Rogue clutched the paper and pen in her hand as she checked the hallway carefully before slipping soundlessly into Logan's old room. He'd been gone the better part of four months and she missed him intensely.
After locking the door she walked through the darkness over to the hardwood desk and settled at it. A soft click and the desktop lamp came on, throwing muted golden light on the paper sitting waiting for Rogue's hand.
Taking the pen more firmly in hand Rogue stared at the pages for a moment before dating the top corner and bending to her task. Shifting, stretching Rogue glanced at the window and noted that once again dawn was creeping up on her again.
Putting her pen down she folded the pages of her letter and slipped them into the envelope.
For the dozenth time in weeks she addressed it and put the stamp on before she rose and padded out of the room and down the hallway. Taking the stairs quickly, silently she dropped the letter into the mail bag and headed for the kitchen, her eyes alert despite the exhausted look upon her face.
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Snarling at the young man who stood on his doorstep Logan glared at the blue and red uniform of the postal worker. "Somethin' you wanted bub?"
"Got another letter for this address," the man stuttered uneasily, swallowing harshly and holding up a plain white envelope that shook like crazy. He was barely restraining himself from crossing his legs so he didn't piss his pants as he waited for the man to take it. The minute the other man snatched it from his fingers he turned and all but ran.
Slamming the door Logan looked at the envelope and sighed. It didn't take a genius to figure out who it was from, the address told him it was probably from Xavier. Tossing it onto the counter of his small, dingy hotel room Logan grabbed a beer and plopped his ass down on the couch.
Picking up the remote he flipped on the hockey game, intent on keeping his mind off the young woman he'd left in Westchester. Despite the activity of the game, his eyes kept creeping over to the envelope and he swore before rising to grab it. A claw sliced the top off and he pulled out a thick pad of paper. Unfolding it, Logan felt something within him freeze as he recognized the writing, even as the familiar scent filled his head. "Oh kid, what's going on?" he whispered as he sank onto the couch and unfolded the pages. A quick, cursory glance revealed the lines had been crowded together as though she'd tried writing every emotion, every breath she had into the letter and he sat there staring at the pristine white paper with the bright blue ink on it.
Grabbing his beer he took a long swig before setting it down and turning his attention to the pages he held:
Dear Logan,
I realize that you probably aren't missing me although I hope that isn't true. God I miss you Logan, miss talking to you, seeing you. Right now I'm huddled in your room at one in the morning because I can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes the sensations get me. I can feel every inch of adamantium in my chest, feel the warmth of it, the easy glide of it and welcome those sensitivities. My body literally burns with the desire to feel that closeness, that much intimacy again.
I feel the sweat gather, the heat pool and know what's coming. I feel you rushing into my body as I touch your face. I can feel the scrape of your stubble against my palm, feel the warmth, the pulse of your skin, of your blood as it pounds. The Professor said that it was normal to have gotten your nightmares but I've never revealed that it isn't your nightmares that haunt me. Its this sick, twisted desire to have the claws imbedded in my flesh, your fingers brushing against my breast, teasing it. The longer I lay in bed with the images, the sensations the closer I get, until I feel my body shatter into a thousand points of light and I sit up shaking, trembling, but its pleasure that washes over me.
Am I sick? Or perverted? Why do I keep needing to remember? Dr. Grey says that she could give me something to help me sleep at night but what's the use. Sleep isn't what I want..isn't what I need. It isn't as though I'm anxious to die, on the contrary I want to live. Want to have the blessings and curses of life - but I need to know what it feels like to have possession. As sick as it sounds, it isn't the adamantium buried within my chest that I long for - it's the searing agony of a touch that awoke within me a knowledge that makes my very skin feel too hot, too tight.
Bobby asked me out and I said yes so we've sorta been going out but truthfully it can only end badly. The thought of his touch leaves me cold, literally as well as figuratively. This afternoon I was sitting watching the others playing ball and I forced my mind to consider touching him, to being intimate with him cause he's hinted at it a couple of times and the wave of total revulsion that came over me. God Logan I can't explain it, it was the most unpleasant thing in the world. Worse than your nightmares, worse than the pain of you being gone. The more I thought of it, the more I wished for you until I could feel your claws within me.
Does that make me a bad person Logan? Does it mean that I'm some sort of freak because I long for the touch of someone who will never love me? I don't know how to deal with this right now Logan, I don't know how to stop the want within me. The longer you're gone the more it takes over until I'm sleeping in your bed, wrapped in the sheets that you left behind. I can hear them, she's in need of help, she needs some serious counseling but I don't think so.
I like this. I like having so much of you within me. I like knowing that regardless of what happens in this world I've got some experience, some way of knowing what being owned, of having a lover is like.
Oh Logan I wish it were so much more. I wish you were here so I could touch you, so I could show how I feel but you're not. You're up there in Canada and there isn't any way for me to get to you. I can only hope that you understand what I'm trying to say. I don't know any other way Logan, I don't want anyone else to touch me because I don't want anyone else to have that much of me.
Does that make me a horrible person? Does wanting to have the purity, the sacredness of giving of myself to one I love so wrong? I hope not Logan. I really do because I will never belong to anyone else. I will never willingly give that much of me to anyone else. You've made all the bad in my life disappear, made me see the lights of heaven and I can only pray that someday I will get the chance to show them to you! Please, please Logan come home to me. Come back to me as you've promised. Come back not for your tags, but for me.
All my love for eternity
Marie.
Sitting there Logan felt something within him shift, some final piece fall into place and he rose sharply to stalk to the dresser by the bed. Jerking open the drawer, he took out the stack of unopened white envelopes and retreated to the couch. Sorting through them quickly he began tearing into them.
Dear Logan;
It's so late here Logan, and once again I'm sitting in the semi-darkness writing to you. I was out with my friends, Jubilee and Kitty all afternoon - it was hell. But it was worse when we got back. I walked into my room and put everything away before slipping out into the hall.
I could hear something from behind a door and it was like I couldn't stop myself. I followed the sounds and stood in the hallway for at least half an hour. Guess who's door I was in front of. The sound of Mister Summers and Dr. Greye having sex haunts me even now hours later.
The sounds haunt me, as well as the images in my head. I close my eyes and I can see them. See the pale flesh of his hips as he slowly thrusts into her, see his hands on her breasts, the sweat rolling down his back to pool above his buttocks. Buttocks that flex and roll with each entry into her body.
Each moan, each gasp, and groan. I can hear the low, passion-filled grunts he makes, the whimpers she gives. With each sound comes a wave of scent that swirls around me Logan, like some tidal wave that swallows me whole until I'm drowning in it. Only I like it. I like being able to use those sensations to get me off. Only I'm not thinking of him when I'm riding the wave.
I'm thinking of you as I slide my hands over my body, pushing deeper into the bliss that your possession awakens within me. I feel the callouses on your fingers as they skim over my breasts, feel the heat in your touch as they comb through the dark curls at the apex of my thighs.
The feeling of fullness spreads through me as I give you control and you slide into my body. You have control over my fingers as they sink into me, exploring the softness of my core and I have to hide my face as I scream while I climax.
Even now sitting here writing this, thinking of you in such a familiar way the only thing I want is to have you before me. To be able to reach out and take you into my mouth and take you so deeply that we become one. Perhaps this makes me a bad person, or the whore my folks called me I don't know.
All I know is that I'm sitting waiting, burning with the need to have you take me anyway you want and there is no end in sight.
Please Logan, I'm begging you to come back to me. Let me be what you want, try to fulfil your needs. Please Logan. I promise I won't be a pain I'll be what you want, what you need. I just want to be able to give you back what you've given me. I want you.
Marie.
Setting the letters down Logan reached for the phone. Dialing the number he waited impatiently, counting the rings.
"Xavier's School for the Gifted," Scott's voice sent a chill through Logan's body but he ignored it. He'd had too close an imprint into the other man's personal life for him to be comfortable.
"Rogue please," Logan ground out softly.
"She's not available Logan. Jean had to sedate her this morning after she got into a fight with one of the other students."
"How bad was it?"
"New kid said something that set her off. I'm not sure what it was and Jean couldn't get it out of Rogue. The Professor thinks it was because of her insomnia but Rogue refuses to talk about it."
"Thanks," Logan hung up suddenly. Rising to his feet he stalked across the room and grabbed his jacket. Five minutes later, packed and ready to go he put the letters in an old cigar box and the roll of bills from his fights into his jacket pocket and jerked open the door.
He understood every word in Rogue's letters, every nuance because it was the same way for him. He could feel the pulse of her heart, the pulse of her lungs as she breathed. His fingers burned with the memory of the curve of her full breast, its softness yielding to his touch.
The easy glide of his claws through her flesh, her bones. The crunch as metal severed bone, the click of them locking into full extension.
He was haunted by dark eyes filled with shock, pain, and a growing awareness. The awareness warring with knowledge, even as he felt the first brush of her fingers against his face. The soft silky skin combing through his whiskers as her full lips turned up into a smile.
The slight hesitation only awakened his own desire as he moved into her touch, welcoming the searing agony that pushed away his horror and guilt even as he slid his claws free with a sickening sound.
He could still feel every inch of her he'd touched, every hint of warmth in her body through his claws and he knew that nobody would ever come close to sharing that much true intimacy with him. In that violent touch, he'd learned more about sexual satisfaction than he'd ever thought possible.
More importantly he'd learned what it meant to have love, to need the touch of another. In that single moment they'd given and received something nobody would ever be able to duplicate.
With that knowledge came the thought that he needed to be there, needed to be able to reach out for her in the night. Mounting Scott's bike he revved the engine and turned south. A slight smile crossed his face as he hit the highway and then the accelerator. Yes, it was past time.
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