Logan slammed into the bedroom, enraged.

"Rogue! Rogue!" he shouted. "What the hell is this?"

"I'm in the tub, sugar," she called out.

"Oh, no," he muttered, "I'm not falling for that one again." He remembered the last time he'd wanted to have a serious discussion with Marie while she was in the bathtub. They'd ended up having very satisfactory sex on the bathroom floor, and he'd never gotten to make his point about her taking unnecessary risks on missions. He smirked at the memory, then reminded himself he was angry, and he wasn't going to be distracted by sex this time. Raising his voice he said, "Get out here now, Marie. We're going to have a little chat about my American Express bill."

After three months of nagging from his girlfriend (not that he ever referred to her that way, though Marie constantly introduced him as her boyfriend, which made his chest puff out with pride even as he rolled his eyes), Logan had finally given in to the twenty-first century and signed up for a credit card.

And now he was regretting it.

Big time.

Getting a second card in Marie's name had been a mistake. A huge mistake, considering the amount of money he apparently owed to various stores he'd never even heard of.

Well, it was time for a lesson in money management that she wouldn't soon forget. "A little fiscal responsibility," he muttered. "Is that too much to ask?"

He wasn't cheap by any stretch of the imagination. And he wasn't poor, either, though people often thought he was living hand-to-mouth when they met him.

He just believed in living within his means, and if Marie continued on like this, that wasn't going to be possible. She had to remember it wasn't Xavier's fortune backing her shopping sprees now. She could practice a little restraint.

Hmm... restraints, he thought, picturing her tied to the bed while he 'punished' her, before he shook himself and forced his mind back to the matter at hand.

He heard the water slosh and gritted his teeth against the images of her rising naked from the tub, a dreamy smile on her face as water trickled over her every curve and hollow; he saw himself kneeling before her, using his tongue to dry her.

His hands -- gloved, as always -- flexed as he imagined cupping her full breasts, and the crinkle of paper reminded him once again that he was angry and he wasn't going to be distracted by her oh-so-ample charms.

She opened the bathroom door in a puff of fragrant steam, mint and lemon and Marie, and his already hard cock began aching. He ignored it, still set on holding onto his anger.

"What is it, Logan?" she asked, leaning on the doorframe, wrapped in a short, white towel, wet hair hanging down her back.

He thrust the papers at her with a grunt. "This."

"My hands are wet, sugar. Come here and hold it for me."

His feet moved before his mind could tell them not to. He stopped, his flannel-clad shoulder brushing her bare one, and inhaled her scent again. She was wet and ready for him, he could tell. The Wolverine inside was rising, insisting on claiming his mate, while the rational part of him still wanted an explanation for this quadruple digit bill.

She leaned into him seductively, one finger tapping at her full lower lip. He growled low, knowing she would feel the vibration, and she purred unconsciously in response.

"Oh, this." She pointed to a nine-hundred-dollar charge from the Hotel Pierre. "Remember New Year's Eve, Logan? The hotel room? Room service? Champagne at midnight?"

Remember? God, did he ever. How could he forget? They'd put that magnum of Dom Perignon to some very interesting uses.

He nodded and she pointed to the next charge. "This is the leather boots you bought me -- the ones with the heels you like so much?" He'd bought her above the knee hooker boots from one of the shoe stores lining West Eighth Street. She never wore them outside the bedroom, but just the thought of her in nothing but the boots was enough to make his temperature rise.

He was still thinking of the boots when she said, "This is for the textbooks for your mechanics class. The Professor already reimbursed you."

He grunted, so far, it seemed she hadn't been spending money on frivolous things and in fact, he'd been involved in all the purchases. Except...

"The New York Stocking Exchange?"

She blushed.

He was amazed she still had the capacity to blush, after all their time together and all the things they'd done. It was one of her most endearing qualities, that innocence even in the midst of their debaucheries. He noticed her towel was beginning to slip, giving him a great view of her cleavage.

"That's your Valentine's Day gift," she said softly.

He raised an eyebrow, even as his heart melted. But he wasn't going to show her how easily she could distract him from the business at hand. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the doorjamb.

"It's not Valentine's Day yet," she protested.

He said nothing.

He couldn't imagine what she could have possibly bought him that cost six hundred dollars. Especially not in a lingerie store.

"It's a surprise," she wheedled.

He was resolute.

She sighed and dropped the towel as she made her way to the closet. He closed his eyes. He was very happy she was now comfortable enough with him to be able to walk around nude, but he thought it wiser not to watch. Otherwise, he wouldn't be able to keep from grabbing her and -- He peeked and sucked in a deep breath.

She was bent over, rummaging through the stuff on the floor of the walk-in, legs straight, ass high in the air.

She straightened and turned just as he moved toward her, licking his lips.

"This," she said simply, handing him a hot pink shopping bag.

He opened it and saw what looked like reams of Pepto-Bismol colored tissue paper.

"It's very -- pink," he said, teasing her because he enjoyed the way she laughed whenever he did or said something silly.

Rogue smiled. "Yes, yes, it is. Aren't you going to unwrap it?"

He picked up the first bundle and slid the contents out of the tissue paper. It was a black lace nightgown, one that would cover her from neck to ankles, with matching lace pantyhose.

It was her turn to raise an eyebrow and cross her arms over her chest as she leaned against the dresser. He leered ostentatiously at her breasts, pushed up and out by her arms.

"There's more," she said.

"I see that."

And there was quite a bit more. The bag was full of delicate sheer and lacy things in various colors -- red, white, black, green, and blue.

At the very bottom, he found a blush-colored body stocking, so soft and sheer it would be like touching skin. The color closely matched the strawberries-and-cream of Rogue's complexion. Underneath there were two pairs of gloves in the same fabric and a second, much larger suit.

He gasped, slipping off one glove to feel the wispy silk, and then trading the leather gloves altogether for the silk ones.

In their time together, they'd been taking turns remaining clothed during sex. He knew she still feared her skin would eventually drive him away, as much as he worked to convince her it didn't matter to him at all.

"They're two of a kind," she said. "Made in Italy for me. I thought we could -- that is, if you don't think it's unmanly --"

He crossed the room in two strides, all his earlier anger forgotten, and pulled her into his arms.

"Oh, darlin', it's perfect."

He kissed the top of her head, then nuzzled at her neck, protected by her hair. His hands were already roaming her body, preparing to show her how much he loved her gift.

"Hold it right there, big guy," she said, pushing back. "I'm waiting for an apology."

"A what?"

"An apology, for treating me like some airhead with no sense of fiscal responsibility."

He winced. "You're right. I was being a dick."

She gave him a measuring look and he did his best to appear apologetic. It must have satisfied her, because she grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer.

He reached around her into the dresser for one of the ever-present scarves that protected him from her skin, and for the box of condoms stashed there.

Draping the sheer material over her lips, he kissed her deeply, reveling in the feel of her beneath his hands and lips.

Unfurling the scarf to cover more of her, he lowered his head to suckle at one taut nipple and then the other, enjoying the soft moans and whimpers his actions drew from her. She arched into him, her hands rubbing at his erection through his jeans.

"The other gloves," she gasped.

He shook his head. "Don't bother." He turned her around in one smooth motion, slipping a knee between her legs.

She grinned wickedly over her shoulder before bending forward and grasping the sides of the dresser.

One hand already working at the zipper of his jeans, he slipped the other around her waist and dipped his fingers into her damp curls. She pushed back against him and he spanked her lightly. "Behave," he growled.

"Or what?"

"I'll punish you."

"Promise?"

That made him growl again, as he contemplated the perfect curve of her bottom, soft and begging for his touch. He had the strongest urge to lean over and bite her, but he settled for squeezing her cheeks lightly, enjoying the feel of her firm flesh and taut muscles as she squirmed.

He rolled the condom onto his cock and slid without warning into her tight, wet heat. She fit him like a warm velvet glove, tightening her muscles and bucking back against him.

Marshalling every ounce of control, he held still. "I warned you, Marie," he said, his voice low and dangerous. She shivered. "Hold on."

She tightened her grip on the dresser's sides and dropped her head, arching her back and pushing against him. The slight alteration in her stance drew him in deeper and he let out a low rumble.

He began to move then, and there was no gentleness, just the hard grip of his fingers on her hips and the relentless thrusting of his pelvis against hers, a driving force that demanded her supplication, which she gave willingly.

One hand remained at her hip as he bent to lean against her back, not wanting any space separating them. He wanted to be inside of her and surrounding her and a part of her; he wanted to make her part of himself.

His other hand was rubbing circles over her clit. "Come for me, Marie," he ground out, his voice harsh from desire. He pistoned into her, rocking the dresser, which banged the wall in time with their thrusts.

"Oh, God, Logan," she moaned as her muscles began to clench, pulling him ever deeper into her body. She grunted and panted his name as she climaxed. "So good, Logan. So good. Love you."

He continued to thrust, knowing he was close and letting it wash over him. "Love you, too, baby." And then he lost control; his instincts took over as he came, growling her name. Heedless of the danger, for an endless moment he pressed his lips to the curve of her neck where it joined her shoulder, pulling away just as the connection opened.

"God, Marie," he whispered reverently. It continued to amaze him how good they were together. She purred in response, still unable to form words. "I love it when you come for me." She wiggled back against him and he felt himself getting hard again. He spared a vague thought for all those unlucky men who didn't have a healing factor, and then he wrapped an arm around her, snagging the scarf and condoms in his other hand, and carried her over to the bed.

"Maybe we should call it my American Sexpress card," he joked as he rid himself of the used rubber and pulled out a new one.

She groaned. "Don't try to be funny, Logan. You're bad at it."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, really."

"But I'm good at this." He rolled them over so she was on top, and thrust up into her wet sex.

"Oh, yeah," she hissed, leaning forward and kissing him deeply though the scarf as she slowly moved up and down, delighting them both by prolonging the pleasure.

Their discussion wasn't over by a long shot.

End