Surveillance was a bitch, Wolverine mused. Especially when you were staking out an innocuous house, in an innocuous street, with a seemingly innocuous inhabitant. And especially when you were doing it with your former best-friend, one-time lover and all-time pain-in-the-ass.
Even, he reminded himself as his eyes fixed on the electric sway of Rogue’s hips, if it was the most exquisite ass in creation. He forced the animal down, and tried to think with his other head. The one that had to persuade Rogue to get back in the truck, preferably with the donuts and coffee she was carrying.
Opening the door, he stepped away from the truck and addressed her back. From five metres away. Rogue wasn’t a woman to be trifled with.
“Jesus, Rogue, I’m sorry, OK. I was wrong, and you were right.. So get back in the truck already and let’s just finish this job like adults.” Wolverine cringed at the false note in his voice, and hoped Rogue wouldn’t pick it. She might not talk to him lately, but she still knew him better than anyone else did, and she probably remembered that Wolverine didn’t apologise for stuff. Ever.
The tactic seemed to work, however. The sanity-threatening roll of leather-clad hips stilled, as did the angry twitch of her sable-and-silver ponytail. The heave of her shoulders as she took several deep breaths told him she was still steamed, and Logan momentarily thanked her wisdom in stalking off, because staring at her tits, right now? Tantamount to suicide. He was still congratulating himself on escaping that fate when she turned to face him, a suspiciously serene expression the only hint that things were not resolved.
“Wolverine? What, exactly, are you apologising for?” Her accent no longer dripped molasses and grits, but the tone was pure Southern belle. Scarlett O’Hara had nothing on Rogue at her most imperious, and the Wolverine quailed.
“Ah, I… uh. I upset you?” Obvious, simple. He prayed it would be enough.
“Really? And how did you do that?”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Think, man, think. Did he call her ‘kid’? Nope – 36 hours of non-stop sex that ranged from the sweetest vanilla to kink he hadn’t even known about had cured him of that one. Maybe it was ‘Marie’. She had begun to hate him calling her that after he’d lost his temper and scared off one of her lovers. Mid-fuck. Or was it another woman? He didn’t remember any women, not for weeks. And it wasn’t as if Marie – Rogue! – cared about his sex life any more. His mouth gaped open, unable to pull even a single, useless excuse from his brain.
“I haven’t got a clue, Rogue. But I am sorry. Could you get back in the truck so’s we can finish up, go home, and you can tell all the X-Women what an asshole I am?” Sometimes, honesty got him out of these fixes.
“I woke up and your hand was on my leg! The inside of my leg! Up high on my THIGH!” Wolverine quickly reviewed his knowledge of the female anatomy and closed his eyes. Lucky hand. But where the hell had the rest of him been to forget copping a feel like that?
“Uh. uh. Ggrro-o-owl.” Could she still interpret his growls? Because that was confusion and annoyance with an undertone of pure lust. Oops.
“Wolverine!” His name, broken into three syllables, and all of them pissed. A quick sniff. Damn. No real arousal; just her usual “I’m always this hot” spice. He’d have to face the music.
“I think I fell asleep. I didn’t mean to … grope you.” Or at least, not while unconscious.
“I know you were asleep, idiot. You were snoring. And drooling. It must have been SOME dream what with the groping and the hard-on and the big fucking STAIN on the upholstery!” Her eyes spat fire and his own closed in mortification.
“And you called me Marie!”
“What? When?” Her face supplied the answer and he thought he might be blushing. Death. Death would be kinder. But he still had to think. And talk. Apologise.
“I’m sorry, Rogue. I didn’t know … didn’t mean,” he stumbled, then stopped. It just wasn’t honest to tell her he hadn’t meant it. Of course he had – every part of him still wanted Rogue, sleeping, waking, and every moment in between. He felt a frown settle between his brows and decided it was time to suck it up.
“Sorry I spoilt the upholstery. Sorry I groped your thigh. Not sorry you still get me off. Sorry.”
She stalked the few metres to his side and thumped him in the middle of the chest with her gloved hand.
“I don’t WANT you to be sorry, asshole. I want you to do something about it. There should be a law about getting a girl … that way … and then yelling her name as you come and then … ‘did I fall asleep? Get me some coffee and donuts, wouldya?’
Wolverine’s brain was still stuck on “do something about it.” As in, touch her. Now. He considered his conscience. Job. Fucked up relationship that was going nowhere. And then his sense of smell decided to butt in. Oh yeah. Hot, hot Rogue. Dripping just like he remembered. What decision?
He grabbed her around the waist and threw her headlong across the bench seat. His hands were already tugging her jeans from her ankles to fling them away by the time she was able to reach the last button on his fly. He wondered if he would be so graceless as to fuck her with his jeans on, then dismissed the thought. Of course he would.
It was only later, spent and bone-satisfied, that he stopped to wonder where his belt was. Or his buckle. And exactly why he had gone to sleep with his jeans buttoned, and woken up with them undone. Now that the dreams were less frequent, he tended to be a sound sleeper. But was it even possible that she could have … nah. He would have known. Surely.
After a moment’s deliberation, he left his jeans open as he dozed off for the second time that afternoon. Just in case Rogue’s hands should decide to wander. As his eyes closed, he left his other senses of full alert. This time he wanted to be awake to enjoy it.
FIN
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Author's Chapter Notes:
So Lex wanted a new chapter of The Bargain for her birthday. Thought I might play in her “Musical Beds” universe instead. Hope I did it justice, and HAPPY BIRTHDAY!