretched and full; her body was connected to his and the same living current that ran under his skin sparked into her and made her skin buzz.

Logan pulled out and thrust again, harder. She slid up another step and tried to hold herself in place. He growled and released his claws, sinking them into the step above her head and braced himself, pounding into her with new ferocity. She bit her lip and tried to match his rhythm; her body sang.

His face was tight and positively feral. She felt him quicken his pace and she cupped his face, bringing her lips to his. He plunged his tongue into her mouth and his breath caught; his body stiffened and he pulled his arms down, ripping six deep gouges in the stairs and forcing his pelvis hard against hers. She knew she was going to come again, soon; she didn't know if she'd stopped coming from the last time.

A guttural noise escaped her throat and she squeezed her pelvic muscles tight around him, willing him to find his release. One more thrust and she felt her orgasm blossom from deep within her. She tried to call out his name but she couldn't make her mouth form the word.

He thrust again and growled as he emptied himself into her.

Collapsing on her body he exhaled sharply and retracted the claws. "Fuck," he said.

Marie tried to say, 'no kidding,' but still couldn't form words; she opened her mouth and closed it twice, like a fish. She caressed his face and kissed him softly, tasting the sweat of his exertion. Finally she got something out, in a thready voice: "Lum."

Logan smirked. "What?"

"Ummm."

"Heh." He extricated himself from her embrace and grabbed his jeans.

She whimpered, "No... stay."

Throwing his tee shirt to her--her skirt was in shreds and her top didn't cover enough--he grinned and told her there was plenty more waiting for her back in their room, and if she was really good he'd show her something fun to do in the shower.

She stood gingerly--she'd be surprised if she didn't have a bruise or two in the morning--and said: "This doesn't make it all right to read my journal."

Laughing and scooping her up and throwing her over his shoulder, he said, "I never said I was gonna be a good boyfriend, darlin'."

"Oh, you're not sugar. You're not a good boyfriend at all," she said contentedly. "You're the best one ever."