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Author's Chapter Notes:
I AM DONE!!! Whooooop!!!!

...Well... kinda... *g*

Okay, there will definitely be an epilogue - I've even half written it (damn those pesky loose ends *g*). But it will be a couple of weeks before I post it (finally setting realistic expectations *lol*) There may also be a post-fic, fic. It'll be mini. Tiny. About this big *puts thumb and index finger about an inch apart*. Yep. Which is why I've not marked this fic as complete yet.

Thank you so much to everyone who's stuck with this & given me feedback - it's really meant a lot to me. Made it all worth while! And the most massive thanks ever to dutchxfan and empressnan for letting me steal their time and beta skills. Without their help I would have given up half way through!

If someone had told me a few years ago that this would be happening to me, I wouldn't have believed them. Yes, my thoughts would have wondered to places that made me blush, and yes I would have probably chewed my lip and smiled a sappy smile, but it would have been the smile of a giddy daydream, not reality.

I guess if someone had told me a few months ago this would be happening? I would have laughed right in their face.

A few weeks? Probably just cried.

But now?

Oh man.

With a quiet click, Logan closes my bedroom door behind us. The sound makes my heart jump into my throat.

All the tiny details seem to spring to life around me. The rain splatters loudly down on the leafy branches of the closest tree... I forgot to shut the window. There's a tiny spider crawling up the sleeve of my robe, slung over the chair where I left it. The pillow on the bed is patterned with tiny flowers, very feminine, not at all Logan. It makes me cringe and I have to fight the irrational urge to hide it.

I mean, what's he going to do? Turn around and say 'well, I was up for a damn hot night darlin', but now I've seen your taste in soft furnishin's...?'

Yeah right!

Man, what is wrong with my brain? It's not that big a deal. It's just sex. Lovin'. Fucking. Humping. Making the beast with two backs. I've done it before. People do it all the time. Yep.

...Just not with Logan.

Or, actually, that's not strictly true. People tend to have sex with Logan quite a lot. Or rather, he tends to have sex with a lot of people... although... not so much recently. But that doesn't mean he doesn't have one hell of a history. He's about three lifetimes more experienced than I am!

Oh God. I did not need that realisation right now.

I'm so nervous all of a sudden, that my embarrassment at coming so very quickly downstairs is paling into insignificance.

...Or rather, it was until I just thought about it again. Suddenly my mind is back there, hard up against that wall, and the paling into insignificance thing is not working as well as I'd hoped. He's gonna think I'm desperate or something! ...Which, okay, I am. But I don't need to advertise the fact!

Oh Christ I'm going to make a mess of this.

Um... Is it really happening?

I turn around and glance up at him through my lashes. The light that filters in through the rain soaked window is soft and shadowy, but his expression is clear. It's dark and intense and very much focused on me.

Fuck.

The realisation sends a wave of heat spreading through my stomach.

I realise I'm staring and I all but blush. "Sorry," I mumble faintly, looking down at my feet instead.

"Don't be."

My stomach flips at the tone of his voice. My heart thudding almost painfully in my chest when his boots appear in my field of vision. I feel him run two fingers through my hair, snagging at the streaks of white in an echo of years before. Hovering in a door way in the late afternoon light. I don't want you to go.

He tilts my head back up towards him, leans in closer, his mouth only a breath away from mine. The faint brush of his stubble is almost tickling my skin, so close that he's... he's...

Hesitating?

Goddammit! What on earth...?

It takes me a few moments to register the tinny sounding noise that's annoying my ears. Even longer to realise it's the stupid phone of all things.

I mutter a few choice swear words under my breath.

Ideally, what I'd like to happen would be for Logan to scowl, tell me not to answer the damn thing, and throw me onto the bed.

He doesn't. He just frowns. Backs off a pace.

Stupid real life.

I fumble around in the dresser, yes it's still there, and yes, Logan gives me a slightly strange look as I hit a few random keys. To be honest I'm hoping I'll accidentally hang up on whoever it is.

Instead I just end up putting them on speaker phone.

"So, you're still there then?" Scott's disgruntled voice slings itself around the room, loud and clear. Unfortunately.

I panic and jab at a few more keys.

"Were you even going to say goodbye?"

Shit. There must be a silence button round here somewhere!

"Are you ignoring me?"

Shit. Shit. Shit! "No..." I manage, feebly.

"Well it sounds like you are. Who am I gonna have to be miserable with, if you're leaving?!"

Gaa! This is all going so wrong! "Is that your...uh... way of..." I'm still frantically trying random buttons, "...saying you'd...uh...miss me?"

"No." He sounds far too sulky for it to be true though. "I just don't want to be the only crazy person left around here. Besides, what the hell happened? One moment you were all 'ya need ta heal Scott and Ah'm so happy Ah'm stickin' around."

Oh that's a terrible attempt at my accent.

"And the next you and Logan are all 'oh I couldn't possibly blah blah blah', then groping the hell out of each other, and now you're running away?"

Dammit! How the HELL do you work this thing?!

"What happened? Did you sleep with him?"

Oh, the bitter irony...

"Was it that bad?"

Logan raises an eyebrow.

"Or did you just-"

Finally! My finger hits the right button, the phone stops shouting out loud, and there are a few blissful moments of peace before I risk putting it against my ear.

I wince slightly. More at the expression on Logan's face, than anything else. He looks like he can't decide whether he's more amused or pissed off.

"Sorry Scott." I mumble, reluctantly.

Scott huffs an angry sigh. "Good. Well, that's a start."

"I didn't realise you'd be that upset." Actually, I was so wrapped up in my own misery, I didn't think about anyone else at all. The realisation makes me feel awful.

"I'm not upset," he says grouchily.

"I would have phoned you." I tell him. And it's the truth. I really would have.

Eventually.

"Just that this really isn't a good time right now," I add, trying not to give away the specifics.

"It's... Oh. Why not?" I expect him to sound even more disgruntled, but instead his curiosity is piqued. With a sinking feeling I realise that's probably far worse.

"I'm...uhh... busy."

"Doing what? I thought you were leaving?"

I roll my eyes in apology to Logan. "Y'know, you really need to get out of that room of yours," I tell Scott. "My life is not your own personal TV show. It's just bad timing."

"In what way?"

Does he ever stop asking questions?

"In... well... I..." my attention is completely lost as Logan does the unthinkably unfair and leans in close again. His sideburns scratch at my cheek as his teeth pull lightly on my ear lobe. I let out something resembling a girly yelp.

"Hang up," Logan whispers. The suggestiveness in his tone slides its way down to my very toes.

"Did you just squeak?"

Oh God, I forgot about Scott.

"What the hell is going on?" The phone continues to bark at me. "What are you doing?"

"I... uh...told you," I manage vaguely. God it's hard to concentrate. "I'm... busy."

"How busy?"

At that, Logan reaches round and grabs the phone right from my fingers. "Very," he says gruffly, before hanging up and shoving it back on the dresser. He smirks slightly at my open mouthed expression.

I forgot how sensitive his hearing was.

Also? That was really kinda hot.

Heh.

Still... I glance at the phone, feeling grateful and guilty all at the same time. "Do you think Scott'll be alright?"

"Yes." Blunt. To the point.

"It's just that he's not really... I mean..." I begin weakly, but Logan's mouth is already back beneath my ear again. "He's not in a... a good..." God did he just use his tongue? "...A good..." Oh fuck it, Scott'll be fine.

Logan nuzzles into the curve of my neck. "You're shivering," he says softly, and his arms tug me closer, move me into his body heat.

He rubs his palms slowly up and down my arms to warm them, but I’m soaked through and it doesn’t make any difference. Then as his hands drop to my waist, they catch a hold of the hem of my top and pull it upwards, the wet material rolling off my arms as it tries to cling to my skin, catching my hair as he pulls it over my head.

I suddenly feel like he's taken away my armour. My breath hitches in my throat. I know he hears it.

He moves in closer. I think he's going to kiss me again, so I nudge clumsily forward but to my dismay he's too quick, and he manages to keep the minuscule distance between us.

"What?" I ask fuzzily, trying not to sound hurt. Did I do something wrong?

"You done this before?"

Oh.

That.

...Damn.

There is no reason on earth I should be embarrassed by the answer to that question, other than the fact that it brings the image of Bobby's scrunched up sex face to my head... ew... but despite there being no reason? I am.

Logan frowns.

"...Uh... kind of." I tell him, before he takes my reluctance to share the wrong way. I really hope he doesn't ask for details.

"Kind of?"

I shrug. Trying not to look like I'm mortified talking about it.

"You goin' all quiet on me again?"

"No... I just..." A horrible thought occurs to me. "This isn't one of those 'you can't talk about it, then we ain't going there' moments, is it?"

"Believe me darlin'," he growls, pulling me flush against the tightness in his jeans, "we're goin' there. You don't get all the fun."

Oh.

A surge of desire floods through me. I have a feeling my eyes widen to the size of dinner plates.

"Jus' wanna make sure I ain't gonna hurt you, that's all." He runs his thumb softly along my collarbone as he says it, totally screwing with my concentration.

"You... won't, I mean, I'm...not..." I begin, but his touch is moving downwards, and speaking no longer seems important. Or possible. He traces over the lacy material of my bra, leaving a tingling trail of awareness in his wake. His fingers splay out as they sink lower, warm and possessive. Part of me is aware that this is nothing like downstairs. This is slow. A lifetime of memories in one night. The other part is so giddy and high on sensation, that it doesn't know up from down. God, I want this.

He inhales me like a drug, hands moving over the curve of my hips, into the small of my back. I've never been so grateful for the chance to touch as I am right this moment.

"Kick your shoes off," he whispers in my ear, wiping all other thoughts from my mind. I'm not sure when he undid them, but his hands are slowly working inside the sodden denim of my jeans, pushing them down, fighting the way they stick to my thighs, until they’re a cold heap around my ankles.

When he does finally kisses me, it’s restrained; I know he’s holding himself back. As my touch finds its way under his jacket, however, and as I taste his tongue in my mouth, that control begins to fray.

He steps back. Shrugs off his outer layer of clothes, watching me the whole while. Then he unbuttons enough of his shirt to be able to pull it over his head. My fingers reach out to him, running over the soft material of his wife-beater. He moves closer so my hands can slide beneath it, tugging it upwards, discarding it on the floor with his shirt. And then I'm in his arms. And he's warm and solid and breathing as hard as I am, and as his mouth finds mine I'm lost in the hunger of it.

I fumble at his belt, and he groans, moving against me, reaching down and jerking at the buttons of his fly, shedding his jeans. My bra is gone, and his hands are there instead... fuck that feels good. And my panties - they're slid much more roughly off me than my other clothes were. Then he's pushing me backwards until my legs hit the bed, and he's suddenly on top of me, hard and hot and naked.

The muscles of his back are bunched and strong, I feel them move as I run my hand down to the tight curve of his ass; words torn from him, half curse, half moan, lost as they're muffled into my mouth.

Then he shifts, and I can feel him there already. So fast. No longer pressing against me, but pressing into me and... oh... fuck...

Sensation convulses through me in thick waves at the shock of him. He growls, a tremor shuddering through him likes it's too intense, moving against me, in me. God it is intense. I wrap my legs tighter around him, and he groans then thrusts again, suddenly hard and primal. White heat racing from his mouth to mine.

My thoughts become fractured and lost in the moment. Lost in the sinew and strength of his arm at the side of my head, the smell of warm metal sweating through his skin. A thumb dips into my mouth, down over a nipple, hand smoothing over my stomach, crooking my knee around him, gripping my thigh, all the while breathing. A mesh of movement and sensation; hips pressing into mine, hard and strong and heavy, and god I'm lost in it.

Fighting at that leash of control, his jaw clenching as a hand slides to the small of my back, arching me up towards him... changing the angle so…fuck that feels good. My heals digging into the soft mattress, muscles in my thighs burning. The way the breath hisses from him when my nails scrape along his shoulder. Bodies so close, fiercely gripping to each other. Louder. Clutching. The sweat that trickles down between us. Slippery slide of skin over skin. The guttural sounds that come from him as he gets more and more frantic. The things I tell him. The things I want. Lust and heat coursing through my veins as he moves harder and faster, until I can't control it any more and I'm shuddering, fingers digging into his skin, toes curling into the sheets as wave after wave rocks through me.

It sends him over the edge. He grips me so hard it hurts as he comes with a strangled yell, his face buried in my neck. I can feel his body throb with every convulsion that's wrung from him, feel the way his muscles tremble, the power that's in them.

Until he's spent. Until he's heaving for breath and exhausted.

Until he moves his weight off me, and rolls to the side, tugging me up against him, sated and soaked in emotions.

Until my eyelids drift heavily with warmth and contentment. Exhaustion

And I sleep better than I have done in weeks.



When my eyes blink slowly open into the fresh light that permeates the room, I know it’s morning.

I also know, without a doubt, that the bed next to me is cold.

I don’t move, not just yet. I don't let the emptiness hurt me. Instead I cling on to that fuzzy state of almost sleep; half dreaming, dipping in and out of memories. I bury my nose in the pillow. The sheets still smell of him and I can almost imagine he’s here next to me.

I remember sometime in the night, it was still dark and I wriggled, hot and restless, unused to sharing a bed with someone. He woke up and blinked at me, bleary eyed. You okay? His voice was tousled like his hair.

Then there had been languid caresses. Soothing. Sleepy. Whispered confessions. And the slow burning heat of bodies moving into one another again.

But no promises.

I close my eyes for a moment longer, breathe in the scent of him that's still all around me, and I tell myself all the sensible things I know I need to hear. That I was always going to have to leave in the morning anyway. That it's probably less messy that he's not here for some sobbing goodbye. That one night is better than a lifetime of not knowing.

I don't believe any of them.

I swing my legs out of bed. The floor is a cold shock against my feet, but I ignore it, only half realising the rain has finally stopped, sunlight pouring through the window in shifting patterns dappled by the trees.

I step over my discarded clothes on the way to the bathroom.

His are all gone. Of course they are.

The taps creak, and the water's hot and heavy as it pours over me, pummelling down on my back and shoulders, driving away the stickiness and the aches that remain from last night. Muscles I haven't really used before, protest in the new light of day. They're like the sheets, scented and marked with him. Like me.

I wash through my hair, and towel myself off, almost in a daze. Dig around for some of the hand-me-down clothes I had planned to leave behind... mine are all packed or still damp from yesterday. I gather up my remaining things, and head, soft footed, downstairs.

There’s a note. Pinned to the front door.

Give me an hour, it says. And I can’t help it. After everything else, I sink down against the coolness of the wall, and I cry so hard I don’t think I’ll ever stop.



By the time I finally make it outside, he's already there, sleeves rolled up his forearms, jacket shoved to one side as he straps his bike into the back of the truck. The sight twists something so pure and sharp in my chest, that for a moment I can hardly breathe. Too painful to be joy, yet every part of me is giddy with it.

I watch him work, too afraid to say anything in case it breaks the spell. He doesn't venture anything either, just looks up at me occasionally, the hint of a smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

When he's done, he casually slings his duffel in the back seat, then comes over to where I'm standing and wipes the last smudges of the tears from my face with the back of his thumb.

"You slept in," he says. Nothing more than that.

And I think we might just be okay.
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