Physics, Rogue decides, is death. Long, slow, painful and creeping. She's just spent an hour with Logan changing the fuel filter on his bike, and now she's supposed to concentrate on the first law of thermodynamics? Yeah, right.

His chest, she thinks. He'd be warm under her fingertips, even through two layers of clothing. The bedraggled shirt is blue and white checks today, fuzzy and soft from being washed so much. Only five buttons to undo, the first between the swell of his pecs, the last hidden below his belt buckle.

It's a bit tricky, with gloves, but she slides them out of their holes one by one, staring up at him the whole time. He's still in the garage, working on that noisy heap of metal he loves so much. She'd be sitting up on the bike. Knees either side of his hips. Undoing the buttons.

One. Two. Three. Four. She needs to undo his beltbuckle to get to the fifth. Does she dare?

Rogue shifts her blank gaze away from Scott Summers and stares out the window, trying to level out her breathing a little. Of course she dares. It's her fantasy, after all.

Her fingers are a little clumsy on the buckle, but she refuses to look because she's staring up into those dark-gold eyes. They're getting darker, and she can feel him – him, him, you know? - sitrring under the material.

Holy cow.

His jeans slump low on his hips, and he, he … no underwear. She sneaks a glance for the first time and her hand seems to follow of its own accord. Just one finger, she thinks, and her heart begins to slam against her ribs as she circles it lightly around … the head. Then slides it down the length of him, just feeling all those mysterious bumps and ridges through the silk of her glove.

The need to breathe forces her back to reality for a second, and she drags in a lungful of air, awestruck at the heat pooling between her legs. She aches all over, little shivers of want rippling through her, and it's not even real. It's not, she pants, but the classroom has already faded away.

He feels so good in her hand. So hard, and hot, and the way he quivers every time she wraps her entire hand around him, and squeezes a little … his eyes are closed now, and his hips are jerking towards her, as if she's completely in control.

She moves closer, so she can see, the top of her head against his belly and he's sliding through her fist, groaning and grunting and holy cow, he's going to …

Oh. Oh!

“Rogue?”

Her frenzied gasp has drawn the attention of the entire class. Even Mr Summers is staring at her quizzically, and she wants. To. Die. She's shaking, she realises slowly. (So was he.)

“Sorry. Nothing. I just … remembered something I forgot to do,” she mumbles at the desk, shrugging apologetically. “Dr Grey wanted me to write up my results after our session this morning, and I forgot.”

“Well, now's not the time. Unless your results have anything to do with physics,” Mr Summers frowns reprovingly before returning to his whiteboard.

“The second law of thermodynamics ...”
*

He's bent over the seat, tightening the bolts on the lower bracket, when he feels her hand on his back. Warm, even through silk and flannel. She slides in next to him, and his body tightens at the heat of her. Huh. Usually it's her scent that gets him first.

Still, she needs to move away a little because she's a kid and he's not and his fucking body should know better.

“Off, kid,” he grunts, and pushes her away with his knee. Except …

She's not there. He can still feel her hair, tickling against his arm, and her bodyheat, blazing into him, but … no Rogue.

No one at all, in fact.

He springs away from the bike with a curse, and stares disbelievingly. Oh. Hang on. Jeannie yanking his chain. That had to be it.

He's not gonna think about why he'd automatically assume it was Rogue trying to slide under him, or why the thought of the sexy doc messing with him like that leaves him cold.

Logan shifts with unease and forces his attention back to the bike. That rattle has just been getting worse and … fingers, sliding down his chest. Knees, either side of him, tight against the outside of his thighs.

A button, sliding free of its hole. Another, and another, and then, his belt. Unhitching itself.

A warm, silk-clad hand sliding against his belly, and rough breathing, unmistakably hers.

A single, exploratory finger sliding over him, glans and helmet and down the length of him.

“Fuck,” he croaks. “Jesus,” as he sags against the bike, eyes sliding shut.

Her gasp is full of wonder as her hand tightens around him. His hips are moving, beginning to jerk into her hand, and this is insane. She's not there. There's no one there! (So it can't be wrong, something whispers inside his head.)

He has no fucking idea what's going on, but his cock is standing clear of his jeans, and he's had to drop the wrench as his claws threaten to burst free with the almost-fuck-almost of it, tentative little hands sliding all over him, tugging here and pulling there, and too soft and too gentle but he can feel the frank curiosity of her gaze, too, and when her hot breath is added to the mix … fuck, fuck … he's …

She gasps - “oh. Oh!” - and it echoes through the garage, wonder and shock all tangled together.

And then she's just gone. He hesitates for a moment, then zips himself back into his jeans after a few swipes with the oil rag. She's in physics, with One Eye. The change in a system's internal energy is equal to the difference between heat added to the system from its surroundings, and so fucking on. Knows a bit about turning up the heat himself.

He could probably teach her, if she wanted that. Just a few questions of his own first. Like, what the fuck happened? How'd you do that? How long have you been thinking about it?

How long 'til we can do it for real, he finally admits to himself, and yeah, maybe that other bike needs a tune up, too. Maybe she needs some lessons, learning to ride it.

Force equals mass times acceleration, and all that.

Not even he can resist the pull of gravity.

fin


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