She let the cold ice-cream melt in her mouth and slowly run down her throat, relishing its thick, smooth texture and the comforting feeling of it coating the inside of her. The silence of the mansion seemed to almost heighten her senses. The taste was stronger than she remembered, the Vanilla nearly surrounded her. And the feel of it in her mouth! It was so blissful a small moan hummed in her throat and she didn’t dare risk distracting from the feeling by even licking the spoon that temptingly was dripping in front of her face.
Suddenly her peaceful heaven was interrupted by a loud crash. She opened one eye, reluctant to end her fantasies, to find Logan now in the kitchen with her. The noise had been him slamming the fridge door shut; now a beer bottle was clenched in his red knuckled hand. He followed up his first crash with three quick others. A bang for each drawer as it reconnected with the cabinet, the clanging of utensils inside almost a melody compared to the sound.
He wiped around, his face red and his nostrils flaring, finally acknowledging her presence, “Where the fuck is the god damn bottle opener?!”
A long, heavy sigh escaped her and she licked the spoon, submitting to the return of reality. “In the drawer by the pantry, sugah, where it’s always been.”
Grunting, he strode over there, his feet swallowing the kitchen floor in his haste. He yanked the drawer open, threw several things on the counter, then finally finding what he was so desperately searching for. The cap was ripped from the top of the bottle and sent flying, forgotten, onto the floor. The opener was thrown back into the drawer, barely settled before the drawer was again knocked closed, the unwanted devices still scattered on the counter.
“Logan, what’s wrong?” she asked her eyes focused on his Adam apple, mesmerized by the way it moved under his skin as he downed the beer gulp after gulp.
He glared at her for a minute, his hazel eyes searching, almost accusing. When he walked over to her, slow and calculated, she assumed he finally calmed down; the kitchen could stop suffering for whatever was bothering him. But it ended up being a false sense of security because his bottle violently connected with the top of the island, millimeters away from her hand. She was awed that it still remained whole in his grip.
“It’s the brat,” he huffed.
Covertly she slid her hand across the island, away from him, but not wanting to anger him further. “What brat? You’re going to have to be a little more specific, there’s a lot of those running around here. It being a school n’all.”
“*Your* brat,” he hissed, returning the bottle to his lips. His eyes still screamed out her blame.
“My brat? I don’t have a brat. Single and bratless.”
“You know what I mean.”
Her mouth twitched unconsciously into a small grin. The fact that she and Logan had a child together still made her feel giddy, even though she wasn’t technically involved. She loved it even more when he *acknowledge* the fact that they had a child.
“Okay, okay, what happened?”
“You should have fucking seen them, Marie. On the bed together, his hand INSIDE her fucking pants. Like it was nothing. What the fuck did Scooter teach him anyway? You would think as big of a pansy as he was he’d tell his damned son to keep his fucking hands to himself!”
She mentally thanked God that most of the mansion left twenty minutes ago because he was making no effort to temper his voice. Or his anger for that matter. “Please tell me you didn’t tell her to stay away from a boy.”
“No I didn’t fucking tell her to stay away from the little shit. She wouldn’t let me get that damn far! I ask one god damn question and she fucking snaps at me and throws a damn fit. She told me to fuck off then stormed out of the room, Marie. Brat.” He added the last part, shaking his head and downed another mouth full of his Molson’s.
Marie groaned and rubbed her forehead, “You can’t tell a girl stuff like that! Forget that it’s just completely wrong in principle for a second. You’re not her father, sugah; you can’t control her, especially with things like this.”
“Fuck!” he yelled, his sharp canine teeth now visibly showing, “I get bitched at when I don’t act like her fucking father and now I’m getting bitch at *for* at like a god damn dad. You need to make up your fucking mind, kid! Either I ignore her or I don’t. But I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let that little brat yell at me like that again! So what do I do, huh? What do you want from me, Marie? Just tell me what you want and I’ll do it, I swear, but I will not let some smartass, half-pint, hybrid version of me just walk the fuck all over me!”
Completely stunned, Marie sat in silence; her mouth gapped open in a small ‘o’. The fact that he was waiting for an immediate answer when she was having a very hard time with any brain function at all made it worse. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what she wanted. But more importantly she didn’t understand why it mattered what she wanted, especially to him.
“I’m sorry...” She didn’t know what she was apologizing for; it just felt like the words had to be out there in the air somewhere. Whether or not they were for now, future arguments, or past mistakes she didn’t know either.
“I don’t want you to be sorry,” Logan sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Tightly he clenched his eyes shut, trying to fight back against the headache that was welling up inside his head. “I... I just don’t want to screw this up, her up. The other Logan, he fucking worked hard to get what he has, I just know he did. And I don’t want to ruin it for him. I want to return her to him just like I got her or whatever, you know?”
He set the beer down and moved to the other side of the island, to her. She straightened up on the stool, willing her nerves to calm down as he approached. But before she had them convinced her face was in his hands, her thick hair the only barrier between them.
“You always know what to do,” He began again, in a deep, low whisper that had the same effect on her ears that the ice-cream had on her throat only minutes ago. “Please, Marie, don’t let me screw this up, too, like I do everything else. Tell me how to make him proud of me, not regret that his only daughter ever crossed my path.”
She knew her eyes were welling up slightly and she felt like an emotional idiot for it. But he was so serious; it hurt to see the Wolverine eyes beg at her like that. She wanted to tell him he’s never screwed anything up, that he should just be himself, that no matter what she was proud of him, and a million different other things.
None of that came out, however, just a quiet, quivering, “You’re perfect.”
His was thrown off by her statement, his eyes widened, shocked. Then they narrowed, gently, searching her face. He looked over every line; one of his thumbs beginning to softly move over the white strands caught beneath it, stroking her temple. Everything was studied, her cheeks, her forehead, her nose- her eyes. She was slightly intimidated by the connection his eyes were forming with hers but she could not find the power to pull away or even so much as blink. Her next thought was to hide, give him the strong persona she knew he wanted to see in her, but she couldn’t bring herself to do that either. So instead she left herself open, let all her weakness, her pathetic desires, dreams, and fears show. She even didn’t stop the small tear that escaped, although it didn’t move down her face.
When his eyes let hers go, she tried to remember to breathe. But he wasn’t done. Now he was reading her lips, his breath slow and heavy as well. He lowered, moving closer to her, and she was lost in the all encompassing feeling of him. It was as if he was swallowing her whole in a warm, dark cocoon.
Both of their eyes closed at the same time, two heartbeats before he his lips brushed against her in a light, almost ghostly kiss. He pulled back a few inches and she thank God. The bare touch left her senses completed scrambled, making the whole world flood into where his lips meet hers. Now she hoped he regained his common sense and stayed back because she was way to far gone to push him away.
But he didn’t, instead he moved in faster, this time seizing her lips. One of his hands moving from the side of her face to the back of her head and pushing her even harder to him. She whimpered against him both from the feeling he was causing in her and fear of hurting him. Because even if she could move out of his embrace, she wasn’t going to. There was no rush of memories from him to her, even though she could feel the pull. Anything that came from him held no candle to the sheer intensity of her own emotions.
Unable to hold on anymore he fell against her, his heavy body pinning her against the island. His ragged, labored breath was hot on her neck and her heart sped up even more from the caress, wether or not he was doing it on purpose.
“Logan,” she said his name, a half moan, half plea.
“I’m fine,” he quickly grunted, wanting to end any self-blame she might have about hurting him before it even started. “Just... just give me a second.” What he really wanted to do was prove it, but he couldn’t make his body move. There was no energy left in any of his muscles, though they managed tiny seizures from the intense pain surging through them. The funny thing was that the only part of him that didn’t hurt is where they actually touched.
Her lips buzzed and they were not content when his left them. So she feathered kisses on the side on his head, the softness of his hair against her lips served as a suitable replacement. He purred low in his chest in approval.
“Logan,” she tried again this time purposely whispering the word into his ear. He purred again and trembled against her and she applauded herself for her bravery.
Slowly he used the edge of the counter to push off of her and instead leaned his weight on it beside her. “What did I come in here for again?”
Marie laughed, “Get a beer, rant about your DNA twin’s ungrateful little brat, and get your life drained out through your lips.”
He smirked at her, and she instantly blushed, like he knew she would because she always did. “Well,” he straighten up a little bit, his strength now rushing back, “Check, check, and check. Good night, eh, darlin’?”
“You know, a normal person would call you suicidal.”
Logan snorted and his hand moved to her thigh, “As long as you let me do that again I don’t give a shit what anyone calls me.
She should have been celebrating. Everything she ever wanted was now on her lap, quite literally. But a heavy doubt still hung over her and tainted the feeling. He successfully squashed her skin paranoia, and somehow she always figured he would, she just didn’t think he wanted to. She just couldn’t bring herself to completely believe this was happening.
“You’re not...you’re...,” she struggled with how to word it, “This isn’t just because of them is it?”
He cocked his eyebrow at her, “What are you talking about? Who?”
“The other us. Them. Whatever. I just don’t want this to be because of what they have...” her voice quieted with each word.
“Woah, right there,” Logan stopped her. He stilled her fidgeting glove hand in his and squeezed it. “I don’t give a shit about them or what they have. The only thing I give two fucks about is you. I want you. Just you, you and me, how we are now. Fuck what happened on the road, fuck what happened before now, fuck anything but us.”
She chuckled, wiping the escaped tear from her cheek, “Wow, you really speak the language of romance don’t you, sugah?”
He shrugged and pushed a loose hanging white bang behind her ear, “I do what I can.”
She nodded and looked over and saw the completely melted ice-cream soup and a puddle of water surrounding the beer bottle. It seemed like such a long time ago ice-cream was her biggest source of pleasure, but now the feel of Logan’s lips against hers was forever physically imprinted on her. “So, you feel better? About what happened with Ricochet n’all.”
“What? Oh, yeah. If you mean I don’t give a shit now then, yeah. I feel a lot better.”
“You should still give a shit, I think it’s cute when you act all ‘daddy’ around her.”
Logan smirked and moved her legs apart so he could stand between them. Her heart spiked up again, just when she finally got it to settle down. She watched his hands as they slide around her thighs and cradled the back of them. “I got a real problem with the word ‘cute’, darlin’.”
It must have been the dose of Logan that made her bold, but her hands move from their idle place at her side to his hips. Their trek continued inside of his shirt and slid around to rest on his hard abdomen. “Did I say cute? I meant incredibly sexy.”
One of his hands came up and he stroked his thumb along her bottom lip, “That’s a little better.”
“Umhm..” she nodded, all her attention now on worshiping his thumb with her lips, kissing it each time it moved across her mouth.
His eyes intently watched her lips, hepnotized by how they moved. He was pretty sure it was not healthy to be jealous of your own thumb but he’d never envied anything more in his life. The pull of her skin was minimal and he could tell by her relaxed face that either she couldn’t feel it or didn’t care. Still he had to pull away, not wanting to have to remind her she didn’t like to smoke cigars for a week. But he was reluctant to let that look leave her face so he buried himself under her hair, softly blowing air under her ear then down the column of her soft pale neck and back up again.
“Logan, stop,” she moaned, “You’re gonna make me faint or something.”
He grinned and lightly nipped her, “Then we’ll be even, won’t we?”
“Seriously, Storm’s still around her somewhere,” she pushed him away, her head bowed trying to hide her now ragging blush.
He bit his bottom lip in deliberation and turned his head to look behind him. “Right. Move that pretty ass of yours.” Before she had a chance to respond he pulled her off the stool and she squeaked as she was dragged behind him and out of kitchen.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Yay, a real honest to God Logan/Marie shipper chapter. It was harder than I thought figuring out where it belonged in the story.