At first it was the clinking of glasses, and Rogue knew that she was in trouble. She had mentioned something to Logan about getting drunk for her twenty-first, but it was still days away. And Logan never used more than one glass to drink. Hell, he never used glasses period. And he never stood outside of her room, fumbling with too many thing in his hands as he struggled to get the ‘goddamned door’ open.
That’s how she knew she was in trouble.
Not bothering to get up and help, she laughed to herself while listening to the sounds of glass breaking on the hallway floor. Scott wouldn’t be happy with the mess. But she wasn’t about to go and clean it up. That was Logan’s job. He was the one that was breaking things, after all.
Finally the door opened and in Logan came with three different bottles tucked under one arm, a plastic bag full of fruit tucked under the other, a salt shaker shoved inside a large glass, six smaller glasses between two hands, and another in his mouth. He muttered something that sounded like ‘get up off your ass and come help me’, but Rogue feigned confusion and stayed in her chair.
On the way to the bed he dropped the glass from his mouth, kicking it with his foot to land on the bed. She would have preferred the glass to stay where it had been, because it kept the stream of cursing - at her - quiet.
“Christ, Marie, you coulda gotten up and did something ta help me, you know?”
“Could have,” she said in the middle of her not random at all random coughing fit.
“Now,” he said, looking at the assortment of things sitting on the bed. “Where to start, where to start.”
Knowing that the night was going to go in a downward spiral quickly, she walked over to the door and locked it. Turning back around, she was met with Logan’s very amused grin. She smirked at him.
“Might as well be prepared,” she said with a shrug.
“Just what the hell do you think we’re gonna do in here, darlin’?” he asked, his eyebrow quirked.
“Get piss drunk from the look of all that liquor.”
“Two for me, one for you,” he said happily as he motioned to the bottles.
“What’d ya bring?” she asked while walking to the bed.
“Vodka,” he said, plucking the clear bottle from her hands. “Rum, and tequila.”
“Oh, getting’ serious, huh?”
“No use in drinkin’ on your twenty-first if you can’t get in some good practice beforehand.”
“You and ‘Captain Morgan’ must go way back,” she said while examining the label on the bottle of rum.
“Yarr,” he said in a throaty voice while sorting through things on the bed.
While Logan made some semblance of order, Rogue was clearing away some of the laundry and books that she had thrown in the floor. She was at least going to make sure that the mess of liquor would stay on the rug and not the wood floor of her room. Scott would kill her for that. No use in having a double homicide. Especially by the team leader of the X-Men.
“So, where do you wanna start?” he asked as he set the bottles and some of the glasses down on the rug.
“Since Ah’m new ta all this, why don’t you get things goin’?”
“Sure thing,” he said, reaching for the bottle of tequila.
“Jumpin’ right in, huh?” she asked, reaching for a glass. Logan took it from her hand, brushing their fingertips accidently. A chill of pleasure went up her spine, a grin breaking out on her face. Though he didn’t seem to notice. Or care. One or the other.
“This is kinda like a game,” he said, putting the pleasantly full glass back in front of her. “There’s even a phrase that goes with it. ‘Lick. Slam. Suck.’”
“Lick, slam, suck? That sounds a bit kinky ta me,” she said.
Chuckling, he finished filling up his own shot glass before reaching out to grab the bag of fruit, pulling out several lime slices and dumping them in a particularly large glass he had brought along for no other reason.
“So what’s the lick part?” she asked, her voice hushed and full of lust.
Logan stopped what he was doing to look up at her long enough to see the smile that was threatening to break out across her face. She was damned sexy when she wanted to be, though he’d never admit to that. They were good friends, the best. And they did shit like this all the time to each other.
“You just give me your best guess, and I’ll see if it’s better than the game,” he said, reaching over for the salt shaker.
“What the hell are we gonna do with that?” she asked, pointing to the salt shaker.
“This? I thought we might kill some slugs. We could make a date out of it.”
“Shut up, Logan,” she said, reaching over to hit him on the forehead.
“Darlin’, you best be turnin’ off that mutation of yours if we’re gonna play drinkin’ games,” he said, rubbing the red spot on his face.
Sticking her tongue out at him, she relaxed her body for several seconds, her eyes rolling back in her head. She came out of it, though, and looked at him with a smile turning up the corners of her mouth.
“Ready?” he asked, holding the salt shaker.
She nodded and he continued, ”Lick your wrist and sprinkle salt on it.”
Rogue watched as Logan brought his wrist to his mouth, his tongue darting out to wet the skin. He seemed to notice her intense gaze and made sure the whole ordeal was drawn out, as he was as amused by her face as she was by his licking. It was almost erotic, but that thought was cast aside when he remembered that they were the best of friends. And you didn’t go licking salt from your best friend’s-
Shaking his head, he brought himself out of his thoughts, wondering where the image of Marie naked and convulsing under him came from. Without a word said to her, he shook the salt onto his wrist and quickly ran his tongue over the grains. Taking his shot glass, he lifted it to his lips with a small salute to Marie, and threw it down his throat, feeling the burn.
Reaching over, he grabbed a lime and brought it to his mouth, tearing at the fruit, sucking the sour juice. While Marie stared at him, wide-eyed the entire time.
“Your turn,” he said, tossing the rind onto the floor beside him. He motioned to the salt shaker that sat between them.
“Like this?” she asked, licking the skin on the inside of her wrist, the action eliciting a very primal urge inside of him. The animal instinct that he had banished for so long came back to the surface. And he felt the need to pounce on something.
“Yeah, just like that, darlin’,” he said, the blood rushing to his head and the lower half of his body, both at the same time.
She took the salt shaker and sprinkled the white grains on her skin, sucking them off, rather than licking. She knew exactly what she was doing to him. And she found it exciting.
“Slam,” she said, tossing the liquor back down her throat, not knowing what to expect.
The lopsided grin of ecstasy that had found its way onto Logan’s face was quickly replaced with one of amusement when Rogue choked on her drink, coughing and sputtering as the liquor fought its way into her stomach. She closed her eyes, the tears brimming under the lids, pushing their way onto her cheeks. She wiped at them angrily, a bit embarrassed at the reaction to the drink.
Reaching over, she jerked a lime out of the glass, shoving it in her mouth to savagely rip the pulp from the rind. She was suddenly a woman on a mission. A mission to show the Wolverine that she could handle her drink, no matter what he thought. She wasn’t just some little girl.
“You all right?” he asked, not bothering at all to hide his smile.
“Quite,” she said, coughing a bit more. “Your shot.”
“I’ll show you how a real man takes his drink,” he said, licking his wrist. “None of that pansy ass, ‘I’ll take a martini’ bullshit.”
Logan licked the salt off of his wrist and lifted the bottle of tequila to his lips, consuming a fourth of the bottle in the span of five seconds. He set it back on the floor and wiped at the small dribble of liquid that was dripping off of his chin. Reaching over, he took the lime that Marie held in her hand, and ate it quickly, the fruit washing down tastelessly after the drink.
“That was quite the manly display,” she said teasingly. “Think ya could teach me ta do that? Ah’m sure it’d drive the boys wild.”
“Baby, you ain’t gotta drink to drive the boys wild,” he said, winking.
“Ah suppose not. Ah just gotta pull my shirt down a bit,” she said, yanking the front of her shirt down enough to show a bit too much cleavage. “Let ‘em see what they can’t have.”
“Yeah, that’s one way of doing things.”
“Gimme that bottle,” she said, reaching for the amber liquid. “It’s mah turn ta play.”
Logan had no second thoughts in giving her the bottle. She was naturally defiant when sober, and he could only think fondly of the different kinds of scenarios running through his head. All involving a very drunk, giggling Marie. Nothing sexual, though. He was simply amused by the thought of her as a stumbling drunk.
“Lick,” he grunted, watching her lift her wrist to her mouth, licking it once. That was when the sexual thoughts started. When she started licking herself. He could only picture her licking salt off of him. Or vice versa. Or maybe not even salt. Maybe chocolate sauce. Or nothing at all. Just licking.
“Slam,” she said, tilting the shot glass back, draining the tequila. Her eyes closed, but she kept her level of coughing to a minimum as she reached over to the glass of limes, muttering a very strained ‘suck’ in the process.
“Sounds to me that the tequila isn’t settling well with you,” he said, reaching over to pluck the bottle away from her. “Maybe we’ll save it for later.”
“Good idea,” she said, smiling gratefully.
“We’ll go with the vodka now,” he said, twisting the lid off of the clear bottle. “But we gotta have something to mix it with.”
“Ah have some Coke in the fridge,” she said, pointing to the small refrigerator by the sink. “A few cans, Ah think.”
“Nah, save the Coke for the rum. You got any orange juice?”
Thinking on it for a few seconds, she crawled on her hands and knees to the refrigerator, giving Logan a nice view of her ass. She seemed to know he was watching, and decided that making a show of looking for orange juice in the tiny icebox was a good idea.
Logan seemed to think it was as well, because he couldn’t take his eyes off of her as she leaned further down, prowling around for the orange juice. He could feel himself becoming more and more intoxicated by her every minute. Then again maybe it was the liquor. Even with the mutation, if he consumed enough alcohol, he could find himself incoherent enough to jump in the sack with damn near anyone. Not that he would know or anything. Nope.
“Got it,” she said as she turned around, crawling back toward him, this time giving him a better show that before. Much to Logan’s pleasure, she was damn near falling out of her shirt thanks to her earlier comment about letting the boys see what they couldn’t have.
“Now this here,” he said, taking the box of Minute Maid from her hands. “Is half of the ingredients you need for a screwdriver. Hand me those glasses beside you, baby.”
“These?”
“Yeah,” he said, taking the two short drinking glasses. “Now the other half would be the vodka.”
“Lots of vodka?”
“Tons.”
Rogue watched in amusement as Logan poured orange juice into the glasses, a fourth of the way up from the bottom. He grabbed the clear bottle of liquor and filled both glasses up until they were a little more than half full. Handing one to her, they clinked the glasses together in mock toast, though to what, they weren’t sure.
Rogue found that the screwdriver was more tolerable than the tequila had been, and she enjoyed the tanginess that the vodka gave the orange juice.
Logan watched Rogue closely as they sat in silence, sipping at their drinks. Staring into her drink, a smile played at the corner of her lips. She was obviously thinking about something pleasing, and Logan instantly became curious. There hadn’t been many things that had ever managed to hold her attention so closely. Except Bobby, but that had been over ages ago. Iceman lived in Alaska now.
“What are you thinkin’ about?”
Rogue’s eyes darted over to the closet, and her smile grew bigger.
“Twen’y-four points,” she slurred heavily, reaching over for the almost-empty bottle of vodka. “For the word ‘puck’.”
“Yeah, darlin’, puck,” he agreed, re-arranging his Scrabble tiles again. “You know what rhymes with puck?”
“Luck?”
“Exactly.”
Taking his tiles one-by-one, he laid them out on the board to spell ‘toxins’ off of the ‘n’ that she had laid down earlier for the word ‘tank’. It was a triple word score, not to mention the triple letter score for the ‘x’, and all together his total equaled 54 points. Smiling proudly, he was met with her scowl.
“Tha’s not fair,” she said, staring at his word.
“I think it is,” he countered. “And the rules of the game think it is, too.”
“Since when d’you e’er play by tha rules?”
“Since now. Your turn.”
Rogue looked down at her tiles, the letters blurred and waving madly in front of her eyes. She leaned down closer, much to Logan’s amusement, and touched the pieces, tracing the lines. With help from her coke and rum, she laid five of her seven tiles on the board - diagonally - to spell ‘chqvz’.
“Uh, darlin’?”
Rogue looked up from her drink, slightly annoyed that he had interrupted a good sip, and waited for him to say whatever it was he felt the need to say.
“That ain’t even close to bein’ a word,” he said, reaching over for her glass.
Slapping his hand, she looked down to the board, seeing a perfectly good (albeit blurry) spelling of ‘claws’. In her confusion, Logan had picked the tiles up, and had moved to her side of the board to see what she had to use. His close proximity was making her even more dizzy than the liquor. Due to his healing factor, the liquor didn’t seem to have any effect on him other than a slight buzz every time he took a good long drink.
“There’s nothing you can really spell with what you got here,” he said.
“Nothin’ a’ all?” she asked, leaning over to lay her forehead against his shoulder.
“Nope.”
“Game over?”
“Game over.”
Logan put an arm around Rogue’s shoulder, consoling her for the hard loss of the game, though he wouldn’t admit to her that the scoring had been tampered with. No, he would let her believe that the final score had been 173 to 165, in his favor, even if the score totaled out to 173 – 72.
“You’re looking a bit flustered,” he said, glancing down at her pink cheeks and hazy eyes. “Maybe you should go and lay down.”
“Don’ wanna,” she said, reaching for the empty vodka bottle.
Logan plucked it from her hands. “No more in there.”
“Ah can preten’, can’ Ah?”
“I think you should lay down,” he said again, standing and picking her up with him. He carried her to the bed and sat her on the edge.
“Ah can’ sleep like this,” she said, tugging at her shirt.
Logan, about to walk to the closet to find her something to wear, stopped in his tracks when she threw the shirt she was wearing onto the floor. All of a sudden those images of his little Marie lying underneath him, writhing in pleasure came back to mind. He could once again feel himself being pushed over the line. The one he told himself he wouldn’t cross.
“I’m gonna get you something to wear,” he called over his shoulder, once tearing his eyes from her bra-clad chest. He dug around in the drawers of the dresser, looking for a nightgown of any type. Something that would cover her up, not out of fear from her skin, but because he needed the security.
Turning around with a green piece of cloth in his hand, he was shocked to find Rogue laying on the bed, tucked under the blankets, with her very bare shoulders sticking out. All conscious thought left his body for those two minutes where he stood there with his mouth hanging open, staring at the very provocative young woman that he had trusted in his own care years before.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, coming back to himself.
“It’s hot in here,” she said with her bottom lip sticking out in a pout.
“Reason enough to take off your clothes, but couldn’t you have waited until I was gone?”
“You’re leaving?”
“I-“
Rogue stuck a leg out of the tangle of sheets and put her foot on the floor. Logan felt the smile tugging at his lips as she twisted the covers around herself, holding them like a robe as she stumbled across the room to stand in front of him.
“You really wanna go?”
“I should.”
“But do you want to go?”
“No?”
“Good answer. Ah’m just gonna go over here and sit down on the rug.”
Logan stood there and watched her walk, the outline of her body clearly visible through the thin sheet. He watched her sit down and reach for the tequila bottle and the two shot glasses they had played with earlier. It seemed that she was ready for another game. But he was worried that she was drinking a bit too much. All of the alcohol wasn’t good for her.
“I think you’ve had enough,” he said, coming to sit down beside her.
“No, Ah had a differen' game in mind.”
“What kind of game?”
“It’s kinda like the one we played earlier with the tequila,” she said, her words thick and slow. The motor skills had gone about halfway through their game of Scrabble.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Here, Ah’ll show you how ta play, but Ah think that ya might already understand the rules.”
Logan’s heart began to beat in his chest at the sultry tone of her voice. This woman had a plan, and he had a good idea of what was going on.
“First ya gotta lick,” she said, leaned over to nip at his throat, alternating with small licks and bites as she made her way down his neck.
“Okay,” he said, his voice shaky with desire.
“And then, ya gotta slam,” she said, pushing on Logan’s shoulders and sending him onto his back on the floor. She straddled his torso, the sheet becoming more and more loose around her body as she moved.
“Got that part.”
“And then, ya gotta suck.”
“Oh no ya don’t,” he said, pulling her up to lay against his chest. “In this game, you don’t get to suck.”
“Why not?” she asked, pouting again.
“Because you get to do something better,” he explained, bringing them both to a standing position. He snaked his arms around her waist and began to walk her backwards until the backs of her knees were touching the bed. “You get to fuck.”
Rogue laughed as Logan pushed her back onto the bed, stripping her of the sheet as they both began to laugh madly at their mutual good fortune.
“Where’s Rogue?”
Scott peered around his newspaper and looked at his wife, curious as to why she wanted to know. It wasn’t like her to ask where people were on Saturdays since most of the school was still in bed.
“Maybe she’s sleeping in like every other normal person,” Scott answered, looking back to the sports page.
“Logan isn’t here either,” Jean said, looking up and down the table.
Scott peered around his newspaper and glanced up and down the table as well. He turned back to Jean to tell her that he’d give one of them or the other five minutes to show up at the table before going to break down Logan’s door, but Jean was already standing and making her way out of the dining hall. The other X-Men at breakfast all laughed silently to themselves, because unlike Jean and Scott whose bedroom wasn’t within two hundred feet of Rogue’s, they all knew what would be found when Jean and Scott got there.
BANG BANG
“Logan! Open the goddamned door!”
Marie opened her eyes wide, instantly regretting the action. The thin slit of light that always made its way through the blinds happened to rest right on her eyes, punishing her for the night of illegal drinking. She groaned and rolled over, realizing that she wasn’t the only one in the bed.
“Wha-?”
Logan threw an arm over her waist and rubbed her back gently. Lucky him didn’t have a hangover. At least not one Marie could see. Then again she wasn’t awake enough for conscious thought. Though the banging on the door was beginning to not only hurt her head, but get annoying as well.
“They know you’re here,” Rogue said, closing her eyes again.
“No, they assume I’m here,” he corrected.
“Assuming makes an ass out of you and me,” she said while burying her face in Logan’s chest.
“Or them,” he said, grinning.
“We should get the door before Scott blasts it down.”
“Or before Jeannie starts in.”
Rogue rolled over and sat up, too quickly, because the world began spinning, and she felt the need to lie down again. Logan chuckled and pulled her back against his chest, knowing that Scott would have to blast down the door before either one of them would get up and answer it.
~ Open the door, Logan. ~
~ You’re gonna have to huff and puff and blast it down. ~
~ What are we gonna find when we do? ~
~ What do you think you’re gonna find? ~
~ Logan, damnit. ~
~ Jean, damnit. ~
Smiling to himself, Logan discarded any of Jean’s further thoughts and was happy to go back to sleep and hope that Marie’s earlier hangover episode would work itself out. Sleep always did seem to be the best remedy. Well, not that he would know, but sleep postponed having to wake up and deal with the pain.
Scott and Jean didn’t share Logan’s sentiments, and began working on other means of opening the door without breaking or scratching the wood.
Picking the lock.
The sound absolutely drove Logan nuts. The soft clicking of whatever they were using to pick the lock just made Logan want to get up and break the door himself, as long as the sound would stop. It was bad enough having to know that they were out there, but even worse when they made it known.
~ Jean? ~
~ What is it, Logan?~
~ You do realize that she’s damn near 21? ~
~Yes, why? ~
~ Is there any reason you think you should be looking out for her? She’s an adult, able to make her own decisions. ~
~ ... ~
~ Jean? ~
~ Yes? ~
~ He has ten seconds to back away from that door before I untangle myself from these sheets and invite him in for tea. ~
Four seconds later the sound of the lock being picked abruptly stopped, and the shadows just under the door were gone. Marie seemed to notice Logan relax, and she moved in closer to him, the warmth and comfort making her headache ease a bit.
“Logan?”
“What?”
“How did you make them go away?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow, when we get out of bed.”
“A man with a plan.”
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