"Is there something to drink?"
"Is there something in the guitar case?"
"Yea."
"What?"
"My guitar."
-Desperado
His last coherent thought had been how the whiskey smelled. Like the cask it had been aged in, of course, but beyond that. It smelled like a hundred and one smokey bars, for example. And nights out on the roof of the mansion, drinking underneath the stars with her. It smelled mostly of self serving motives unfortunately, but it did seem to have a tinge of 'for her own good' in there as a base note - sort of anchored everything together.
His current thoughts were no where approximating any of that, however. Logan wondered mainly what in hell had happened. Everything had just frozen and he was wracked with pain almost like when - but shit, it couldn't be that. He was thousands of fucking miles away and she might have followed him, sure, no secret where he was headed, but why in hell would she...
Fuck.
Logan quickly came to realize that perhaps the most important question of the moment was not how he got to his present situation, but rather the very fact that he was where he was.
In a bathtub. Naked. Handcuffed to the rather sturdy looking drainpipe. Clothes, he quickly noted, no where in sight.
Of course he wasn't in his own home. Because it couldn't have been Marie who had done this to him. And since there was such a fucking weird mix of smells in here - fucking candles, what kinda kidnappers used aromatherapy? - he couldn't get any kind of idea of who had him. But it was obvious what they wanted to do, and really they didn't have to hide it, being that the police around here were in whoever's pocket paid them the most.
So, they were gonna try to drown him. Great. How, he wondered, did a healing factor deal with breathing water instead of air? Besides the fact that Logan had absolutely no natural buoyancy and avoided large bodies of water like the plague, he'd never tested any theory that would help him out in this particular instance.
Maybe he could just burst the pipe he was chained to.
Fuck. No leverage.
Maybe the claws could reach something useful.
Fuck, not a thing.
Maybe he could just rip the damn handcuffs off. He could do that.
Well, fuck. That would explain why his damn elbows where bound together.
With a tremendous sigh Logan cleared his mind and let his arms rest, hanging off the back of tub behind his head. After a moment dedicated to a little bit of zen silence, Logan realized that there was probably enough room behind his head that if he flipped up and over his arms would be in front of him. In that position he'd be able to break the rope at his elbows, and then there would go the cuffs. Unfortunately before he got the chance to put the plan into action there was someone else in the room with him.
Logan looked over slowly, the menacing growl emanating from him like the water that lapped at his bared chest. His arms didn't relax any when he saw who it was that was leaning against the door. If possible, his anger raised a notch or two.
"What the fuck is goin' on?"
The figure sauntered in and perched on the edge of the old cast iron tub, dangerously close to the tensed nude body beneath the chamomile scented water.
"I could ask you the very same thing, sugar."
"Marie," he growled out, still fairly pissed off, if not slightly aroused in spite of himself.
"Oh, no. This sister doesn't play that way. You fuck me and leave me, you call me Rogue just like the rest."
"Marie," he warned, wondering exactly where this was going, his resolve to kill something wavering slightly. He had fucked her. He had left. But probably not for the reasons she assumed.
One of her claws slipped out and came to rest awfully close to his left nipple.
"You gonna start paying attention, or am I gonna have a little fun carving you up?"
"Rogue," he conceded roughly, rewarded when she turned the claw so the back scrapped the skin instead, making him just a little harder, for all she cared.
Her smile was strange. It wasn't as hard as Logan imagined it might have been. It seemed... promising, somehow. But what in the hell it was promising Logan wasn't sure he wanted to know. And did Xavier realize she'd hit critical, or had she just flown out of there? Nice that she at least waited to pounce on him when he'd gotten to where he'd wanted to go. Not everyone had the power of flight, after all. Very considerate of her. So what was she thinking now?
"We need to talk, sugar."
"You needed to tie me up to do that?"
"Either that or hold you down myself, and that would have gotten distracting after a while, doncha think?"
He snorted. Like this wasn't distracting as it was. Fucking thigh-high boots and the leather mini skirt he'd chosen. And a bra. And that was it. No more, no less. "So talk," he decided to say instead. She knew what she was doing, wearing what she was. So time to get to the point.
"Well, I was gonna just tie ya up and bitch at ya, but since we both know why ya did what ya did, that'd be kinda pointless."
Fuck. She had touched him. Why didn't he just trust his damn instincts? Fuck.
"I know," she said, trailing a gloveless finger harmlessly down the side of his face from the corner of his eye, tracing the line of his cheekbone, down past his nose, past his lips. "That you still want me. That you still ...care," she said, her face impishly lighting up, and really, Logan was beginning to enjoy this which meant he was clearly out of his mind.
You're not supposed to enjoy it when your ex-girlfriend handcuffs you to a bathtub for a heart to heart. There's just something wrong with that picture.
Except for the fact that if he had to be at anyone's mercy, please God let it be hers.
"So, the problem remains," she continued, her fingernails making little marks on his neck, "that you're being a thick headed idiot."
He raised an eyebrow. Thick headed idiot? That was new. And strangely sedate, considering her extended vocabulary, something he'd been on the receiving end of more than once.
"You think you're... How do you put it?" She looked like she was really searching her memory for it, but he knew she wasn't. And damn, her fingernails on the underside of his arm was seven different kinds of good. "...not worth the effort?"
And then good fuck her nails raked down the length of his arm and the growl was out there before he really had any choice in the matter.
"Well, sugar. I do beg to differ."
When he opened his eyes again, Logan saw her sitting there with the thoughtful look back, her head cocked to one side. This time she really was thinking about something.
"What's goin' on in that head of yours?"
"I know what you were thinkin'," she responded instead, completely ignoring his question. Her fingers trailed lightly down the side of his chest, past the water line all the way to his hips, then back up again.
"Not a doubt in my mind, darlin'."
"You were thinkin' that I'm only with you cause I can somehow control it with you. Ya think if I ever figure it out I'll be gone so fast your head'll spin."
"You do fly damn quick when you wanna."
He got a response to that one, at least. A finely manicured eyebrow, arched. "That is not the point at hand. The point is that my emotions are not so fucking incidental as you would have them be. The point is that maybe I feel something with you that ain't about sex. I wasn't a virgin before ya Logan, and I won't be a nun if ya go."
He just snorted.
"Oh, now. Lose the wounded pride. It doesn't suit ya at all."
He sighed. So she had a few points. It was just that... Fuck. Every relationship he'd had to date had ended badly. This was just a preemptive strike on his part. Then again, if there was ever anyone fit to go against the grain, it would definitely be his Marie. Or, Rogue as he supposed it might now be.
No, Marie.
And, fuck, she knew. It was like she'd charted his fucking inner monologue or something because she just fucking knew. Which granted, saved him from having to apologize profusely, at least at this point - Logan figured he'd have to cater to pretty much her every whim for the next month or so - but best of all he didn't actually have to explain himself, which was such a bonus, as things went.
And then he couldn't really think about it too much because her breasts were a hell of a lot closer than they'd been moments before and her hands were both slowly working their way up his arms. Hallelujah he'd be free in just a second and then he'd fucking pound her into the wall till she damn well screamed his name for this stunt. Oh yes. Just as soon as... Ah, fuck. She wasn't making any kind of move to release him.
"Marie," Logan growled out. "You wanna get me outta this?"
She grinned her little wicked grin right at him. "Not particularly."
Then the little vixen thought dragging her nails down his chest would do him a world of good, and while she wasn't entirely wrong, she did manage to make him groan and get a little harder.
Logan managed to harden his voice, as to approximate bad-ass status when he growled her name again, in frustration this time.
She took her hands away from him and swung one leg over him in the tub and rested her foot on the other edge and no, no underwear to be seen because apparently there was still a deity Logan hadn't pissed off yet.
"Now, Logan. I know you're about as alpha male as one man can be, but I know if you let yourself, you'll enjoy this a hell of a lot more..."
He was gonna hafta fucking beg after this one.
He left. But he's Logan, so it wasn't the huge shock it might have been otherwise. But he left a goddamned note and that was the kicker. He didn't just leave with the unspoken understanding that he'd be back in a day, or knowing she'd follow when she'd finished all her own shit, he split and left her a fucking note on their bed.
Goddamned whoring motherfucking bastard left a note. Marie, he said. Can't do this, he said. Cited some completely innane bullshit about the relative safety of being his girlfriend - and hold on just a damn minute, but as much as she adored him she sure as hell didn't define herself by her relationship to him, and she was fucking indestructible at this point anyway - and of course that couldn't possibly be the real damn reason but it had been so long since she'd been in his head, who knew what it was?
Which was about the time a plan began to form.
There was obviously some serious shit going on in his head. No matter what it was, of course, it was worth working through, but Rogue needed to find out what it was, and she needed to get him into a position where he couldn't refuse to listen. Gave him four days - a generous allotment if he decided not to sleep on the way there - before she'd follow. And surprise or no surprise he'd let her touch him and then she'd know. And he'd be unconscious, a green brazen bonus.
Taking him back to his place was a distinctly bad idea. First, he knew it better than she did, was more comfortable there. No point in giving him any more advantages than the man already had. Nah, she needed the nearest town with a decent enough population - which is to say over 150 - that her getting a room somewhere wouldn't be that strange. What with an unconscious bear of a man slung over a dainty shoulder and all.
Nogales it was.
He'd be pissed that she'd left his bike at the bar, but too fucking bad for him. She'd get it later. A hell of a lot later.
But the thing was of course, she'd touched him. Really touched him, sucking him out through his pores, just like the old days, and hadn't that just changed everything. Rogue knew it would make a difference, of course, but she wasn't ready for the complete onslaught of emotions.
Her Wolverine was in the throes of one hell of a guilt trip, plus he had the insane idea that she was only in it for the bodystockingless sex, which kinda pissed her off.
She wasn't that shallow.
Beyond that, of course, her heart softened immensely. He loved her. Kind of a breakthrough considering he hadn't actually come out and said it any point in their nearly a year relationship, nor in any time before that when they were so close. But damn he had it bad for her.
Rogue had to smile at that.
Of course, he'd still left. He honestly didn't think she felt the same. Well, admittedly he hadn't said the words and neither had she and for lots of different reasons, but lack of emotion wasn't one of them. And she'd make sure he damn well knew from now on.
In the end, she just wanted to make him suffer a little, make him beg. He cared for her so much, he should have tried to talk to her. If he'd made even the tiniest effort she would have assured him, right after the best sex he would've had in his entire lifetime, that she loved him beyond anything.
For fucking up that, he'd have to beg.
But she wasn't completely cruel, she'd help him out with that.
It started with the growling. He still wanted out of his damn bonds bad, but he didn't really get a choice. So she started with his face. She stroked his temples softly, evenly with one booted foot resting on the opposite rim of the great cast iron tub that had taken forever to fill. She leaned into him, practically purring at him, calmly explaining that all he had to do was beg her. That she loved him and she knew he loved her but she was still a little upset, and she wanted to hear him beg. That he was going all Alpha Male on her and flatly refusing, growling and rattling at the cuffs didn't daunt her at all.
From the temples to the arms - the glorious sinewy arms that were torqued in such a away that there wasn't much use in all the struggling, but it slowed when her fingers dug into his biceps, nearly ceased her teeth raked down the inner skin. The growling then lowered to something so deep Rogue was sure if she put her hand to his chest she could feel it resonate in her own body.
So she tried, and damn but she was right. Didn't last very long before he was struggling again, and the growl got louder, more threatening.
"Nuh, huh, sugar. You just keep that up and see how far it gets ya."
He only snarled louder. It made her pause in her plans and scale them up a notch.
Her lips surrounded one of his nipples as one hand clutched a bicep for balance and the other took the direct approach and cradled his sac. And by now he'd usually say something - some sort of encouragement or occasionally a request deftly disguised as a command, or he'd just moan her name which was her favorite, but the snarling just escalated.
He was getting some kind of pissed off, but he obviously wanted something else too. At some point between carefully leaning in and contorting her body so her lips were latched onto his neck near the front and she still had some sort of balance and retreating to lower herself into the water, the dawning realization that he wasn't at any point going to give up came to her. He wasn't going to say die and he wasn't going to give into her. Maybe in another time in another place he'd give her absolute control over him, but this was obviously not that time and seeing the whites of your lover's eyes as you tease them in the bathtub and having them genuinely snarl at you for your effort... It kills the buzz.
Straddling his waist and feeling his very, very erect member against her ass, Rogue plied both hands on his arms, no longer trying to tease, but to sooth. She tried to calm him, to hush him, but the calmest she could get him was arms straining - no longer rattling at the cuffs - and a sort of breathing growl instead of the active snarl.
"Logan, sugar. Talk to me honey."
And nothing. Not even an ounce of anything but aggression in the eyes. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong, and Rogue had a fairly good idea of what it was.
"Tell me ya ain't gonna throw me across the room and I'll let ya go. I'll let ya go right now, sugar, you just talk to me."
Nothing. Not a damn thing, but he was still hard. And that was something, because her voice didn't always bring him down when he decided that pine boughs were better than cotton sheets. It was her scent that brought him back to sanity after a particularly brutal encounter with Creed. The scent of his mate.
And she'd already made damn sure he couldn't smell her here.
Shit. She was already in the tub. Her purest scent was already diluted. Well, maybe it would work anyway, because she wanted him begging but she sure as shit didn't want him feral.
Rogue raised up a little, out of the water and dipped a hand inside of herself deeply. She coated her fingers in her own liquid scent and once done, with the other hand quickly guided his hardness to herself. His growl at penetration was tempered by the presence of her scent covered fingers resting on his arm, right by his face.
He'd jerked up into her instinctively the first time, but then his body stilled as his nose fought to distinguish the scent in the haze of the feral. Trying to help things along, Rogue rocked slowly on him, bringing him deeply inside of her as the growl turned more familiar. Gone was the threatening predatorial warning. Present was the distinctly more possessive proclamation. But, it hadn't worked. He knew - he obviously had it figured out who exactly was on top of him rocking back and forth and moaning, but it hadn't kicked him out of the nature.
Still feral, still straining against his bonds Logan's hips bucked up into Marie's incessant rocking motions. The fingers of one hand were wrapped firmly around his arm, and of the other, busy dancing around her clit because she had the very strong impression that in his current state, Logan didn't care at all for staying power, and if she was gonna get off, it was gonna be because she was on top.
She wasn't wrong.
After moments of straining, arching not only his hips, but his back all the way unto his shoulders supporting him against the tub, Logan came, growling loudly and filling Marie with his seed. A few moments later, and after some fine finger work, Rogue came as well, moaning her lover's name. With a sigh, she slumped over onto his warm wet chest in time to hear his purr - a rare but beautiful full body sound-feeling.
And if there was any time to be releasing Logan, it was when he was purring.
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