So Real by Laenwyn

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Author's Chapter Notes:

decided to archive a few fics (old ones that used to be in the old wrfa). this one's horribly un-beta'd. Based on a song by Jeff Buckley (rip) called 'So Real'

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Love, let me sleep tonight on your couch
And remember the smell of the fabric
of your simple city dress

Oh... that was so real

We walked around til the moon got full like a plate
The wind blew an invocation and i fell asleep at the gate
And I never stepped on the cracks 'cause i thought i'd hurt my mother
And I couldn't awake from the nightmare that sucked me in and pulled me under
Pulled me under

Oh... that was so real

I love you, but i'm afraid to love you
I love you, but i'm afraid to love you

*************

“Fuck.” Now where the hell did I put them … I searched my pockets but no luck in finding the key to my door. An angry sigh escaped my throat. Now what? Okay, if I had to look at it from the bright side I still had some cigars on me. And more than half a bottle of whisky. Sure, it was some cheap crap brand but still it served its purposes in the end.

It was late, way past midnight, and the mansion lay quiet. Too quiet for my taste, though I figured not every single of its inhabitants were asleep. I wasn’t, and Hank wasn’t either. We’d just gotten back from a night out and the good doc had downed just as much I had – which meant a lot – and he’d also gotten considerably drunk as a result. Too bad for him he didn’t have my healing abilities ‘cause by the morning … Poor bastard. Even so I doubted Hank had lost his keys, he’d always been too much of a perfectionist for that kind of thing. Come to think of it, there’d never been anything chaotic about Hank McCoy despite his hairy freaky looks and his X-man persona Beast. Ororo had her own nickname for Hank, calling him the Big friendly giant when she was flirting with the guy.

I heard myself snigger at that. Yeah, poor Hank … Ro had him wrapped around her finger so tightly it was only a matter of time before she’d be in his bed.

I strolled down the hallway with every intention of ending up on a couch in the lounge. Seeing that I’d slept there before I figured no one would object. Instead I found myself pausing outside another door. Another locked door.

Don’t do it. Just don’t.

And I knocked without thinking. I’d already muted my conscience to a buzz, and I was drunk and didn’t give a fuck that she probably wasn’t alone.

The door opened just enough so that she was able to peak through. Sleep tousled van dyke brown waves. A stray lock of that snow white hair made its way across the collarbone to rest in her cleavage. I put the cigar between my teeth and leaned against the doorframe and met her gaze. She peered at me through that curtain of hair and lashes, yawning, stretching.

“Logan? What are you doing here?” she murmured slowly.

“Lost my keys …”

She pursed her lips, then smiled. “So …?”

“ … so I was wonderin’ if I could crash at your place tonight …”

She eyed me suspiciously; arched an eyebrow at the bottle in my right hand and the cigar clasped between my teeth. In any other case than this, if it had been some other guy, she wouldn’t have had that slight amused curve at the corner of her mouth. And all I could do was look at her. Memorize her again. Only that there was a slight difference in all that now; we weren’t part of the same world anymore. Thinking there might be bare fingers against a naked hip and not barriers in between made me numb and I had to swallow at the images that flashed before my eyes. They were nothing but dreams anyway. Make believe, you know they’re all make believe.

“Alright, sure you can have the couch,” she said and urged me to come inside.

I seized her bare arm before she had the chance to sneak back to her bedroom. This was madness, I knew that and staying at her place while she shared her bed with that other guy was more than annoying. I fuckin’ hated that. But you can’t do anything about it, so back off. Don’t cross that line. Don’t do it.

“What is it?” she whispered while her eyes darted back and forth between us and the bedroom. Even though the place was all dark I could still make out her face and every curve hidden beneath the spaghetti strap nightie she was wearing.

“Sorry ‘bout this, that’s all,” I said hoarsely and released her.

Marie took a couple of steps backwards, eyes wide and still fixed upon me, then turned and hurried back to her bed. I stood there staring at that door and felt the muscles in my jaw strain and ache. In one quick motion I downed what was left of the whisky, then slumped back onto the couch.

Moments later I knew fully well what she was doing in there. They were being quiet but quietness had never stopped me from sensing, and I could sense them. I could smell them just as vividly as if they were fuckin right beside me on the couch. I gritted my teeth and took a deep drag on the cigar.

Was he man enough? A part of me prayed he wasn’t, but she was in love with that prick, I knew that, but I also knew something else. He hated me because he also knew what that secret was. He knew she felt something towards me, and we’d always been close though I’d never so much as kissed her cheek.

It was over within five minutes; I heard him groan and knew he’d come. When the door opened I slowly turned my head to look at her. I knew she was still burning. Chest heaving and that scent rolling off her, the scent of sex and frustration – I took another drag and exhaled the smoke without taking my eyes from those dark brown ones.

When she slipped past me and went into the bathroom I put out the cigar against my arm. Staring at the ceiling, avoiding all sorts of ideas and thoughts because they brought me back to one thing: what I couldn’t have, I lit another Cuban.

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