The students couldn't technically be classified as `conscious'. But that was just semantics as far as Marie was concerned, and smothering heat-wave or no smothering heat-wave, she had a job to do.
"Siren!" Marie snapped, seeing her student's head flat on the desk, and the small puddle of drool.
The girl sat up, startled, letting out a yelp that pierced the ears of the rest of the students. Three woke up, several put their hands over their ears, and all glared at the smug smile on their teacher's face.
"Miss, may I be excused?" asked Lycan, waving his hand around in the air, with a vigour that in this heat, only meant that he had an escape plan. Marie's eyes narrowed at the malcontent. Any signs of rebellion would need to be crushed before they could spread.
"Why?"
"I need to pee."
"I find that hard to believe, Lycan," said Marie, pacing like a predator. "Most people are too busy sweating out their water content like pigs, but you, apparently, have retained enough to fill your bladder within ten minutes of walking into my classroom."
"I finished my water bottle," he complained, holding up the empty container as proof.
"Excellent! Then you won't even need to leave the classroom," said Marie. She pointed at the teens on either side of Lycan, "Julie, Roger, look away now."
Lycan - a small, hairy teenager - put his hand back down on the desk. "I can hold it."
"You bet you will, bub," muttered Marie, turning around to the blackboard. Shaking her head, she tried to get rid of the realization that /he/ was rubbing off on her. /Rubbing off on her/. Marie shivered. She pretended to be looking for something, but mostly she was trying to shake the memories out of her head. Memories that had been haunting her for two weeks, refusing to let her concentrate, wherever she was. His hand firmly stroking her thigh, his tongue swirling in her navel; his blunt fingers digging into her hips. The salty hollow of his throat.
Marie held the collar of her shirt, pulling the damp material away from her neck. She fanned her face with her free hand, a sweat dewing over her skin as she thought of his hips. His hips, the muscles working under her fingers, as he slammed-
"Miss Rogue?"
Marie whipped around, facing the class again, feeling her cheeks flare with heat. She looked at the students, wondering who exactly had spoken.
"Yes, Georgia?"
"Can't we just finish early today? It's not like we're learning anything."
"No," she snapped. "We can't just finish early when we feel like it. I know it's hot today." The class all eagerly nodded in agreement, making theatrical moans of discomfort and fanning their faces. "We're here for a reason and we're going to learn. And we're going to enjoy it. Education helps us all to grow and contribute to this society. Education is power. Education is fun, damn it. And if anyone complains, I'll gut you like a fish." Marie was under the impression she muttered the last line under her breath. Marie was wrong. The students were at least paying attention now. The kind of attention a mouse pays to a snake, a monkey to a crocodile; not necessarily healthy, but attention nonetheless.
"Miss Rogue? You're kinda like Wolverine when you're angry," said Roger.
"See me after class," she growled.
"Yeah, he's sexy when he's angry too," said Roger, smirking.
Marie blinked slowly. "Okay, you don't see me after class."
Roger pouted and sunk lower in his seat.
Putting her hand back at her neck, Marie scraped at the strands of hair escaping from the knot of her hair. If it wasn't enough that images were crawling over her brain, wiping out her concentration, now she had students directing her attention away from the class and back to the Wolverine. The Wolverine, with muscle definition that Conan (the Barbarian, not just the hyperactive Irishman) would envy. The Wolverine - who'd made a low, deep purring, turning her muscles to liquid, as he'd wrapped her legs around his narrow waist and pushed her hips into the wall and - /where/ was she? Marie settled on a piece of chalk and prepared to write.
"Miss Rogue?"
Marie spun around, almost snarling, "What?!"
The student paled notably and pointed towards the door.
"Marie, baby."
She clenched her fists, and relaxed them. Clenched, then relaxed. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glint of light, flashing off his belt buckle, his Someone-Went-To-Texas-And-All-I-Got-Was-This-Lousy-Belt-Buckle belt buckle. Big and brassy, and suspiciously well-polished. Some men used their cars as a phallic symbol; Logan had a belt buckle.
"Don't you `baby' me," she said. She tried to direct it only at him, but you could hear a pin drop in the classroom, as every student focused on this new development.
"Look, I'm sorry, darlin'." He ruffled his hair, running his hand up the back of his neck and into his hair like he always did when he knew there was no way it wasn't his fault.
"No darlin's either," snapped Marie. She crossed her arms angrily, frustrated that he'd returned /now/ and marched into her classroom, with the impression that everything could go on his time schedule. His eyebrows raised a little and she noticed he wasn't staring at her face anymore. The combination of a shirt buttoned only as far as decency demands, and arms crossed, had resulted in enviable cleavage. Wolverine's dark eyes were following the path of a single bead of sweat, sliding down the flushed skin, going where his fingers itched to touch again.
"You have all the self-control of a dog with a hydrant," growled Marie, putting her hands by her side.
"I said I'm sorry," replied Logan, his hackles rising. She wasn't going to make it easy. "What more do you want?"
"Oh, maybe a reason or two would be nice."
He growled under his breath, thinking back to his carefully prepared lines. She wasn't crossing her arms any more, but she did seem blissfully unaware of the transparency of her sweat-soaked white shirt, and it was distracting as all hell. Neither seemed to remember the classroom of students, or notice that a bag of M&Ms was now being passed around as theatre snacks.
"Well." He cleared his throat. "Sometimes in our lives, a man must make a choice. A choice to follow his ideals, his reason, or his heart. What may seem like dishonour to some is really just clarity – a choice the man had to take, as he can see clearly…" Logan cringed, trying to remember the words. This was the /last time/ he watched Hallmark while practicing apologies. But then, he reminded himself, that wasn't the first time he'd promised himself that. "… As he can see clearly, now… the rain has gone?"
"Logan, what the hell are you talking about?" Marie was obviously unswayed.
"I have no fucking idea." He took a step closer, shrugging in submission. "You're my best friend, Marie. I'm sorry I messed that up."
"Damn right you messed things up," Marie sniffed, trying to be firm and stoic, and a little self-righteous. He deserved that at least. /Beg/.
"It's just," his face softened, becoming sweet, "that you were standing there in a towel, your hair all mussed up. All that skin, all that wet skin, teasing." He could see her in his mind, laughing, holding a pile of his clothes under her arm and refusing to give them to him. She knew exactly what he was referring to, in the changing rooms after the mission two weeks ago. Marie was silent, letting him continue.
"And I thought – I mean, it really hit me for once – that what we do isn't safe. I mean the X-Men. That maybe you wouldn't - or I wouldn't – be there after the next mission," said Logan. He swallowed nervously, and Marie's eyes were drawn to the column of his throat, bobbing in the motion. She wet her lips, and looked back up to his eyes.
"So, I'm sorry for that – for screwing up our friendship by, well…" He hesitated to use the word `screwing up' in a non-metaphorical sense. It seemed a little crass, even for him, in this situation.
"You're sorry for the sex?" asked Marie. She seemed surprised. This was not what he'd expected.
"Well, yeah."
Marie waved her hands, flapping like a fish out of water, as she reprocessed the situation. Then she hit him. Smacked him lightly on his chest. Then again, until she was pummelling him.
"You moron!"
He held his arm up in front of his face, "Geez, Marie. I'm sorry!"
"Oblivious, stupid, running-off, idiot!"
Finally, he grabbed her hands and held them still. "What is it?"
"You think I'm angry about the sex? No, Logan…" she sighed heavily, "No. What I'm angry about is you leaving at 4 a.m. to take off across the country without saying `Goodbye', or hey, `Good for me too', or even, `We should do this again'. What I'm angry about is feeling like some bimbo you were too wasted to notice picking up the night before."
Logan felt gutted. That was what she thought he thought. All those days in a motel trying to work up the right apology to the wrong reason and it hadn't even occurred to him.
"Why did you leave, Logan?" Her voice quavered slightly. He stepped in closer to her. He gritted his jaw. Her lower lip looked succulent and wet, and flushed with heat that oozed off her entire body.
"I wanted to give you time to get your thoughts in order, and practice how you were going to let me down." He looked so sheepish, so sorry, she almost felt sorry for him too. Two weeks of no contact after the culmination of eight years of UST wasn't going to be forgiven that easily. No, he'd messed up big this time.
"How could you think I didn't want you too? Third and fourth times were obviously my lead," said Marie.
Logan smirked, "I thought maybe you were just caught up in the heat of the moment by then."
"You thick-headed jerk," she said grumpily, but he saw the smile underneath. Her eyes were lightening up with amusement. That's right, he told himself, get her to see the humour in the situation.
"I blame the adamantium."
"You can't just blame evil scientists every time you mess up."
"Yeah. But then there's always memory losses, and brutal experiments, and then one day, maybe, because of deep psychological problems from my mother."
She rolled her eyes, but she was blushing and it reminded him of how flushed her skin was when she panted his name.
"Let me make it up to you," he smiled that certain hungry smile that sent thrills down the spine of every woman within a ten metre radius. Passing down the corridor outside, Jubilee felt the tickle down her back and knew that somehow, somewhere nearby the Wolverine was being irresistably sexy. She shivered and went to find some icecream, cursing Marie's good fortune.
Back in the classroom, Marie was wanting to know how he could make up to her two weeks of frustration, paranoia, confusion and hurt. Wolverine leant over, whispering into her ear exactly how he could. The entire class tottered forward on their desks, craning their heads towards the couple, unsuccessfully, to hear.
"Maybe I /want/ to be able to walk tomorrow." She arched an eyebrow at him. "I do have commitments and responsibilities, Logan."
"Then I'll carry you, baby."
She came close to agreeing, but the little red-clothed, stick-on horn wearing Rogue inside pointed it out again. Two weeks.
"It's too hot for cling-wrap," announced Marie decisively. Logan pouted, but her face was firm.
"Okay, no cling-wrap this time. I brought you some ice cream magic anyway." He grinned mischievously. "We'll pour it on, let it set and then, maybe later, crack it off with a spoon." He started playfully biting at her collarbone. She was trying to work out exactly how his metaphor translated to the real world – spoon-cracking? - until he started sucking. Marie's knees gave out and he held her up with firm hands at her hips.
"Ohmahgawd!" squealed a teen mutant, as they toppled headfirst over their desk and onto the floor.
Logan and Marie instantly remembered the classroom in front of them. Breaking apart quickly, both panting, Marie straightened her clothes and Logan began scruffing up and refixing his hair. They both looked at the student, who was dazed on the floor and just blinking. The rest of the class was looking at the student with disbelief – at the stupidity that had just cost them the finest education they'd ever witnessed before.
"Sorry, please, continue." The student waved her hand, gesturing them to ignore her.
"Logan," Marie walked past him and to the door of the room, "Come with me."
"Any time," he growled and followed her, shooting a warning look back at the group of students.
Outside the classroom, Marie pushed away his attempts at touching her again.
"Please, Marie." His voice was husky with desperation. Just that taste of her and he was helpless. Want and need no longer two separate concepts.
"I've got to finish off this class now, Logan." She fought off a duel attack – one of his hands coasting up her thigh, the other under her shirt and up along her spine. He made a pitiful noise in the back of his throat.
"Oh, they weren't paying any attention to you anyway."
He knew that was the wrong thing to say when she stiffened.
"Well maybe you'd like to see if you can do better," she snapped. A moment after she'd said it, it occurred to her that wasn't such a bad idea.
"Marie, no, I was just thinking they could get the day off early. They could get off, and then we could get off." He smirked.
She lowered her lashes carefully. "Your romantic nuances aside, they have to finish this class. I've just been lecturing them on respect for education. But I'm so tired. I've spent two weeks trying to be a good teacher. With that night always in my mind, it's so hard to concentrate," she trailed her fingers over his abdomen, feeling the muscles tighten automatically, watching his eyes flicker close, "and with this heat wave… it's been so /hard/ to be focused. So tiring -all I really want to do is sleep."
Logan swallowed, watching as her eyes closed slowly, watching as she stretched languidly, her arms over her head. His gaze fell down to the v of her shirt. He sunk his face into her neck and nuzzled. She smelt so good, so fresh and warm. It was sickly hot with the weather, and yet she didn't feel too hot to him at all. Her heat was different: perfect and satisfying. And addictive. She gently pulled herself away from him, and he clenched his jaw.
"Maybe, if I took over the class, then you could sleep for a little while, and then, later, I could show you just how sorry I am," he suggested. He missed the victorious smile that slid over her face. Like a lamb to the slaughter, men could be so very easy.
"Oh, would you? That sounds perfect, Logan." Marie cooed and thanked him, and gave him a smile that turned his insides to hot, fuzzy mush. Very unmanly.
"Just let me talk to them for one sec," she said, giving him another smile. He stood there, goofily grinning because this had gone better than he'd thought. He'd resigned himself to a life of `look but don't touch'. And now, he bristled with pride, she wanted him too.
She came back out of the classroom and ushered him in quickly before he could try anything else. Thanking him again, she took off down the corridor, towards her room.
"Now." He looked over the sea of faces, all eagerly watching him, and realized he had no idea what he was meant to do. "What were you talking about?"
One hand went up slowly. Logan pointed to the student.
"You mean, you and Miss Rogue going at it in front of us? Or before that?"
Logan gave a warning look to the brave – read /suicidal/ -student. "Before that."
"Sixty-nine," said another student.
"Thank you," he paused expectantly, and was rewarded with the student's name. "Thank you, Ally. Uhh, what exactly about sixty-nine were you talking about?"
"Well," Ally looked a bit confused, a bit embarrassed, "is it wrong?"
/Geez/, thought Logan. They were drifting off in /Sex-Ed/? The heat wave must be worse than he thought. His healing factor was stemming back the mental blur of mere mortals that accompanied extreme heat, even if his collar was sticking to his neck like white on rice.
"Well, Ally. It's like any new experience. Don't beat yourself up if you know that you're ready for it. It's not wrong if both partners are happy to try new things. If they're both feeling comfortable, and willing, and maybe a little drunk – but y'know, not so much that their judgement is impaired," he congratulated himself on remembering to include the responsible adult information, "then it can be a beautiful and glorious thing. But if it's your first time, you might wanna have a box of Kleenex handy, or something." Logan nodded heartily. This wasn't as hard as he'd thought. Eyeing off Marie's desk at the front of the room, he propped himself against it and crossed his arms.
"Any questions?"
Every hand in the class shot up.
"You," he pointed at a girl with sideburns, resisting the urge to add on, `And I shall call her, mini-Wolvie.'
"I'm really confused. What are you talking about?"
Logan nodded sagely. "Well thank you for being so candid. There's no point in faking it, if you have no fuckin' clue. Because, trust me, she'll know."
He gave a meaningful look to all the boys in the class. Logan frowned in disappointment, it looked like these ones had a fair way to go before they'd even understand the basics. But if Marie was already onto common sexual positions, then he'd have to trust her judgement.
"Sixty-nine gained most popularity back in the sixties, funnily enough. With the newfound sexual liberation, there was far more open talk about these things and - but I'm completely off topic. You just want a breakdown of it, right?"
The student nodded slowly in response.
"Well, the sixty-nine is where the man and the woman are--" Logan tried using his hands to gesture all the information required. Five minutes later, he gave up. Each student was staring at his hands in confusion, and a certain expression that meant they thought whatever he was referring to had to be a black belt in Kama-Sutra.
Logan twisted around to look over the contents of Marie's desk. He picked up a stapler, retrieved the blackboard duster with a triumphant "Hah!" and then faced the class again.
"Okay." He held up the two items side by side. "We have Mr Stapler and Miss Duster, who are very, very good friends."
"Hello, Mr Duster," said Logan in a high-pitched voice, as he wiggled the stapler.
"Hello, Miss Stapler," said Logan in a deep voice, as he wiggled the duster.
"Didn't you just say the duster was the woman?" interrupted Roger.
"I'm a hermaphrodite. Get over it," said the duster (via Logan) in a mid-pitch voice.
"So, the stapler and the duster – because they're very comfortable with each other and deeply in love et cetera, et cetera, and know that this is right for them," he gave a pointed nod to Ally and she smiled back nervously, "and they feel ready." He turned the duster upside down and joined the duster and stapler together, moving them up and down against each other.
"What is he doing?" hissed a student at the back of the room, obviously not counting on his super-hearing.
"Okay, I can see how this is confusing," admitted Logan. "Does anyone have a marker pen?"
A minute later Mr Stapler (it was a man again) had a gruff little face over his stapling end, complete with stubble and sideburns. Miss Duster (who had been declared to be 100% woman – because Mr Stapler wasn't into `that sort of thing') had nice dark hair that swept to the side, with a streak of liquid paper, and a little puckered mouth.
"You all still with me?"
By this stage, the students had abandoned their seats and were huddled in a crescent at the front, sitting on the edges of desks, or leaning in close to get a good view.
This time when Logan introduced Mr Stapler to Miss Duster, the faces helped the students with their spacial concepts.
"Let's try something new," said Mr Stapler. Low, deep voice.
"I too would like to try something new," said Miss Duster. Squeaky, high voice.
"Good, because I know that `no' means `no'," Mr Stapler was rotated to look at every boy in the room in turn, pointedly, "so I wouldn't make you do anything you didn't want to."
"You are so caring and sensitive," said Miss Duster. "Take me now, Mr Stapler! You big, hairy hunk of manly… manliness."
This time, when Miss Duster went horizontal and Mr Stapler spent a little time kissing her, before turning around on top of her, and making more alternating-pitch moaning sounds, the whole class nodded in understanding as a collective "Oh!" went around.
"So, now you all got it?"
They all nodded.
"Mr Logan?"
Logan gestured for Ally, obviously the top student, to feel free to speak.
"Why didn't you just say mutual oral sex?"
Logan coughed in surprise, his eyes widening. "Well, uhh, because… I find that using a combination of words and visual… uhh… illustrations, helps students to retain their, uhh, lesson."
Someone elbowed Ally, causing her to yelp and bite back any more questions.
"Now, what's next?"
Questions exploded at him.
"What's a Spanish?"
"What's snow-blowing?!"
"What's cuh- cuh – oh, I've lost it."
Logan cocked his head, and answered, "A – Not very romantic and something you don't need to know about yet. B – see answer A. And C. If you can't pronounce it, there's a snowball's chance in hell I'm giving you suggestions."
There was a spate of complaints and whiny noises, which Logan disregarded.
"Okay, so what do you recommend?"
"Yeah, what's your favourite position?"
Logan looked around, trying to work out where the two questions had come from but the class had newfound solidarity – each student looking innocently at him, waiting for an answer, not acknowledging who the questioners were.
"Well," he loosened his collar. When the students sensed he may not be going to tell them, they each pouted in turn, mumbling things about serious education and ruining their enthusiasm for learning, and how Rogue would've told them. Logan sighed in resignation, "There's a little thing I like to call `The Bub'."
"What? He calls his thing, Bub?" He heard one of the students hiss softly.
Logan looked heartily annoyed, "No, not my thing! My thing is not `a little thing'. I call that --" Logan bit off his sentence milliseconds just in time, to the chagrin of the assembled class. He sniffed indignantly. "Bub, is what I call it when…" Logan trailed off.
Words escaped him, until he remembered the stationary in his hands. Miss Duster and Mr Stapler took ten minutes to demonstrate a greatly sped-up routine that, at the end, had many of the students fanning their faces; Logan's voice hoarse from changing the pitch so much, and also a little more excited than he'd ever thought he could be about office supplies.
"Wow," said several of the students.
"Miss Rogue's – I mean," a cough, "Miss /Duster's/ a lucky girl," stated another student.
"You actually named that, Bub?"
Logan glared at the last statement, "You, see me after class."
"Yes, please," replied Roger, eagerly.
"Okay, you don't see me after class." Logan cocked an eyebrow.
The students were feeling more relaxed now in his presence than they ever had felt in front of a teacher. He had a certain openness – bluntness really – that was easy and welcome for the sexually anxious teenagers. None of them had really warmed to Scott's `Personal Development' class as he'd pointed at the two anatomically graphic posters with a stick, and given aseptic information about tabs A and slots B.
More questions were thrown at him all at once – he picked up several keywords, `condom' and `dating' and `cramps', and silenced the students by raising his hand. Walking to the blackboard, he motioned to each student in turn and began writing, until the board was covered with a list of their questions. When there was no room for more, Logan took each question in turn.
Forty minutes later, he was in the middle of describing some gentle relaxation techniques when he was interrupted again. Only this time it wasn't a curious student.
"Gentle circular motions, with a firm pressure – not feather-soft, but not too hard. Start from the centre of the spine and move out. The heel of your palm is good to use." Logan looked over the confused faces, knowing a visual might help. "Can I get a volunteer?"
"LOGAN!"
Logan whipped his head around to the door. Scott was standing there, his jaw smacking his chest. Scott's face was pointed in the direction of the blackboard and the copious questions scrawled across it, not to mention the diagrams.
"Back to your seats, right now!" ordered Scott, trying to regain a sense of order, feeling like he'd wandered into an alternate reality. The students grumpily obeyed.
"One-eye!" said Logan. "Come over here." He motioned for Scott to come closer. When Scott was in arm's reach, he spun One-Eye around and turned to the class.
Logan pressed the heel of his hand into the centre of Scott's back. "Like so," he addressed the students, while he massaged in circles, "and moving out towards the side."
Scott recovered from his numb shock and spasmed away. He looked at Logan with complete confusion, "What the hell is happening in here?!"
"We were on the finer points of sensual massage. And about to progress to the myths and truths of aphrodisiacs," Logan stated, matter-of-fact. He dropped his voice and gave Scott a knowing look, "I thought I should warn them about using Viagra wisely. Maybe a cautionary tale about you and the Christmas party last year…" Logan winked knowingly.
Scott spluttered and gaped, "What is this? Where is Rogue? Have you gone completely insane, Wolverine?"
"Rogue's upstairs sleeping. I've taken over her class." Logan kept his voice soothing and calm. Usually he would try to get any rise out of Cyclops that he could, but he was still in a hypnotic teacher-mode at the moment. "They've got a lot of questions about sex-ed. Better theory than practice though, I guess, eh?" He elbowed Scott gently.
"But this is a /Math/ class!" yelped Scott.
"A… math… class?" Logan cocked his head to one side, his mind clunking into gear. He didn't move for a long moment.
"Uhh, Logan?" Scott took a careful step closer to Logan, checking he was still with it.
"You!" Logan pointed to Psylocke, with a dangerous look in his eyes. "You were the one who wanted to talk about sixty-nining!"
Scott's eyes bulged. Though no-one could see it through his shades, they could picture it from the way his lower face stretched wide. Psylocke instantly turned a deep, pink shade of embarrassment.
"It was prime!" she protested.
"I /don't/ think the classroom is the place to be hearing about your…." Scott stuttered in indignation – and a little embarrassment because he certainly hadn't known what that term meant when he was their age and what the hell had happened to the youth of today and their loss of innocence - "sexual predilections!"
"No! It was /prime/. As in, divisible by only one and itself."
"What?" asked Scott.
"Just before she left, Miss Rogue told us to answer the question for Logan: what is the next prime number after 67?"
"69!" announced Scott, with a sense of satisfaction.
"Look. Keep it in your pants, Sparky," said Logan, giving the other X-Man a look of disgust. "We're trying to get to the bottom of this confusion. Now, Psylocke, what do you mean about prime 69s with one? I mean, I enjoy a good wank as much as the next man, but you can't go trying 69s with just yourself - you're liable to break a rib." Logan nodded, Yoda-like. "Trust me on that one." He shuddered with an unwanted memory.
38 sets of eyebrow hit their respective hairlines. One girl passed out as she attempted to assemble a mental picture. Her head thumped into her desk unnoticed, everyone else was distracted with their own mental imagery: the girls giddily, the boys with intense curiosity.
"How is that even possible?"
"Well, y'see, you've got to remember to always – always – warm up before any intense physical activity. I like to start with--" Just at that moment, the full realization hit Logan in an epiphany.
"Math class!" he growled, with a voice soft, and low, and fierce. Marie was in for it now. "That cunning, little minx." He seethed and growled and every muscle in his body pulled taut with predatory anticipation. She had planned it all along.
"Cyke, can you take over for me?" Logan stalked towards the door.
"School finished twenty minutes ago, Logan," replied Scott primly. The students all exchanged looks of surprise. Seeing Scooter at the head of the class and their new favourite teacher heading out the door, they grabbed their books and leapt up.
"Thank you, Mr Logan!" said Ally quickly.
"Yes, thank you a *lot*," said Roger. Across the room, every student piped in with their own thanks, causing Logan pause, despite his growing anger towards the mastermind of this.
He wouldn't admit it, but he knew the heat in his cheeks was a blush of pride.
"Greatest class, ever," said another.
Scott rolled his eyes at all the smarmy thanks Logan was getting. He'd never gotten that response from his algebra classes, or even his motorbike classes. Shaking his head, and rolling his eyes, he happened to look over at the desk. What was sitting on the desk caught his attention. "/Please/ tell me that's not stationary porn!"
Logan looked at the stapler, open, with the smiley-faced duster balanced carefully over one end. "Scooter," he said, alarmed. "You… sicko."
Tsking with disgust, Logan headed out the door, and broke into a sprint as he reached the staircase.
"I know you're in there, Marie," Logan growled at the door. He banged his fist into it violently and the door shook open. Hunched with anger, ready for payback, he wasn't prepared for what met him inside the room.
The air was cold and crisp, like an autumn dawn. The air-conditioning thrummed in one corner, not hiding the soft, breathy sounds he heard coming from the bed. The curtains were drawn to keep out the heat, and the only light was the rich scattering of candles. He followed the breathing sounds to the bed, picking his way through the shed clothes on the floor - her damp, white shirt among them. His boots and socks joined them.
His knees hit the side of the bed. He looked down at his lover, and the object of his wrath, stretched out under a red sheet.
"For future reference," he rumbled, "silk sheets, well done. Candles – better unscented."
"And why is that?" asked Rogue sleepily.
Logan crouched onto the mattress, sniffing along the side of her neck and behind her ear, "Don't want anything to distract from you."
Rogue's eyes opened slowly, languidly, "So you're not angry."
"Oh, we'll get to that," he said, trying to be menacing, but mostly just sounding rough and husky, "How'd you know it'd work?"
"Between math and sex, it doesn't take much to guess which one you'll take, Logan. I couldn't lose."
He nodded, busily studying her body through the silk sheet, and reaching the conclusion that the cold had certainly had an effect on her body.
"I don't know, Marie. Math class can apparently be very educational."
"Oh yeah," she stretched and propped herself up on her elbow, sending the sheet slipping further down her chest. Logan reached to her breasts – still covered by the sheet – and rubbed his thumb gently, but firmly, in circles over her hardened nipples.
"What'd I miss?" she asked, huskily, starting to pant again. Logan crawled forward and stretched out over her. He tasted her lips, licking and biting before locking his mouth onto hers. He tugged the sheet away from between them, scraping his fingertips down her ribcage lightly. Marie whimpered into his mouth.
"Allow me to demonstrate `The Bub'," he murmured and shifted his mouth to the sensitive skin over her jugular pulse. He sucked the skin and laved it with his tongue. Growling hungrily, he couldn't get enough. Running his hands through her hair, down her body; her own delicate hands pulling at his clothes, dipping into his pants to stroke him. Logan hissed through his teeth and panted into her hair. Every breath took in her scent - like chocolate and summer, fresh cut grass and slowly baked skin under sunlight.
Marie giggled suddenly, and couldn't stop, throwing off his mood. "You called *it* `The Bub'?" Logan growled, sending warm vibrations through her, but she couldn't help herself and kept laughing.
"No, I have a completely different name for my cock."
"So what /is/ the Bub?" Marie raised her eyebrows in confusion.
"The Bub cannot be told, it can only be shown," he stated drily. Rogue opened her mouth, about to speak, when he moved his mouth back over hers, kissing her hard. She smirked against his lips, and pulled him down, flush against her.
She surprised him – how quickly she'd gone from sleepily unaware to hungry seductress. With a strength he'd only guessed at, she had a pile of torn clothes on the floor, and was attacking his body with her mouth and hands. He pulled her back to his face, wanting to kiss her again. Needing to kiss her and taste her and remind himself that it was okay. That she was his. That she wanted this just as much. Fuck, she smelt good and felt even better. He kissed her until she squirmed against him and fought for breath.
"Logan," groaned Marie. Her hips were doing ridiculously good things against his body and he thrummed with sensations.
He purred against her skin, as he ran his lips down the centre of her sternum, taking in every sweet inch, "Oh, Miss Duster."
Marie took a moment before she knew she'd heard what she'd heard. "You're a sad, sick, strange little man."
"Yes. Yes I am," he grinned smugly.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Now, Professor Logan, I know you have strong feelings about editing and whatnot. But, hey, this is FicLite – I'm not required to have pride in my work...like Diet Coke has no pride in its flavour. *hides behind shrubbery as she sees DD stride in angrily* The students' questions are mostly questions friends and I had after watching various films – I still don't have all the answers. Oh, and I'd like to dedicate this to all the nice salesmen in Kathmandu who offered my friends and I all those Kama-sutra hand-painted booklets and personal demonstrations. Oh! "Ice cream Magic" – if you don't know – is liquid chocolate stuff that sets hard when you pour it onto ice cream. (Then you have the option of cracking it with a spoon to eat.)