The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Time to be professional.
It’s a short cab ride to the bank, and once I’m there I wave a girly goodbye to the driver before stepping inside. The building is one of those giant affairs; everything’s larger than life. Sculpted pillars, soaring glass widows, echoing stone steps, you know the type. It’s glorious to look at, completely impractical, and it makes my job a lot easier. Because everything is open plan.
"Can I help you miss?"
Two cameras by the door. A third in the ceiling, and a fourth mounted on the fifth pillar on the right. I give the man my best ditzy smile. "Uh, hey there, I was hoping to open an account here?"
"Ah!" His eyes light up and I can see he’s preparing his sales pitch. "Certainly ma’am."
So I’m ma’am now I’m a potential customer hey? Suddenly I’m far more important and I-
Oops. That was close.
I swerve neatly out of the way of the condescending hand that’s homing in to rest on the bare skin of my arm. Dammit, I knew I should have worn the full length gloves today.
He looks a little put out that I jerked away from him so quickly, but I give him a shy shrug, as if I’m just bashful, and it hasn’t seemed to have caused too much damage. Within moments his glassy sales-pitch face is back.
"Please, come and sit down." He indicates towards a very comfy looking leather seat in front of a four-legged granite monstrosity, which I can only assume is his desk. As I sit, I lean down to put my bag on the floor. It gives me a chance to check out the underside. Yep. There it is. Panic button, next to a concealed motion detector. My guess is they all have them. Okay, so that’s something to be careful about.
"What sort of account was it you were looking for?"
"Just a regular savings account," I smile sweetly, taking down a mental note of all the potential exits.
"Well we have one of the best interest rates in the state. You’ve made a good choice coming here." He pushes a handful of brightly coloured pamphlets towards me, each proclaiming fantastic investment opportunities.
I pretend to study them for a moment. Make a few interested sounds. When I look up, I deliberately catch his eye. Mystique would be proud. "I was also thinking about getting myself a safety deposit box. But I’ve heard such awful stories." I use my best airhead voice and everything. "Will my belongings be safe here?" I try to resist the urge to bat my eyelids. I think that would be taking it a tad too far.
"Oh of course, of course." He coughs and shuffles a few papers around. Okay, so he doesn’t like talking about security issues. Still, it doesn’t hurt to push a little once in a while.
"They’re kept in a secure vault on these premises?"
"Yes, yes they are."
"And I...uh... assume you have...what d’you call it... round the clock security?"
"Yes. The whole system is alarmed. We have the same level of security staff night and day, and you will be the only person to have the key and the code to the box. Your belongings will be perfectly safe." He pushes another shiny booklet of paper my way. Christ, they really do have pamphlets for everything.
I pretend to let this satisfy me. "Thank you. You’ve been so much help." I slip the wad of leaflets into my bag. In bulk they’re actually quite heavy. How many trees does this bank kill on a daily basis? "I’ll read over these and I’ll be in touch."
His face falls when he realises I’m not actually going to open an account this very second, but he remains polite. "Certainly. We’ll look forward to hearing from you."
Ha. I bet you will. And your tree murdering friends.
I catch a cab back to my motel, mind buzzing, already racing with the anticipation that always comes before a hit. It’s that combination of right and wrong... ha, okay... it’s that combination of wrong and... revenge, a blend of danger and adventure. I know I shouldn’t enjoy it so much. I never thought I’d be that sort of person, but I love the adrenalin rush it brings. It throbs through my veins like a drug and I could drown in it and die happy. It makes me feel alive.
Maybe I’ve been spending too much time with Mystique. Maybe I’m some sort of weird adrenalin junky. Maybe I should’ve just taken up bungee jumping or skydiving or something instead of a life of crime.
...Nah! This has so many more benefits. And a better retirement plan.
My pace picks up as my shoes clank up the metallic steps to my room, thoughts running over what I’ve learnt. We’ll have to disable the security system, else the cops will be on us before we can breathe. Will cutting the power disable the motion detectors? Or are they on a back up system with the rest of the security? The cameras, hmmm, they’re probably set up on a different circuit, but that’s never something we worry about, we have the best disguise a person could wish for. And fully staffed round the clock? Well, that doesn’t give us any advantages night or day. Still it’s worth thinking about.
I wonder if Mystique can get floorplans?
I close the door behind me with an air of satisfaction. It’s only when I catch sight of myself in the bathroom mirror that I realise I still look like the waitress from the diner.
It hits me with a bit of a shock, a cold prickle of awareness that tingles down my spine, and for a few moments I stand there stupidly staring at myself.
I don’t usually feel comfortable enough in the shapes of other people. Of course, it doesn’t help that I refuse to go around naked like Mystique – I have to shift in my clothes, and y’know, different sizes can be awkward. But still, this is the first time I’ve... forgotten.
I don’t like that thought.
The fact that it’s becoming so easy strikes me as a warning sign that maybe I’m taking a little too much of her mutation into me. Maybe I should take a break after this. Let my body get back to normal. I’m certainly due a vacation. After all, this is hard work...
Okay, so I smirk at that thought, but then the raised eyebrow that comes with it is so much Logan, even on a stranger’s face, that for a moment everything else is wiped from my mind.
Logan.
I haven’t thought about him since getting drunk.
Okay, so maybe that’s not quite true. I thought about him this morning while I was getting up. And I thought about him on my way to the bank. Wondered what he was doing. And on my way back. And now.
God. I can’t even lie to myself. How crap is that.
I look again at the stranger’s face in the mirror, and an idea starts to form.
I wonder. Should I...?
It’s not something I’ve ever done. With the exception of John, I’ve never changed into anyone I know. It’s much easier that way.
...But then I have to admit I am curious. Almost just to see if I can.
I look nervously at the door. I have to double check it’s shut before I can bring myself to try this, though I don’t know why. It feels like I’m about to commit the biggest invasion of privacy or something.
I suppose I am, actually.
So I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t.
Dammit, but now I’ve thought about it, I can’t resist!
I slowly take of my clothes. I can’t do this with them on, there’s no way he’s gonna fit into my jeans - okay so that’s a weird image. The thought makes me giggle nervously, and it comes out sounding all high pitched and squeaky. Man, what am I doing? This is so wrong.
And yet...
I wrap a large towel cloak-like around me to keep me warm. Then I close my eyes.
It’s so easy to change. I feel the ripple of it wash over me and I’m instantly stronger, taller, heavier. With different teeth... why is that always the first thing I notice? I reach up a hand to the side of my face, and even though I know I’ve been successful, my fingers are still surprised to find the roughness of stubble and mutton chops. It feels so strange, then as I slide my hand up to the spikes of hair, so twistingly familiar, like I’m suddenly in a movie I’ve watched hundreds of times.
I risk opening my eyes a crack. His eyes.
Fuck.
God, I hate the way my heart rate speeds up. I’m not really looking at him in the mirror. I’m looking at me. But it’s so him that I can almost imagine the mirror is a window and he’s there looking back at me.
I breathe, and I see his shoulders rise and fall, the jutting outline of his collarbone shadowed by well toned muscle. I frown, and he glares darkly back at me, his eyebrows drawing together in all grim seriousness, making me giggle nervously. Heh. Okay that looks weird. God I’d almost forgotten how sexy he was.
Out of the blue I remember that time in the mansion hall way, during happier days, when he dropped his tags into my palm. I remember the way he looked at me as that chain curled around my fingers. The intensity of that gaze. I still had hope then.
Stupid teenage crush hope.
Idiot.
I roll my eyes at my own forlornness and pout dejectedly, but the expression looks so out of place on Logan’s face that it makes me laugh. Then the transformation in the man in the mirror is remarkable. I’d forgotten what he looked like when he laughed. He so rarely had in the last few years.
There we go. The niggling guilt I felt at not being a better friend brings back his dark and brooding expression. Something I am far more used to. Still, he is damn sexy. I wonder if it would be wrong to...
Maybe. Probably.
Yeah.
...Definitely...
But still... just a peek...
I release my cape-like clutch on the towel, slowly letting it fall lower, scrunching the material into a loose knot to hold it in front of my stomach. His stomach. Oh wow. Even in the washed out motel bathroom light, I’m in awe. God the man is delicious. Honed to a chiselled perfection to the point where, seriously, it’s a crime that he ever wears clothes. I can’t help myself. I watch in the mirror as one of his hands runs over the packed muscles of his forearm, up over the roughness of his chest, fingers raking through the dark hair that arrows down to... beneath the towel.
Is it wrong that this is totally turning me on?
I let the other hand follow the path of the first and I flinch slightly as it grazes my...his... stomach. That tickles. I never expected Logan to be ticklish, and I-
Oh.
Well, whether it’s wrong or not that it’s turning me on, it’s certainly turning the me-Logan on, and that... from a girl’s perspective... is weird.
Really weird.
O-kaaay...
I’m well aware that I should probably stop now, but the more I think about it, the harder I get, and for the first time in my life I actually feel sorry for men. Oh my God! This thing is totally out of my control!
I want to stop now. I really do.
I do!
...But I don’t. And I can’t. And I won’t. Blood is rushing lower and my head is foggy with lust, gripped with ideas I shouldn’t be having and a building sense of... something. Anticipation.
And I’m far too curious.
I swallow, and I see Logan’s adam’s apple bob up and down. Then without looking at what I’m doing, concentrating on Logan’s face in front of me, I slowly reach down my hand and... and...
My eyes nearly bug out my head. Jesus that feels good! In front of me the Logan in the mirror breathes out through his nose, as his lips clench and his eyes grow heavy with desire.
God that look alone nearly brings me over the edge. I move my hand again, gripping smoothly, slowly, watching the way he tilts his neck, the way his mouth opens slightly in pleasure. Fuck, it’s like-
*Knock knock knock*
Shit! The banging on my door startles me so much that I stumble and fall back into my own shape.
*KNOCK KNOCK*
"Okay, I’m coming, I’m coming," I yell as I scrabble for my clothes, hating the irony of the words, as that was in fact precisely what I was not doing. "Hang on a second."
The knocking turns into a thumping. Jesus, what is it with room service these days...?
"Alright, alright." I shrug my t-shirt back over my head and race across the room to the door. "What?" I snap, pulling it open, and I...
Oh fuck.
I back away, but my uninvited guest pushes his way in.
"Do you have any idea," he growls, "how long it’s taken to find you kid?"