… Violate all the love that I'm missing ...

She wants to turn away, but they make it impossible. The sly little glances, the smiles they share, all those unspoken understandings - they make her fists clench, her stomach churn, her teeth grind. It feels like hate, sometimes, but she knows it's love.

It's not just any love, though. Her love lies coiled and waiting, ready to pounce. She's a predator, just like he is, and she pushes away the guilt when she drops a lie into the conversation, retells a story with a tiny twist, and does her best to plant doubt and dissension.

The bitch is just a placeholder, a way to pass the time while he waits. Even he can see the time isn't right, she tells herself. It would throw the Mansion into disarray if they were to be together right now; they didn't want to attract the Professor's censure or the ire of their team mates.

No, it's not their time yet, so she pulls up a chair just a few metres away when they curl up together in the rec room, knees brushing, pretending to watch the television.

He asks questions, and she laughs at his incomprehension. Mulder has been abducted, she explains, and Scully is looking for him. She'll never give up, just like he'd never give up on her. They share a long look, and she feels sick at the intimacy of it.

They're wrong, she knows they are. Everything about them is wrong, and he must see it too, because they hardly flaunt their sordid little affair. "Nobody's business but their own," he likes to say, and "some stuff's private". He's ashamed, she's sure, that he finally gave in to the slut's less-than-subtle overtures, and she has a plan to rescue him.

... throw away all the pain that I'm living …

She watches, and listens, and tells the Professor that the Wolverine is their best option to accompany her on these long-distance pickups, and of course they can stay in a motel overnight if they have to.

He locks the door at night, and is excruciatingly careful not to be caught alone with her. Respectful, she tells herself, and waits for the sound of the shower so that she can use the spare key she took from the office. Lies in his bed, waiting, rubbing herself to orgasm at the thought of what's to come.

"What the fuck?" he explodes. "Get outta my bed, Red!" He stomps through the room, pulling on his jeans and grabbing his duffle bag on the way through. "In fact, you and your stink stay here. I'm taking your room."

He slams the door, and it's all a production, she knows it is. He was obviously tempted. She reaches out to read his thoughts - all's fair in love and war, after all - shivering at the prospect of sharing his arousal.

What's she doing? Could smell her all the way from the shower, and Marie sure don't stink like that ... mmm, can still taste her on my fingers from this morning. Oh, darlin'. Miss you. Should be here instead of crazy stalker woman... crush is getting outta hand. Pathetic. Barely interesting back in the day, and certainly not going to fuck things up now that I've got Marie ... need you baby, when you gonna call …

Jean pulls back with a cry of distress, his brutality stinging in her mind. She's reading him wrong, somehow; or maybe he's deceiving himself. Sublimation. That must be it - he wants her, but can't admit it. She must have hurt his feelings so, poor man, turning him down all those years ago, and now he pretends to himself that he doesn't want her.

... You will believe in me …

The phone rings then, and even as Jean yanks her consciousness away, she still feels his joyous lunge to answer.

"Marie," he rumbles, and she throws up her walls, but his voice still comes through anyway. "Watcha' doing, darlin'? Watcha' wearing?"

It's simply because they're so close, she can't tune him out, Jean tells herself. It's not like she's eavesdropping, or ever intended to hear this. As if she'd choose such a banal conversation to waste her gift on.

There's a ridiculous smirk in his voice, as if he expects the girl to be able to play his very adult game. She certainly doesn't sound anywhere near that seductive, her Southern accent downright sultry – it's Logan's filter, Jean assures herself, as she feels him push himself back on the bed to bask in her voice.

"Towel, sugar. Ah'm still wet from the shower. All these little droplets, just rolling down ..." Rogue trails off with a teasing hum, and Jean gasps at the rumbling growl Logan gives in response. The lust rolling off him makes her body vibrate with want, even as it grinds her delusions into dust.

"Where?" he demands, and - oh! - he is stroking himself, the rough pleasure making her squirm.
"Let's see. This one? Just below my left collarbone, sugar. It's sliding now though - right down the middle. Wonder if it's gonna miss my bellybutton?" Rogue coos, but he's cutting right to the chase.

"Wanna lick you there."

"Ah know, sugar. You always do. Feels so good when you do that …"

She has never heard Rogue speak like that, Jean realises. She speaks softly, Rogue, her accent ever present, but she's never dreamy, or relaxed like this. Never so warm ...

"Love making you feel good, baby. 'Specially with my tongue. Where else you want my tongue?" Logan rasps, and that tightness, that incredible urgency, surely that's not …

"Gawd, Logan. You know where. In my pussy, please. The way you kiss me down there, Gawd. Sugah." Her voice is coming in pants now, and it isn't arousing, Jean tells herself. Not at all.

"I'm kissing you baby. Sucking on your hard little clit, and flicking those pretty lips of yours ... tonguing you up and down and sipping at you and you're flooding my mouth. God, I'm loving the taste of you, baby. Loving it," he groans, and, oh my goodness. That feeling, exploding out of his balls and down his cock and bursting out of him, onto his belly, jerking again and again.

Jean sits bolt upright on the bed and drags in hungry lungfuls of air. She hadn't purposely ... she didn't expect ... she couldn't have known that was going to happen. It had been horrible, really, a violation almost. His projections were so strong, they'd trapped her, and she hadn't been able to escape. He had made her a victim of his sick lust.

Love didn't feel like that. That bolt of feeling, stronger even than the sensation that had rushed through him - that wasn't love. Lust, definitely. Infatuation, perhaps. A crush, that's all it was.

A dangerous crush, on a beautiful child far too young for him. And the idea that an intelligent, sensual woman could be in love with someone like him ... no. Not possible. She needs a finer soul, a gentler hand ... another woman, Jean Grey decides, her heart thumping. Someone who knows how to cherish another person.

The Junior team were due a bit of a shakeup, now she thinks about it. Rogue needs lab experience, and Kitty needs to boost her teaching hours, so it would be sensible to simply swap them over. Rogue wouldn't have so much time available for combat training with Logan, of course, but solo sessions would work just as well. Or perhaps there was some room on her own schedule, some lovely couple time away from the lab? Yes, that would work, Jean thinks fondly. Rogue was so lucky to have her ...

... and I can never be ignored ...

fin

Disclaimer: This fanfiction was written for personal enjoyment rather than profit. No infringement on the rights of the intellectual property owners is intended.