Disclaimer: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended.

CHAPTER EIGHT: LET’S HEAR IT FOR THE BOY

The rest of the evening passed in a blur.

Marie knew that she hadn’t danced with Logan for very long- Remy had come in about four songs later and cheerfully reminded them that they were in a bar and he’d have to start setting up now- But once had been enough. Enough to ruin her concentration, enough to set her grinning like an idiot for the rest of the night, despite her slight guilt over Gambit. After all, she’d danced with Logan. She’d got her groove on with the Goddamn Wolverine. She’d swayed her ass in time with the finest rear-end in the continental United States-

And she’d seen how happy it made him. Felt the soft, protective way he pulled her against him when they finally started to sway. Marie couldn’t quite believe what had happened: When they moved together, it had been…sensuous. Sexy. All sorts of things she hadn’t thought Logan associated with her. But it had still been fucking awesome: She’d felt the hard contours of his body pressed up possessively against hers, felt his heat and his strength and the beat of his heart when she put her head on his chest. And when they parted he looked down at her like she was the most perfect, gorgeous, desirable woman on the planet. Like she was the only person in the whole world he wanted to look at, let alone could see. Inwardly Marie shook her head: No wonder he had so much success with the ladies. If they’d been able to harness the power of that stare they could have defeated the Brotherhood years ago. Probably the Friends of Humanity too. Hell, if they could smuggle him into the White House the Mutant Registration Act wouldn’t stand a chance against him-

Though somehow Marie doubted the President would appreciate his wife getting an eyeful of sheer, undiluted Wolverine.

She shook her head then, trying to clear it. Pulled on the faucet in front of her and set about piling the dishes into the sink. She’d promised to do the washing up, since Remy was giving them a free place to stay (and cooked dinner too) and so far all she’d managed to do was boil some hot water whilst staring into space. And daydreaming like a school-girl about the same growly, gorgeous feral she’d been fantasising about since she was seventeen. Inwardly she sighed: It wasn’t fair, the way Logan could do this to her. She was like a damn zombie, or maybe some sorta Wolverine junkie. Not even the afternoon spent with Remy had effected her like this: The Cajun might be charming, but he didn’t hit her system like a shot of cocaine. Only the Wolverine seemed to do that. Marie told herself that she was being crazy, that for all she knew she was imagining the intensity she’d felt in him earlier. That if he’d wanted her, he would have told her so by now. After all, Logan was a lotta things with women, but subtle wasn’t on the list. In fact, now that she thought about it, he was probably imagining that she was Kitty and that this was the first dance at her wedding-

And if you think Logan would dance like that with Kitty and Pete would let him live through it, a tart voice chimed in her head, then you’re crazier than a sack of alligators, shuggs. Ain’t no husband-to-be foolish as that.

Marie really hated it when her inner monologue had a point.

“Can I give you a hand there, darlin’?” Logan’s voice sounded then, and despite herself Marie jumped. Not because she’d gotten a fright, but because for a split second she could swear he’d been watching her, and she knew she’d been grinning like a loon. If he had been doing that however he gave no sign of it: Instead, he walked forward, picking up an old dish rag from the table beside him despite the fact that she hadn’t answered. Slinging it over his shoulder, his gaze intent on hers. Marie turned back to the sink, eager for something to do besides mentally undressing him, and as she did so she felt him slide into place beside her. Felt the heat of his shoulder as it bumped against her own. Jesus Christ, Shepherd of Judea, she thought. What on earth did Ah do to deserve this? She shot him a tiny, sly peek from the corner of her eye and instantly her face went red: He was staring at her with that same, How You Like Your Panties? Smoking Or Melted? Look he’d worn when she danced with him-

And for the first time in her life, Marie thought she might genuinely faint.

“You wanna dry and Ah’ll wash?” she asked him then, keeping her eyes firmly on the sink of dishes. Dropping her hands into the hot, soapy water and beginning to clean a plate. Logan gave a curt nod- “Sure, Marie,”- and waited. His gaze still on hers, doing all sorts of unladylike things to her insides. Marie blew her bangs outta her face- why was it suddenly so hot in here?- and finished the plate. Handed it to him. Eyes still on the soapy water, picking up a crock pot and beginning to scrub. She swore under her breath as she tried to budge whatever Remy had super-glued on- Apparently chicken etouffee was easier to eat than clean up after- And as she did so Logan suddenly shifted so that he was standing at her back. His arms on each side of her, his big, clever hands disappearing into the water to give her some help. Marie went completely still, the feel of this near-embrace apparently frying what was left of her concentration-

And as soon as his hands landed on hers in the water she felt something hot and wet and entirely uncontrollable jolt through her. It was lust.

Also felt something hard and unfamiliar and really, pleasantly big poke her in the ass. It was delicious.

Hello there, Logan, she thought breathlessly.

“That’s enough washing fer one day,” he practically growled.

Marie yanked her wet hands out of the water then. Turning to face him and raking one hand up his back and into his hair. Hooking the other into his jeans loops and pulling him closer. His eyes going wide at her forwardness, breath coming hard against her throat. They stared at one another for another second, mouths open and breathing heavily and then suddenly- His mouth was on hers. Lips and tongue struggling for dominance, little mewling noises that had once been words spilling outta her mouth. He lifted her up, depositing her on sink’s side, not caring that the surface was soaking, not caring that her hands were threading wetly through his clothes. This felt too fucking good. Within seconds he was kissing her again, wet hands squeezing tightly and making her nipples rise. Growling appreciatively as he yanked her strappy tee down over her arms and buried his nose in the valley between her breasts. Oh mah God. Marie had worn a long gypsy-style skirt all day and it fell away from her legs as she parted them for him. Fell away from her hips as he grabbed the back of her knees with his big, wet hands and yanked her into him, a smile that would’ve melted the polar icecaps on his face. They were hip-to-hip, chest-to-chest now, and she for one had no intention of ever letting them be parted again: She launched herself at his throat, teeth breaking the surface and as she did so she heard him make a sound she couldn’t identify, somewhere between a snarl and a moan. Felt his big, heavy hand thread roughly through her hair to hold her mouth in place. “Right there,” he hissed as she bit again, “Right there, darlin’- Just like I like it-”

And then suddenly someone- someone Marie would gladly have gutted- pushed open the door to the kitchen. Turned the light on too. Walked into her-their- territory like there was nothing important going on whatsoever.

And gestured to the couple on at the sink as if they were old friends.

“Hey,” said Remy brightly, “You remember Yukio Kobayashi, right?” He grinned bashfully. “She’s just been dying to see y’all.”

And with that Logan’s ex stalked into the room, arms folded across her chest, muttering in Japanese. “What’s she saying?” Marie whispered to Logan.

His mouth was set in a thin line. “Believe me,” he growled. “You do not wanna know.”