The next week passes in a blur. Magneto attacks Worthington Labs, nearly destroying the whole complex. Bobby and Slut Girl have their big moments, one kicking Johnny’s ass, the other saving the golden boy.
Logan made me stay behind, and even though I know why he does it, it stings. I know he thinks I can’t face temptation, but watching the news cured me of my desire to be normal. The interviews with mutants who, predictably, were not welcomed back by their families hit too close to home for comfort, and only strengthened the resolve to deal with this that Logan awakened in me.
They return in the dead of night, looking battered and defeated despite having won the fight, and I don’t dare ask what happened. Logan asks me to come to his room with him, and we just sit together in the darkness until he falls asleep at 4am. I watch him sleep, and again I wonder how I could ever have thought of jeopardising this.
The Mansion falls back into its routine easily enough, the majority of the students never even suspecting that a war like none before has been fought right under their noses, and I find myself pushing the memories of the darkness in the team’s eyes’ when they returned to the back of my mind. It is simply too easy to let myself be sucked back into the normal routine of the school.
Time passes, and two weeks after the fight on Alcatraz island, I sit through my final Literature class exam. The weather has brightened, and I find it hard to concentrate on the text, especially with Jubes popping her gum next to me every 20 seconds. I sigh, frustrated. Finishing the essay with a relieved look at my watch, I lean back in my chair, sighing deeply.
The others finish as well, one after the other, and Logan looks up. “Everybody done? Put ‘em on my desk, then you can go for lunch.” The usual commotion of class dissolving, and I grab my bag, taking my essay to the desk, putting it on the pile forming there.
Logan looks up briefly. “Rogue, stay behind. I need to talk to you.”
Jubilee appears next to me, putting her essay on the pile, and she snickers as she leaves with Peter in tow, winking at me at the door. I just roll my eyes at her and make shooing motions in her direction. They leave, both grinning, and the door closes with an awful air of finality.
Logan rummages through one of the drawers of the desk, then pulls out a newspaper and motions for me to come closer. I drop my bag on the floor, and he stands behind me.
“Put your arms on the desk, palms down.”
I look at him, more than just a little confused, but his face is unreadable. “Why?”
“You said you trusted me.”
“Yes, I said that, and I do, but why do you want me to put my arms on the desk?”
“Listen. I’m not gonna harm you, I promise.”
I realise with a sort of detached, clinical interest that he said ‘harm’. Not ‘hurt’. I shoot him one last look, then I lean forward and put my arms on the desk, awfully conscious of the way I’m presenting myself to him.
He places the newspaper between my palms, one of his fingers brushing against my hand lightly as he draws back. “Read this.”
It’s an article about the cure, and my breath catches in my throat – it’s not permanent. I would have thrown away the trust and love of my people for something that would have come back to pinch me in the ass.
“Read it out loud.”
I almost shrug – where can be the harm in that. Clearing my throat once, I focus on the words in front of me. “Following the riots on Alcatraz Island on Monday, Worthington Labs have issued a statement saying that the shot known as the Mutant Cure is not permanent...” He just stands behind me while I read, but as I reach the word ‘permanent’, he moves forward, and then there’s the sharp pain of being slapped. I gasp both in shock and surprise and a little pain, and turn around to look at him. My face has to be one big question mark, but he looks totally calm.
“Continue.” I stare at him. Is he kidding? He has to be kidding, or maybe I’m hallucinating because there is no way in Hell that Logan is spanking me in his classroom. Or anywhere, for that matter. I continue staring, and he gives me The Eyebrow. “Go on.”
At a loss for words, I turn back to the newspaper in front of me, fighting to regain my voice. “Mutants from all over New York,” another hit, now on my other cheek, “who had received the shot reported that”, another, and another, “their mutations re-activated, usually within,” three more in rapid succession, “10 to 14 days after the shot.”
I finish with a gasp, my breathing ragged, my face flushed. I note that his breathing has picked up as well, and I turn to look at him over my shoulder. If the (very impressive) bulge in his pants is anything to go by, he’s thoroughly enjoying this. And, as some detached part of my mind that is probably made up of all the people I absorbed so far notes, so do I.
Dear God, it feels good. It feels right.
Our eyes meet, and I know that he knows. Hell, he can probably smell it on me. His face is impassive as he says, “Read it again.” But his eyes... Everything he’s feeling right now is in his eyes, and my knees turn into jelly.
Breathing deeply, I turn back to the newspaper, and read. And again. And again, until I collapse in a gasping heap on the floor and my insides are on fire. He drops to his knees next to me, leaning his head against my shoulder, breathing heavily.
“God, Logan, that was...”
His hand is on my hip, his fingers digging into my flesh, and I wince. I really don’t wanna know what my butt is going to look like later on. His breath brushes against my skin, and I shiver. And then... Oh God, his hand slides between my legs, and his mere touch is enough to push me over the edge, “Yeah, baby, just like that,” and his other hand comes up to stifle my cry, and I arch into him as he increases the pressure, and stars explode before my eyes.
He holds me as I come down from my high, but then he releases me and gets up. Through my orgasm-induced haze, I note that he’s still hard, and I reach for him, making him stop. He looks down at me, his eyes clouded with lust, and I smile a little. “Let me...”
My hand slides up his leg, but he side-steps me, shaking his head. “No. You’re not ready.”
Um. What? “Yes, I am. I’m ready.”
He grabs my arm and jerks me to my feet, growling. “No, you’re not.” One look into his eyes tells me that he’s only barely restraining himself, and I swallow hard, the growl that vibrates through us both making the hair on the back of my neck rise. “Don’t confuse me with your little boy toy, Marie. You know me. You know what I’m like when I lose control. Don’t make me lose it. Deadly skin or not, I can’t promise you that you’d walk out of here in one piece if I did.”
I swallow again, nodding shakily. “Okay. Okay. I’m not ready.”
His gaze softens, and he slides one leather-encased hand over my cheek. “Don’t think I don’t want you. God, I do. But there’s a lot you have to learn before you can take me on.”
I smile lop-sidedly. “Aren’t you the modest one.”
He lets go of my arm, and I rub it absent-mindedly. For some reason, this hurts worse than my butt does. I won’t be able to sit for a couple of days, but that’s something I can deal with. Actually, the thought of the bruises that I know will be there gets my juices flowing all on its own.
He sits behind his desk, bringing the exam papers into order, and I lean against the edge of the desk, watching him. He looks up briefly, his eyes unreadable. “You’ll be late for lunch.”
I cock an eyebrow. How easily he falls back into the teacher/student relationship. I lean down, catching his eye, but he turns away. “Why?” The question comes out much softer than I intended to, and he looks at me, serious but distant in a way that makes me shiver.
“I don’t want to talk about this now, Marie. Just... just go.”
I’m taken aback, and move away from the desk. “Logan...”
“You’ll only get mashed potatoes if you don’t hurry up.” His voice is strangely flat, and I swallow hard, disappointment and confusion gripping my insides.
What the hell is going on?
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Here comes the smut!