Rogue moved quietly, her bare feet padding silently on the wooden floor. It was early in the evening-after dinner, when most of the inhabitants of the mansion had retired to their private rooms. She enjoyed this time of the day. Aside from muted sounds coming from various rooms, the mansion was quiet, and more importantly, the halls were deserted.

She had gained control over her powers a month ago, but the students of Xaxier’s had yet to get  used to the fact that they didn’t need to fear her anymore. Out of shear habit, they continued back away when she stepped toward them, and flinched at her sudden gestures. Rogue knew she shouldn’t mind her peers. After all, they would eventually stop.

And it wasn’t as if everyone had had trouble adjusting to her new control. Jubilee had no qualms whatsoever; upon hearing the news she had tackled Rogue in a back-breaking hug that knocked both of them to the floor. Rogue had delighted in such affection, having been starved for it for so long. Giggling, they had pulled themselves up off the floor to find Logan standing in the doorway, eyebrow characteristically raised. She stepped forward, half hoping that now, after years  of friendship, fleeting glances, and growing flirtations and innuendos, she would finally be able to touch the man who had come to mean so much to her. As she told him the good news, Logan’s face was impossible to read. Rogue remembered how she had thought she had seen a spark of happiness, but it had quickly been covered up by a mask of stone. Looking as if he was desperately trying to hold something in, Logan had walked forward to meet her where she stood. Ignoring the other girl in the room, he had stared intensely at Rogue. He began to tentatively bring his hand upwards, towards the pale, smooth skin of her cheek. Unable to resist, she had leaned into it, savoring their first unadulterated contact. She allowed him to stroke her face, his thumb moving over her cheek bone. Beginning to drown, her eyes had fluttered shut as he gently brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear and she sighed audibly as his fingers trailed down from behind her ear to under her chin.

And in that instant, his touch was gone. Rogue’s eyes had flown open at the sudden lack of contact between them. She remembered Logan looking awfully conflicted and, it seemed to her, a little guilty. She opened her mouth to speak to him, but he stopped her.

“I, uh, I was just coming in here to let you know that I’m, uh,” he was stuttering. Rogue could hardly believe what she was hearing. Logan had always been so comfortable around her and yet he suddenly seemed so nervous. “I’m gonna be going to Canada for a little, I think,” he finished.

“Canada?” she asked, surprised. He still made the occasional trip to visit his old stomping grounds, but this was the first she’d heard of this particular voyage. He usually took her out to dinner or planned something special for the two of them the night before he left.

“Uh, yeah. Last minute. I’ll see ya when I get home, Marie.” With that he had stomped out of the room.

A month had passed since that afternoon. And all the while Rogue had wondered where Logan was and why he had left so suddenly. She had thought that after all this time, he would have been one to relish her new-found control.

Rogue now stopped in at the end of the hallway; she had reached her destination: his room. She knew she was always welcome to go in, even when he wasn’t around. For the past few weeks she had been taking refuge in Logan’s room during the evenings. Sometimes she would read, but occasionally she would just sit and think about Logan: where he might be; what he might be doing; and what chances were that he was thinking about her.

She entered the room and closed the door behind her before walking over to sit down in his favorite chair. It was made of wood and leather, and despite its slightly utilitarian appearance, it was very comfy. Rogue snuggled down, pausing to sniff at the leather of the seat. He had been gone a month, and it still smelled vaguely of cigars and that indefinable scent that was Logan.

Rogue sighed and opened her book to recommence reading her latest assignment for her college correspondence class: Hamlet.

She soon found herself quietly reading out loud-she found it kept her from reading too fast and missing anything.

“Act three, scene two,” she murmured and began reading the set up for the famous play-within-a-play.

“Hamlet: Lady, shall I lie in your lap?

Ophelia: No, my lord.

Hamlet: I mean, my head upon your lap?

Ophelia: Ay, my lord.

Hamlet: Do you think I meant country matters?”  Rogue paused, her brow furrowed, and reread the last few lines.

“Country matters… oh, my,” she giggled. It was exactly the kind of thing Logan would say to her, had they been born a few hundred years ago. She read on.

“Ophelia: I think nothing, my lord.

Hamlet: That's a fair thought to lie between maids' legs.

Ophelia: What is, my lord?

Hamlet: Nothing.” Rogue sighed again and put down her book. This was sounding just too familiar. When she had been younger, Logan had easily played the “Papa Bear” role. He was overprotective, but she knew it was because he cared deeply for her, and the two of them had formed a affectionate bond. But as the years had passed, she began to notice their relationship changing. When she was 17, he would chastise her for wearing skirts he thought were too short. She would argue that she was wearing leggings or tights, and therefore was not a threat to anyone, but he would only growl and tell her that wasn’t the point. But a few years later, she had come to see him wearing a skirt that was just as short, and instead of chastising her, he had given her a long look, and then growled low, rumbling that her legs were “toooo long,” before looking away and clearing his throat.

And it wasn’t just his commentary on her clothes. Whereas before he would try to watch his language around her, he now apparently felt comfortable enough to cut loose. At first Rogue had just chalked it up to his accepting that she was no longer a child, but when his remarks turned more flirtatious, she couldn’t help but wonder if there was something else afoot.

She thought back a month to the night before he had left for Canada, the night before she had completely nailed her “off-switch.” They had been hanging out in the kitchen, enjoying some late night beers, when a younger student, a girl about 12, had stumbled in complaining of a nightmare. Rogue had comforted her and sent her to bed with some milk.

She then turned to Logan. “Remember,” she said smiling, “When I would come to you with my nightmares, and you would hold me until I fell asleep?” It had been a few years since such things had happened.

Logan pulled on his beer. “Yeah, I remember.”

“It was nice, you know, sleeping next to you. A real comfort,” she laughed and continued, “Maybe we’ll have to start that up again.”

Logan grinned rakishly. “Well, darlin’, you’re welcome anytime you like, but I gotta warn you: you come to my bed in the middle of the night now, and you won’t be getting much sleep.”

“Logan!” she had giggled and swatted at him playfully. He responded by simply shrugging his shoulders and taking another swig.

That night was par for the course with the two of them. Who could blame me for thinking that something could actually happen between us now that I can touch, she now thought ruefully.

Her thoughts turned to a month-old memory of the two of them out for a run. Logan had pushed her-he always did-but perhaps a bit too hard this time. On the lawn of the mansion, upon their return, she had found herself at the mercy of some wracking calve cramps.  He had had her lie down and had proceeded to massage her legs up through her ankles, calves, knees, and thighs. Rogue's heart began to pump a little harder at the mere memory of his strong hands kneading and massaging her upper legs through her leggings, so close to  where she desperately wanted him to touch.

She had ached for him to touch her in that most sensitive region that afternoon, and this evening the ache had returned. She could barely help herself. Putting her book down, she allowed her own hands to trail up her thighs, which no longer needed any leggings. Her hands slipped under her nightdress and into her underwear where they began to rub and play with herself.

She imagined what it would be like to feel Logan’s hands on her instead of her own. She wondered how he would touch her; would he be gentle? Or would he take her like he took everything else: with the rough, demanding force that had earned him his reputation. She had only seen him act in the latter through his memories. She knew that he went down on women. She wondered if she would ever look down and see him nestled between her legs, licking and sucking her, bringing her closer and closer to the edge…

Rogue could feel herself growing wetter at the idea and continued, letting her imagination run: thoughts of Logan and her together, twisted up in sweat soaked bed sheets, writhing and moaning and thrusting and so many touches-touches she had been waiting years for…

She moaned softly as she felt herself getting closer to release. Her mind flickered from one sensation, one stimulation to another. His hands on her breasts; feeling his body glide on top of hers; seeing his face for the first time when pleasure over took him; his lips on hers; his hips on hers;  the frantic, deep thrusting; his hard cock; his tongue; her nipples; touches; his abs; sweat; sighs; moans; touches; kisses; bites; pumping; cries; so many touches…

Sensation over took her and as she came she held her hand in place, panting. When her head cleared, she opened her eyes and sighed, looking down at herself. Feeling slightly ashamed of what she had just done-masturbating in Logan’s favorite chair? Really.-she collected herself and her book and slipped out the door, just as quietly as she had come.