Ah don’t know why Storm likes papers so much. Ah mean how does she have time to read all of 'em with as many classes as she teaches, not to mention all the X-Men stuff. Music Appreciation was suppose to be a blow-off course, but here ah am, after two hours, still writin’ a god damn research paper on the instrument of mah choice, its history and its impact on the evolution of music. Could there be anything more bogus?

But a grade is a grade so ah’ve decided to do mine on the saxophone; nothing ah like hearin’ more’n good ol’ muddy water blues. At first ah was gonna do it on the piano because ah figured it’d be the easiest one. But every time ah think about a piano ah imagine Logan sittin' at the bench in nothing but jeans, nestled neatly between mah thighs as ah sit on the keys. Pretty Woman eat ya heart out. Ah’d be wearin' the tiniest little cocktail dress there ever was, and of coarse he’d have slowly pushes it all the way up mah legs. Those strong fingers would be stroking mah inner thighs instead of the long forgotten keys. Hell, ah can feel the muscles in mah legs jumpin’ in anticipation of his phantom hands...

Damn it, Rogue, take a sedative why don’t ya. Ah really should stop kidding maself that this is takin’ forever because it’s a totally stupid assignment, the x-rated wolfish fantasies every other sentence MIGHT have somethin’ to do with it.

At first ah felt bad about having Logan as mah own personal mental porn star, him being mah best friend ‘n all. But, really, what choice do ah have? Every time ah think about Remy he always looks dirty, ah figure that’s mah subconscious telling me somethin'. And Scott is hotter 'n hell but ahm sorta afraid that he’ll give me a lecture about how ah should be concentratin' on mah paper instead of fantasizin' about him. Mood killer much? And Bobby– well, Bobby is such a sweetheart it just feels wrong puttin' him in perverted sex dreams, like ahm defilin' him or somethin'. But Logan. Gah, Logan is sex wrapped in flannel and denim. Except when he’s wearin' his x-uniform, then he’s sex wrapped in leather. Although ah’ll be damned if ah could choose between the two.

So, ah’ve decided ah don’t care if the fact that all my fantasies are starin’ him, me, and less then innocent situations would make him uncomfortable or whatever. They’re mah fantasies, damn it, and when you have deadly skin you get off any way you can.

Crap, ahm doin' it again. Okay. Paper, paper, paper. Not Logan’s ass. Better yet, Logan grabbin’ MY ass. Grabbin’ my ass as he lifts me up and grinds his bulging crotch between mah legs while ah bite his shoulder hard enough to taste blood before his mutation erases the evidence...

Breathe, girl. Remember in and out? Yeah, that’s called breathin'. This is ridiculous, ah have to finish this stupid thing. Type, damn you fingers, type!

Alright, here we go, ahm productive now. Brass instrument in which the sound is created by blowin' into... Oh, ah bet ah could get Logan to make some sound by blowin' into his-- NO! Stop it! Stop. It.

Seriously, either ahm a nymphomaniac or a masochist, either way ahm completely fucked up in the head. Ah can’t even blame one of the otha personalities, AHM the sex crazed freak. Well, maybe ah could blame Logan. Because ahm pretty sure ah’ve never seen the inside of the American Embassy in Japan, but that was one DETAILED fantasy. Right down to the ‘under God we trust’ Japanese lettering on the wall. Ah, that was one hellva wall.

“Hey, kid, you alright?”

Okay, why does he always sneak up on me like that? How am ah suppose to be sultry and allurin' if he’s always makin' me squeak like a month old pig?

“Yeah, ahm just dandy. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” he casually shrugs as he leans against the wall beside mah bed, makin' flannel look nothin' like flannel is SUPPOSE to look. Oh, he’s still talkin', “-I just thought we’d watch it together, but since you got homework–“

“NO!” Ah shriek. Homework vs personal couch time, he is kiddin', right? “Ahm done, ah was just printin’ it out now.”

“Yeah? Good.” Oh, ah love when he smiles at me like that...

He’s movin' closer? Why is he movin' closer? Oh god, his hand is on mah shoulder! Someone wanna tell me why mah heart is beatin' like he grabbed a boob or somethin'. Calm the hell down, girl, we ain’t even got to couch time yet!

“You want me to read it over for you?”

No, sugah, what ah WANT is for you to tie me down to the bed and lick chocolate syrup, or any other sauce of your choice, off mah stomach, or any other body part of your choice. “Sure, sounds great.”

Okay, that wasn’t bad, mah hand didn’t shake too much when ah handed it to him. Now ah just need to get mah mind out of the gutter for a few seconds and ah might get through another night without havin’ a heart attack. If ah could just find a long sleeve shirt around here somewhere mah ‘accidental lay-all-over-feel-free-to-stroke-me-Logan plan will be a-go. Damn, how deep is this gutter anyway?

“Um, darlin’?”

“Yeah?” Come on, shirt, where are you? One that DOESN’T smell preferably.

“I think maybe you should hit spell check before you turn this in.”

Ah know its not lady-like to snort, mah momma would be so disappointed, but please, spell check? “Ah’ve got at least three certifiable geniuses in mah head, sugah. Ahm pretty sure ah can spell all by mah little ol’ self.”

“That may be, darlin’. But last time I checked ‘saxophone’ wasn’t spelled S-E-X-O-P-H-O-N-E.”
Oh mah God. Oh. Mah. God. Ah can’t tell if mah heart has stopped all together or if its beatin’ so fast ah can’t feel it anymore.

“Uh...its just a typo.” Yeah, typo, nice save, Rogue. What’s tha chances ah did that more than once?

“Sure, kid. You only spelled it that way--” Oh, no, he’s countin’. There’s enough to count? “–36 times.”

“Ah, um–,” What do ah say? What do ah say?! Crap, now ahm blushin’. Ah can feel it. Stammerin’ and blushin’– ah am really NOT helpin’ mahself here.

“Something you wanna tell me?” Yes. Keep grinnin’ at me like that, sugah, and ah’ll tell you everythin’. Anythin’ ya wanna know, baby, you just gotta ask.

“No, geez, Logan. Am ah not allowed to make mistakes anymore now?” Wait, why is he still smilin’? He was suppose to get mad at me for snappin’ at him. Work with me here, Wolvie!

“You just said it yourself; you don’t make spelling errors. Remember, Marie, I can smell ya.”

Was that a sex reference?! Is he implyin’ that he can smell how aroused ah am? That he knows how wet ah get every time he flashes me those white, sharp canines? Not to mention what they'd feel like sinkin' into mah neck and... Crap, now ahm gettin' even more turned on thinkin' about him smellin’ me. Bastard. That’s just cheatin'. Ah need a save. Somethin’! Anythin’!

“That’s just mah perfume, sugah. Ya know how it tickles your nose.” Oh, that was good. Kinda flirty but denyin’ any blatant raggin’ hormones. Five points to the Rogue.

“Darlin’, it tickles a lot more than my nose.” Oh. My. God. Okay, ten points for the Wolverine. ‘Cuz damn if his one liner wasn’t a HELL of a lot better than mine.

“Let’s go, the hockey game starts in five,” Good, he’s endin’ it. The Wolverine does know what mercy is. Stupid Freudian slip. How am ah suppose to keep mah tainted thoughts private if they keep slippin’ out without me knowin’ it? Ah wonder if Freud himself ever wrote a thesis on sexual instruments? And why the hell is it always Logan who catches ‘em? Does he really have to catch EVERYTHIN'? Just once ah wish he’d slip too. Like accidently admit he liked cotton candy or somethin’, just so it’d be somewhat close to fair. But he never does, he’s too good to let Freud get to him. Damnit.

Ah love how one growl from him and all the younger classmen flee the lounge with their tails between their legs. TV all to ourselves; couch all to ourselves. Just gonna stretch out and enjoy the game, thank God we don’t talk during it, hopefully ah’ll get to salvage what’s left of mah pride.

“Hey, kid, pass me the boob–“

What?! Oh, man, ahm not sure which one of our eyes are bugged out more.

“I mean, the controller,” Aw, look at him all nervous, tryin’ to clear his throat. “Controller. Pass the controller. Controller.” Yeah, sugah, you keep saying ‘controller’ enough times and it might erase the ‘boob’ slip. Heh. Or not.

Ah can’t help but grin at him when ah hand him the remote. Of coarse, ah bend over when ah do it. Could ah be any more obvious? Ah actually feel sorry for the guy, ‘cuz with his mouth hangin’ open like that his hard-ass image is really hurtin’. He mumbles a thanks and then stares at the TV. Poor guy doesn’t even blink. Someone up stairs must love me, or perhaps this is a make up for the deadly skin. Whatever the reason, mah night is complete.

We sit in silence for another ten minutes or so watchin’ the game. Then one of the announcers comes on to talk about the impact of the game on the standin's of the playoffs and why one of the teams should make it versus the others.

“Hey, sugah, turn me on, ah can’t hear it.”

Oh fuck. Ah did it again! Damn it, damn it, damn it!! Maybe he didn’t hear it, ah’ll just risk one quick look at his face.

Fuck, he definitly heard it, if that deer caught in the head lights expression he’s givin' me is any indication.

“Turn it up,” Ah correct mahself with a nervous giggle, “Ah *ment* turn it up.”

Ahm not sure exactly what is happenin’ or what he is thinkin’ but ah watch his face in batted anticipation and brace mahself for the embarassin' snide remarks that are sure to come pourin' out of that gorgeous mouth of his.

He’s not sayin’ anything? What’s he doing? The edge of his mouth slowly curls up into that wolfish grin that is always the beginnin’ of one of mah fantasies and he lifts his arm to drape it heavily across mah shoulders and pulls me flush against his side. The blushin’ is coming back but ah don’t care, ah just cuddle even closer to the hard warmth that is Logan and silently pray that he’ll have to flex his fingers at some time during the game. Because ah could really use a good boob graze right now. Freud might be havin’ one hell of a night between gettin’ both me and Logan, but ah gotta say, mah night ain’t goin’ so bad either.