Like many couples, Logan and Rogue had plans to celebrate their third anniversary in style. Of course, to them "in style" translated into a weekend at a secluded cabin with a case of beer, two bottles of wine, and a veritable assortment of stockings, scarves, and gloves. In preparation, Rogue made several visits to boutiques in Manhattan to find appropriately thin silk scarves and leather gloves, and Logan purchased an economy-sized box of condoms.
Their anniversary, Rogue thought happily when she laid eyes on the box of condoms, would be memorable.
Like many superheros, however, Logan and Rogue weren't terribly surprised when their perfectly good plans were screwed up by -- who else? -- the ubiquitous Bad Guys, this time in the form of the Friends of Humanity. The anti-mutant terrorists had rounded up more than a dozen young mutants and were holding them hostage somewhere in the remote countryside of Arizona, demanding the government do something about "the mutant problem" or they'd kill the hostage mutants. Pretty much a win-win for the anti-mutant nutballs, so the professor felt it necessary to step in and defuse the situation before the ham-handed bureaucracies messed things up.
Which meant Logan and Rogue's memorable weekend at the cabin would have to start a day late. Neither Rogue nor Logan was particularly happy at the prospect, muttering curses as they pushed packed suitcases out of the way and slipped on their uniforms.
"It's always the damn desert," Logan grumbled as he pulled on his leather pants.
Rogue paused to admire the play of muscles along his back as he fastened the pants. Damn, the man was fine. Three years after falling for his curmudgeonly manner and his sharp wit and his kind, kind soul, she still found herself amazed every once in a while that her man came in that package.
And, she thought appreciatively as he turned to face her, with that package.
At her small snicker, Logan shot her an annoyed look. "What's so funny?"
"Nothing," Rogue answered, not even attempting to hide her amusement. "But four days ago we handled a mutant-human standoff in Manitoba, Logan."
"So?"
"So it's not always the desert."
He didn't seem impressed by her logic, though the way she was struggling with the zipper on the bodice of her uniform did seem to be capturing his attention.
"These uniforms are too damn hot for the desert," Logan pointed out in that grumble-y, irritable tone that always amused her. And, yes, turned her on. He gestured vaguely at his legs. "It's very uncomfortable."
Rogue rolled her eyes. "Then wear the underwear I bought you."
He glowered at her. "You bought me a thong."
With a snicker, Rogue headed towards the door. "Yes, but that was a joke. I also bought you a whole pack of tightie whities."
A familiar hand encircled her wrist and tugged her backwards. "Do I really seem like a tightie whitie kind of guy to you?"
Rogue turned around in his arms, pressing herself against him as she moved. "No, but you look like an idiot when you're walking around all bow-legged in the desert."
"Marie!" He actually looked embarrassed for a moment. Then he tightened his arms around her and pulled her closer. "You're just saying that to get a rise out of me."
Rogue let her hands drift down his leather-clad back to his ass and yanked him against her. "Is it working?" she asked, deliberately playing up her drawl to drive him crazy. Crazier, really.
"Marie," he grumbled. His hands roamed her back in long, sweeping gestures, and Rogue shuddered a little at the feel. Damn those humanist bastards for dragging her away from her anniversary weekend. An economy sized box of condoms, for the love of God! She had serious plans for those condoms.
Rogue jerked away from Logan with a sad little sigh. "Let's go."
Logan reached for her again. "Scott, Ororo, and Bobby can handle this."
"Logan. C'mon. The sooner we leave for Arizona, the sooner we get back." Rogue tilted her head, allowing a curtain of hair to obscure part of her face. Hands on her hips, she gave Logan her best sexy look. "And you know how hot the adrenaline makes me."
With a tortured groan, Logan pushed past her and jerked the door open. "Go," he ordered gruffly, "while I'll still let you."
She snorted. "Let me?"
He glowered at her some more, then ushered her towards the door with a hand on her back. "Let's go, smartass."
She headed for the elevator, trying not to react to the feel of his fingers drifting down her spine. "You know," Rogue said, stepping into the elevator and turning a smug grin up to Logan. "If the heat bothers you so much, you could maybe replace the leather pants with a pair of leather shorts whenever we head down south," she suggested, struggling not to laugh.
"Leather shorts?" Logan quirked an eyebrow.
Rogue bit the inside of her lip -- hard -- and nodded, knowing she couldn't answer aloud without dissolving into giggles.
"Very funny."
Rogue let herself picture Logan, broad shoulders encased in black leather, sculpted torso, tight ass, muscular thighs -- and white, hairy legs striding into battle.
It was too much, and she ducked her head and cracked up.
Logan slid a hand around her waist and pulled her up against him. "Be nice, Marie, or no anniversary present."
Startled, she looked up at him. "Present?" she echoed, her tone skeptical. "Logan, please tell me this isn't like the time you decided I needed personal body armor--"
"It's not," he answered irritably, leaning into her and using her hair as shield to press soft kisses to her neck. "Scott really can handle this without us--"
"Logan," she admonished. Of course, it came out breathless and desperate, so Rogue figured the admonishment part was lost a little in the delivery. And in the way she arched against him. Damn, stupid terrorist troublemakers. They couldn't have chosen to make their move *after* she and Logan disappeared for the weekend?
She was very close to agreeing with Logan's logic when the elevator doors opened out into the lower levels. Very reluctantly, Rogue pulled away and gave him a smoldering look. "Save it for later."
As she stepped out into the hallway, Rogue caught sight of Scott at the end of the hall waiting for them with an inscrutable look. "You ready?"
Logan gave Rogue a little push to start her moving down the hallway and leveled a glare at Scott. "Let's get this going," Logan grumbled. "I have better stuff I could be doing."
As they reached the doorway into the airplane hangar, Rogue held back momentarily and pitched her voice low. "Or better people," she murmured, sliding out of Logan's grasp and up the ramp, giggling as he growled along behind her.
The battle went quickly and relatively well, as battles go. For once, Logan wasn't in the thick of things, mainly because Scott had the irritating idea that Logan wouldn't play by the "no killing humans" rules.
Obviously Scott didn't remember the fact that Logan had made a pretty decent living cage-fighting humans without accidentally killing them. Well, there was that one time up in Calgary, but it wasn't really an accident. Guy was a serious prick.
Regardless, Logan played backup this time out, while Scott, Ororo, Bobby, and Rogue disarmed the idiotic terrorists and freed the young mutants. There'd been a fight, but nothing major, which meant Logan only got in a few good punches when some of the terrorists dropped their guns and tried to run. Much as playing backup frustrated Logan, he did relish laying out the cowardly idiots trying to escape.
Anyway, the most important part was that the fight was over, which meant they were all clambering back onto the jet -- along with four of the thirteen young mutants who had no home to return to -- to head back to the mansion. Which, in turn, meant that he and Marie would be on their way to the cabin within a couple hours.
He sauntered towards Marie, who sat back in the cargo bay, arms crossed, face averted. No doubt she was trying to keep her hands off of him in the jet. She really did get quite a rush out of fighting. Not that Logan didn't, but damn she was so hot right after a good fight. Oh, yes, their anniversary was going to be good. Hell, maybe they'd get a round in before they left the mansion. Just to settle them down for the drive.
With a smug grin, Logan reached Marie's side and touched her shoulder. "Hey, baby, I was thinking -- Jesus, Marie, what the hell happened to your face?"
Marie's annoyed look turned murderous, made even more terrifying by the large, swollen swath of skin reaching from her cheekbone up to the delicate area below her eye, which was already blackening. "I got hit," she answered flatly, one finger gently tracing the still-bleeding cut on her lip.
Logan dropped to the bench beside her. "Are you hurt?"
Marie narrowed her eyes, then winced, her fingers moving up to the bruised skin below her eye. "No, Logan. It actually tickles."
He reached for her, pulling her hand away from her face, leaning closer to inspect her injuries. "You need ice--"
"I'm fine.
"Yeah, you look fine," he shot back.
She glared at him some more. "Okay, I'm not fine," she snapped. "I'm pissed off. I had plans, Logan. Big plans. Multi-orgasmic plans, and--"
"Marie!" Logan cut a glance toward the wide-eyed young mutants huddled on the other side of the jet, but they didn't seem to be paying Marie's rant any attention.
Which was good, because Marie didn't even pause to acknowledge his interruption. "And then that fucking cretin had to go and ruin it. I've got a seriously painful bruise on my ribs and I look like I ran face-first into a wall!"
"Marie, it's just a bruise," Logan pointed out, attempting to sound reasonable despite the nearly overwhelming urge to go pound on the cretin who'd hurt her. "You look--"
"Say beautiful," Marie grit out, "and I swear to God I'll lay you out."
Logan watched her carefully. "I could touch you."
"I could lay you out," she answered sweetly. Off his annoyed look, she pressed her fingers against his thigh, and her tone was gentle when she answered. "We said only if I was seriously injured, Logan. I'm not. I'll be fine in a couple days."
He weighed his options -- would she have time to fight if he reached for her when she wasn't looking? -- and then acquiesced. For now, at least. He knew how she felt about using her skin, even when he was willing and able, and he respected her enough to accept her decision. Even though it pained him to see her battered and bruised. "I'm getting you ice."
She gave him a withering look. "From the jet's well-stocked minibar?"
He actually managed half a grin. "In a manner of speaking." Logan turned to the front of the jet. "Bobby, conjure up some ice for Rogue's face."
"What's wrong with your face?" Bobby asked, leaning almost sideways to see her around Logan's large form. "Oh."
Marie glowered at Bobby in a positively Loganesque fashion, and Logan struggled to hide his amusement. Damn, was he really that grumpy? She was a little bit scary when she was like that. And hot. Definitely hot.
With a contrite look, Bobby handed Logan several ice cubes, shaped as little flowers. Logan did his best not to gag and pulled Marie's scarf from her neck to wrap around the ice. "Here," he said, pressing it gently to her battered skin.
She hissed at the contact, her hand clutching his thigh. "Cold," she commented eventually.
"Kinda the point, Marie." He leaned in and kissed her forehead quickly. "It'll feel better soon," he murmured.
With a sheepish look, she leaned back a bit and met his gaze. "I'm sorry, Logan. I'm just disappointed." Her gaze skittered away from him, settling on some point along the floor of the jet. She looked positively glum, her body slumped with disappointment, her head tilted dispiritedly.
"Why?" he asked. Because if she told him, maybe he could fix it and then she'd stop looking so damn miserable. He fucking hated it when she was miserable.
Marie gestured towards her face with a look that said, "That's why, you dimwit!" She sighed. "Not exactly the best start to a romantic weekend."
Logan shrugged. "We'll go next weekend."
"Something will come up," Marie answered ruefully. "Something always comes up." She frowned, her fingers coming up to touch her swollen lip again.
"Your lip hurts?"
She simply nodded, her sarcastic anger mostly drained away.
"Hang on," Logan said, pulling the collection of ice cubes away from her face and unwrapping the scarf to pull one ridiculous rose out. Thankfully, they were already losing their shape. Idiot kid with his ice flowers, Logan grumbled to himself. "Here," he said, bringing one ice cube up to her lips. She opened her mouth to accept it. "Let it numb your lip."
She nodded sadly, settling back against the wall of the jet and closing her eyes. Logan brought the ice pack carefully back against her cheek, wincing when she did. "Sorry."
"Not youw fauwt," she answered around the ice cube in her mouth.
"Still sorry you're hurt," he answered, his tone gruff.
"I know," she said with an annoyed little laugh. "Happy fucking annibirthary."
Logan quirked one eyebrow in amusement. "Did you just say 'annibirthary'?"
"I hawe ishe in my mouf," she shot back.
Logan broke out laughing, ignoring the startled looks from Bobby and Scott. Damn, she was adorable when she was pissed off.
Marie lifted her chin and pinned a venomous look on him. "Sewiouswy. I'w--" She stopped, spit the ice cube into the palm of her hand, and said, "I'll lay you out."
Logan nodded, guiding her hand back up to her mouth, waiting until she'd placed the ice cube back in her mouth before he leaned in, pulling her up against him. "Promise?"
"Wogan," she protested.
He shook with silent laughter, holding her tight. She glared up at him for a moment, then started snickering. She relaxed against him, her arms sliding around his back, her head nestled against his shoulder.
"Thish shucks," she observed, her tone grudgingly amused.
"Marie."
"Yeah?"
"Happy annibirthary."
THE END
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thanks to everyone at the WRFA for putting together a damn fine archive. And, as ever, to my fabulous betas, Em, Lulu, and Philateley.