It had been waiting for him in the cupboard where he kept his beer, stashed away from nosey students who oftentimes wandered in to the small kitchenette for a late night snack. A small slip of paper slipped underneath the six-pack of Molson’s.
Meet me tonight. Come through the window.
He checked it once more, standing outside in the darkened garden. Took a long drag from his cigar and scratched the back of his head, trying to make some, any sense for this. Slipped the note back in to the pocket of his jeans and discarded the cigar. Took a firm grip from ornamental railing decorating the wall in front of him and started his slow and tedious trek upwards after making sure that he really was alone.
The note was from the kid. He already had an inkling of the reason she wanted to see him, but he couldn’t understand for the dear life of him why the hell she wanted him to climb in through her window when it would have been much easier just to walk to her door and knock.
“Shit…” His hold from the railing slipped. For a long, gut twisting moment he hung there, his whole weight bearing down on the back of his knee, his heart hammering triple-time. Fall from this distance wouldn’t have been enough even to bruise him, but he really wasn’t in to mood to explain to Xavier why the ornate iron bar had fallen off. He regained his balance and managed to grasp the railing, moving quickly upwards right before it started to bend under his weight. “It better be something important…” He ground out, small beads of sweat gathering over his brows.
He stopped to rest at the second floor, letting his gaze sweep over the garden. Sun had set hours ago, and most of Storm’s flowers had already closed their pedals for the night. He could still smell their scent if he breathed real deep. Her scent mingling with the sweetness of the flowers made him nearly choke, and he turned to look upwards. Her window was open, flickering light of a candle illuminating a path for him to climb.
For a good while now he had been able to detect a subtle change in her whenever he was around. Quickening heartbeat, accelerated circulation, dilated pupils, and unmistakable scent of need seemed to rule her whole being if he as much as brushed past her too closely.
Now the scent wafting through the open window was practically screaming for him to hurry up there and have her now. He closed his eyes and swallowed, leaning his forehead against the cool iron. He’d come alright; right here, in to his suddenly all too tight jeans if he wasn’t careful.
He could only hope that the girl had finally found her wit and courage. He wasn’t all too sure how well it would go if she just wanted to cuddle up and hold hands.
And why the fuck did he have to use the window instead of the door of her room?
When he finally reached the sill of her window he was completely out of breath and utterly exhausted. He managed to haul his carcass over the sill and fell on to the floor with loud thud, knocking over a chair and her paper bin. For a long moment he lay there, surrounded by shredded paper and pencil shavings, slightly wondering what it took to wake Marie up. Ruckus he had caused should have woken even the dead, but the girl in question had merely rolled on her side and curled deeper under the covers.
Slowly, very slowly the gears in his head started to turn. For some reason she didn’t look like she had been expecting company tonight. The room was a mess even without his stumble. Flickering light of a candle appeared to be the TV at the corner, left open and now broadcasting weather channel with sound turned off. Scent that wafted in the air, the one he had earlier mistakenly labeled one of arousal was just perfume, small and fragile remnants of empty bottle in the paper bin.
He scooted up from the floor, careful not to wake Marie and crept closer to the bed. Something small and yellow protruded from her ear. Earplugs. That certainly explained why she hadn’t bolted up when he had barged in.
“Uh…” He scratched his head. Then dug up the small slip of paper once more. Same kind of stationary littered the floor. The message was definitely written with Marie’s handwriting. He scratched the back of his head again, at loss of what to do.
Well, now that he was here… He walked to where the TV stood and flicked it off. Started collecting scattered shreds of paper and generally to straighten up the room.
Thin, nearly translucent scarf hung from her bedpost. He grabbed it, bunching it to a ball, intending to stuff it in to her closet. Then turned to look at her.
She slept on her back now, having turned from her side when he accidentally hit his knee against the bed frame earlier.
He lay the scarf quickly down over her lips and bent to kiss her before the small nagging voice at the back of his mind grew too persistent. He kissed her lightly at first, his hands on either side of her head, clutching her pillow, but when she started to wake up and respond, rather sleepily but eagerly he increased the pressure of his lips on hers.
“Mmh… Logan? What are you doing in here?” She asked her eyes fluttering open when he came up for air. “Room service?” He smirked sheepishly, tossing crumpled wad of papers to the general direction of the paper bin. Marie stretched and took off her earplugs, sleepy smile creeping over her face. “Room service? That’s a good one… Seriously, what the hell are you doing in here?” She asked, sitting up. Logan dug up the message he had found and gave it to her. She took it and read it, confused frown settling over her features.
“You wrote it, right?” He asked, sitting on to the bed next to her. She nodded. “Jubilee asked me to write this. She said that she wanted to surprise somebody, and you know how her handwriting is practically incomprehensible, so I thought…” Marie started, her gaze suddenly locking with his as it dawned on both of them exactly who the girl had wanted to surprise. “I’ll wring her neck for this…” She swore, bunching up the note in her fist. Logan swallowed and his gaze fell. He stood up from where he sat.
“And where the hell do you think you’re going?” She asked when he reached for the door handle. “I better let you sleep…” He spoke, then cursed silently when the handle refused to budge. “So that’s it? You think you can just waltz in here like some fucking Mary Poppins on crack, wake me up and then leave?” Marie asked. He turned to look at her. “You don’t want me to leave?” He asked. “No. I want you to come back here. I wasn’t quite awake yet when you kissed me. I think I might have missed something.” Marie said. He cocked his head. “You liked it?” Marie nodded. “You want another kiss?” Another nod.
He got as far as to her bed before his nerves gave up. “Uh… How… Um…” He stuttered, his gaze flickering back and forth between her eyes and lips. To his relief Marie took mercy on him, her slender fingers sliding to the nape of his neck, scarf landing over his face.
He wasn’t all too sure of if his skeletal structures would survive this. For some reason his whole body felt somehow wobbly and rubbery, feeling that only intensified when he slid on his back, Marie straddling him, her lips and tongue exploring his mouth through the thin veil of silk. Same material covered her hands, and felt cool and hot at the same time when she massaged his scalp gently. He cursed inwardly when he realized that there had been a serious flaw in his plan from the beginning. He had come in poorly equipped, having left his gloves back in to the kitchenette. He couldn’t touch her. At least not her bare skin. He let his palms roam over her back, curling his fingers over her buttocks, moaning in to her mouth when she settled firmer against him, her already hot and slightly damp crotch straddling his thigh.
“Can I…” She couldn’t say it; she was unable to speak properly, her lips lush and swollen, lust swirling in her chocolate brown eyes. He brought his hands to her hips, rocking her against his thigh gently, and her head fell back, her whole body arching and curving from the pleasure.
He practically whimpered when he could feel, taste and smell her arousal washing over him like a tidal wave, making his mouth water from the idea of her puckered nipples that he could see through her pajamas. He grasped her shoulders and brought her lower, licking and biting through the cotton, nuzzling his face in to the softness, it wasn’t enough but it was almost enough. He tore open the offending garment and picked up the scarf again, covering one breast with it.
Silk was almost good enough. Almost like the real thing, warming up quickly and plastering against her skin under his laving tongue.
His groin was on fire, his cock straining against the denim restraint. It was almost enough when he flexed his hips and thrust upwards, but just almost. He needed more friction.
Marie was already far gone to oblivion, riding his thigh, nearly sobbing and trembling, her eyes screwed tightly shut and her hands cupping her breasts, fingers flicking over her nipples he had abandoned.
He unzipped his jeans and grasped his cock, his head falling backwards and his eyes slamming shut from the pleasure.
Her climax registered on some level, only fueling his own need to finish, he was too close, teetering on the edge, but it just wasn’t enough and it was starting to hurt already. Something cool and moist landed over his cock, then he could feel her hot mouth on him, strong suction, and it was enough. “Oh fuck…”
He pried his eyes open. Marie was hovering over him, her hands braced on either side of his head, blissful smile on her face. She leaned closer and kissed the side of his jaw where his fuzzy muttonchops protected him from her mutation somewhat. “A girl could get used to this kind of wake-up call…” She whispered breathlessly. He moved her over his silk-covered cock, her warmth seeping through the cloth and urged her to lay her head on his chest, wrapped his arms around her. “Wasn’t wake-up call… Just wanted to say goodnight…” He murmured. She snuggled closer against him, his spent cock rubbing deliciously against her still sensitive clit. “Good night, Logan…”
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Story Notes:
Just a sorry excuse of smut, inspired by RouDeVil's work of art.