Hey Mr. Seeker
Hold on to this advice
If you keep seeking you will find
Don't want to follow
Down roads been walked before
It's so hard to find unopened doors
Are you ready?
Are you ready?
For what's to come?
Oh I said, Are you ready?
Are you ready?
For what's to come?
Hey, Mr. Hero
Walking a thin, fine line
Under the microscope of life
Remember your roots, my friend
They're right down below
'Cause heroes come and heroes go
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two,
one
Count down to the change in life that's soon to come
Your life has just begun.
They arrived a few days ago. Wolverine and the girl he's so gruffly affectionate with. Woman, really, though he doesn't seem to notice she isn't a child.
I noticed - how close they were, and how much they cared about each other. It was like that for Scott and I when we first arrived at the Manor. Now, though I don't like to admit it, even to myself, things have changed.
Scott's changed. And so have I. The newcomer, he makes me feel things I thought I'd never feel again. Passion is at the top of that list, along with lust, humor, maybe even love.
Oh I love Scott, don't get me wrong, it just isn't the kind of love it should be. He's my friend, but not my best friend, my boyfriend, but not my lover.
Every time the Wolverine looks at me, flirts with me, spark of something flickers inside me. I don't know what it is, but it's strong and it's pure and it's there.
He looks at me with those eyes that are so knowing, it's as though he's looking inside me and he likes what he sees.
And I like who I am when I'm with him. Strong, capable, sexy, things I've never been with Scott. He's always needed to take of me, to coddle me. I'm sick of it, because I'm a grown woman, not a little girl in need of his protection.
I know I must go to Scott, talk to him, before I see Wolverine and do something I'll regret. He kindles a heat in me, a fire that lay dormant for so many years. Whenever I come within a foot of the man, I want to throw myself at him, beg him to make love to me. Or fuck me. Whichever is easiest.
I've been having dreams, dreams where he comes to me while I'm in the kitchen or the lounge or the bedroom I share with Scott, and his eyes are so hot, they glow a lambent gold and I am hypnotized.
His hands are rough but gentle as they strip me bare, his mouth reverent on my mine. There is a sudden pulsing in the air, like drumbeats, and the mood changes.
Tenderness becomes savagery; the tamed turns wild. His tongue thrusts rapaciously into my mouth and sends desire coursing through my system like flames. I moan and he growls, his hands on my breasts, pinching my nipples into agonizing hardness.
Then they slide further down, find me where I need him most, and he works his fingers inside, driving me insane with wanting.
Just as I am at fever-pitch, almost panting at being so close to fulfillment, he moves away. I groan my dissatisfaction at this and suddenly he is back, as naked as I am, and his erection is huge and throbbing with arousal. My God, it's so big, there's no way it'll fit inside me. I tell him so and he laughs, forcing my eyes up to his. They glitter with a feral intensity and I can feel myself being parted, filled. A brief moment of pain and then he is moving, thrusting and rolling his hips and it feels like Heaven. There is a sudden explosion, a gush of wet fire, and I am replete, satisfied. I hear his harsh breath against my ear and I know that he has found his release as well.
We sink against each other and he whispers in my ear, "I love you."
And I know my life has just begun.
Then I awaken, bolt upright and shaking with the force of the dream, and I am left feeling incomplete because he is not with me.
Remembering the dream, the pounding rush of excitement, the contentment I felt in his embrace, resolves me.
I am determined to tell Scott that it is over. That one part of my life has ended, and the other is just beginning.
I find Scott in our room, looking for something, probably the socks he's forgotten are in the laundry basket.
"Scott, we need to talk."
He looks at me with those visor-covered eyes and he knows, I can see he knows, that this is it.
"Let's talk then," he says, sitting down on the bed and patting the space next to him.
This will be hard enough for me to say without being inches away from him, so I refuse and stand instead by the dressing table.
We talked, and I could see his face hardening into obstinacy, not because he loved me but because he didn't want things any different.
Finally my anger burst out. "Scott, you're only against this because you hate change. But things have been changing for a long time."
"No they haven't," he insisted. "You only felt dissatisfied with us when the Wolverine and the girl arrived."
"Stop it. Stop deluding yourself! We've been dating for over a year and we've never made love, doesn't that tell you something?"
"That our relationship is more than just sex."
"No, it means that while we love each other, we're not in love with each other. The only reason we're still together is for comfort, so that we won't be alone. It's time to stop avoiding life, Scott. It's time to admit that we do better at friendship, at least with each other, than we do at love."
Something in my little speech must have got through to him, because he reached over, pulling me down next to him on the bed, and sighed in defeat. "I know. Things are so much easier when you don't have to deal with strong emotions, like love and lust."
I sighed, too. "That may be, but just because things are easier, doesn't mean they're better."
He ruffled my hair. "Will we be able to be friends after this?"
I laughed, "Since we never stopped being anything but friends, I don't think that'll be a problem."
And then he asked me about his red socks, and I told him where they were, and he grinned and I started packing. Things were going to be all right.
We arrived a while ago, a week or so I think, I don't know. Don't really keep track of things like the girl does.
Charles Xavier, the head honcho at this mutant extravaganza, told me when I met him a coupla years ago that I could join him whenever I felt like it.
So when the girl paid me to take her to a place for people like her, called Xavier's, I knew where to go. Wasn't a hardship for me to take her and her cash and go where I was headed anyway.
I know what you're thinking, and no I didn't take anything else. Not that she offered, but it wouldn't be hard to convince the girl that she owed me. She didn't, and I didn't like take advantage of anyone innocent like her -- besides which, I don't think of her that way. She's young, probably over the age of consent, but I think of her as a sister.
Strange when you think I've never had any siblings -- that I know of anyway -- but this kid is to me, like my sister.
In the few months since I found her hitchhiking in Alaska, we've become kind of friends. I think she's grateful for a brother-type figure who doesn't want anything from her. But even the first time I saw her, and she's a pretty girl, I didn't see her as anything sexual, or even female now that I think back on it.
I don't imagine a guy looks at his sister, even if she's Miss Goddamn America, and thinks she's hot.
No, our relationship wasn't like that, and when we arrived at Charlie's manor of mutants I realized why the girl would never be that to me, or me to her.
I met a woman. The most exquisite creature I'd ever seen, or ever would see again. Perfection in-fucking-carnate.
She answered the door and I recognized her the second I saw her. It wasn't her beauty, or her kindness, or that warm flash of humor in her eyes, or even my deep lust for her that made my heart pump blood faster through my veins, and adrenaline rush like a freight train inside me.
It was her scent. It was as simple and as primal as that. She was mine.
So I began the chase. I could tell by the look in her beautiful eyes that she wanted me, could smell it when she walked past me; my every sense sharpened to the point where I knew if she had left her room or stubbed her toe or cried out in ecstasy or fear.
I followed her and flirted with her and made it clear to everyone what my intentions were.
And damn her pansy-assed one-eyed fucking freak of a boyfriend to hell.
She blushed whenever I came near her, and stammered and looked gorgeous as she always did.
I turned her on, and something more. She had feelings for me that were stronger than lust, anyone with eyes could see that.
It thrilled me as nothing else ever had, or probably ever will again.
The feeling intensified when I followed her to her room, hoping to corner her there and engage in a little. . . conversation.
My plans altered when I discovered the red-eyed wonder in the room. Claws thrust out involuntarily as I felt a stab of jealousy -- my girl in the same room as that puny kid? He'd better not be hoping for a noon-quickie, cause all he'd get for his troubles was a gut-full of metal.
Then I heard what they were saying and couldn't control the grin that I knew split my face. She was breaking up with him, and he, obviously not a fool, was fighting it.
I waited and listened until the end of their little talk, then I heard drawers opening and something being dragged on the floor. I chanced a peak through the open door and had to force the howl of possession back down my throat. She was packing, leaving the boy alone in his room.
She was mine.
Later that evening, after she'd moved into the vacant room next to mine -- must've spoken to the psychic professor about changing accommodation -- I found her alone in the TV room, staring at the flickering screen.
I knew she wasn't really watching, her eyes were glazed and it's obvious she's thinking about something. So I dropped onto the couch next to her and grunted a greeting.
Her heartbeat quickened and I had to close my eyes at the ecstasy of being near her and catching the scent of her arousal.
Then she looked over at me, eyes gleaming with every fantasy I'd ever had, and I felt something so strong that I couldn't name it flow through me. Love that runs as deeply as mine did for her didn't have a neat little label. It's hot and wild and truer than anything ordinary mortals are capable of.
I must've saved Jesus Christ himself to be gifted with a woman as wonderful as her.
I think I stared a little too long at her, cause she blushed and looked away for a moment.
Then she said, "So, how's your friend settling in?"
I shrugged, in truth I'd been far more interested in pursuing my mate than looking after a girl old enough to take care of herself. Especially now that she was in a safe environment.
She may have been like my sister, and I cared about her, but I didn't want to hang around her all day, scaring off her new friends.
"She's fine. Like's it a lot here. Told me to get out of her hair the day after we arrived."
She laughed and I felt myself smiling in response. It was impossible not to, her laughter was bright and sunny and sultry at the same time.
Like I said, she's fucking perfect.
Oh, I know she isn't really, she has her problems and quirks and I have mine, but she's perfect for me, and in the end that's all that counts.
I stared at her full red lips and remembered all the fantasies I'd had about them. Kissing me, parted in pleasure, screaming my name, wrapped around my erection. There were too many to mention, and she definitely noticed how aroused I was, cause her eyes began to glow and her breathing became fast and erratic.
She felt it too, the connection, the desire, the love. I don't think she realized how intense the feelings were, how profound our relationship would be, but it was a start.
Things were getting a little out of hand, soon I wouldn't be able to function at all, so I pulled out a cigar and rooted around for something to say that wouldn't spook her.
"So what kind of a name is Rogue?"
"I don't know. What kind of a name is Wolverine?" she shot back.
I studied her breathtaking features, examining the lush curves of her figure over the glowing cigar, dragged on the end of it, then said, "my name's Logan."
Her cherry lips curved. "Marie."
And so, it began.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
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Author's Chapter Notes:
This is my first fic ever and it hasn't been beta read, so if you're going to slaughter me, please warn me first so I can prepare Oh yeah, the song 'Are You Ready?' by Creed kept playing over and over again in my head while I was writing this, so I suppose you could call it my inspiration to keep writing it.