The bartender was getting worried about the group that took up the far end of the bar tonight. The two men were apparently interrogating the younger woman. After the last question, the man in the sunglasses finished the last third of the whiskey bottle they had ordered earlier, the hairy man had ordered and drained another bottle, and the woman had fallen off her stool laughing.
The bartender decided he did not want to know, and left them to it.
“Dear God! Rogue, there are things I need not know about my former students! Never! EVER! And now I may never be able to eat pasta ever again!”
“Heh…heh…well ya both just had t’ ask,” she giggled, getting back into her stool with Logan’s help. “I’m all overheated now, you guys got me laughin’ so hard,” she accused, untying the fine silk scarf from around her neck and fanning her exposed throat. Logan swallowed thickly, told himself to be strong and ordered yet another bottle of whiskey. Scott called a cab.
“What’s the matter, Scooter?” Logan taunted.
“I know the limit of psychic-psychotic…psycho damned...damage...damn...I’ve had enough tonight,” he slurred. Logan and Rogue shared an amused look. “Oh you both jusht shut up.”
“I didn’t say nothin’, Sugah,” Rogue crooned. Scott huffed.
“You’re both evil,” he grumbled. Rogue gave an evil laugh that sent a shiver down Logan’s spine. Scott glared at both of them as best he could behind his shades. “Alright, alright then I’ve got a queshtion.”
“Yes, Scott?” Rogue still sounded amused.
“Queshtion shixteen, or whatever.” He was smirking now. Rogue’s smile did not fade, but it somehow ceased to reach her eyes. Oh Hell, she thought.
“Just ask it, Scooter,” Logan grumbled, opening the new bottle of whiskey. He wasn’t looking. He did not see the wicked edge to Scott’s grin. Rogue had already decided that: alcohol + fearless leader = Scott’s evil alter-ego. She had also made a promise to herself never to provoke this alter-ego ever again. In contrast to the staunch and starch-pressed leader/teacher/mentor, the mind freed by whiskey was like unto the Norse god of chaos. Restraining herself from the, surely drunken, urge to hit Scott over the head repeatedly and scream “Bad Loki! Bad Loki!” Rogue steeled herself against the mischief she sensed herself about to be subject to.
“Why are you still wearing gloves?” Scott asked. Rogue stiffened, her smile dropping utterly. Oh F**king Hell.
“Who the Hell told you?” she hissed. Scott suddenly looked sheepish.
“Oh uh…that’s my cab.” He bolted. Rogue nervously glanced at Logan through her hair, now fallen in her face. His drink hovered, not quite touching his lips as the information sunk in. She bit her lip. As if sensing it somehow, Logan’s eyes finally focused again and chose to lock themselves to her lips. He seemed to snap out of it and look into her eyes more seriously.
“…Marie?” he asked softly. Rogue ran a hand through her hair nervously. He didn’t have to ask what Scott meant. No gloves meant…And that meant...
“Ah still don’t trust it,” she murmured. “Charles and Hank keep telling me Ah’ve got control but it’s not…how can I test something like deadly touch on someone?”
Logan’s pulse raced unnaturally. He set down his drink slowly, staring at her, but she did not–could not–look at him. She shivered when he brushed her hair out of her face and tucked it back behind her ear, his gloved fingertips grazing her skin. Unconsciously, she leaned into the touch like a cat. His touch lingered, his other hand picking hers up off the counter before it’s companion joined it, just barely touching her shoulder and tracing her arm before taking hold of her wrist. His other hand pinched the tip of her glove and he looked at her seriously.
“Do you want to know?” he whispered. Rogue’s mouth was dry, and she stared wordlessly into his eyes for a moment.
“Yes,” she whispered finally. Logan tugged at each fingertip, loosening the leather’s hold over her hand and watching her pupils dilate. Interesting…He at last tugged off the whole glove and watched her pale hand exposed: long fingers that seemed impossibly delicate, scarred knuckles from too many fights, and carefully maintained nails not too long so as to interfere with her fighting or working, but not truly short. Her skin was almost ghostly pale, and Logan’s eyes roved over it as if mesmerized for a moment. Then he let her go, and let her reach for him.
Her exposed hand hovered where he left it for a moment, uncertain and unwilling to believe it was free. Slowly, she touched the sleeve of his jacket, her brow drawn in curiosity. She so rarely got to really touch things, and the rough leather felt good. She skipped up to the collar of his flannel, testing it between her thumb and forefinger, enjoying the feel of fabric careworn into softness. Lifting her hand again she hovered at his jaw line and looked into his eyes. Logan inhaled sharply at the wonder in her gaze, the wariness. Deliberately, he pulled off his own gloves, watching her eyes dart to the movement and back to where she almost touched his face. He inclined his head, just a little, closer to her hand. Then she was touching him, her whole face painted in concentrated amazement as she traced the edge of his jaw, cupped it in her hand, and felt no pull, no drain. Her breath quickened, but no longer out of fear.
Logan tried not to groan at her touch. Warm, impossibly soft fingers holding his face so gently, so worried for him. Then, they traced up his cheek, explored his cheekbones and the skin over his temples, then stroking his brow and tracing back just into his hairline near his ear. Her face was flushed and wordlessly amazed.
“Wow,” she breathed, and smiled weakly, her eyes shining with emotion. “Wow,” she said again, even quieter. Logan grinned, pride shining in his eyes, closing one of his bare hands over hers, and letting the other wipe the single tear from her face.
“You did it, Baby,” he congratulated. Rogue squealed and threw herself at him, laughing weakly but with pure joy. Logan wrapped his arms around her, grinning. He tensed a little as she stabilized herself post-fling by settling in his lap, but pushed aside his lust in favor of being proud of the woman in his arms as she threw her remaining glove aside behind him and settled from her giggling. Finally she pulled back to look at him.
“Thank you,” she said, and the emotion in the timbre of her voice could have melted adamantium. Logan cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheekbone, forcing his other hand to rest on the bar.
“Anything for you, kid,” he returned. Rogue shook her head and pressed her forehead to his. Logan swallowed.
“Can Ah get that in writing?” she teased. Logan wondered if she had been like this before she manifested: so physically expressive. Was it just the alcohol? No, she seemed to sober up quite against her will when Scott asked about the gloves. Damn, Logan thought, I may have to thank the bastard.
“Why, darlin’, what exactly do you plan on askin’ for?” he inquired, only aware of his Freudian slip after the endearment had escaped his lips. She raised a brow and he felt the movement more than he saw it. His eyes kept darting, against his commands, to her breasts.
“Ya said you had one big question for me after tonight…”
“Yeah?” he murmured. He had. He really, really wanted to ask it now.
“Care to skip ahead to that one?” She batted her eyelashes and gave a delicate pout. Logan’s eyes stayed on her lips. They would be the death of him. His hand on the bar moved to rest at her waist, watching her eyes sparkle a little.
“You’ll still have to face the other ones sooner or later,” he demanded. Rogue shivered as one his thumb just barely slipped under the hem of her shirt and brushed the pale skin beneath. Her eyes fell shut.
“Ah know. You’re a stubborn one, Sugah,” she purred. The hand still on her face shifted and his thumb brushed her lips. Rogue felt her breath catch and looked deep into his eyes. The question was right there. Her eyes dropped to his lips and she tilted her head, preparing to answer.
Logan groaned softly in relief as their lips met, his fingers sliding into the thick silk of her bicolor hair. She surprised him, her small tongue brushing along the seam of his lips, which parted at her invitation, letting his tongue curl around her daring one. He felt her gasp and press her body against him, one of her hands formerly tracing his chest through his shirt sliding down to his side to avoid being trapped between them. His hand on her waist traced the warm flesh of her hip and slid further under her shirt to trace strange shapes on her lower back until she let out another moan.
They were lost in each other for a moment until someone from the pool tables near the back of the bar offered a wolf-whistle and a cat-call. Logan felt her lips curl in amusement and they gently pulled apart, sparing an annoyed but entertained glance for their audience.
“Back to the mansion, then?” Rogue murmured, eyes still somewhat curious behind the sheen of excitement. Logan gave a faint purr that she felt through her whole body.
“Stay with me when we get back?” Logan countered. Rogue blinked a little in surprise but smiled a little wider.
“How long, Sugah?”
“Always.”
“Logan...Yea. That sounds good. Really good,” she breathed, her heartbeat racing.
“Happy Birthday, Marie.”
“Love you, too, Logan.”
He smiled, and when she moved to leave his lap he instead caught her legs around the knees, wrapped an arm under her back, and lifted her bridal style in one graceful movement as he slipped off the barstool.
“Logan!” she cried in surprise, then trailed off into laughter. He liked to see her laugh.
“How much you bet that Scooter’s still out there waitin’ for his taxi?”
“Hmm, Ah bet we could catch a ride in it, too,” Rogue mused. Logan growled playfully.
“I think you have a different ride to catch, darlin’.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” she promised as he maneuvered them out the door.
“Interesting idea,” he mused.
“Pervert.”
“Love you, too, Marie.”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Wow. That went in a completely different direction than I thought. I've been waiting ages for more humorous questions to come up, when instead what breaks my writer's block for this fic is...foof. I'm astounded, frankly.
And it's so short!
Damn. I didn't see this coming...
And it's so short!
Damn. I didn't see this coming...