The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Skimpy skirt? Check. Barely there green top? Check. Protective anti-instant-death-to-general-public bodysuit? Check. Fuck-me-boots? Hell yeah!
I am so ready for this. Of course, the quarter bottle of vodka I’ve already knocked back has helped some, but y’know. Details. I am Rogue. I am confident. I can do anything I want. I can rule the freaking world! Woohoo!
...Although I can’t find my other boot. Dammit. Rule of world put on hold momentarily until boot is found.
Hmmm... where would it be hiding...? If I was a fuck-me-boot, where would I-
Ah-ha!
Under the bed, the sneaky bastard. Okay first hurdle defeated. Where was I...
Oh yeah, self appreciation. Damn right. I don’t look half bad either tonight, even if I do say so myself. Which I do. Yep.
...Probably should not have had that last glass...
I pick up my bag and walk the entire step it takes to get from my bathroom to the door. Then as an afterthought I pick up my pièce de résistance, a bottle of cheap perfume I ‘obtained’ from the One Stop across the street. It stinks. And that’s the point.
No Marie scent tonight.
My heals clink on the rusty steps as I teeter my way down to the car park. It’s already dark, the street lights splashing across the sidewalk in warm puddles; the air is fresh and the night alive with potential. This, I decide, is going to be fun.
A chisel-faced man steps out of the shadows to give me a leer and a wolf-whistle. For a moment I just smirk, enjoying the attention, but when I turn I laugh out loud.
The man sidles up to me, to all intents and purposes oblivious to my giggles, his fashionably scruffy blonde hair flopping over his face. "Well ain’t you just a pretty young thing," he says, mouth curling up at the corner.
"Cut it out Mystique." I snigger back. "You coming as my date tonight?"
At that his eyes flash wickedly, but then he steps back a pace. "You should be so lucky. I happen to know that the bank manager is out on the town tonight."
"Oh really?"
"And he is so far out the closet he’s practically in the next room." She...he smirks a bit at that, and I notice for the first time quite how tight his shirt is underneath his jacket.
"You’re incorrigible."
"I know."
"Poor man’s not gonna know what’s hit him."
"Sure he is."
"I don’t want to know!"
At that she just chuckles and holds out a sport jacket clad arm. "Well are you coming or not?"
I laugh again. "This I have to see."
It’s not what I was expecting, although, in hindsight, it should have been. Out of the closet bank managers don’t frequent down and dirty dives. It’s a wine bar. Colourful, subtle low lights, plush décor, the gentle undertones of music... Oooh, but it does have a dance floor. Okay, I’m sold... Although in my skimpy skirt and tight top I’m feeling a bit Pretty Woman on Rodeo Drive right now. A drink, I think, is needed.
"So...?" I bat my eyelids at Mystique for the benefit of the people around us.
"Ted," she informs me in a deep rolling voice.
I snort out loud. Ladylike. Nice. "So Ted... You gonna buy me a drink?"
"You gonna behave?"
"Nope."
"Then whatcha having?"
Ten minutes later armed and dangerous with a double rum and coke, I sidle my way into a booth and watch the neat and pretty try to dance. It’s quite fun, let me tell you. Those that are sober are far too worried about loosing their air of ‘glamour’ to do much more than clink their cosmopolitans against the next glass and shuffle their feet. And those that are plastered, well, they’re a law unto themselves. And then some.
I plan to join their ranks later. Heh.
‘Ted’ slides in next to me. He gulps down his rather unmanly cocktail in one go and then eyes his beer distastefully. "I hate this stuff," he grumbles, knocking back a glug.
"Then why are you bothering? You look like a walking wet dream. The guy would probably go for you if you if you were slurping down banana milkshake...oh..." The realisation of what I’ve just said hits me. Talk about your faux pas. I burst out laughing in a spray of coke, which makes the whole thing even funnier.
Even Mystique... Ted... whatever...who is trying to look put out, is failing. But with that pouty little scowl and those muscled arms crossed like that, he’s looking more sexy camp than ever.
It takes me ages to calm down. Finishing my drink and working my way onto a second, then a third doesn’t help much either. Well, I’ve got to do something. Mystique’s decided to go over and introduce herself to our target. Currently she’s giving him eyes over the bottle of beer she’s drinking, and believe me, when she drinks it, it’s more sexual innuendo than consumption of liquid. Seriously. If that bottle could defy physics, it would have definitely got harder.
Ewww that’s actually kind of a gross thought.
I roll my eyes at their mating ritual display...thing, and I leave them to it.
By the time I’m on to my fourth drink, I start to have the sneaking suspicion that I might just be a really good dancer. Only one way to find out...
I shimmy my ass on to the dance floor. I am not one of the uptight socialites. I am a goddess. I sway, I move to the...oops. I giggle as I trip over my own feet. Might be just a tinsey bit drunk. Just a little. An incy wincy- oh look. Here comes a friendly guy to help me out.
"Hey there," he breathes in my ear. His voices swims around my head a bit. It takes me a while to figure out what he said. But it’s a nice voice, I decide. Southern-y-ish. That should so be a word.
"Southernyish," I tell him, poking his shoulder for effect. Either the room is moving from side to side or he’s swaying. I’m not sure which. "Write it down ‘cause I jus’ invented a goddamn word woohoo!"
That earns me some sort of smirk. "So, you wanna dance?"
"I am dancing." Did the man not recognise moving art when he saw it?
"You wanna dance with me."
Oh.
Do I? I’m not sure. He has a nice voice. Pretty ice blue eyes. They’re like the colour of the sea on a really cold day. Like the tint of pale spring sky...ooh that’s pretty. I should have been a poet. A drunk poet. Is there no end to my talent? I can dance. I can... poet...ize... things...
"Is that a yes?"
"Is that a...huh?" What was the question again? I’m confused.
Whatever it was though, it doesn’t seem to matter because I’m swept up against a slightly sweaty body and suddenly I have four pairs of legs not two. No. That’s not right. I never had two pairs, I meant... oh fuck.
And I mean fuck.
The sobering up quick type.
Damn.
There, half shadowed in the corner, is Logan. Complete with scowl, frown, cigar and whiskey. A Logan box set. He’d be worth a fortune on ebay... I snigger. Okay, maybe I’m not sobering up as quick as I thought.
Dammit why is he glaring at me! I have every right to be here. I have every right to be pissed off my face! I have every right to grope the man who is currently slithering his hands all over my...eww.
I shake my head. "Go away. Stop with the... the...slithering."
"You not playing hard to get now are you sweetheart?" He’s teasing, but there’s an edgy tone to his voice. One that I don’t like. So I push him away.
Nothing happens except I stumble back a bit. And suddenly smooth-talking man is a lot higher.
I frown.
That’s strange, because a moment ago he was definitely taller than... oh. I’m on the floor. Okay, so that’s quite funny.
I start giggling to myself, but then strong arms grasp me and haul me back upright. "Up. Now." And that’s not so funny.
"I don’t want to get up." I’m having fun dammit! See me laughing? Floor? Fun?
But the strong arms don’t seem to care; they insist on dragging me off the dance floor.
"Ow," I moan. "That hurts! Stop it. That’s just...mean..." The word dies on my lips with a squeak because suddenly a whole lotta Logan is slamming me into a booth and I’m pinned against the wall on the far side.
Okay, part of me is aware that normally this would be great fantasy material, but something tells me he’s not here for hot sex. Call it a hunch. He looks really scary. Like oh-fuck-he’s-gonna-impale-me scary. With the claws, I mean. Not the... the...
Okay, so that makes me giggle again.
Oooooh I don’t think he liked that reaction because his lips curl back in a snarl and I think I really might be three seconds away from an adamantium penetration.
...Fuckit! Stop laughing stop laughing stop laughing!
He looks at me. Hard. "You finished?"
I think I manage to squeak something. Don’t think it actually qualifies as a word though.
He shakes me. "Get a fucking grip."
On what? Ahhhahahahahaaaaaa! Oh my God I am not going to survive this. I am going to die laughing impaled on his weapons of mass-seduction. God, but it’ll be a good way to- "OW!" What the fuck? "That HURT!"
He cut me! He actually fucking cut me!
The claw recedes back into his skin as a hot voice growls in my ear. "You know what kid? I don’t care. Now we’re even. And if you don’t start behavin’, it’s gonna hurt a whole lot more."
I blink. Try to understand what he just said to me. But... ouch! And my brain’s not quite working as it should. I can’t believe he actually...? Maybe I should try and calm him down or something. Yeah. Let’s not let this get out of hand. See? Rational thinking. And there I was thinking I was drunk..."Shh," I try and tell him in my exaggerated way. "You’re shouting."
"Oh believe me, Rogue," he hisses. "I’m not."
He said Rogue.
My brain plays around with that thought for a moment, Rogue, Rogue, Rogue... trying to decide how it feels about it. But he’s so close that it’s hard to concentrate. I can almost taste the whiskey. I’ve never seen him like this, never seen him so... so... seething. He has my blood on his hands. His eyes are dark. Almost black.
And he’s furious.
Fuck, it’s sexy.
"I come out here," he breathes hard through his nose and I watch in fascination as the sinew in his arm tightens with anger. "I come to find you," his voice is barely restrained. "An’ you try and kill me?"
It’s such a strong, manly arm. It’s ...I tried to what? Huh?
Oh...is that what he’s upset about? I roll my eyes as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. "I didn’t try and kill you."
"You ever," and I’m hauled up by my shirt now, "and I mean EVER try a stunt like that again, so help me kid I don’t care who you are or what promises I made. I’ll slice that pretty skin o’ yours from navel to fuckin’ nose. GOTTIT?"
Ookaay.
I think it’s safe to say that I pissed him off.
Although it’s hard to tell what’s annoying him most, that I tried to drop his ass, or that I succeeded.
Heh. Probably not a good time to ask.
I manage to plaster an innocent expression on my face, partially aware that I should probably be more worried about the situation than I am. But the warm swimming drunken feeling tells me to shhhh. Everything is peachy and fine. Yep. "Cross my heart, hope to die... Or not. Heh." I snigger at my own joke. Probably not the best move. "Are we done now?"
He doesn’t answer, maybe he’s too angry, he looks angry. Why is he angry still? I apologised didn’t I? Some people just don’t appreciate honest gest... gesticu...ges...tures oh fuckit.
I shrug as if I don’t care, and decide to risk life and limb climbing out over the table. It’s not an easy task to navigate, ‘specially in fuckmeboots. And I have a sneaking feeling that my skirt rides up, but, ahh – to hell with it. To hell with ‘em all! To hell with the whole fucking world! Yeah! You heard me!
So what if I’m drunk off my ass? Now I’m pissed off. And I’m ready for war.
"Hey you," I snatch out a hand and reel in smooth-talking-guy, who almost chokes on his Martini olive in shock. I shove his drink down on the counter and murmur... possibly slur...in what I’m pretty damn sure is a sultry way. "Let’s have that dance sugar."
Man, he looks like he hit the jackpot. I drag him back on to the dance floor, ignoring the slitheringness of hands. Grinding my hips pure dirty dancing style, I sneak a glance at Logan. Ha. Let him see me now!
But there’s just an empty seat. He’s gone.
Something hollow settles in my belly. It’s not disappointment I feel. Really. I’m glad that he’s gone. It’s what I wanted.
Yeah...
Ugh, but the dancing’s not so much fun anymore. The spinning lights make my head hurt. My arm stings and I’m thirsty, the throbbing music pulsing around me in waves. Suddenly I’m so hot that I have to be outside.
I extract myself from the sweaty arms, signal a goodbye to ‘Ted’, who’s currently running his hand down the Armani clad torso of a man who looks like he was born in a suit, and I head for the exit.
Best fucking idea I had all evening.
The air outside is deliciously fresh. It cools my skin and my throat, and my vision starts to fade into soft focus again. Much better.
Now, let’s see if I can find my way back to the motel...
Of course it would be simpler if I could remember the name of the damn place, but in my drunken haze it escapes me and the stupid cabbie refuses to take me to ‘that place, with rooms, by the road.’ The bastard.
So I start walking. It’s okay. I have a good sense of direction. I always know where I am. I’m not one of those girly girls with no sense of perspective. Or orientation. I’m good at finding my... oh fuck it.
Either I’m lost, or the roads aren’t where they should be.
I have a strong suspicion it must be the latter. The realisation makes me giggle, even though I know it shouldn’t. Maybe I’m sick or something.
"This is a very serious situation," I try and tell myself. I use my most disapproving voice and everything. Trouble is, it doesn’t make it any better. Maybe I should wait until daylight. Yeah. That sounds like a sensible idea. Things always look different in the dark. And that looks like a real comfy wall there.
I sink down against it, feeling the blissful coolness of bricks against my back, and I close my eyes. Just for a moment. Not really resting. Just thinking.
Honest.