Cowboy boots make a distinctive sound on sealed and polished hardwood. Logan knows that sound but can’t place it right away. He can feel familiarity grating against something in the back of his mind every time a heel hits the floor. The barely-there shuffle in the gait tugs at something in him, sending his sense memory into high gear and forcing adrenaline into his blood stream. His pupils dilate and the room around him becomes shimmery as his night vision redoubles. The familiar itching stretch is starting in his knuckles and the backs of his hands.

The ninth stair out of fifteen creaks. When he hears it he knows exactly how much time he has to decide whether he runs or hopes the person who broke in doesn’t know who they’re dealing with. If you waltz into the lair of a sleeping animal without a plan, or at the very least superior fire power, you’re likely to get bit. By the time the boots hit the landing outside his bedroom door he’s crouched on the floor next to his bed, claws extended, jaw clenched (still hurts, every time), and ready. Muscles wound so tight, blood up so high he feels like a rubber band, stretched out and straining: poised to snap.

Logan can feel the intruder reach for the door knob in the hairs on the back of his neck. Just as he feels the thread about to break the fan kicks on down stairs and a rush of air comes into the room from under the door. Her scent hits him like a semi; so hard and heavy with memory it very nearly knocks him on his ass. Suddenly all the adrenaline is gone, the feral part of him retreating back to the hollow places in his spine and leaving his skin tingling in its wake. He watches the knob turn, slowly; as silently as she can manage.

Marie knows she can’t be quiet enough to sneak in unnoticed while Logan sleeps, but she’s still a bit surprised to find him standing by the bed in his shorts when the door swings open. The look on his face stops her cold. She watches his claws catching what little sulfur-yellow light is filtering in from the street as they slowly retract into his body. He has that look about him she could never pick the emotions out of. Disappointment? Anger? He almost looks overwhelmed.

“What are you doing here, kid? How did you find me?”

Overwhelmed. There’s no mistaking it in his voice; deep, rough, pregnant with emotion.

“Oh please, Logan, like I don’t know all your aliases.”

“If someone sent you out here to try and drag me back into-“

“That’s not why I’m here, sugar.”

There’s that look again. An ‘I don’t understand how you twist up my insides’ look Logan always gets when Marie puts a little honey in her voice and lets the ‘r’ in her favorite endearment draw out on her accent. It makes her feel so powerful at the same time it makes her swoon and want to fan herself. Instead she plays off her light-headed sway into a few flourished steps into his room, all swaying hips and thrown back shoulders, reveling in the feel of his eyes on her.

Logan straightens up, squares off with her. He wants to trust her, but it’s been a long time. She’s always had more to lose in her association with the X-Men than he did. Is she telling the truth about not wanting to bring him back with her? He used to be able to smell a lie on Rogue, but this woman isn’t the Rogue clawing desperately out of her teens he remembers from Xavier’s school. He watched her grow up quite a bit in their company, but not enough to make him feel less like a creep every time he looked at her. The green and yellow leather from those early days as team mates is nowhere to be seen. This Rogue wears cotton tee-shirts and faded, painted–on jeans tucked into those stiff soled cowboy boots. He’s never seen this much of her skin before, never gotten to notice how pink it is, or how velvety soft it looks. In fact, all of her looks soft now. She’s always been tall, lean, built; sexy in an objective way. This is a whole other kind of sexy: the ‘grown up, smoothed out the rough edges, nothing to prove’, sexy he always knew she had in her. It makes something in his chest tight to stare at her this way, but he can’t stop.

They’re only a few feet from each other now. If Logan reached out he could touch her face, and the realization of that sends his head spinning. Because he wants to touch her. Bad. A comforting kind of touch he doesn’t always think he’s capable of. He thinks about how that soft cotton blend would feel catching on the calluses of his fingers because he doesn’t dare think about the feel of her skin. It’s bad enough that he can smell it, clean and warm, and her blood running underneath. Logan shakes his head once, hard, trying to knock the pheromone scent of her out of his nose.

“I have something to show you. A gift for you, if you want it.”

“Look, kid, you don’t need to-

“Don’t call me that, Logan. Please. Not tonight.”

Marie relishes his wide-eyed look for a moment before giving him her best slow smile and reaching for the hem of her shirt. The stretchy fabric glides over her shoulders and drops gracelessly to the floor. She toes at the back of her left boot with her right until she can kick it off in the direction of the discarded shirt, the right boot following shortly. She pulls deftly at the closure of her jeans, popping the button free and pulling the zipper apart without touching it. With a little tugging and shimmying they puddle on the floor and she steps out of them and toward Logan again.

Her fingers graze the outsides of her thighs, the shick sound of her nails on her skin grounding her. She won’t touch him until he wants her to. Logan is tense and stock still before her, only a few inches separating the skin of their bare chests. He’s as gorgeous and physically fit as she remembers. She ghosts her hands up the complex shapes of his biceps, over the plains of his pectorals, and across the rise of his hips just to feel the heat coming off of him. Marie can sense his reluctance, not quite afraid but not quite relaxed either.

“It’s ok. I’m not dangerous anymore.”

Logan snorts a tiny laugh in spite of himself. Everything about her is dangerous. Always has been.

“Really, Logan. I finally did it. Professor X helped me find a way to turn it on and off. I’m in control of it now. I can touch you without draining you.”

“What?”

“As soon as I was sure I came to find you. To show you. I know we’ve had our… well, our past is what it is, but you’re the first person I thought of when I realized it worked. It’s like a whole new life for me now. It’s practically a new body. I need… “ The strain in her voice on that last word almost hurts. She bites it back, squeezing her eyes shut against the feeling of desperation. When she opens them he’s still there, watching with a little confusion, but mostly patience. It makes her heart swell. “God Logan, I haven’t had any real human contact since I was 14 years old. For fuck’s sake, touch me.”

Logan does. His hands clasp the backs of Marie’s thighs and before she knows what’s happening she’s wrapped in his arms, their bodies pressed tight together from shoulders to hips. It’s so intimate so suddenly and after so long abstaining that Marie feels like she may faint. Tears of relief well up in her eyes and obscure her view of the barely restrained feral hunger in Logan’s.

His fingers knead her flesh where they’re gripping low on her hips. The little breathy sounds falling from her open mouth are chipping at his control. At this range her scent is intoxicating, arousal now mixed with hair, skin, and nails. It gives him tunnel vision, narrows his whole world down to her little body. It makes the beast in him want to rip at the last bits of clothing separating them and taste her. Claim her. He can feel his heart speed up at the thought, feels her heart rate climb to match it where their sternums are aligned, skin seared to skin. She has a wild look in her glassy eyes and seeing his desire reflected back at him makes him instantly hard.

“What, Rogue? What do you need?”

Logan’s voice isn’t his anymore, it’s all feral, even to his own ears. To Marie’s it’s pure sex. Images of smoke curling inside a shot glass, black water running over river rocks, and sharp glints of light on Logan’s unnaturally large canines push into her mind. She feels her breath leaving her chest without permission, but she manages to get out “Marie. Please, say Marie,” before it’s gone.

“Marie,” he whispers, soft and intense. “What. Do. You. Need.”

“I need to go to bed with you. I’ve wanted to for- “ She lets out little huff of breath and a quick shake of her head to keep her on track. “Let me. Logan, let me.”

Even half out of his mind with lust Logan understands what that means. He swallows thickly, trying to push the hunger in him down any way he can. Marie has been out of control and helpless to stop it most of her life. If she needs to control this he can give her that. He will. He allows himself one last hard squeeze of her hips, hoping against hope there won’t be bruises there in the morning, and carries her to his bed. The backs of his knees hit the edge of it and he sits, then lays down on it, pulling her down with him, unwilling to lose the feeling of her breasts pressed to his chest for one second. His hands caress their way slowly up her body, fingertips pressing in to feel her musculature and bone structure. He’s so keyed up and sensitive now he’s sure he can feel her blood rushing under her skin wherever he touches her, and he hasn’t even kissed her yet. Kissing… there’s a thought.

Logan threads his fingers into her hair behind her ears as gently as he can, which he’s not sure is very gentle at all in the state he’s in. Marie responds beautifully though, nuzzling into the touch and letting her mouth fall open again. Perfect. He lifts his head up off the mattress just enough to lave his tongue across the full curve of her bottom lip. She draws a shuddering breath and moans into his mouth, her breath tasting sweet to him, faintly like cola. Suddenly, their kiss is alive, writhing, all tongue and lips mashed together so hard they’re tingling and swelling. He can’t help the soft growl down in his throat when she finally breaks the kiss.

Marie slides her hands up and down his neck a few times, loving the ropey shapes of the muscles there, before digging her fingers into Logan’s collar bones and levering herself up, gasping for air. She looks down at him, takes a calming breath, trying to figure out what she wants to do next. Everything that’s happened tonight has surpassed all her fantasies. Logan is still in her head, and being with him this way seems to make the feeling stronger, his thoughts and feelings plainer to her than ever before. Logan cares for her. Logan is under her, right now, a pair of yellow cotton panties that have grown damp with sweat and arousal are the last thing between her need and him. She glances down between their bodies and Logan seems to read her mind this time. He trails his hands firmly down the front of her body, one slipping into the band at the top of her right thigh and pulling the cotton over out of the way and the other pushing his shorts down over his hips just enough to free his erection. Her skin heats up at the sight of it. When she can finally drag her eyes away she catches his again, looking for reassurance and finding it.

There’s that slow smile again. Logan drags a knuckle through her folds to watch it fall off her face. Then he does it again just because he can. She’s smoldering now, a rolling boil on the inside, so ready. Her hips instinctively pull to the perfect angle and he moves his hand just enough to let the tip of his cock take the place of his knuckle. He holds himself steady for her, grinding his teeth against the urge to grab her hips and thrust. Looking up at her face, her total trust in him, her innocent, naked surrender to the moment is all the incentive he needs. Then she starts to twist her hips, rocking her way down onto him, and his vision goes white.

He almost killed her in a situation like this once; letting herself into his room and surprising him while he was sleeping. She almost killed him saving herself. They’d both fought the urge to consume each other, in more ways than one, through their whole relationship. Now part of his body is inside her body and it doesn’t feel like consuming, it feels like melding. He wants to tell her so. He wants to tell her a lot of things; like how beautiful she is, how perfect she feels, and how he’s gonna make her feel so damn good, but all that comes out as her pelvic bone seats itself on top of his is, “Darlin’…”

Marie doesn’t move right away, just breathes through the first few seconds of fullness with her head thrown back and her eyes closed. It’s not quite what she expected; it’s good, but it hasn’t sparked yet, hasn’t gotten it’s own life yet. She rolls her hips experimentally, then lifts them slowly up away from Logan’s and there are the sparks. Fireworks are crackling behind her eye lids, making her dizzy. Without knowing why she leans down further, bending her elbows, with the heels of her hands pressing hard into Logan’s chest so she can push backwards a little on the down stroke. He’s holding her hips lightly, helping her move. Not controlling the pace, just smoothing out her rhythm, tilting them every few strokes so that he presses against something inside her that makes her back arch violently and then relax when the pressure’s gone. She’s distantly aware of the high pitched keening noises escaping her open mouth but doesn’t care, and probably couldn’t stop them even if she did. She keeps it slow for several long minutes, but some previously dormant, serotonin drenched part of her brain is taking over. The world has shrunk down to the friction inside her; all she can think about is making it faster. Harder. More.

She’s so close. Logan can tell. Her short nails are digging into his skin and she’s pushing herself down hard, swiveling her hips with every stroke now. The moaning and gasping have given way to broken little cries edged with frustration as she skirts the edge of orgasm but can’t quite catch it. It’d be adorable if it weren’t so fucking sexy. He slips his hand down onto her thigh and stretches his thumb out to rub up and down her folds again. Her whole body shakes, hard, gasping a breath with a little sob on the end. A growl rumbles in his chest as her rhythm falters, and her eyes snap to his in surprise. “Don’t stop baby, I got you.” he soothes, and her wanton little cry as she starts to rock again almost finishes him. Suddenly, the need to see her come is urgent, like he’s been holding his breath this whole time and air won’t return to the room until she screams. It only takes him a second to find her most sensitive spot and press it, then back off and rub little circles so he can hit it from every angle. He can’t take his eyes off her face. He knows he was close a moment ago, but he can barely even feel her riding him now. Everything is revolving around her half lidded eyes and the ecstasy in them as the waves of pleasure finally wash over her.

Marie slows, but doesn’t stop, naturally matching her rhythm to the radiating waves of sensation and the pulsing of the muscles inside her. Logan is still touching her between her legs and she feels like she’ll never stop coming. She no longer has any idea how long they’ve been joined like this. At some point he bent his knees up behind her back and started thrusting up into her; probably around the time she collapsed against his chest because the muscles in her arms had grown too weak to hold her and her fingertips had gone numb. Time doesn’t mean anything anymore except where it’s measured by how many times she can say his name before needing to gulp air. Somewhere in the back of her mind she can feel his presence and she vaguely wonders if she feels this so intensely because of it; his pleasure, ferocity, and joy blending with hers in her mind and overloading her system. In the next second it doesn’t matter, because he’s coming and suddenly so is she.

Logan’s not sure how they got here, but as he drifts back down to reality he becomes aware of his hands on the back of her head, pressing their foreheads together. Her open mouth is centimeters from his and he can’t help but slide his tongue in to touch hers, tilting her head and engaging her in a short, bruising kiss. He could stay like this forever. The urgency of the sexual tension is gone and what’s left is her warm body, soft and pliant with pleasure, heaped on top of him, shaking just slightly, and the smell of sex so strong and sweet it’s lulling him to sleep. The sensation of softening inside her is becoming too much; he slowly lifts her hips up off of him and they both wince as he slips from her body. He instinctively turns her onto her side and curls himself around her, putting his body between her and the open space of the room. Her long, loose hair clings to the sweat on her neck and he has to push it aside with his nose to get his lips pressed to her skin. Her skin. A whole new body indeed. This is going to get complicated in the morning, but he refuses to dread that right now. Right now is for her. Himself too, but mostly her.

“Logan,” she breathes.

“Marie.”

“Logan, that was… Oh God.”

“Shh, darlin’. Sleep.”