And it's not that I want to have you. All I want is to deserve you---Vicomte de Valmont, Dangerous Liaisons
The odd thing about being a superhero and saving the world, Rogue thought as she stared out the window of the Blackbird, was that it made her want to do very bad things immediately following the mission. That couldn't be right, could it? One didn't stop Magneto's Brotherhood from attempting to annihilate humanity just to go rob a bank, did one?
No. One went home and wrote up one's notes on the mission, then one took a long hot shower and went to bed so one could rise and shine real early, so one could repeat said world-saving maneuvers the next night.
Or something like that. Maybe she just needed a vacation. Where there were margaritas. Lots of them. Hell, maybe she just needed to find the Professor's tequila stash and she could sit outside and pretend she was in Mexico, despite the fact it was snowing outside.
Rogue was distressed to find she was trembling slightly from the aftermath of violence, so she spent a moment taking deep even breaths, trying to calm her nerves which felt like a colony of fire ants had taken up residence under her skin. She didn't know why, but the same damn thing happened after she got through a session in the Danger Room. She'd asked Scott about it once, who had confessed he'd snuck out after curfew one night to go get ice cream with Jean once after a particularly hard workout.
Rogue didn't think that was quite same thing as she was feeling. She neglected to tell him she'd rather knock over the ice cream store, because Scott was sometimes a mite too serious.
Take right now for instance. He was flying the plane and radioing back to the Professor—how the hell did make that mission sound so boring, anyway? It wasn't as if they had gone out for a goddamned stroll after dinner, but to hear Scott say it, they'd had "a little tangle" with Magneto's men after a bad game of lawn darts. Snorting, she looked over at Kurt and Storm, who were both talking quietly about something that would probably bore her to tears, and Bobby was asleep.
Asleep? How did he *sleep* after that? Maybe it was because he'd stayed to guard the plane, which while important, hadn't been that dangerous. At least she didn't think so, else how could he be having a nice little nap on the way home?
Rogue noticed she was curling her hands into fists, frighteningly close to leaping out of her seat and…doing something to ease the restlessness that had settled around her.
She wanted to…claw something. Why the hell would she want to do that?
Suddenly, her eyes flew to Wolverine, who was sitting in his seat, opening and closing his hands just like she was doing. He met her eyes for a moment, and in them, she saw the same leashed agitation.
Ah. That was it.
*Looks like you're in my brain again, sugar.*
Rogue had stayed with the X-Men because she honestly couldn't think of anywhere else to go. She'd gained more control over her powers over the last few years, but it was minimal at best.
Meaning it took a little longer for people to drop into a coma after prolonged contact with her skin. An improvement, she supposed, though not much of one. She'd never be normal, never be adept at casual touching like the rest of the world, and it had severely limited her options following her graduation from the Institute.
One day, she'd gone to the store and a little girl had bumped into her arm, the small part not covered by the glove. Taken aback, Rogue hadn't been able to concentrate and the little girl had been hurt as she'd touched Rogue's bare skin. The girl had been shaken but not badly injured, though Rogue had been horrified.
That had ended her thoughts about going off to college. So she'd stayed, and it was a good life, even if she watched her former classmates move off and get married and live relatively normal lives with a little bit of sadness for what she'd never have.
Even Scott had moved on after Jean, with Kitty, the two of them growing close once she'd started coming back to the Institute for breaks during college at NYU. Rogue was happy for her former roommate, but once it again it drove home to her just how different she was from the rest of them.
Some days, it made her think that she should have run off and joined the Brotherhood and forced humanity out of the picture so she could at least have a date, though there wasn't really anyone that would be left if that scenario played out that she'd want to date. Most days she learned to find comfort and happiness in the life that she had, because at least she had one. For the time being, at least, until Magneto tried to strap her into another Death Machine.
She declined having dinner with the others (the idea of Scott's dinner conversation was not terribly conducive to eradicating boredom) and decided to go work out some of her aggression in the Danger Room, because she couldn't do it any other way. When she got there, however, she noticed that she wasn't the only one that had the same idea. Someone was already in there, and by the sounds coming from the room, running through a helluva simulation at that.
Wolverine, of course.
She shouldn't be surprised. She should, however, wait her turn—or better yet, go for a run and then have a shower and go to bed. She was called "Rogue" for a reason, however, so instead of doing the sensible and polite thing, she blithely opened the door and sauntered in, the promise of danger making her blood sing.
If her blood was singing, though, it wasn't a song Logan seemed particularly interested in hearing or singing the chorus to, because he sure wasn't all that happy to see her.
"The hell? What are you doin' in here?" Logan was standing halfway across the room, breathing hard, claws out. He was obviously in the middle of whatever scenario he'd programmed, and she took a minute to briefly appreciate him standing there in his jeans and black shirt, sweaty from exertion.
"Same thing you are, I suspect," Rogue said, shrugging. "I think maybe I picked somethin' up from your head, sugar. Can't seem to calm down after a fight."
"So what? Why's that my problem?"
Ah, Logan. The years had not made him less acerbic.
"It ain't, Wolverine. Just thought maybe you'd like someone real to fight instead of this simulation." She began circling, low, in the fighting stance he'd taught her years ago.
Logan laughed; it sounded vaguely like an animal braying when he did it. "Sure, kid. I'll just turn off the state-of-the-art, million-dollar fight simulator here and fight you." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Be just about the same thing."
"Ask Pyro that next time you see him," Rogue said dangerously, hiding a smile. Had been rather nice, actually, to drop that son-of-a-bitch without even having to touch him, before he'd gotten that stupid lighter out. Did they not teach self-defense in the Brotherhood? Or at least provide better toys? "Fine. Then set it up and we'll do it together."
He paused for a fraction of a second, then his eyes narrowed and he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like *brat*. "Fine." Joining her next to the control panel by the door, he set up a program. "Ready?"
She nodded. "Yeah," she said, a tad disconcerted by the evil smile on his face as the simulators began. She thought about reminding him that she wasn't Cyclops and then decided it might be best to keep quiet.
"We'll see," he said smugly, then took off, and damn him for knowing when the thing was going to start so he could have last word. Rogue gritted her teeth and threw herself into the workout, though with caution—Wolverine had probably dismantled the safety features, and it wasn't because he had unlimited healing powers.
He thought they were "for sissies", which seemed to her easy enough to think when you had said unlimited healing powers.
They fought well together—neither of them were very tall, and they were both fast and well-trained, able to dismantle machinery and dodge obstacles quickly. Rogue lost herself in the workout, because it would be high irony to die in the damned Danger Room with Logan. She'd never live it down.
When it was over, she rested against the wall, breathing very fast and trying to get rid of the stitch in her side. That simulation had been harder than that night's battle. If Magneto ever got a hold of some of these scenarios Logan came up with, they'd be in trouble. Good thing he was on *their* side.
"Feel better?" Logan asked, hands above his head as he too worked on evening out his breathing. Behind them, she heard the whirl of machinery as the room reset itself.
Rogue leaned against the wall and thought about that. Her body was tired, and yeah, some of that restlessness was gone, but…hell. Tired as she was—Logan didn't play around with the damn simulator, she'd hate to see his workout on days they *didn't* have a mission beforehand—it was still…she was still…
"You don't, do you." His voice was flat.
Startled, Rogue looked up, holding her hair off her neck, wondering if he had turned off the air conditioning because he was a sadistic bastard. Probably. "Not so much, no."
Logan stalked closer to her. "You got that from me, yeah? From my bein' in your head."
"Guess so. Maybe. Dunno." She winced at how ridiculous she sounded and laughed a bit. "Yeah. So this what you usually do to get rid of it?" She felt a bit silly flattened against the wall as she was, but he was looking at her as if she was the last obstacle he had yet to overcome in their simulation.
Ridiculous. This was *Logan*, who'd saved her life more than once, surely he wouldn't hurt her?
"No," he said in a voice so low she wondered that she could even hear it. "No, it ain't."
Had Logan ever been this close to her? She didn't think he had, not in a long while, anyway. *Nobody gets this close to me.*
"Well?" she asked, a little breathless, a bit overwhelmed by his presence crowding her back against the wall.
"Well what?"
Rogue blinked at him, wondering why he sounded like he'd chewed those words up and spit them back out at her. He seemed angry. "Well how do you get rid of it, then?"
His claws were out before she could blink; and then her body tensed as if waiting for a fight. "Logan, what the hell—"
"You wanna know how I get rid of it, baby?" He spoke—or, more appropriately, growled—right over her surprised protestations, and she was very conscious of the metal stuck in the wall beside her head.
And the fact he'd just called her *baby*.
"Seems to me that's what I said, sugar," she drawled, voice as syrupy-sweet as a mint julep on a Mississippi summer night.
*Okay, wait. I hate Mint Juleps and the humidity and I ain't been to Mississippi in years and I probably sound like a Yankee anyhow by now.*
"You know what drives me fucking crazy, Marie?" His eyes moved down her body and she had a moment's shock that he'd used her name, something he'd not done in years. She was Rogue, not Marie. She was an X-Man.
She was shaking.
Unreal, that's what this was. Un-*fucking*-real. This was Logan, the closest thing she had to a best friend, even if he was slightly psychotic at the moment and pinning her to the wall with his claws next to her face.
And who was looking at her like she was a nice, rare steak that he wanted for dinner.
Swallowing, Rogue licked her lips. "No, *Logan*. Care to enlighten me?"
What the hell was he doing *now*? He should not be dragging his claws down her body like that, real slow, as if he was trying to touch her instead of eviscerate her. Not that she wanted him to eviscerate her, but this was…having almost the same effect on her insides as if he was.
"You realize how goddamned good you look in that uniform?"
For a minute she thought she'd misunderstood him. Thought perhaps she'd been hit on the head by one of the machines in the simulation, and was even now stretched out in the medical lab and dreaming this entire thing. If so, she hoped the Professor wasn't reading her mind, cause this might be embarrassing to share.
Well, maybe not. Wasn't as if Xavier didn't know she'd been in love with Logan for years.
"Logan—," Rogue took a deep breath, thinking if he wasn't crazy then maybe he was just horny, and she was an easy substitute. Wait, scratch that. He couldn't touch her, so how could that be?
"I watch you, do you even know that?" He leaned closer, and was he…he was cutting at the thick fabric of her uniform, slicing it from her like he was peeling an apple.
"These have gotta be expensive," she gasped. "Gonna make me buy another one."
"Fill out a reimbursement form," he snarked at her, and kept at it until her uniform top was sliding off her heated body and falling in tatters on the floor at her feet.
"Careful," she whispered, flattened against the wall behind her. Her legs were shaking so hard she thought she might fall down, but that would probably be bad because…
Well, because he had steel claws against her body and was cutting off her uniform. That'd be a good reason, for starters. She was sure there were others, but it was hard to think just now.
"No sense in being careful anymore, is there?"
There was a tone in his voice that made her look up at him—and she saw the way his breath was escaping in quick little pants, saw a look behind the heated lust in his eyes that made her pause.
"I watch you too," she said quietly, one gloved hand reaching out to lie briefly against his cheek. "Always have."
"Yeah," he muttered, "I know." Before she could contemplate smacking him for that arrogant response, she was standing in front of him with her chest covered only by the small camisole she wore under her uniform. It was pink. His lips quirked in a smile and he caught the lacy strap under claw and arched a brow at her.
"Damned thing chafes," she muttered, and his return laughter was warm and masculine and made those fire ants she had for nerves start marching double-time. He started caressing her, gently, and his claws were cold and nicely scratchy on her skin through the cloth of her camisole.
Why was she so enamored of his claws all of a sudden? Maybe she had one of those fetishes she read about on those internet sites that Scott didn't think anyone knew he had bookmarked.
Maybe it was just because she'd loved Logan for years. Who knew. All she did know was that she was making tiny little sounds that sounded suspiciously like whimpers, and he was growling again in that way that made her toes curl.
His claws were dragging over her nipples, and weren't those stars that suddenly appeared in the back of her eyes lovely?
"You are so goddamned beautiful, Marie. Do you know that?"
Rogue was trying to listen to all the nice things he was saying, but he'd moved closer so that she was pressed against him, and she could feel that…well, he really *did* think she was beautiful.
"Logan, you…can't touch me." Rogue opened her eyes and moaned at the look on his face, or maybe that moan was because he was rubbing himself against her and…yeah. Maybe it was both.
"Wanna bet?" He said with a smirk. "You just lean back there and don't fall down."
Why was his arrogance so damned attractive? And why was she so eager to obey him? Perhaps it was because he'd put his claws away and was rubbing her breasts with his hands through her top, and that…oh, that was very nice.
"Isn't it?" he murmured, and she realized she'd just said that out loud. Ooops.
Hesitatingly, her hands came up to touch him, slowly, safe enough as they were encased in gloves. She lost herself for a moment tracing the contours of his face, wishing she could feel the scratch of his whiskers on her bare skin.
His hand moved between her legs; and oh *Christ*.
"No, Logan," he correctly her smugly, and fuck, she'd said that out loud again, hadn't she?
His fingers were pushing in and rubbing at her insistently, and she was biting her lip and tossing her head back and forth on the wall, which wasn't comfortable but she didn't care. If she thought she'd had fire ants for nerves, now they were wasps, stinging her, making her writhe and moan and do all sorts of embarrassing things that secretly thrilled her.
This sure as hell beat running a simulation in the Danger Room. Too bad they hadn't started all this *first*.
"Put your legs around my waist," he said in a tight voice, and that almost did make her collapse. She paused, wanting very badly to do just that but…she had too much exposed skin, and what if she hurt him….
"Look, I know you've been concentrating and learning how to touch, yeah?" Logan really needed to stop all of that rubbing—his fingers between her legs, himself against her thigh—if he wanted to have a conversation with her.
"Don't know…how much…I can concentrate," she gasped, hands curled around his arm. Why did he have to smile like that at her? It only made it worse.
"I ain't gonna need that long, baby," he said with a low laugh, and well, any ideas she had about self-preservation flew out the window as he used his claws to take the rest of her clothes off. Having a man cut your panties off was underrated, she decided, watching him with wild eyes as he unbuttoned his jeans. "Come on, quick," he bit out, and she hopped up, limber and agile after years of training, and wrapped her legs around his waist.
He backed her against the wall and was inside her in two seconds flat, and it was…well, it was hell to concentrate but he was right, because she didn't really think either of them needed that long. He was so hot she thought he was going to consume her, burn her all up, leaving them nothing but ashes on the floor.
It was fast, furious, everything it had always been when she'd imagined it. Except against the wall in the Danger Room, although if she were honest, she'd admit to having that thought before too.
Her hands were grasping his shoulders in a death grip, and since she felt the low hum that meant she had control over her skin she twined one hand in his hair and kissed him. He groaned against her mouth, something that sounded like her name, and was fucking her very hard against the wall.
"Come for me, baby…"
Her control had been improving, sure, but she'd never tested it like this with someone so close to her, inside her, fingers rough and insistent on her body…it was too much touch, too much of everything, and she came hard for him because how could she do anything else?
She had strong legs and tightened them around him, squeezing her inner muscles around his cock so that he would come, too, and she might have been crying as she kissed him. She heard him groan her name loudly as he clasped her to him and shuddered in his release.
They were both silent, shaking a bit, and Rogue put her hands up on his chest to hear his heart beat against her palm, savoring their last few moments of physical contact before she had to push him away. She felt his heart, and something else, something that made her smile with delight because she'd not have imagined that he was even capable of that…
"Logan?"
He had his face buried in her neck, nuzzling at her. "Mmm?"
"You're purring."
At his slight growl she laughed, then gently pushed on his shoulders as she felt her concentration wane. He gave her a sort of sleepy-eyed look that made her want to jump him all over again, and stretched as she tried to find some way to look presentable.
"I can't believe you destroyed my uniform," she said, but her words were decidedly lacking heat. "What am I supposed to wear now?"
Logan shrugged and buttoned up his jeans. "Don't know. But we ain't goin' that far, darlin'. My room's closer to here than yours is."
She paused in the act of picking up shedding uniform bits from the floor. She could just see someone slipping on it and having to explain why it was there. "Oh, it is, is it?"
"Yup." Logan, not a man of many words, was silent after that.
Rogue paused as she followed him—legs shaking from all the night's excitement—and laid a gloved hand on his shoulder. "Why?"
He looked back at her, and his fierce look made her even weaker in the knees. "Dumb question, Marie. You think I purr for just anyone?"
She grinned at that, happiness bubbling up inside of her like she'd just had a soda and chased it with pixie sticks like she used to do as a kid. "Guess not. Think we can make it to your room without anyone seeing me like this?" She had scratches on her body from his claws, and on her neck from his whiskered face.
"Sure do. Know why?" He tugged her out of the Danger Room and locked it behind them, all but dragging her in his apparent haste to get to his room.
"Why?"
"Cause I'll claw their eyes out if they look."
Rogue snorted. "My hero," she said, shaking her head, wondering how horrible her hair must look and finding it hard to care. Still, she tried to run her fingers through it and gave up immediately. If she was right about what he had in mind—*please, God, let me be right*—it was only going to get worse.
He paused and tossed her his usual smile, the one that sometimes made the younger kids in the Institute cry. "Don't you forget it."
"Haven't in all these years, Logan," she told him seriously, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair from his face. "Don't think I'm gonna any time soon."
"Good."
Luckily, they didn't see anyone on the way to his room, though she thought maybe he would have liked Scott to walk by just for the excuse.
Sometimes she thought maybe being in his head wasn't that bad.
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Story Notes:
Written for Cat. The title is a really bad pun of mine on Dangerous Liaisons. I love bad puns. *G* I hope you like this, and please let me know if it's too much to appear in one message. Thanks!