Two months, eight days, and four hours.

Two *whole* months, eight fuckin’ days, and four godforsaken, tortuously long, cold sweatin’ hours.

That was sixty nine freakin’ days. And sixty nine was a number he did not want to think about right now. He would not think about it, he wouldn't, he… God he wanted to think about it. Fuck, he could think about it all day. Hot and fast and hands everywhere and…NO!

Deep breath.

Calm.

Encourage blood to return to head.

He’d come back from his travels. Which he decided was a good thing. She was all grown up. Which he also decided was good, considering his thoughts of late. She was happy in the Mansion; good things all round, he figured.

…And then there was the minor detail that she was playing tongue wars with the fuckin’ snowman.

Which was... well... even he didn't know enough swear words to do it justice.

So. He’d had all these good resolutions. Spend some time with her. Show her that you care. Take things slow. (Push the Iceprick under a bus.) And don’t go out and get laid. Because apparently that comes under the ‘sending mixed vibes’ category.

So he’d been good.

For two friggin months, eight days, and four godDAMN long hours.

When was she gonna get the FUCKIN’ picture? Did he have to spell it out for her? ‘Cause he would, if it would help. He grabbed a piece of paper, which was technically the back of a label peeled off a beer bottle (sign of sexual frustration, Scott had said far too smugly). Not exactly romantic, but hell, needs must. What? You think the Wolverine does stationary? Yeah right, Bub.

Further hunting revealed an old pencil. Hardly the stuff of epic love letters, but at least it was individual. Had character so to speak.

He frowned.

‘Marie,’ he began, chewing the end of the pencil thoughtfully. Somehow he didn’t think ‘ten seconds after I post this through your door I’m gonna explode into your room and take you up against your bedpost with or without your pansy assed boyfriend present’ would go down to well. Apparently, according to Cosmo, that was classed as ‘coming on too strong.’

See, that was what he had been reduced to. Reading fuckin’ Cosmo. Well, technically, it was less of a read, and more of a leer at the half-naked pictures and a five knuckle shuffle – but…no. Probably shouldn’t mention that in his letter either. That might come under the category of ‘pervy’.

He huffed an angry sigh to himself. ‘Marie,’ he tried again. Then stared blankly at the beer label for a moment. Was that all he could come up with? Was it so goddamned hard? Well something was goddamn hard because he was running out of fuckin’ patience. He took a deep breath. Then another. Then with a roar, he scrunched up the stupid thing in his fist and lobbed it into his bin.

There now. That felt better. He sure taught it a lesson.

But he still had no letter.

He needed help. But who? Scott? Yeah right. Chuck? ‘Hi, I like you to help me lure one of your students into bed, where I plan to fuck her all the way to Christmas.’ Nope, Chuck was not a good option... But there was always ‘Ro. Yes! …No. That would mean talkin’ to a girl. And talkin’ to a girl at this moment without screwin’ her would be impossible. It wouldn’t be his fault, of course, but they’d proposition him, and he just wasn’t in a place where he could turn them down. He’d been avoiding ‘Ro for weeks. Hell, he’d even started to avoid Scott.

He’d just have to lump it, and do the damn job himself.

Decision made, he figured there was no use beating around the bush. Else he was gonna have to beat something else and healin’ factor or no healin’ factor, he was sure he was comin’ down with a case of tennis fuckin’ elbow.

Another label.

‘We need to talk.’ Yeah, that was good start. Much better than ‘Marie’. And girls liked to talk didn’t they? Of course, by talk he meant ‘rut like rampant bunnies on Viagra,’ but there was no need to go into the specifics. Not just yet.

‘I’ve seen your teasin’ glances. Stop playin’ and come and find me. Logan.’

There. Nothin’ wrong with that. Straight to the point. From the heart. Possibly a bit lower.

Now. To post it. He peered out into the corridor, making sure no one else was around before sneaking out, prowling the distance to her room, eyes on full alert…oh god there was a female comin’. He mustn’t cave, mustn’t cave… Panting with the effort it cost him, he pinned himself back against the wall, the breaths coming hard and fast through his nose as Kitty came round the corner.

“Stay back,” he warned with a growl. “You have to resist me! Don’t come any closer!”

“I…what…?”

“I said DON’T COME ANY CLOSER!”

Kitty gave a yelp and leapt back a few paces, half disappearing through the wall on the other side. “Ok,” she squeaked, giving him a weird look before walking off a lot faster than she had approached.

He breathed a shaky sigh of relief. Strange kid, he thought to himself. But strong will power. Good. That could’ve been messy.

A few more steps, and he was at Marie’s door. The letter and/or beer label was easily slipped underneath, and then it was a case of legging it back to his room where he could hide until she came to him.

He waited.

Quarter of an hour went by, there was no sign.

Half an hour, and nothin’.

He paced.

Three quarters of an hour, and-…wait… A knock! About goddamn time!

He ruffled his shirt a bit, ran a hand through his hair, then opened the door to….to…

Iceprick?

Fuck. And the kid was smiling.

The smug bastard.

The smooth talkin’, pansy assed-

“Logan,” he said with an air of deliberate casualness. “You appeared to have dropped something.”

Back came the note, the hand that passed it icy cold.

Logan’s glare shot daggers at his retreating back. Of all the jumped up little pricks. Of all the fucked up little boyband wannabe’s.

That was it. That did it. He’d had enough.

Door slamming behind him, he stalked out down the corridor. Not sulking. He didn’t do sulking. Far too girlish an emotion.

But it was close.

What he needed was to go out, to get completely hammered, to beat the shit outta some guy in a cage, then to fuck the brains out of a… a… fuck there she was.

His heart did not jump around in his chest. It would never dare to do something so…so… un-manly. And when he swallowed his throat did not feel dry. He just needed a drink, that was all.

“Hey Logan.” That came with a southern shy half smile, and he had to refrain from the urge to hump her leg. “You going out?”

He looked into those soft brown eyes. Big mistake. “No,” he said, resigning himself to the fact. “Not going anywhere.”

“I’ll see you around later then.”

Yep. She would. Because he was so hooked that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Damn it.

Two months, eight days, and five hours.

Two months, ten days, and forty five minutes.

Nearly one a.m. He was still awake. Nothin’ wrong with that. Couldn’t sleep, so just casually havin’ a beer.

In the hall closet.

What? You gonna get all fussy ‘bout location now? So what? Not like he was lookin’ for Narnia or anythin’. Or spyin’. Nope. Just that, y’know, with the door open a crack, he could see right into the rec room.

Where currently, the little Iceprick’s hand was draped oh so casually over Marie’s shoulder. Wondering lower.

He growled, not noticing Jubilee was passing until she leapt away from the closet with a startled squeak. Ahh well, the little spark plug could use some scarin’. Keep her in line.

Dammit? Was the Icecream tryin’ to put the moves on *his* girl? There were looks, he could see them, oh yes he could. And he didn’t like them. Not one fuckin’ bit.

He oughtta go over there, show Marie how a *real* man does it. Hoist her up over his shoulder, carry her away to some schmaltzy romantic background music, and… See? That was what he had been reduced to now. Cosmo was a thing of the past. He’d spent the afternoon holed up in his room watching re-runs of An Officer and A Gentleman. With chocolate. CHOCOLATE for Chrissake. And only dared to venture out when he realised he was growing more and more attached to the idea of sailor whites.

Maybe he should get himself one of those sailor caps. That would sweep her off her feet, sure it would.

Awww fuckit. She smiled at him. She smiled at the pimped up little Icecube, who grinned his little Simon-Cowell-would-love-me goddamn American Idol face right back at her.

And no, he didn't watch that. He hadn't sunk that low. (Well, only once, and he still felt dirty inside.)

He growled. Always helped to make him feel more manly. That was better. Oh but the unfolding prom-night drama in front of him was making him want to stab his eyes out. Why? Why would she subject herself to that... that.... Why he’d- …uh-oh.

Approaching footsteps. Fuck.

Stay quiet. Don’t move. Maybe whoever it was wouldn’t notice that he was…

…or not.

The door opened. Scott peered in. Frowned.

“Logan? What are you doing in the closet?”

Ok… how to get out of this one. Ha! Act defensive – yeah, that’ll work! *Growl* “What the fuck does it look like I’m doin’?”

“It look’s like you’re sitting in the closet.”

“Well I am!”

“Well… you… uh… *Why*?”

“’Cause I like the location.”

“Are you planning on staying there all night?”

“NO!”

“Logan, stop shouting.”

“I’M NOT SHOUTING. You’re interrupting MY personal time. And I’ll come OUT of the FUCKIN’ CLOSET when *I* want to! GOTTIT?…uh…hello…Marie.”

Ok. Last sentence replaying round his head right now. Not sounding too good. In fact, *really* not sounding too good. An argument with Scott and repeated references to coming out of the closet. Yeah. He might as well have stuck a big sign on his head saying ‘By the way kid, I’m gay’.

Screw it. He was never gonna get laid ever again.

“What ya doing Logan?” Marie asked, frowning slightly.

Was there any way of coming out of this dignity still in tact? Probably not.

“Are you and…”she swallowed… “Scott… I mean I know since you broke up with Jean you must be… lonely, but I didn’t imagine… not that I would mind… I didn’t mean. Oh...” She blushed bright red. “I’m going to go now.”

Logan watched her form retreating quickly down the hall and palmed his face. The girl he had been lusting after for months had just given him her ok to be with Scott.

Life? Was fuckin’ cruel.

Scott wasn’t half so pretty.

---

Two months, ten days, one hour and fifteen minutes.

“Kid?” Knocked on the door *again*. “Kid, I’m not… Look, don’t make me say it, ok? People might hear…”

“’S fine Logan. Honest.” The reply was muffled through the door.

“Look kid. I’m not gay. I’m. NOT. GAY…uh hi Doc, didn’t see you there…”

Hank looked mortified. “The least you could have done was to break it to me gently,” he sobbed, before running off.

Logan looked at Hank’s retreating form. He looked at the door. Today was not a good day.

Ok. Day whatever. Hour whatever. Logan’d stopped countin’. He was down to his last resort. Normally he wouldn’t like to stoop so low, but there were times in a man’s life when he’s gotta do things for the greater good. This was one of ‘em.

Right, he thought. Plan of Action. Time? Eleven fifteen. Mornin’ lessons out soon. Just enough time for him to work up a sweat.

Tool box in hand he made his way to the broken air con unit. Well. Technically it wasn’t broken… yet. Another one of those greater good things, understand?

He looked left and right, then a carefully aimed adamantium elbow resulted in the horrible grating sound of air con death. Nice.

Out came the tools, bit grubby and greasy, but that couldn’t be helped. Off came the shirt, ‘cause y’know, with the air con down it was gonna get fuckin’ hot in here. Ooops, was that a bit of grease smeared across his finely honed abs? Ahh well, couldn’t be helped. Messy job this.

Ok, time check. Eleven twenty five. Not long now. He wiped his forehead, God it really was gettin’ hot, and… Oh fuck. Scott comin’ past.

“Air con broken *again* Logan?”

Ok, so it may not have been the first time he’d tried this. But this time, he had a secret weapon. Something no girl could resist.

“Should soon be up an’ runnin’ Scooter. No need to get your panties in a twist.”

Scott just gave him a long look. “Well maybe we ought to replace it.”

“Nah, I can fix it, it’s nothin’… really.” He whacked it with his wrench as if to prove a point, but the thing just coughed a little and gave off a cloud of…something. Shit. Maybe he really had broken it this time.

“Whatever you say Logan.” Scott gave him a grin which clearly said he didn’t believe him in the slightest, and strode off in the other direction.

Well, at least that meant he was out of the way, which was always a good thing. Despite spending ages convincing her otherwise, Marie was always wary around the pair of them since the closet incident, and she….wait…!

There were voices, footsteps. That could only mean one thing…

Classes were out.

Logan rolled his shoulders. Time to put calculated plan into action.

He reached down to the ice bucket beside him, pulled out a can of cold coke, and just as the students…or more importantly Marie, walked round the corner, he pulled the tab with a clear hiss.

Bring. It. On.

Manly gulps. That’s what was needed. Spill a little? Who cares. Wipe condensation across forehead. Let drips roll with sweat down the toned bare chest to the waistband of his low slung jeans. Oh yeah, he had this down to a fuckin’ ART. Diet fuckin’ coke break. He rocked it all the way to the damn bedroom and then some.

He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and as he put down the can, he used the opportunity to let his eyes wonder the room. Oh yeah. There she was. And she was watching. Hell yeah, was she watching.

So was half the student body… but… details were not important right now.

“Hey Logan.” Damn she looked good when she smiled at him like that, like he was the only person in the room.

“Don’t mind us, we’re just going to sit here quietly and drool.” That came from the yellow spark plug. He ignored her, deciding that he could always kill her later.

“Hey, kid,” he said, with all the sexy undertone he could muster. Which was quite a lot.

“You need a hand?”

“You know about fixing these units?” Not only was she hot, but she knew her stuff? Man that was-

“Actually… no.”

Ahhh well. Again. Details.

A voice came from the corner. “She could always grab your wrench...”

Yeah, the kid in yellow was gonna have to die.

“But maybe you could teach me?” Marie was still looking at him, and her eyes were hopeful, oh yes they were. Score for Logan. Bring it on.

He pretended to consider it. Didn't want to appear... well... desperate. “Well, I'm kinda busy right now, darlin'...” Yeah, that's it. Play hard to get. He was a lean, mean, Wolverine machine. “But how ‘bout I teach you later on, say, this evenin’?”

Was it his imagination or did that bring a bit of colour to her cheeks.

She brushed a stray strand of hair out of her face. “Where were you thinking?”

Now, he could play this subtle... romance her... take his time over – Oh Christ, did she just lick her lips? God, she should do that more often. How did such a little gesture suddenly become so appealing when she did it? He could just watch her all-

“Logan?”

He blinked at her. “Huh?”

“Where do you want to do it?”

Oh God. Everywhere. On everything. Up against the wall. On the stairs. Over the desk. Right now.

“Dude,” the yellow kid interrupted. She'd snuck forward to waive a hand in front of his face. “Hello? Your 'tutorial'?” She emphasised the last word rather more than was necessary.

Oh yeah. Right.

Ok. How to play this. Subtle? Could he do subtle?

“How ‘bout my room?”

Apparently not.

“Your room?”

Maybe that was a little obvious...

“Ok.”

She…Really?

Oh Yeah. Oh Yeah. He still had it. He rocked. Right now the Wolverine in his head was doing a celebratory ‘go Logan, go Logan’ swivelling dance. He was still smirking to himself as all the students drifted away, and all he could hear travelling back up the corridor was the yellow kid’s voice.

“So, Chica, whatcha gonna do once you have your hands on the Wolvie's tools?”

He needed a cold shower. Now.

Super-tight jeans, big assed belt buckle, and a loose shirt over a wifebeater… go for the traditional ‘this is what I always wear’ approach. Yeah. …No… That was a crap idea. What was he thinkin'?

Smart pants and a jacket. Yeah. The way forward. Much more modern-day-man.

Or… not.

Christ, if there was ever a time he owned either of those two things, then the memory was long obliterated.

He rummaged through his draws. Wifebeater, wifebeater, really bad shirt, wifebeater…dammit!! Was there not a secret superhero draw swivelling button that revealed long lines of really smart clothes for emergencies such as this? Seriously. Chuck should get that installed.

James Bond never had to put up with any of this shit.

Jeans, smart-ish…kinda… ok not really but it would do T-shirt, and a bit of gel in his hair. Said gel then hidden under the bed where it would not be found. A moment of hideous panic when he realised the stolen Cosmo mag was still in his room, but he hid it inside a far more manly copy of some girl-on-girl porno, and shoved it alongside the hair gel, trying not to think about how fucked up in the head that made him.

He surveyed the room. Not bad, not bad at all. Not too neat. Not too messy. Clean sheets. All the necessities conveniently at hand; TV remote, beer, hand-cuffs multipack of condoms… They would want for nothin'…

His stomach growled.

…Except possibly food. Maybe he should-

A knock at the door suddenly hammered his heart through his throat.

Two months, fourteen days, and seven hours.

Christ, super-healer or not, there was no way he was going to survive this if things didn’t start going his way.

She didn't wait for him to answer. Probably a good thing. His feet appeared to be frozen to the floor. So he just watched. Attempted to strike a casual, 'yeah this is how I always stand in the middle of my room' pose.

Not really workin'.

Still, as the door swung open and she let herself in, he managed a sexy half smile, and let his eyes feast on her glossy hair, that slim neck, the low V cut of her top...

Hell, he was screwed.

Was he dribbling? He had a feeling it was a distinct possibility. She hadn’t noticed though. He hoped. “Hey darlin’.” Oh yeah, and that sounded smooooth. Rough around the edges, deep, warm and slightly growly. Enough to give most women an orgasm on its own. Damn he was good.

“Hi Logan.” She smiled shyly, and his heart constricted. As did his jeans.

He smiled back. “So…” He had great plans for taking that sentence further, but yeah… his brain was already picturing what colour underwear she had on and whether he could rip it off with his teeth. Damn, but that was a good-

“Green. And yep. You probably could.”

Green? Oh yeah, that was a good colour on her, suited…what the FUCK?

Ok, back up here a minute, bub. “Did you just…” He frowned. “Did I… out loud? With... the…”

Oh but she was grinnin' at him now, the little minx. Not her cute little innocent smile either, a full on cat that just got the cream smile. Where the hell did that come from?

“I touched Jean this afternoon.”

Man that was a pretty image. Fuck, he’d pay to see somethin’ like that. Hell, he’d already-

“Not like that,” she gave him a stern look, but the humour was still there behind it. “But I can tell everything you’re thinking. It was Jubes' idea. Your air con thing was so obvious, I thought I'd give myself a fighting chance.”

Fuck.

“You swear a lot.”

Yeah, well. It was a healthy outlet.

It began to dawn on him that he had seriously underestimated her.

She nodded. “Yep.”

She was no more 'kid', than he was Mary Poppins.

“You've watched that?”

Goddammit!

He concentrated and tried really hard to think of... manly things. Bikes. Machines. Prodding open fires with sticks. Not sex. No. Definitely not sex. Especially not the hot, dirty kind... Oh Christ, did she know there were handcuffs under his pillow?

“Well I do now,” she said, sneaking a look past him to peek at the bed.

He ran a slightly nervous hand through his hair. Was he sweatin'? Fuck, this was not goin' the way he planned.

“So how did you plan it, sugar?”

Yeah. Either he’d died and gone straight to hell. Or he’d died and gone straight to heaven.

Rogue's eyes sparkled. “Well, that depends...”

Damn. It was so unfair that she could do that!

“I ain't gonna sleep with you. Not tonight.”

Hell. Definitely Hell.

“My momma raised me to be a lady.”

He hated her mother.

“But I did tell Bobby to get lost.”

...Hopefully with a shotgun...

“And I might just let you take me out tonight. If,” she paused to smile wickedly, “you're very, very good.”

He folded his arms. Raised an eyebrow. “An' what if I'm very, very bad?”

Her smile widened, and he realised for the first time that she wasn't as innocent as she looked.

Damn, that was hot.

Two months, fourteen days and eleven hours.

So they'd gone out.

Dinner had been great. He hadn't tasted a damn thing, had winced at the hole it left in his wallet, but he'd had a wonderful view down her top every time she leant over to scoop up another forkful from her plate.

The bike ride back was even better. She'd slid her hands under his jacket as she held on to him. Just for warmth, she'd explained. Yeah right. That comin' from the girl who still wore gloves even though she'd learnt to control her powers months ago? About as likely to be true as that damn rumour sayin' he used to dress in yellow and blue spandex every weekend.

...And for the record, he still blamed Cyke for that.

Anyway. There had been hands. They'd been under his jacket, and every time he'd gone over a bump, they'd 'accidentally' slid a little lower. 'Momma raised me to be a lady' my ass. She knew exactly what she was doing.

...So did he. He'd picked the roughest, bumpiest road home just to... y'know... speed things along.

That, combined with the vibration of the bike... well... it was lucky he had an iron clad willpower, otherwise he'd have had to do his own washin' this week to avoid explainin' some suspicious looking stains to the cleaner. The few shreds of tough-guy reputation he had left would be lost forever.

So, dinner had been good. Ride home, good. The walk from the garage to his room?

Complete failure.

...In so far as distance covered, anyhow.

They only got as far as the library. Where they were currently standing, in some kinda 'I'm not gonna jump you first' stand-off.

God, he'd never wanted to lose so much in his life.

“You were watching my ass,” she accused.

Oh come on! Who wouldn't? An' she damn well walked in front of him on purpose. No one could blame him for leerin'.

She arched a brow. “Y'know, you think about sex more than most teenage boys.”

Ok, that may be true, but entirely unfair seein' as she was the reason behind the fact that his balls were now probably bluer than Kurt's.

...Damn, and that was an image he never wanted to think of again. Christ.

“You're picturing that? Gross!”

Oh for...

He growled a gravelly, “Your fault,” at her, and silently vowed never to let her near another telepath again.

Which, of course, she heard.

This time she ditched the fake 'Ah ahm offended by your growly male letching' look, and tried out another one of those sassy little smiles instead. Gettin' far too confident for her own boots. “Oh yeah?” she said.

Man, he was so being played. “Yeah.”

“And how exactly were you planning on stopping me, sugar?”

Practical demonstration, Logan decided, was definitely his forte.

He didn't retort. Didn't move. Just looked at her, hard and hungry. He was so damn good at it, it was practically one of his mutant powers.

Then before she could so much as squeak in protest, he backed her up against the wall, hands either side of her head, body close enough to feel the heat. He leaned in and breathed words into her ear. Dirty, filthy words that made her heart race. He could hear it. Then he nuzzled against her smooth neck, his sideburns brushing lightly against her skin as he'd tilted his head... moved his mouth closer to hers... an inch away... less... until they were breathing the same air, and the whole world dissolved into non-existence around them.

He felt her stand on tiptoes. Felt her lean in...

Then he pulled away.

Smirked.

“Like that,” he said.

With a cry of outrage, she grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket, hauled him inside the nearest room. The library.

---

Two months, fourteen days, eleven hours and three minutes.

...What?

It had been a GODDAMN long time!

His first coherent thought was, fuck, he'd never read a book the same way again.

Hell, he wasn't gonna be able to so much as walk past the library without getting a serious hard-on, and that could prove a real bitch on the occasions Scott decided to hold the team de-briefings in there.

His second coherent thought was more along the lines of a of a rather heart-gripping 'damn, she looks beautiful' which kinda caught him off guard, seein' as his usual post-sex reaction was something along the lines of a 'hell yeah!' I mean, the 'hell yeah' was still there, but it wanted to buy her kittens and flowers, and spend nights just cuddling and having meaningful conversations about relationships all the other shit that the Wolverine just did not do.

He growled a little. Flexed his knuckles until he felt the edges of his claws, just to remind himself he was badass. Yeah. That was more like it.

Still, sated and flushed, with one leg wrapped around him, the other foot balancing on the bottom rung of the ladder, skirt hiked, and a hand still gripped in his hair, she was about the sexiest damn thing he'd ever seen.

He released his grip on the bookshelf they were pressed against, not caring about the claw-marks it now bore. Then, as he disentangled himself from her, he dipped his head to touch his mouth against her now very well kissed lips, his hands fumbling with her dishevelled clothes, pulling them back into place... well... most of them, lovin' the half smirk on her face as she slid back down to the ground. Lovin' her even more as she reached out and adjusted his shirt. As she kissed him back while she re-buttoned his fly.

He didn't care he was almost enjoying the dressing as much as he enjoyed the un-dressing. Didn't even care he was thinking the 'L' word. Didn't care about anythin' else in the world...

“Well,” she said, breathlessly, “that was...”

“Unexpected? Hot? Best damn time of your life?”

“...Quick.”

Oh for fucks sake.

“C'mere darlin', I ain't even started yet.”

Girl was gonna be the death of him.

...Hell, but what a way to go...