The smell of chalk dust freshly banged out of erasers spread throughout Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, papers, pencils, and worn erasers littering once pristine hallways, locker doors in the lower classroom level swinging open lazily, locks undone. As per the campus regulations, each dorm room was opened, examined, and closed, primarily looking for undocumented damages, such as broken pipes, gaping holes in the wall, faulty wiring, and the like.
Fresh from training, a sweaty, shorts and bra-top clad Rogue noted one rhinoceros shaped hole hidden behind a rolling armoire in the girls dormitory. Apparently one of their male ferals had been a little too frisky at some point during the semester. Mentally gazing down to her three-carbon-copy paper attached to a monogrammed clipboard, she made a note of Rhino’s damage, then tallied an additional fee to the list next to the rambunctious mutant-child’s name.
A crack in the floor of Rictor’s room signified nothing other than an earth-rattling adolescent temper tantrum or a bad nightmare. Julio had enough troubles in his life, and unlike Rhino who came from an upper-middle-class background, his tuition was funded by one of Xavier’s grant programs for unfortunates. Making note of the last repair, Rogue sauntered next door to Siren’s room, frowning at the shattered mirror in her suite bathroom. She thought Storm had made it perfectly clear that the girl was no longer allowed to sing in the shower anymore.
Placing a check next to ‘Bathroom Damages - Mirror,’ she glanced suspiciously at the frayed edges of the screen outside the room window. Flicking her fingers towards the frame, it opened upwards with a snap and a gust associated with telekinetic power. Unfortunately for Jean, they had bumped into each other while changing in the locker room last week. Rogue, mental blocks notwithstanding, was not prepared, and subsequently knocked Jean flat on her back.
Evolutionary control, jump-started by Sage, one of Xavier’s assistants around eight years ago allowed her to retain the power of any mutant she had skin-to-skin contact with. Rogue, although sorry to have injured her colleague, had always coveted Jean’s ability to move things with her mind and had been secretly pleased to obtain a smidgeon of it.
Rogue couldn’t stop a tsunami with her thoughts, but being able to turn off her lights and pull the covers up with a blink was damn convenient. Jean apparently didn’t use her powers for such menial activities, instead preferring the physicality associated with the little things in life.
Rogue, the mansion’s resident badass, however, lived by the mantra that if you’ve got it, well dammit, you should flaunt it.
And flaunt she did.
Dancing her fingers along an invisible air current, a silky, long pinion feather twirled into her fingers. Apparently legendary creatures like Angels and Sirens (she giggled at her own joke) were having illicit moonlight rendezvouses.
“Just you wait Warren,” Rogue snickered, “I’m going to call your mother.”
Checking the box labeled ‘Visitation Violation - Window,’ she stepped into the hallway, locked the door behind her as she had done with all the others. The very last door was located at the end of the hallway, it was a corner room, meaning it was a bit smaller than all the rest, and normally given as a single.
In fact, when Rogue had been studying at Xavier’s, this room had been hers. Only dangerous mutants like Siren, or in this case, Bruiser, were given their very own room.
Did that mean that she was dangerous?
You better damn well believe it.
Sighing, Rogue pulled her hair up into a ponytail and fiddled with her fading powers of magnetic projection. It had been so long since Ellis Island that Magneto was barely a one volume, dime store novel in her library of mutant powers. Rogue, however, needed to gird herself before she opened this door, and a magnetic forcefield would be just the trick.
Bruiser was notorious for laying traps.
As one of the mansion’s orphans, Bruiser was not required to remove her things at the end of every semester. Bruiser, or Molly, as she was known by other fellow pre-teen mutated hellions, was capable of lifting a hundred tons psionically. She’d almost killed Frank Castle when he attempted to round her up the last time Molly had disappeared.
Even Rogue had a healthy respect for the Punisher.
Anyone, Bruiser in this circumstance, who could put Frank flat on his back and out for ten counts deserved an even healthier dose of respect.
Opening the door as she had the window, a blast of rock-salt buckshot slammed into Rogue via a stolen sawed-off, bouncing harmlessly off her skin, now coated in osmium, courtesy of Colossus.
“Little bitch,” Rogue growled in a slightly affectionate manner. She sympathized with the kid after all. Hell, Anna Marie D’Ancanto might not have been an orphan, but being disowned and thrown on the streets as a “mutie-whore” was practically the same thing in Rogue’s book. That didn’t mean Rogue wasn’t going to smash Molly’s head into the Danger Room’s padded walls like a click-clack upon her return from Camp Mutant in August.
All it would take is someone not Rogue to open the door, and a spontaneous, serious-as-hell pre-teen mutant death-match throw down would knock down an entire wing of the mansion.
And that, every X-man could concur, was not something they were ever in the mood for. Just the lecture from Big Daddy Charles would be enough to guilt trip into extending her teaching contract in this insane asylum for ten more years.
Peering wearily into the room, bright with afternoon sunlight, Rogue noted no obvious damages and checked the box next to ‘Booby Trapped with intent to Anger,’ then added Bruiser’s name to a list of bathroom cleaning duty for next semester.
Padding down the hallway with her checklist, Rogue childishly slid down the massive banister attached to the main staircase, then cruised into the teacher’s lounge to drop her checklist in Kurt’s box. Nightcrawler, being so ‘bamf’ (here she laughed again at her own humor), was quick to finish and distribute paperwork to both the school and Camp Mutant, where Xavier’s students who didn’t have summer homes to return to spent their vacation.
Twiddling her bare toes on the cold travertine of the hallway, she stretched her arms upwards and inhaled deeply.
Now what?
Rogue had the mansion to herself, save for Hank tinkering in the med-lab and the professor researching in his study for the next week. Most of the X-men had departed to various vacation destinations, and the hired guns, or ‘skeleton crew,’ as Xavier so demurely called them, were supposedly on their way to the mansion to assist with security.
Most of these so-called ‘hired guns’ were just mutants Xavier wanted to coerce into joining the X-men, purveyors of world peace and all that jazz. They were given a stipend for their month’s worth of work, then the option of staying on as permanent additions to campus staff.
So far, she hadn’t seen a damn one of them.
Shrugging indifferently and telling herself Xavier would call on her if she was truly needed, Rogue danced down the hallway towards the teacher’s wing. Fluttering her eyelids, she opened and shut the windows along the hallway with her mind, creating her own personal rhythm. Opening the door to her cheery three-room suite, she shucked off her shorts and bra-top, then trotted towards her shower. Jubilee and Kitty had once lived in the two bedrooms with adjoining bath, but now both worked in Washington on mutant affairs, leaving the rooms vacant.
Stepping inside, she de-sweatified herself with relish, shaved her slightly prickly legs and armpits, then shampooed her hair with soap Ororo had brought back from the Caribbean as a birthday gift. Late afternoon summer sunlight made rainbow patterns on the earth-toned persian rug. Rogue stuck her feet in the optical illusion, smiling at the patterns it played on her skin.
Yawning, butt-ass-naked, and in desperate need of a nap after her early morning security rounds before breakfast and student departure, she opened the door to her bedroom, then collapsed onto her king sized bed. She had left the black-out curtains down that morning - it was pitch black, and the ceiling fan was on high.
Her favorite.
Stretching out, Rogue fiddled with all of her muscles, flexing and relaxing them from the balls of her feet upwards. Flinging her arms outwards, she was surprised when her super-strong hand slammed into something hard, muscled, and most definitely human.
Faster than she could fly, Rogue was jerked up by the neck and slammed back into the dry-wall, knocking one of Kitty’s paintings down behind the headboard with a ‘slam!’ She gulped nervously, and felt something extremely sharp slide against her neck.
“Who. The. Fuck. Are. You.” a deep, growling voice demanded. The knives, at least what she assumed were knives, pressed harder against her skin. She gasped when her invulnerability didn’t hold up, a trickle of hot, sticky blood sliding down to pool at her clavicle.
“I could ask you the same thing,” she said, calmly letting her mind turn on the lights.
The mutant, as it was now obvious that those were not knives but fucking-huge-ass-claws, made of metal and coming out from between her captor’s knuckles, tickling her chin looked like he’d been on a highway to hell. Dark, upswept hair and overgrown mutton-chops framed a ruggedly handsome face with fierce, hazel eyes. He looked wildly about as the black-out curtains also rose with a touch of her mind, releasing her neck, snarling, and whirling wildly about to check for other ‘intruders.’
Daring a glance down, Rogue confirmed that her captor was also naked, aroused, and hotter than the ninth circle of Dante’s Inferno and hell combined.
Hot damn.
“You’re in my room, I’m Rogue,” she said, sprawling gently beneath her feral companion -- she’d seen him sniffing cautiously while snarling, definitely a feral thing. Sliding her neck upwards and averting her eyes, wet hair strewn out like a pillow behind her, Rogue decided to play it submissive, and therefore, safe. In her head, she was pissed as hell. School's resident badass climbs into her own, occupied bed. What kind of madness was currently possessing?
This was how X-men got killed. Skewered by he-man claws attached to aroused ferals. Mother fucker. She might have even had a file on this idiot dropped into her box earlier this week. Obviously this is what you got when you didn't check your email either. Not that Charles couldn't have sent word faster that the web with a little mind-to-mind heart-to-heart. You know - just a "Oh, hey Rogue, fyi, crazy mother is coming into town with some sort of swiss-army attachment, let me know when he gets here?!, occasionally might make life a lot easier.
Rogue was so caught up in her inner ramblings she barely noticed her companion inching his nose closer to her skin, currently in the 'off' and 'useless' position. Fuck.
Opening his mouth, he paused, then said, “Wolverine,” playing along with her cave-man-code-name-game, “The fuck kind of name is Rogue?”
“I don’t know,” Rogue spat back, still averting her eyes as Wolverine leaned in to slide his tongue against her bleeding neck, “What kind of name is Wolverine?”
“Logan,” he chuckled, darkly, catching the spike of arousal in her jittery, nervous scent.
“Marie,” she hissed.
“You one of Chuck’s kids?” he purred, claws sliding back into his knuckles slowly. He hissed as if it hurt - but in a good way.
“I’m not exactly a kid,” Marie managed to ‘eep’ out as one hand gently caressed a breast in passing as he patted her down, checking for weapons, “I’m a teacher, and I’m guessing you’re my Summer of my Mercenary Soldier?”
“Something like that, I suppose,” the feral mused, rocking back onto his heels and crouching like some sort of big cat on the African savanna, “Not sure there’s anything you X-Geeks can teach me though.”
Scoffing, Marie propped herself up on her elbows, seriously pissed. Reaching for the nearest sheet, she wadded herself up in it and flipped her visitor the bird.
“Chuck told me you were going to be accommodating,” Logan smirked as she unintentionally pushed her breasts forward, nipples hard in the cool air. He curled his lip upwards, lithely backflipping off the bed and onto his feet, “You gotta shower I can use before I come back and take you up on that introductory offer?”
“Mine’s next door - help your fucking self,” Marie groused, planting her face squarely in the pillow, pissed at herself for climbing into bed with a total stranger. She grimaced - Xavier would want her to be nice to his new X-soldier.
“Hell if I’m fucking him, though,” she muttered, lights and curtains sliding down as her eyes fluttered shut.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Rogue, a teacher at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, interacts with Xavier’s newest, feral recruit Wolverine during summer break. Mind you, the word ‘Summerboy’ also makes me want to write cracktastic stuff involving Scooter. I would also like to say that some of my hair raising experiences as a Resident Advisor for two years at undergrad are included ;)
Musical Inspiration: “Summerboy” by Lady Gaga
Nowhere, yeah we’re going nowhere fast
Maybe this time, I’ll be yours and you’ll be mine
C-c-c-crazy, get your ass in my bed
Maybe you’ll be, just my summer boyfriend
Summerboy
Musical Inspiration: “Summerboy” by Lady Gaga
Nowhere, yeah we’re going nowhere fast
Maybe this time, I’ll be yours and you’ll be mine
C-c-c-crazy, get your ass in my bed
Maybe you’ll be, just my summer boyfriend
Summerboy