Rogue glowered down at the ground and plodded onward. She was tired and cold and hungry. Although a pale sun was shining directly overhead, the curving path had brought her into the shadow of yet another snow-covered peak, and to the north lay a solid mass of dark clouds.
It didn't really occur to her that she might be lost until the wind started to pick up and the heavy bank of clouds that had been hovering far to the north that morning moved in directly overhead, blocking out the pale sun and filling the whole sky with an ominous dark gray canopy.
How far had she come by herself? 'Are you talking about the path or yourself.' she thought. It's been a long 6 weeks since he left. Damn you. Why did I have to fall for you? She knew why. She knew, and he was going to know himself before she was finished with him. When she found him, that was. You must have strong feelings for me. Otherwise you wouldn't have had to run away from me. I know you better than you think Logan. I know why you run.
By now a veritable blizzard swirled around her, and she could barely see her hand in front of her face. At the top of a small knoll, she stopped and started to call for help. She stood there and shouted until she was hoarse, but the driving snow only muffled her cries.
I'm going to die! She thought in a sudden panic. I'm going to wander around until I drop, then just lie down and freeze to death. No. Keep moving. I've got to keep moving.
With blind instinct, she plunged forward. Just as she thought she might never find him, a looming shape appeared directly before her. Head on. He stood with his legs spread wide apart, hands down to his side, clenched, and his head...tilted down and -just to the left, glaring at her from beneath dark brows and darker eyes. Logan.
Immediately her foot came up against a large hard rock, invisible under it's white covering. A sharp, searing pain jabbed up her right leg from her ankle, and just before loosing consciousness, she felt herself falling...
When she first came too, the first sensation that gripped her was the agonizing pain in her leg, the second that she was being carried, jostled along unceremoniously, each jolt sending a new shaft of fire through her injured leg.
She opened her eyes and looked up to see, looming above her, a grim face framed with a thick head of tousled dark hair that naturally swept up on either side, and covered his ears and the back of his neck. His heavy black sidechops dotted with snowflakes, his eyes narrowed into slits, an angry determined set to his hard jaw. He was not happy.
Finding her searching his face for something he didn't care to show her, Logan muttered a curse and tightened his grip on her and continued on without a word. After a while he slowed his pace, and when Rogue cautiously opened her eyes again they were approaching a rough wooden cabin.
He kicked the door open and stepped inside into blessed warmth. He nudged the door shut with his shoulder, then stalked across the room and set her down on her feet. She cried out, her injured leg buckling under her weight, and started to fall. He reached out for her before she hit the floor and guided her, limping, to a chair.
When the pain had diminished, she looked at Logan. He stood silently before her, glaring down at her warily. "Just what the hell do you think you're doin' out here alone?" he bit out angrily.
"I...I needed to find you, and I guess I got lost," she said in a small voice, "I couldn't find the path, and then I hurt my leg and--"
"Lord. Didn't anyone warn you that there are grizzly bears, or worse, out there just waiting for stupid little girls like you to disturb them?" he thundered, "Do you have any idea what a grizzly can do to a face like yours with one swipe of its paw. You might have killed it but do you think for one second, you'd be healing your wounds by yourself? And surviving?"
"Well, I'm sorry!" she cried. "I just needed to find you. I feel so alone sometimes. I needed to talk to--"
"How the hell did you find...I suppose they found me for you." Logan looked down for the first time and noticed that she was wearing his dogtag. "I told you I would be back." She thought she saw his eyes soften but he was volatile and she couldn't be sure. "I told you I would be back. I made you a promise."
She turned her head away, "I thought you'd be glad to see me, like when you came after me..."
He took a step toward her menacingly, "Damn it!" he snarled. "Try to get this through your head, where I'm goin' you can't go."
She met his eyes and wearily said, "I'm getting sick of being yelled at. Take me back if you're so sick of me, I can--"
Rogue heard a low growl come from deep within. His face was livid, his eyes burned with fire, and she cowered back from him in the chair and gazed at him wide-eyed. "I can't take you back!" he shot back. He dropped his hands to his side and glared down at her. "There's no way we could get fifty feet in this blizzard, much less the five miles back to the main road. I'm stuck with you."
Eyeing him, she rose unsteadily to her feet, testing her weight on the injured leg. It didn't seem quite so bad now. She began to inch her way towards the door, hanging on to furniture for support.
He folded his arms across his chest and watched her. "And just where do you think you're going, darlin'?" he inquired.
"I'm leaving," she announced in her loftiest tone. "And don't try to stop me."
He dipped his dark head and made a sweeping gesture with one hand, "I wouldn't dream of it," he said. "Please. Be my guest."
For a long moment they simply stood there staring at each other. There was utter silence in the room, with only the crackling of the fire in the stone hearth and the wind outside to break the stillness. Finally, Rogue's shoulders sagged and she slowly made her way back to the chair.
Then it began. Tears of self-pity welled up behind her eyes. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. He had turned away from her, and she watched as he shed his heavy lined jacket, He wore worn jeans and a red plaid woolen shirt. Then, ignoring her completely, he sat down in a chair and began to take off his boots.
Rogue glanced around the cabin. It was built of rough-hewn logs with patches of white plaster filling in the chinks. A fire was blazing in the stone fireplace. At one end was an open window, and beneath it a counter covered with cans of food and what looked like a hotplate. There was a table at one end made of unfinished wood, a hurricane lamp set on top of it. At the other end of the room was a narrow bed, neatly made and covered with animal furs and a beautiful Indian blanket. Next to it sat a desk, piled high with books and papers. The two of them were sitting on the only chairs, but there was a shabby couch set directly in front of the fireplace
Rogue glanced back at Logan. He had risen from the chair and was standing at the counter by the window, bent over, lighting the hotplate. He was ignoring her presence entirely; she wasn't used to that from him. "Looks like you've learned how to pick up after yourself." She said under her breath but just loud enough for him to hear.
Without a word he continued puttering with the stove, until he had it adjusted to his satisfaction. Then he turned slowly around and leaned against the counter. His jaw ticked. "I have things I have to do," he gritted through his teeth. "And the last thing I need is to have you on my hands. You don't look after me, I look after you. You're not safe here." He almost said, 'with me,' but stopped himself just in time.
"Why do you think I left ya back there?" Her mind silently answered him, 'I'm always safe with you.'
He turned back to the pan of water he had sat on the stove. It began to boil. She sank down on the hard chair and watched him with her luminous eyes as he leaned over to turn down the burner. Then he straightened up, reached into the cupboard and took down two tin mugs.
All his movements were graceful and controlled, with no wasted or clumsy motion. There was an air of certainty about him, as though he always knew exactly what he was doing and planned every step carefully before he acted.
He hadn't changed. She shivered, realizing that her senses were full of the man. His bulk. His dark hair, which had looked like horns, now looked storm-tousled. He radiated strength, his chest and shoulders broad under a heavy shirt. His hips, thighs, and legs hard and well formed in the worn jeans. He was attractive, Rogue thought, if it weren't for the nasty disposition. Even that hadn't really changed. Still angry at anything and everyone.
Exhausted from her ordeal on the mountainside, her sore leg still throbbing, she felt her eyes grow heavy, her head nodding, and then only blackness. Logan darted a quick glance at Rogue's sleeping silhouette, long gloved arms hugged around her. With heightened senses he could hear her slow breath in the dead silence of the dim room, almost feel the warmth of her body. He could smell her.
He gazed at her for some moments, debating within himself. Finally, he heaved a sigh and carefully levered her out of the chair and onto his bed.
A faint inner voice warned him that if he didn't send her back to the Institute soon, he was fast on the way to getting in over his head.
When she came to, she was lying on top of the narrow bed. Her jacket and boots had been removed, and she was loosely covered with the Indian blanket. She raised her head and looked around groggily.
He was sitting at the desk, just beyond the foot of the bed; his elbow propped up, his shaggy head resting on his fist. Occasionally he frowned.
There was the distinct aroma of food in the air, and, in spite of her anxiety over the predicament, the lingering wariness of this silent, menacing man, Rogue's stomach began to churn with hunger. She'd had nothing to eat since the day before.
As though sensing that she was watching him, Logan turned his head abruptly and stared at her through half-closed eyes. She silently met his steady, wordless gaze.
He suddenly shoved his chair back and rose to his feet. He spread his arms and stretched widely, flexing his back muscles, clenching and unclenching his fingers. He looked good enough to...what??? What are you thinking...he doesn't even want you. He turned away and ambled over to the stove, where he began to stir something in a pot sitting there.
Still eyeing him warily, Rogue slowly rose up to a sitting position.
"I'm very hungry," she said stiffly. "Could I please have something to eat?"
"Sure, he replied. Without turning around, he kept on with his stirring.
"Thank you," she said.
"What is it, it smells wonderful?" she asked, absently pulling at the pilling on the blanket.
"Meat, fresh meat." He said stirring, "boiled down with other things." He turned and smiled darkly.
Very funny, play up the feral beast. She waited while he ladled out whatever was in the pan into a dish.
Without even glancing her way, he made straight for his desk, sat down and started shoveling in the food. Rogue's mouth fell open. All she could do was stare at him.
"Don't I get any?" she sputtered at last.
He glanced over at her and waved his fork in the direction of the stove. "Help yerself."
Rogue opened her mouth to argue, but when he swiveled around in his chair to glower over at her she snapped it shut tight and rose to her feet.
Ugh, my leg. It still hurt, but it probably wasn't broken. She found that by dragging it behind her and hanging on to furniture as she went she actually could make it over to the counter. Conscious of his silent appraisal every step of the way, she was torn between showing him how capable she really was, how little she needed his help, and limping a little more than she really needed to just to make him feel ashamed of himself for the shabby way he was treating her.
When she finally arrived at the stove and gazed down into the pan, she wrinkled her nose in distaste when she saw the soggy mass of what looked like beans and half-cooked meat lying inside. Still, it smelled good. She grabbed a plate and dished up a glop of stew. It wasn't a gourmet dish by any means, but as it went down it seemed like the best meal she'd ever eaten. It's amazing what hunger can do.
Sighing with satisfaction, she limped her way over to the couch and sat down in front of the fire, where she wasn't facing Logan directly, but could see him out of the corner of her eye.
She stared at him for what seemed like hours. He was deeply absorbed in his thoughts. Obviously at war with himself. A piece of his dark hair hung down in his face, and she fought down a sudden impulse to reach over and brush it away.
Suddenly, he rose to his feet and pointed at the lumpy couch. "That's where you sleep," he announced in a tone of utter finality.
"I can't sleep there!" she cried.
"Well, somebody has to," he shot back at her. "And it ain't gonna be me." He grinned maliciously. "Unless you intend to share the bed."
He glanced down at it. "It's a little narrow, but we could probably manage."
Take a chance Rogue. "I'll take the bed, Logan," she said softly as she walked to the edge of his bed. With her gloved hand she brushed a lock of hair from his forehead and trailed her silk clad fingers over the lines that were etched into his skin. He growled. A deeper, smoother growl than before. Her body tensed. For one brief moment their eyes met, and for the first time she noticed that his eyes had an odd intensity. Sensual. Feral.
"Don't start something you don't intend to finish," he ground out between clenched teeth. She quickly turned away. Coward.
With a silent curse she snatched up the blanket and went over to the couch. Before settling herself, she glanced at him again. He was still standing there, his hands across his chest, watching her.
"I assume you have extra blankets," she asked sarcastically. "Or did you plan on whipping out your claws and cutting the one on your bed in half so we could share that too?"
To her amazement, he threw back his head and laughed, this time with genuine amusement. When he looked at her again, his mouth still twitching, his face was transformed. The hard lines were gone, and, although the chops and long hair still gave him a forbidding air, Rogue caught a glimpse of her old Logan laying beneath the rough exterior.
He grabbed a blanket from a chest under the bed and threw it to her. He shook his head. "You're an exasperating woman, darlin'. Now, get to bed and don't bother me no more."
Too tired to think of a clever retort, Rogue settled herself on the lumpy couch with as much dignity as she could muster and covered herself with the blanket. It was warm in front of the fire and she fell almost immediately into a sound sleep.
That night, the dream came again. The air was filled with muffled sounds. A man's face loomed in front of him. Slowly his body went numb. 'Is he ready?' asked a voice. He dropped to his knees. His ears hurt with noise. An awful noise. Why wouldn't it stop? A scream. The sound became a gurgle.
Something hit the side of his head. He fell forward into a swirling mass of red-tinged blackness.
The scene blended into some sort of lab.
He searched the room.
Faces...all featureless. Then one took on definition --dark, grinning, evil. It expanded, looming over him like a menacing shadow.
It's features contorted in rage...then, searing pain hit his body
...Grrraaaghh!!!...he felt his fists clench...pain hit his body...
SNIKT
...arrghhh...
"Aarrghhh!!!! No! No...!" Rogue thrashed. Suddenly she bolted upright, heart pounding, and a cry still on her lips.
"You're safe, Rogue. You're awake."
"No! No! Get away!"
She rolled away, desperate for escape.
"Rogue, it's me...Logan."
That voice...Logan? "Oh God, Logan" she took a deep, trembling breath. She moaned, hugging her arms to her body in a tight, protective knot. The dreams, the fear. Would it never stop?
"I told you, you were in my head," she whispered to him.
"I didn't realize you absorbed so much from me..." He didn't loosen his grip. What have I done? He rubbed his face, hearing the rasp of whiskers, feeling the rough scrape against his palms. Logan had stopped seeking comfort long ago. Just as he'd learned to face the monsters in his own darkness. Now, his haunted thoughts and memories were hers as well and he felt an immense pain in his heart. Slowly he turned to face Rogue. He held her close with her head against his chest, careful to avoid skin to skin contact.
"Damn," he whispered, rubbing his forehead. He pulled a hand in front of him and stared. His fingers started to shake.
"Damn."
"Rise and shine, darlin'."
Rogue opened her eyes to find Logan standing beside the couch, clad only in jeans, with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.
Her heart lurched at the sight. Memories of the night before assailed her, bringing with them a rush of emotion. Sleepily, she smiled at him. He sat on the edge of the couch.
"I brought you some coffee."
Holding out the mug he regarded her with concern. She cupped the warmth with both hands. "Thanks," she said giving a thoughtful sip.
Rogue felt a lump in her throat. He had so much to share and to give, yet he had condemned himself to living alone. He was strong, vulnerable, sensitive, and fascinating. He was more dangerous than she had ever imagined.
He wished he could read her better. He couldn't stop himself from asking a question, one that women usually asked him, one that he found annoying, "What are you thinking about?" She dipped her head until a length of white hair fell across her cheek, and lightly lay upon her lips. "You." She looked at him through the feathery shadows. "Am I ever in your head Logan?" Difficult words stuck in her throat for a moment. "Do I ever enter your dreams?"
She met his eyes with such an open, gentle glance, he had to look away. Staring at his hands and rubbing the smooth skin across the back of his knuckles he turned back to pin point her eyes, lower his voice and whisper, "Let me have some memories to take with me." Through all of his cool strength something looked out---a need, a longing almost, and a wish to have the longing understood.
Their gazes locked. Her eyes shone with unshed tears. Her hair spilled in sensuous waves across her shoulders. The couch creaked softly and Rogue looked up. "I haven't touched anyone for a long time." It had been so long since she'd touched anyone herself.
She shivered at the memories of that day long ago. Innocence, young passion, a kiss...
The barrier over his expression dropped. Loneliness didn't come close to describing what she saw in his eyes. Rogue understood the isolation he lived with only too well. "You avoided it, didn't you...getting close to people," her gaze burned, "...like me. There's a bond between us. No one can see it or touch it, but it's there."
He shifted closer...so close she could feel his warm breathe on her neck. "You talk to much." He caught her scent. It had teased him since she arrived. Warm, feminine, slightly musky, ready. Would her body warm, would her scent change, if he pulled her toward him? He took a hold of her legs and pulled her to the edge of the couch, spread apart her knees, and kneeled down between them.
He was beautiful. "To the point, aren't you," she whispered with half-closed eyes and a smile. She was imprisoned by his strength and by his size. His face was all harsh planes and angles, giving fierceness to his expression.
"Rogue, there are things we can do," he said roughly, a light sheen of sweat broke out across his body in anticipation. "Even without joining our skin. There are ways."
"Show me everything," she said. He smiled. The lonely man, rejected and isolated, the defensive recluse faded away, leaving the soul he might have been had his life been different, normal...
She was so close.
Logan slyly smiled and suddenly came to a stand looking down at her cheek lying against his muscled thigh clad in blue denim. A single drop of sweat from his bare chest slid a wet trail down his stomach and soaked into the fabric of his jeans. She pulled the jeans away from his skin and brought it to her mouth, tasting the saltiness. He closed his eyes and held his breathe as he took a handful of her hair and let it slide between his fingers.
"Ah, Rogue," he drawled, "you wouldn't believe the thoughts I have in my head." There was warning in his tone.
His muscles rippled as he bent down to take her in his arms and carried her to the bed.
Logan rested his knee against the edge of the mattress, and let her slowly slide down his body, unabashedly groaning as her curves rubbed over the front of his jeans.
"See what you do to me, darlin'."
Rogue tried to move, tried to speak, looked up into the deep-set eyes, and found no mercy in them. She wanted it, she was gonna get it. He pulled her close. With her fingers, she felt, through all the layers of fabric, his maleness asserting itself.
Touch was the only sense restricted to her, it was the most sensitive sense.
It was almost unbearable.
Rogue heard his fierce breathing, an in-and-out hiss above the sigh of the morning wind. Then it quieted, as if he was gaining control of it.
He smiled a crooked, disarming smile she thought devilish. "Being with you brings out the animal in me."
"It certainly does. I knew you were there, hiding under all of that jackassedness yesterday," she grinned.
Youthful amusement danced in his eyes.
"Jackassedness...jack...assed...ness..." he playfully frowned down at her.
"The youth of today have no respect for their elders. That's war," he drawled.
"Yeah," Rogue cracked a grin, "So what are ya goin' ta do...old man? If the Professor had a sister and you dated her you'd still be robbin' the cradle."
He laughed. "Well he ain't got a sister, that I know of, and I ain't robbin' any cradle but this one at the moment..." he dipped her back slightly to find her eyes, "...and you're not exactly a kid anymore," he said as he gave her a love bite on her covered shoulder. Pressure just enough to almost hurt but on a line so fine that it bordered on erotic pain, possessive passion. She felt the sheet moisten where his tongue lightly flicked.
"How are we gonna...we don't have anything for um..." she faltered.
"No imagination," Logan quipped, and grinned in response to the withering look she sent him. Logan gently backed away. Eyes away from her, he dragged the old chest from under the bed and opened it. "I've never had a use for my leather gloves before." He smiled as he slowly stretched them over his hands, purposefully slow. "A little tight...snug...just the way I like'em." Still not looking at her, he took out a thin, dark blue cotton sheet and shook it to its full length. "Turn around."
She licked her lips. "You givin' an order?"
"Just turn." She'd turned just as he'd ordered. A warm, enveloping cloud of softness settled around her. He was so close. The back of her neck crackled with his closeness, as his hands flicked the edges of the sheet together under her chin.
His left hand lay across her shoulder, holding the sheeting. He roughly pulled her back against the great, strong wall of his chest. Rogue rubbed the back of her head against it, enveloped in the male smell of him. His face buried in her hair and his hand flattened against the swell of her right thigh.
He murmured something against the nape of her neck.
"What are you wearin' under my sheet, darlin'?"
She closed her eyes and caught her bottom lip as she surged in his locked embrace. "Black cotton shirt, short sleeve..." she licked her lips again, "...long black gloves, pants, scarf--"
"--No." he cut off, shaking his head with a sly smile she couldn't see, "What's under your shirt? Silk or Cotton? Lace...leather...What kind of woman are you under all of your girl shyness..." His hand massaged firmly, cupping...stroking areas soft and hard over the sheet...slowly up her body. She cried aloud.
"It's warm," she paused. The sheet felt like it was dissolving between them.
"If you don't answer me, and soon, I'm gonna take things into my own hands," he purred.
"Deep wine silk edged in black lace...an...and..." She stared at the ceiling, forcing herself into some semblance of control. He roused her in ways she wouldn't have thought possible.
"Mmmm...deep wine...goes down smooth."
Huskily he murmured something against her throat. Rogue didn't care what he'd said. She was suddenly impatient. It was his touch she craved. She could barely breathe with his mouth nibbling her shoulder again.
SNICKT!
...she jumped as she heard his right claw make clean cuts through the leather glove. "You never finished describing what you had on under my sheet, darlin'." She held deathly still as she felt the cold shock of metal trail down her flushed skin. With the tip of the blade, he carefully caught and pulled at the flimsy fabric of her pants and slowly razor-bladed them open wide. He heard fabric pile on the floor. Deep wine edged in black lace.
As quickly as they shot out, his claws retracted. He didn't wait for her to respond to his administrations. With the same hand he unbuttoned her cotton shirt. Clever fingers found the soft flesh underneath, explored the rounded curves, lingered lovingly, possessively on the hard tips. His left hand abandoned the sheet and played a subtle rhythm against the back of her thighs, causing small stomach spasms. No longer gentle, he spun her around and took possession of her nipples with heated abandon, his tongue hungrily exploring through contrasting textures of cotton sheeting and silk. He held her, above the sway of her hips, tight against him.
Her own hands, even within the cocoon of gloved forms, found touch a burning sensation. She felt everything intensely, as if hot breaths blew across her skin, exploring his powerful ridgedness.
"Speak to me, Rogue," he told he huskily, "but not with words." Uncertainly, her hands slid over supple skin, felt the erotic sensation of the crisp hairs of his chest brushing against her thin silk fingertips. New confidence flared through her. "Any doubts or reservations?" She couldn't trust herself to speak, she could only mutely shake her head no.
He reached into his back pocket for his wallet and opened it. The light caught a gleam off of a small metallic packet. With an unwavering stare he lightly held the packet between his teeth while slipping the billfold back into the tightness of his jeans.
He hooked his thumbs into his belt loops accenting the planes of his stomach and defining the deep lines that etched the width of granite arms. His large metal belt buckle sat atop a region of his anatomy she couldn't tear her eyes away from. He spit the packet with a throw of his head onto the furs of the bed. She didn't look away. He smiled that damn crooked grin. The soft light through the window fell on his glittering eyes. "No imagination," he said softly, pushing her onto the bed with his hands. She fell into the lush furs and felt a certain animalistic pleasure in the smell and textures around her.
"Undo your bra...let it fall open under your shirt." He understood her need. He slid his knee higher, pressing gently at the junction of her thighs.
She slipped her hand underneath the fabric to unfasten the front clasp of her bra. Logan bent forward and blew across her shielded contours. The moist warmth of his breath molded her shirt to her breast. She raised up against him. Through the fabric she felt his touch, his mouth wetting and rubbing the material over flesh that burned.
With her spread hands, she explored the contours of his chest, the ripples of his stomach, the line of rough hair that trailed down.
"Don't touch me...wait."
Logan closed his eyes as his muscles strained to control his body. He shook his head and cracked his neck. She just smiled and didn't pay his words any attention.
She searched for and found the metal buckle and grabbed the leather end...yanked it til the metal piece slipped out of the hole, and popped the button on his fly with one hand. He wasn't wearing anything underneath. Looming above her with a open fly revealed the fact he was hard and heavily muscled...everywhere.
How lewd.
He pulled the sheet between them and stretched out on top of her. He rested on his elbows and leaned down to inhale deeply at the base of her throat. He caught the edge of her collar between his teeth and tugged it aside, then tilted his head and let the ends of his hair brush over her skin.
Through his sensitive senses he felt her pause longer than would be expected. "Logan?" The muscles in his thighs bunched and he fitted himself against her, twisting his hips in promise. "Logan..." It wasn't only his touch she wanted. She wanted an impossibility...she wanted him to stay.
"Let yourself go, Rogue." He moved his hips again, then brought up her chin. "I won't hurt you." You're wrong, she thought. It will hurt when you leave.
She shouldn't think about that. Let go and take what he can give you, the voice said. Yes. She emptied herself of cautions, thoughts, everything but her present need. What he offered would have to be enough. She felt denim rub against her thighs.
Groaning he reached for her. She raised her arms and grasped the edge of the bed, waiting...anticipating, the feel of cool leather. "Oh God...Rogue...I want you," he breathed.
In response, she wrapped her legs around his waist and felt his rigid flesh against deep wine silk edged in lace.
"You're drivin' me wild," he purred.
She thrust against him, and he growled. He grabbed her hand and ran his tongue over the grooves and ridges of her gloved palm. Then paused a second and threw a devilish grin at her as he brought her hand to his open jeans...to grip him. He loved the sensual texture of her silk gloves holding him as the blood pulsed. She reached down with the other hand to search for the foil packet. She found it and brought it up to hand to him. He eyed it's shininess for a second then said to her as he turned his mouth up, "Help me into it," he dared.
Rogue's voice was low and sexy, "Do you know what you're doin' to me?"
He only laughed, "Tit for tat, darlin'."
Rogue carefully tore open the bit of foil and held the thin disc of rolled latex in her right hand. With her left she tightly squeezed him from base to tip as his body hardened further under her hand.
"Be careful."
His warning sent shivers up her spine, but her face betrayed no emotion as she placed the rolled disk on the tip. "Logan, lean back on your arms and arch towards me."
The thought of her flesh beneath his hands, her body moving under his...came so swiftly it sucked his breath away. A faintly amused expression crossed his face.
"Is that an order," he teased.
"Just do it," she smiled in return.
Rogue thought to herself, "I'll show him imagination," as she carefully sat up and took the tip of him in her mouth. She could feel the latex stretch tightly around him. He swallowed and clenched his teeth, resisting the urge to thrust in and out. She looked up and loved how he had his head tilted.
He glanced at her face and felt a surge of heat as she slowly unrolled the condom back from the hard tip with her teeth. He closed his eyes and rested his arms on his thighs. He snarled his lips and groaned.
She felt him groan.
Unable to restrain himself any longer he cupped her head in his right hand and started to slide himself in and out of her mouth. It felt good.
It felt too good. Within a heartbeat, he pulled out and gripped her by her upper arms. "Where did you learn that little trick?"
Caught by surprise, she spit a lock of her hair from out of her mouth and saucily answered, "And you said I had no imagination!"
"Well, I'll be damned, darlin'..."
"Logan." She held her hand up and eyed him.
"Now!"
Her meaning was clear.
All he could do was grin. "I like the way you think."
Three days had passed and Logan's cabin showed the roughhouse play that had ensued over every square inch of space. He especially liked the enthusiastic scene of Rogue looming over him with his arms bent back and tied to his desk chair. Logan glanced over at the wreckage. He was a little sorry he had to rip it to shreds when she wouldn't untie him.
He also knew that they were both at their best because he didn't plan on staying around too much longer. As each day progressed, Rogue grew more and more distracted. He thought, "No more denial, darlin'."
He'd told her not to ask if she couldn't handle the truth. Logan sat down on the corner of his bed and watched Rogue til she noticed she was being watched.
"Logan, I know what you're thinking."
"I'd like to know what I'm thinking."
Her eyes started to glass over with tears she struggled to hold in. She wanted to let her head fall back so she could howl out her misery. "Look, I know you're gonna leave soon. I suppose I should feel something besides jealousy but I can't."
"Jealousy?" He didn't see that one coming.
It was almost absurd and he thought he might laugh. "You're jealous? Of what? There's no one else? No one, but you."
"Your past, is a worthy mistress to feel jealousy for."
She laid an arm on the counter and traced circles on last night's dinner plate with her finger. "You sip at the present then run to your past. I want you to say you've found a home at Xavier's. I want you to say you'll stick around. I want you to say you'll stick around...for me."
She closed her eyes and let her wet lashes brush her cheeks as she held her breath.
Gentle arms encircled her, gentle breaths laid across her neck. "I've not had a home for a long time darlin'. Xavier's is the closest thing to home that I know."
A fresh dewy tear dropped on Logan's encircled arm.
"Right now, I'm not fated to lead a peaceful existence. I want you healthy, safe and miles away from me right now. That's the truth of it, I won't lie."
"But I'll promise one thing," He brought the tear to his lips. He wanted to kiss her eyelids. He sank to his knees in front of her, with his arms around her thighs and laid his head against her softness. "Set me free and I'll come back willingly when I'm done...for you."
Rogue bent down and rained happy tears like showers on his head, and her radiant smile knocked the word 'jaded' off of his shoulder.
He narrowed his eyes and audibly sniffed the air. Something was outside. Logan detected an unwanted presence. A wet wool blanket in a rainstorm. A familiar smell. A familiar shadow passed the window. He felt the familiar urge to bait.
"Don't mean to cut the moment short darlin'," she raised a brow, "but did you invite Scott to the party?"
Rogue eyes widened with a bit of knowledge completely forgotten til now. She hurriedly wiped her cheeks free of dampness and gave Logan a pitiful apologetic gesture.
"Cause he's about to knock on my door."
Logan withdrew from her body and raced to the door before the other reached it. He grabbed the knob and jerked it open startling the groomed man standing off balance in the doorway with an arm outstretched.
Snikt!
One sharp middle blade halted further entry. Logan drew a dark brow up.
"Scott, how do I know that it's really you?" he teased unmercifully.
"You're a dick," Scott muttered.
"Tell me something I don't know. Everyone's tracking me down. I feel...so loved."
Scott pursed his lips and dragged a hand through his hair, then side stepped the hulk in the doorway.
"I can't imagine what she sees in you," he said while skillfully nudging Logan's shoulder in passing.
Logan snorted.
It was surprisingly easy to goad the man.
"I'm hear to bring you back Rogue. Remember? You did ask me to give you approximately one week."
He appeared to glance, as much as it was possible to glance with shades on, in Logan's direction. "Never know what riffraff you'll meet up with on your own."
"I know." He goaded with a smile. "Looked what popped in. You know what you--"
"All right, see? I'm packing. Now please shut up," She blew air slowly out of her nostrils, "...the both of you." She gritted her teeth, and moved out of range to gather her jacket.
They were acting younger than her.
After briefly watching the men puff up their chests and spread their tail feathers, Rogue guided Scott to the door after saying her brief goodbye to Logan. Brief, because what more could she do or say.
She looked past Scott and an unearthly calm fell over her.
They made eye contact.
Logan silently reinforced the promise.
She stepped outside without a backward glance with Scott right behind her.
"Oh...and Scott?"
The man looked back as he was just about to close the cabin door.
"Stay away from my girl."
Scott shrewdly said nothing.
Both men smiled and left it at that.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000