Logan’s had a lot of sex. Major understatement really. And if he had to describe it, sex that is, he would say it had to be hot, sweaty, and needy. You know, knee buckling, breath robbing, nerve stealing … That’s what sex should be.
He never thought he’d like how it is with Marie though.
Fun … bordering on funny even.
Like last week, pulling him under the covers, swatting his hands away when he’d tried to pull it off.
“Leave it,” she’d told him, playful grin on her half-hidden face.
He’d huffed, reached for the cover again then gave up when she’d pulled his arm down and rolled on top of it. “I can’t breathe,” he’d whined.
She’d laughed, milk chocolate eyes twinkling, “then die quietly.”
He’d whinged at that, fidgeted under the covers, mumbling under his breath until he’d noticed how she wasn’t even paying attention to him. Too busy staring up at the little cocoon she’d made herself by using her knees. He’d helped, lifted his knees up too - their cocoon got bigger.
She’d grinned, reached up to hoist their quilt on the headboard, making their hidey-hole a little bigger, like a really low tent.
“I used to do this all the time you know,” she’d told him, fingers testing their tents structural integrity.
“Why?” He had been honestly perplexed. It’s not like the bed cover could do anything.
She’d shrugged, shy but still willing to tell him since it was only him after all. “I was an only child, so I used to have to learn how to amuse myself.”
“So you did this? … Were you a Mormon or something? Haven’t you heard of television? Internet? Those game thingies kids carry around?”
She’d slapped him on the shoulder, eyes narrowed in playful indignation. “Shut up. And no, I did have that but … it gets boring sometimes. So I used to do this, pretend stuff. Like, that this was a tent and I was off travelling. Roughing it, you know?”
He’d shifted a little closer to her, one side of their tent collapsed, landed on his sweaty face. She’d erupted into giggles, straightened it again. “Where did you imagine you were?” he’d asked once their tent was ship shape again.
Her eyes had gone dreamy, “oh, all over the world. I’d be on the shores of New Zealand, and when I crawl out, I can see Australia being lit up by the morning sun. Or in India, being woken up by the smell of spices in the air and the fruit seller advertising his freshly picked pomegranates …”
Logan had slumped against her side, head on her chest, lulled by her words, Marie had always had a way with words, which is why he’s been trying to force her to continue her education. “More,” he’d ordered, almost able to see the reds and oranges burning across Australia and taste curry smelling pomegranates crushing on his tongue. Feel the juices sliding down his parched, travel worn throat.
“Ummm,” she’d hummed, making it rumble through her chest, Logan had rubbed against it, grinning when he heard her breathy intake. “Let’s see,” she’d said shakily, trying to regain balance. “Oh, the Himalayas. The cold burn of mountain wind on my face, the crunch of snow under my feet … and the simple satisfaction that will bubble up inside me every time I eat a hot meal or curl back inside my warm tent.”
“More.”
She’d shaken her head. “Nope.”
“Marie, more.”
She’d laughed, ruffling his hair, then leant down to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Give me one first.”
He’d shaken his head. “You know I’m not good at that kind of stuff.”
“It’s just me, come on Logan, please?”
He’d huffed, sighed and went silent, hoping she’d drop it. When she hadn’t given in and just continued talking herself, he gave up. “Fine. But it won’t be good,” he’d warned with a glare, hiding his face in her chest. “Uh …” Where did he want to go? If he was stuck on just this, he’d hate to see what would come out of his mouth later. “… Africa?”
She nodded, urging him on, curiosity in her eyes.
“It’s … hot,” he’d said lamely, face reddening up, burning her skin. “Like a prickly kind of heat, like … I don’t know, like melting - Jesus Marie, I’m not good at this-”
“I think you’re doing fine,” she’d interjected quickly. “I’ve always wanted to go to Africa.”
“Really?” he’d sighed in relief, happy to stop before he‘d made too much of a fool of himself.
She’d grinned, playful, teasing … cute. “Logan … let’s go there.”
“… Africa?”
She’d nodded, biting her lip to hold in her giggles.
He’d shrugged, feeling sweat pool at the dips in his body. “Okay, I’ll get someone to fly us-”
“No.” A trill of laughter. “Now.”
“What? What do you mean now?”
Another burst of laughter, “I mean now. As in right now.”
“Baby I don’t exactly have mutant on hand that will take us to Africa right now.”
Full-blown chuckles this time, “don’t need one.
“We don’t have one … what the hell are you on about?”
She’d thrown her head back, laughed and then sat up, the quilt tenting around her head. “Logan -” she’d gasped theatrically, “can you hear that?”
He’d jerked up onto his elbows, ears straining, eyes narrowing in alarm, “what? I can’t hear a thing.”
She had gasped again, one hand coming up to cover her mouth like those black and white starlets of Hollywood cinema. “That noise … a roar …” She’d leant close to him, milk chocolate eyes as round as dinner plates. “Lions!”she’d whispered.
Logan had blinked, blinked again and then rolled his eyes, “I’m not doing this.”
“Shhh! They’ll hear you!”
“Marie this is a little too kinky … even for me.”
She’d stifled a giggle and clasped a palm over his mouth, “do you want to get eaten?”
He had arched a brow, smirking into her hand. She’d seen the dirty grin on his face and had fought to keep a smile off her face, trying to stay in the moment. He tried to speak, but the words had been muffled by her skin.
“What was that?” she’d asked, removing her hand.
“I have a better game,” he’d told her, eyes twinkling with mischief, actually beginning to like this.
“Really?” she’d asked slyly, “and what game is that?”
He’d grinned, pulling her closer so that he could nuzzle into the crook of her neck. “It’s called Tarzan and Jane, see, it even has an African theme.”
She’d laughed, head arching backwards, revealing the tender curve of her neck. Logan had lapped at it, chasing the vibrations up and down her throat. “I don’t think I played this game of yours as a child … Maybe I won’t like it.”
He‘d chuckled, fingers starting to roam up her hips to the undersides of her breasts. “Really? Pity. I’ll show you how to play, and trust me Marie, you’ll like it. Lots of acrobatics … swinging … manhandling - handling in general -”
“You’ll yodel?” she’d asked, grinning playfully.
“What?”
“Like Tarzan does - that yodelling thing.”
He had looked at her, absolutely aghast, “I am not yodelling.”
She had looked back at him from under her lashes. Smiling slowly. Letting that smile twist into a wide, toothy grin.
X
“Boy … that was some yodelling,” she had finally said, voice almost breathless.
He’d groaned hoarsely, throwing his hand over his eyes, “Well you should have taped it, because I’m never doing it again.”
She’d giggled into his chest, “taping? Really Logan, you have such sordid ideas … well maybe next time we can imagine we’re in Disneyland and tape that. You can be Mickey and I’ll be Minnie.”
He’d thrown his hand off his face, pushing himself upwards so that he could look down at her grinning face. “And I was worried I was corrupting you.”
She had laughed, eyes creasing with merriment, “you’re going to have to try a lot harder to corrupt me.”
He had reached for her, twisting her onto her stomach and hoisting her up onto her knees, “Okay … how bout you play the dog instead?”
“Pluto?”
“Yeah, that one,” he’d mumbled into her neck, hips arching against her, quivery with the need to fill her.
“… That’s sick -”
He’d huffed a chuckle into her skin, moistening it with his breath and tongue and then proceeded to show her exactly how sick it was.
Frequently.
Very frequently. You know, in between playing Mr and Mrs Mouse, Ariel and Eric, Spongebob and Sandy and various other cartoons. All while studying geography of course.
Today they were going to Chile.
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