“Marie -uh,” he grunted, the slap slap of his thighs on her nylon covered arse sounding like a melody to his ears. Fucking Mozart. “Just a bit m- harder …” God, if he got any harder she was going to break.

Rogue whimpered, cheeks pressed down on the scratchy surface of his bedspread, head up against the headboard, bent at an awkward angle. He pulled out and slammed into her so hard that the pain and pleasure melted into one indistinguishable blob that had her clawing at the bedspread and crying, a silent scream on her lips that she couldn’t voice.

He slumped over her, squeezing out whatever air was left inside of her until she began to wheeze and struggle. Blearily he looked up, slid out of her with an unwilling sigh and rolled onto his back, yanking off the condom and tossing it down. Throwing one hand over his eyes, the other hand landing high on her thigh. Gripping tightly.

Rogue rolled onto her rear then hissed and settled on her side as the scratches on her back began to burn on contact. Gingerly she looked down at the state of her body and noted internally how she would cover it up. Thick scarf round the neck, long gloves, long sleeves, high necked t-shirt, trousers instead of a skirt, hair down, high coverage foundation, skin coloured plasters … and no PE until she could bend without wincing.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered softly, stroking his side with wet cotton fingers.

He caught her hand, pulled it down to his soft cock.

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong,” he said stiffly, nudging her. She acquiesced and began stroking him, fingers sliding up and down damp flesh and wrinkly balls that only seconds ago and been tight, fit to burst and angry looking.

“Something obviously is.” Her back agreed with her.

He shook his head, jaw set; eyes fixed on the far wall and reached down to her hands again. “Take your gloves off.”

She paused, “what? Like this?” He nodded, began peeling off her gloves, “Jesus Logan are you nuts? You actually want me to touch you there with no gloves on?”

He grinned and she belatedly realised that she had just dared him. And Logan has never been able to turn down a dare. “Baby, I want to come inside you with nothing in-between, I want you to drink me down with nothing in-between …” He trailed off, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard, hands growing more insistent.

Rogue gulped, felt her vision go fuzzy as her mind gave her images of exactly how that might look. Remembered a memory of a girl whose name he couldn’t remember, in a filthy bathroom in Louisiana with her boyfriend passed out outside in her car, she had told him that there was around seven calories in a man’s cum. Then had swallowed his, winked and slurred that his cum was so goddamn sweet that there must be thousands of calories in it.

Logan hadn’t known exactly how to take that.

She jolted back to the present feeling flushed and annoyed to find Logan hardening steadily in her naked hand as he pumped her fist over his cock. Rogue inhaled sharply, mouth drying at the feel of him sliding inside her palm; huge, hot, throbbing with life and so hard that Rogue winced in remembrance of her first time. God, how the hell had he gotten inside of her without tearing her apart?

He gasped and arched upwards, propelling his hips into the air and Rogue sped up her jerking in accord to his silent demands, marvelled at how much more of him she could feel without her gloves, every vein, every ridge, every throb.

Blushed at the stickiness coating her hand.

God how she wanted to be down her throat, watch those pretty lips strain around her - and fuck Marie harder! Just squeeze … oh god … yes, just like that baby, almost - Rogue gasped and pulled her hand away, panicked as his head lolled to one side and his lungs worked double time to keep him awake.

“You okay?” She hated and loved seeing him like this. Hated to hurt him, sure, but loved that he stayed, loved that he looked past the hurt and still wanted to touch her, was so fucking desperate to touch her.

He licked his dry lips, they rasped as his tongue travelled over them, and nodded. “Yeah … Marie,” he whimpered, eyes hazy with lust and unable to think past it, recklessly still hard and straining towards her hand.

She wanted to argue, wanted to ask him to let her put her gloves back on but knew it would be hopeless - knew she wouldn’t argue as hard as she should want to. Instead, she wrapped her hand around him, moving that up and down hard and fast while she circled his slit with her other hand. He gasped, strained and bucked upwards. Snarled and yanked her hands back to him whenever she had to pull away so that she wouldn’t drain him. His head thrashed against the pillow and sweat had pooled just above his belly button, enticing her to take a sip, just a quick sip - his cock jumped, he gasped, gasped again - stilled. Rogue bent down, popped the livid, seeping head inside her mouth and sucked.

“Holy -” and he was coming, with his hands tangled in her hair to hold her there and back arching up and down like a taut bow on the verge of snapping. Eyes screwed shut as lights, stars and goddamn supernovas burst in his vision. “… Shit …” he exhaled, finally coming down from his high to see her gasping and choking on the floor.

He stayed on the bed for a while, unable to move, savouring the feel of her saliva and lip-gloss on his dick, the pulse racing memory of her little mouth taking the tip of him inside … her inexperienced teeth nipping him accidentally.

When weight began to return to his body he pulled himself up and slinked onto the floor next to her, finger going up to rub softly at her reddened lips. He’d done some damage to them.

“Sorry,” he said, trying to look it, his dick twitching, trying to rise again at the feel of her lips.

She shook her head, grimaced, and managed a wide-eyed smile. “No I - I wanted to.” That made him grin outright and pull her towards him, tongue snaking in to taste the remnants of him inside her mouth. She pulled away, looking squicked even as her chest rose and fell, Baptist heart fluttering madly, “are you okay?”

He snickered, “why wouldn’t I be.” It wasn’t a question. He didn’t want an answer.

She knew it too.

X

“That’s the fifth time this week Logan,” she fumed, shoving her arms inside her t-shirt, pulling it down her chest. Wrapping an opaque scarf around her neck.

Logan shrugged, continued to watch TV. “Maybe the clock’s broke.”

“Again?” She was sick of this. “Why are you doing this?” if she sounded frustrated, annoyed and … a little bit scared that was because she was.

He tensed up, lifted his beer bottle to his lips, took a deep swallow and shrugged again.

Oh that was it!

“You know what, I’m leaving.” He stilled completely, bottle halfway to his mouth. “And I won’t be coming back here until you decide to act like an adult instead of a four year old child.”

The tension drained out of him. He shrugged again, dismissing her. Went back to watching TV.

She wanted to slam the door on her way out but couldn’t since she was meant to be sneaking back into her room ten minutes before the end of first class.

They’d set up a routine, one of them would slip into the others room - normally Logan’s, a little after curfew, and then creep back out at 5:30 a.m. But for the fifth time this week she’d slept in, either every single clock they owned was faulty or - well, she knew it was the second.

X

Had Caesar married Julia? She was pretty sure someone called Julia had existed in that period but that wasn’t saying much, and besides, how likely would it be that he’d somehow managed to marry a woman with a similar name to his.

What did it even matter, not like she’d been able to focus on anything but Logan all day - speaking of, she had to put new sheets on the bed and air out the room, he’d smoked in there again, even though she’d told him ten thousand times not to - feminists all over the world were spitting on her right now.

Not like she’d ever been rational where he was concerned though.

Which was why she was seriously contemplating going to him, just shrug off what had happened, forget it all, and go see him. Tell him that it didn’t matter and that she hated being angry at him - was doing a piss poor job of it actually, and could they please just be okay now?

“Here you are,” he yelled, striding into the library with a scowl on his face, “I’ve been looking every where for you Marie.” He was annoyed. Great.

Did he not remember that they had fought? “I was here,” she mumbled down to the desk, seeing students look up from their work out of the corner of her eyes. “Logan, go,” she whispered.

His scowl deepened, he sat down next to her, long legs stretched out in front of him, almost touching her. “Look, are you still pissed at me? What do you want me to say, huh? I’m sorry okay?”

A little part of her wanted to tell him to repeat that but sound as if he actually meant it this time. But she was in a - relationship, and that meant compromise right? “Okay - but you have to leave Logan.”

He leaned towards her, close enough to count her eyelashes, eyes narrowed, “no, you’re still angry.”

“No, no I’m not.” She pulled away.

“Yes you are.”

She sighed, tried not to want to reach out and stroke his cheek, tried not to look at him too intimately. “No I really am not. I was - a little, but not anymore.” All said in a whisper while pretending to read a section on someone having some kind of dream. “But you really have to go, someone could see us -”

Logan stood sharply, chair scraping back loudly, making even those that weren’t watching them look up to do so. “Yeah, I better go,” he said rigidly, marching out before she could say goodbye.

Had they just fought again?

X

“How many times have I told you?”

“ … Five hundred and six thousand and … uh, ninety two times - ninety three now,” he said, grinning at her as he watched her open the windows and light smelly candles.

Rogue sighed, lighted the last candle, almond and vanilla, and curled up next to him on the bed. He took his eyes of the screen, some kind of car racing, and yanked her closer, dipping down to wet her lips with his tongue.

Rogue swatted at him, wrinkling her nose at the taste of beer. “Hey … everything is okay right? Between us?” God why had she bought that up? Probably because she knew it wasn’t. Could tell it wasn’t by the way that angry glare never left his face for too long, could tell by the sharp edge to his voice that said he was looking for a fight and didn’t care who he got it from.

He pursed his lips, nodded, eyes furious. Shook it off, grinned at her and hastily gulped down more beer. Seconds later the glare was back.

Sometimes it seemed to her that they communicated best during sex, felt like he only ever opened up after he’d come inside her and was too drained to put all those high walls up again.

Which was why she began unbuttoning her pyjama top, the only almost sexy one that she had because it had a tiny lace border that itched and was cornflower blue with ’Zzzz’ on her arse. She didn’t think Logan noticed it as an attempt at being sexy; he was just amused by the writing on her bottom and loved that he could just yank down the neck to get at her breasts.

She wore these ones a lot.

Logan’s head snapped her way like a hound catching a scent, eyes liquidizing into warm chocolate as he watched her pop the last button off.

She knew it.

Knew there was something wrong, normally he would have been on her before she had even touched the second button, would have been inside her before she had even remembered that there were more buttons after that. But he was holding himself back, watching her but not touching, muscles bunched tightly as he held himself back.

“Marie …” said in a growl, “I think -” he gulped, tried to look away from her, couldn’t pull it off, “I think you should go.”

“What?” the woman ageing inside of her cursed her for sounding so stunned, so dependant - so weak. But the girl dying inside was already in tears, blaming her for pushing him away, blaming her for being born with such a mutation. Her fault, her fault, her fault, she screamed inside. “Why?” He wouldn’t answer. “Logan? Why? Please tell me?” There were secret exclamation marks after each question too.

He shook his head, wouldn’t answer, and clenched the bottle so hard that Rogue was afraid he’d shatter it.

“Logan …” hoped he’d hear the scary yearning in her voice, went silent to give him a chance to respond to it. “I can’t anyway - there are still people outside. I’ll have to wait … till later, when they’re gone.”

The bottle smashed in his grip, beer spilled over his hand onto the bedspread, his palm pooled with blood, Rogue gasped, reached for him but found herself staring up at the ceiling with his tongue curling around her nipple. Her blood spattered, sliced bra lying next to her hair.

With a snikt his claws disappeared again.

“Logan!” she wailed, trying to tug him up to her. He shook his head against her breast, tugged hard at a nipple, stretching it and sucking noisily, then bit at the full underside. Rogue arched upwards, hips tilting against his, absentmindedly remembering that there was broken glass and spilled beer on the bed but unable to think clearly enough to care when he was doing such good things with his tongue.

A hand cupped her face, already healed but still wet with blood, coloured it red from cheek to chin, and yanked her down to meet with his mouth, bruising her lips with a hard punishing kiss that she hadn‘t known she‘d deserved. Rogue groaned, winced and held him in place with her hands as her own tongue laved at him. Tasted pennies in her mouth and realised he’d smeared blood over her lips as well.

Thought about gagging but swallowed instead because she was too far gone, and he wouldn’t let her anyway, and she could taste him through the taste of pennies … she’d always been addicted to his taste.

Fingers raced down, pulled off her trousers, making her bounce on the bed, and yanked her to him. Groin to groin. She grinded down, heard him hiss, and grinded down more. He bent down, laved at her cheek, chin, the arch of her nose, down her collarbone and up the quivering pulse of her throat. Strong hands cupped her arse, stroked the swell reverently, stroked harder - parted them.

Rogue tensed against her perusal of his neck and the alluring taste of his sweat there, tensed further when a finger circled her there.

“Logan?” she whispered, voice small. He blinked, looked down at her with hot, wild eyes. Circled tighter. “Logan, what’re you doing?”

He pushed.

Rogue pulsed in his arms like she’d touched a live wire and consequently found herself lying on her stomach with him pressed on top of her. With him pressed against the cleft of her arse, putting pressure on it, pressing in.

“Don’t! Don’t. God, don’t Logan!” she begged, voice thick with apprehension, eyes filling with tears.

He arched, pressing closer, finger circling so close - ready to dip. “I could make it good for you,” he whispered into the back of her moist neck, hips flush against her and already taking up a rhythm.

She nodded jerkily, trying to look back at him over her shoulder. Could only see some of his hair and forehead. “I know,” Jaya, Helena, the twins, Roma and even that Catholic schoolteacher in Maine were proof of that.

He grinned smugly, took that as consent and spread her wider. Dragged a finger over and inside her dripping sex and used the wetness to tease her puckered hole.

“But I also know you’re not going to be gentle,” she continued quickly, shuddering and trying not to arch into his fingers, “not with how you’ve been acting. I - I know it’s going to hurt and - and damn it, I’m scared Logan! It’s going to hurt and I’ll end up needing Jean and what the hell am I going to tell her, huh?”

“Just lie, tell her that you have a new fucking boyfriend - hell, why don’t you get a new boyfriend!” he shouted, not bothering to keep his voice down.

“What? Why are you doing this?”

He went silent, wouldn’t let her twist around to face him.

“This,” she pleaded, “this is you pushing me away. This is you messing up and messing up big.”

The weight lifted off her suddenly and she swivelled around to find him leaning against the headrest, eyes closed and fists clenched so tight that his hands looked paler.

She covered herself up with the quilt, held it bunched up above her breasts and approached him warily. “Tell me what’s wrong? Tell me why you’re doing this, tell me and we’ll fix it.”

His eyes snapped open, fixing her with a gaze so intense, so furious that she shuffled away from him a little. “I want you here. All the time. I hate sneaking around; I hate it when you have to go back to your room. I hate not being allowed to touch you whenever I want. I hate everyone not knowing about us. I hate the idea that you don’t - hate it as much as I do.”

The breath that she was holding gushed out of her. “But you know we can’t -” His eyes slammed closed again, shutting her out. “It’s only for a little while longer.”

“That’s not the point!”

She gulped, stared inattentively down at the wet bed and glittering shards of coloured glass. “I better … go.”

His eyes opened again, wary, frightened. “You promised.”

She blinked, nodded, jerked on her clothes and left.

X

She tossed and turned that night and every night after for three days. When the third day came, she had made her decision. Smart Marie had said to at least wait a few days before doing something that would royally screw up her life. See first, with a trial period, if she could live without him.

Even though she knew the answer that first night she decided to wait three days - not for her, but for him, because this would royally screw up his life too.

Three days of watching him drink heavily and cry into her stomach, three days of barely suppressed rage and a hair-trigger temper, three days of him begging at her door and asking for her to just give him whatever she could, whatever she wanted, had decided things for her.

Looked like he couldn’t live without her too.

Besides, nothing could be worse than what they had already put themselves through.

X

The professor was speechless.

And … disgusted.

“… I trusted him. I let him in here, in my school - in my home -”

“It’s not like that,” she hiccupped, eyes blurry with tears. “He would never-”

“He has,” he said sharply, “he took advantage of a young -”

“No!” Rogue interrupted, heart going a mile a minute, second, third and fourth thoughts forming in her head. “I love him.”

“When did this start?”

Rogue hesitated, thought about lying. No, just the truth now, “… the - psychical stuff just started recently - I was already … seventeen.” The Professor looked sick. Then went back to angry again.

“And the other - stuff. When exactly did that start?”

She blushed, stared at her shaky fingers, “since - since he left. The first time.”

The professor closed his eyes, rubbed his forehead. “You know, I can have him thrown into prison, there is a name for what he is. A name for what he has been doing.”

She looked up sharply, her heart in her throat, “no please Professor! I love him, please don’t-”

“Love him? You are a child, a child with a crush, an infatuation. That he - he has taken advantage of … that I should have - noticed.”

“No Professor, you don’t understand I -” The door to the office opened, interrupting her, Logan strode in casually. Sat down next to her, gave her an intensely happy look and reached for her hand. Gave it a squeeze and looked back at the Professor.

“I heard Rogue was here. Thought I should be here too,” he said clearly, calmly.

The Professor was almost shaking with anger, “really? Do you think there is any explanation in the world that would make this acceptable? Think I could ever forgive you for betraying my trust, Rogue’s trust, by raping her? Think I‘ll let you continue to live here, around her? Around other students?”

Logan and Rogue flinched at the same time, but as Rogue fell to crying, Logan sat straighter. “I know there were better ways to go about it. I know I should have waited - I know I’ve … hurt her.” The Professor shot her an alarmed look that she wouldn’t meet. “But I couldn’t wait.”

“Why not? If this is so pure, if this is love then why didn’t you wait? You’re practically immortal for god’s sake!”

Logan’s head snapped up, “because I am fucking immortal! And she’s … not. You don’t - it’s like I have a fucking timer in my head … counting down the seconds, telling me that I have one second less with her.” He gulped, squeezed her hand tighter but wouldn’t meet her frightened gaze. “How long do you think I have with her, huh? Maybe thirty years until she looks older then me? Maybe thirty-five if I can wrangle it. What about after? As much as I want to kid myself, say it’ll work out, that we’ll be together forever, that age is just a fucking number - I can’t control her. I can’t control the future. I don’t - know …”

The room exploded into silence only interrupted by Logan’s thick breathing. Rogue stared up at him, body shaking in fear at this dire prediction of their future. Something she had never really paid much attention to apart from dreams about children and marriage. God, what future? Thirty years? That wasn’t a lifetime.

“I want every second I have with her,” Logan continued, sounding angry to cover up his emotional outburst. “And I know it’s wrong but I don’t care. I can’t care because I know I’ll regret it later when - when she leaves me because she can’t bear the fact that she’s getting old while I stay the same. Won’t want me to touch her in public because people will look at her wrong. Will tell me to leave because looking at me hurts and scares her. Will move on with a guy -” he stopped, looked sick.

“… I’m … sorry,” the Professor murmured, sounding distressed, eyes misty as he looked at them and imagined their future, the pain to come, the happily ever after they would never, ever enjoy. The gloom that would coat their lives no matter how big a present life gave them. A ticking time bomb, that’s what their relationship would be. No fixing that. Rogue didn’t even look at the Professor; she couldn’t tear her eyes away from Logan, who still wouldn’t look at her. “I … shouldn’t have … jumped to conclusions, should have remembered who you are, should have thought … I - I must apologise.”

Logan didn’t interrupt that apology.

X

It felt like a funeral march, the walk back to his bedroom - back to their bedroom. Hand in hand, ignoring the staring.

When the door clicked behind her she slid to the floor, feeling boneless, exhausted enough to sleep for thirty years.

“Thirty years, huh?” she said bitterly.

He winced, nodded, slid down against the door. “Maybe thirty-five … hopefully forty.”

“Wow … long time.”

He tried to nod, couldn’t manage it. “I was hoping … hoping you’d never know, not till it was-”

“Was what?”

“Too late.” Too late for her to think of leaving him or late enough that she had passed twenty-nine years in ignorant bliss, only felt that sorrow for the last few months?

“Huh,” was her answer to that.

X

The room was dark when she decided to speak again, still crumpled up on the floor, eyes red with visions, “thirty years isn’t enough.”

His breath hitched, “I know.”

“What if I want more? What if I want sixty years with you? What if I want all the years I have left to be with you? What if I don’t care what people think?”

Logan was crying, she couldn’t see it but she could tell by the way he was breathing. And god if that didn’t shatter her world. “Then you’ll have it Marie. You think I want to leave? You think I’ll care what you look like? Think I’ll stop fucking loving you when you’re - old?” The pause was not at the thought of her being old but at the thought of her being so close to the end. “I love you too much to ever stop Marie. But I love you too much to hurt you, too much to see you look at me and -”

“No,” she interrupted, not wanting to hear more. “I swear Logan, I won’t - won’t care.”

“… Okay.” She wanted to scrutinize that acceptance. Was he saying that he believed her? Or just agreeing for the sake of it? Did it matter?

She crawled over to him, suddenly hating the distance in between them, hating every second that she hadn’t spent glued onto him. She flew at him, arms wide and felt breath leave her body as he collapsed onto her, arms so tight around her that she felt her bones creak.

Simultaneously they tore at her trousers, pulling them down and off her along with her underwear. Her hand dipping inside him to pull out his cock, hard and beyond ready, almost coming just at the touch of her fingers. His hand spread her wide, hoisted himself over her and plunging unceremoniously inside.

She strained upwards with a loud, unchecked scream. Scrabbling for his back, digging in to hold him there.

He thrust in jerkily. Once. Twice. Third time.

Pulled out, landing face first on the floor next to her head with a dizzy groan. A trail of him seeping out of her and smearing across her thigh.

She closed her legs tightly, lifting her hips up as high as she could with him over her, turned to look at him, “thirty years?”

He nodded, a sob bubbling up, shattering her again. “But they’ll be the best thirty years anyone will ever have.”

Unbelievably, a smile tugged at her lips, “really. You promise?”

He nodded; eyes clenched shut, not willing to play their game. Changed his mind when he heard her softy calling his name, “yeah, I promise. Full of chocolates, flowers …”

“And you cleaning up after yourself?”

He managed a slipping grin, “can’t ask for miracles Marie.”