(Rogue’s POV)
‘Shit! Shit, shit, SHIT!’
Rogue flung open the door to her room, yelping as it reverberated off her desk and almost knocked her out.
Slamming it behind her, she flung a heap of books, papers and files in the vague direction of her bed, and swung around, frantically scanning the room for her jeans, and wincing at the heavy sound of the mountain of school work connecting with the floor as it missed the intended target. With a groan of relief she spotted her jeans and a black vest top thing hanging off the back of a chair, partially obscured by her dressing gown, and lunged for them.
Unfortunately for her, she failed to factor her favourite scarf and the loose handle of her wardrobe into the equation. Her feet tangled with the silky green accessory, she reached for the wardrobe door for balance, the knob came off in her hand and with an extremely undignified shriek she collapsed in a furious heap.
Cursing loudly, she attempted to get to her feet, only to collapse back to the floor with another shriek, this time of fright, when the door flew open for the second time, to reveal a panicking Logan.
‘Jesus Christ kid, what the hell are you doin’ in here??’
She glared up at him from her furious heap on the floor (now complete with flaming cheeks), and practically spat,
‘What does it look like I’m doing?’
With hindsight, probably not the best question she could have asked in the circumstance, but hell, she and embarrassment were old friends. In fact, she was starting to think maybe they should forget friendship and just get married. Oh God.
Logan was eyeing her, and now, obviously having assured himself she was in no immediate danger, the panicked look in his eyes had been replaced by one that clearly showed he was trying not to give into temptation and collapse to floor laughing his ass off. She glowered at him and his mouth twitched.
‘It looks like you tried to dance the tango with your feet tied together.’
Staggering upright, she reached down, unwound the scarf from her ankles and deposited it on her pillow.
Collecting her jeans from the floor, she brushed her hair back from her face and tried to look mature and composed. This was totally ruined when he glance down without a somewhat amused glance, and she realised a random bra was dangling from the leg of her jeans. She waved farewell to the last shreds of her dignity. And decided she had better explain.
‘I’m meant to meet Jubes and Remy in town at half seven. It was her birthday yesterday, and Remy bought her tickets for some show thing and apparently there is this massive surprise, and she’ll kill me if I miss it, and my last class ran over, and then I had to talk to the professor after, and then I got stuck in traffic and now …’
‘You’re late.’ Logan stopped her in mid-flow, glancing at the clock on the wall of her room. He shook his head in amusement. ‘I’ve yet to meet a woman who could get somewhere on time.’
She glared at him.
‘I was on time last time I met up with you’
‘In all technicalities, you were half an hour early.’
The urge to slap him again had never been so strong. She settled for throwing a pillow instead.
‘Shut up! I’m late, so get out of my room, I have to change!’
He grinned.
‘Can I watch?’
‘GET OUT!!’
The last few words left her mouth as an ungodly shriek.
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(Logan’s POV)
Still chuckling, Logan ambled back to his own room, two doors down the hall.
He had been back at the mansion for two weeks now, and even during that short time, his relationship with Marie had gone from strength to strength. He’d asked to talk to her after accepting the job from Chuck, and the panicked expression on her face had told him she thought he was going to leave again. When he told her he was sticking around indefinitely, she’d lit up like a Christmas tree, and according to Storm, it was the happiest she had looked in months.
Since then, they had fallen into the habit of eating dinner together on a daily basis, seeing as Rogue’s friends were more often than not out partying. That had been the only time he saw her for the first few days, until she walked into his room one evening to ask if he knew anything about the Russian Civil War (discovering he could describe it intimately and in fact if pressed, could speak some Russia, had been something of a surprise to say the least) and ended up staying the whole evening to watch the first hockey game of the season. Apparently his sweet, little Marie had no problem watching a bunch of guys beat the crap out of each other with large sticks.
After that, there was no getting rid of her. For the next few days she turned up after dinner, regular as clockwork and just made herself at home in the corner of his room, accompanied by some essay or textbook. He helped when he could, read, if there was anything available or otherwise just sporadically threw stuff at her until she gave up working and curled up next to him to watch a film. Jean had made some comment about how attached she was getting, and how sweet it was, and he’d just growled at her. Until the next evening when Marie had been nowhere in sight, and when he had gone to find her, discovered Jean had given her a lecture on not crowding him and hanging around being a nuisance. After that he’d gone to find Jean, and threatened to do a lot more than growl at her if she told Marie he didn’t want her around again.
It was a most bizarre feeling for him, simply enjoying someone’s company. They had become friends, good friends in only a few weeks, and Logan was a man who, as a general rule, did not have friends. Ever. In fact, if Wolverine had ever felt something akin to fear, he would have said that the way he seemed to have sunk seamlessly into life at the mansion was scaring the fuck out of him. As it was, when that feeling arose, he merely went to the Danger Room and beat the crap out of a holographic Sabretooth. Ah, therapy.
Tonight it seemed, the kid was going out with her fervently irritating yellow friend. He frequently had fantasies about gutting Jubilee. He didn’t give a damn whether or not she was a student; she was quite possibly the spawn of Satan. The thing with the whipped cream and pink hair dye had been enough to put him off her for life.
Stretching out on his bed, he figured he should maybe start on something resembling a lesson plan, considering he began teaching in four days. Really, he was trying his damned hardest not to think about that, although it was difficult, what with One-Eye running in flapping circles trying to sort out every last detail of his classes for the new term. Seemed hugely fucking pointless to him, but maybe, seeing as Rogue was out, he should perhaps at least figure some ideas on how he was going to run the classes. The Junior X-Men training was sorted. He had seen Scooter fight, and he knew exactly where the weaknesses were going to be considering they’d all been taught by him. Ironing out those weaknesses would be step one, and then after that he figured he’d just teach them every dirty trick in the goddamned book. No-one ever said nothing about playing fair.
As he was contemplating this, the door to his room flew open with a crash, and an extremely flustered Rogue appeared. He swallowed. She looked good, nice jeans that fit in all the right places, a black vest top, and a dark green jumper with a deep v-neck. He blinked. Eyes up, eyes up, eyes up.
He was about to make a remark on her appearance but her hurried question stopped his thought process in its tracks.
‘Logan, if you were a fuck-me boot where would you hide?’
He stared at her. What? The hell? Was she serious? Apparently she was, because there was no trace of a grin or of any amusement. And apparently she was also expecting an answer. Fuck.
He said the first thing that came into his head.
‘Under the bed, darlin’’
She vanished, leaving the door open. He heard several more crashes from down the hall, winced at a particularly loud one, and then heard a cry of triumph. Well, it could have been a cry of triumph. Either that, or she’d hit her head on the underside of the bed.
She re-materialised in his doorway, moments later, her outfit now complete with a pair of knee high black boots. With heels. He swallowed. Stared. Swallowed again.
‘Logan?’ She was doing that heinously irritating thing where you wave your hand in front of someone’s nose.
Apparently she had asked him a question.
‘Yeah darlin’?’
Rolling her eyes, clearly realising he hadn’t heard a word she’d just said, she snapped,
‘Two questions. One, how the hell do you know where a fuck-me boot might hide? And two, I need a lift into town.’
The second part wasn’t a question, but he didn’t have the heart to refuse her, especially not when she was in that get-up.
‘One, I imagined I was one and two, Scooter hides the keys to the flash cars, but we can take the truck.’
She squealed, and dashed from the room, a cry of ‘Move it, sugar!’ floating back over her shoulder.
He rolled sideways, and seizing his battered leather jacket from the back of the door, headed out towards the garage, following Rogue down the stairs. The animal in him was taking great delight in noting the way the combination of tight jeans and high heels emphasised her ass, and glancing sideways he caught Scott’s disapproving eye as they moved through the foyer. He popped the middle claw. He was the Wolverine, for fuck’s sake.
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(Rogue’s POV)
Exhausted, Rogue collapsed onto her bed. What a night. The traffic going into town had been just as hideous as the traffic coming back and she had made the opening credits of the show by a whisker. The show itself had been an all-singing, all-dancing concoction that reminded Rogue strongly of one of those awful, sweet cocktails that taste horribly fruity. Give her a beer and a cage fight any day.
Remy and Jubilee had stayed out, and gone clubbing, Remy agreeing even though she knew he hated all of those trendy night clubs that Jubes and Kitty haunted. It appeared that keeping Jubilee happy was one of his main priorities and he had agreed with all of her ravings about the show, although Rogue had seen him wincing and rubbing his ears and eyes at least four separate points during the show. The man was so whipped it was almost pathetic.
And now, on coming back, she had figured she’d just go and hang out in Logan’s room, like had become routine (she still found it slightly amazing he wanted her around, but the Jean incident had put paid to any doubt in the matter), and maybe help him with lesson plans or whatever it was he had been planning to do, but no. On entering his room earlier, she had found a six-pack of Molson’s on his pillow, with a note attached that read,
Magneto trouble. Had to go. Taken Scott, Storm and the Blackbird. Jean is watching mansion.
The beer is for you, figured you might need it after the yellow terror’s show. See you later.
She smiled at how well he knew her (and Jubilee), grimaced at his appallingly bad handwriting, and sloped gloomily back to her room.
Settling the beer on the floor next to her, she kicked off her boots, grabbed a bottle and settled down to endure a night of worry and await the Blackbird’s return.
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She must have fallen asleep, because when she next opened her eyes, her room was gloomy and dark, and her head was muzzy, filled with dancing images of blackbird’s, dancing cocktails and, bizarrely, a fuck-me boot that look scarily like Logan.
She swallowed, wincing at the throbbing headache that had taken up residence in her temples and at the fact she was till fully dressed. The glow of the clock by the side of her bed read 3:33.
Swinging her legs sideways, she wriggled out of her jeans, probably resembling a worm attempting a horizontal kig, and tugged off her jumper, leaving her in vest top and underwear. Deciding she really couldn’t be bothered to change anything else at this ungodly time in the morning, she levered herself up to bury under the covers, and turned sideways to look at the stars, that shone in through her window (John had set her curtains on fire that first time he’d been in her room, and somehow she had never gotten around to getting them replaced). And that was when she saw him.
A dark silhouette stood, framed by the starlight, watching her from across the room. Her heart had morphed into a Formula One car and was hammering so hard she thought it might actually win the race. Holy crap.
‘Logan?’
Her voice came out as a bizarre mixture between a croak and a squeak and was strangely loud in the utter silence that surrounded them. They both winced.
‘What the hell are you doing in my room?’
To his credit, he looked apologetic. Or at least, she thought he did, it was really pretty hard to tell. He cleared his throat.
‘Sorry. Bad mission. We got out okay but…It was…I was just…’
Jesus, he was stuttering, it must really have been bad.
‘You look peaceful when you sleep.’
Oh-kay. Coming from anyone else that admission would have sounded scarily stalkerish and even so, she couldn’t help but wonder when he’d seen her sleeping. Probably when she was unconscious in the medical lab. Wasn’t that just great?
And now, apparently she had taken too long to reply, because he was moving towards the door.
‘Hey, no it’s fine. I was just a bit shocked that’s all. Why don’t…why don’t you stay here? Bed’s big enough for two, and it’s supposed to help when you can’t sleep, having someone else near.’
She definitely couldn’t see his expression now, but she could imagine all too painfully clearly. Jesus, what was she thinking??
Only…
Oh crap, he was moving towards her.
Shit.
Crap.
Shit.
The bed creaked as he lay down, not really designed to carry three hundred pounds of metal, and she couldn’t move for shock. He didn’t move any closer, just stretched his arms above his head, and sighed.
‘Thanks.’
In only a few minutes, his breathing had evened out and he was asleep. Apparently she was an extremely effective tranquiliser. She considered poking him awake, and asking for more details about the mission, as clearly something had not gone to plan, but one look at the haggard expression on his face, rendered her immobile. It could wait until morning, and really, last time she had woken him up, she had received three metal blades through the chest for her trouble. Definitely an experience she did not care to repeat.
She settled for studying his profile in the moonlight, forcing herself not to react to his closeness, and the fact that she could smell him and she wasn’t wearing anything…Oh God. Her heart lurched, and adrenaline and sheer panic crashed through her with the force of one of Storm’s tsunamis.
She backed away as fast as she could manage, tangling herself in her bed clothes, and cracking her head on the bed post. He grumbled in his sleep and turned towards her his hand falling on her bare arm. She froze. And then relaxed. He was wearing gloves. And a long sleeved t-shirt. Okay. Breathe, breathe, and breathe. Soul-sucking was off the agenda for tonight.
Forcing herself to relax, she settled back down and resumed her study. Obviously he had showered and changed before coming in, but she could still smell the faint scent of blood, and an odd tangy scent, that smelt like electricity. His hair fell over one eye, and as she moved to brush it carefully back, she noticed a small circular scar, healing over on his left temple. It was deep and nasty-looking and the skin around it was darkened, scarred. Ouch. Clearly there had been a fight, and a bad one at that. She moved a finger, cautiously tracing the scar, moving too quickly for her skin to have any effect.
He sighed softly, and rolled more towards her, trapping her against the wall, the hand on her arm moving down to lock around her waist. She rolled sideways in an attempt to escape, and he took this opportunity to spoon himself behind her, clearly not one for pissing about even when completely unconscious. His nose buried into her neck, protected from her skin by a thick curtain of hair.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
This was really all she had to say on the subject.
He huffed a breath into her shoulder, and she stifled a whimper. She was going to complain about him taking advantage in the morning, although she was aware that he had no idea what he was doing. Trouble was she liked it all a little too much.
One of his legs wove between hers, and some irritating voice in the back of her brain pointed out he was wearing soft pyjama bottoms of some kind.
Clearly this was going to be a long night.
And by God, was she going to kill him in the morning.
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The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
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Author's Chapter Notes:
In case anyone reading has a head for detail and is wondering, Rogue and the others start the new term a week earlier than the mansion does, hence why they are back at college but Logan isn't teaching yet. This chapter is a mile-stone because it marks the beginning of something that actually resembles a plot :) Many thanks to AnnieHowlett, Wytchling, and Wolf CrescentWalker for the lovely reviews :) Feedback would make my day.