Logan would never openly admit that he considered Westchester, New York, home.
In fact, it was only something he admitted to himself fairly recently.
He had always preferred the open road where he could live his life according to his rules.
A fuck here…a fight there…do some dirty work for Chuck so that the school could keep up appearances…and repeat steps 1 thru 3.
It was all relatively simple until a slip of a girl crept into his mind while he was freezing his ass off in some far corner in Canada during a wintery blizzard. Perhaps because of the snow he thought of her. After all, the last time he had an actual conversation in his truck during a snow storm was when she was with him.
And then it began….
He would see a wisp of brown hair while he was walking away from another cage fight. He would think of her hands as he pulled on gloves to push the accumulating snow off of his windshield. He would hear her Southern twang when he would be having a drink at the bar and look up at the TV to see news of mutant riots in the Deep South.
But then it began to go even further…
The thought of wrapping his arms around her lithe body at night kept him unusually warm despite the sub-zero temperatures.
The memory of silk on skin from when she hugged him the last time he had gone to New York brought him a surprising aura of calmness.
He often thought of her throughout the day. Logan had always sent her a postcard every so often just to keep his word of looking out for her…even if he was doing a shitty job of it by being halfway across the continent.
By the spring, his thoughts of her were going even further south…
Remembering her fluttering eyelashes that rimmed her chocolate brown eyes resulted in him having to discreetly adjust himself in public…several times and he barely glanced at the waitress who would bend further downward giving him an amazing view of her cleavage when she saw his agitation.
It was a Revlon ad that finally pushed him over the edge. Logan was driving through a city when he saw a huge billboard advertising Revlon's new lipstick….in just the right shade.
That night, all Logan could see was a perfect pair of pouty pink lips. Wherever he sat, when he took a shower, or even when he laid down to sleep. All he could think about were her lips…and what he could to them…as well as what they could to him.
The next thing he knew, Logan's belt came off and his jeans hugged his thighs while he began to stroke himself. He closed his eyes and touched himself the way he imagined she would. And then he rubbed and rolled himself imaging it was her lips on his dick.
Afterwards, he was shocked with himself. He was older than her. Her protector. Her friend, albeit a shitty one. Her….something definitely other than lover. That was something he could never be. She was too good and pure and deserved far better than a tormented soul like himself.
But by the end of the week, he had masturbated to her very image so much so that his hands would become calloused before healing themselves. And when he saw those calluses heal the last time, something in him snapped.
He may be a sick, old bastard, but he was in no way a coward. He had to fucking try at least. Give her a chance to decide for herself if she wanted to put up with his shit. He may not have had any real contact with her over the last few years, but he could at least try to make up for it. She had to be older by now; mature enough to comprehend what he was offering her and what he wanted in return.
Soon enough, Logan found himself throwing his duffle in the back of his truck and started the long journey across the nation to get home…to her.
And on the long drive to her, Logan, a man who never prayed, prayed for three things:
1. She still had a crush on him, which would lead to
2. No longer being with the Klondike bar, and therefore
3. Would have no objections to him kidnapping her and taking her to his cabin in the Canadian woods so that he could show her just how much she meant to him
All in all, Logan was hoping she would come to greet him like she did a few years ago when he walked in the mansion's foyer. She would hug him and there would be no Ice-boy. And in return, he would tangle his fingers in her mass of brown and white hair and kiss her to make up for him being an asshole and…to finally claim what had been his all this time.
____________________
The smell.
It always irritated him since he first came here to Xavier's.
And now, as Logan entered the front door into the foyer and stopped to take a breath…it was all he could smell.
The rancid body odor of pubescent teens.
The stale crackers under the sofa somewhere.
Dour sex in illicit places.
The rage of teenage hormones.
It all screamed "WELCOME HOME" to him.
Logan dropped his duffle from over his shoulder to his side and looked expectantly around the room.
There was no movement. Only complete silence…except for a cricket chirping.
When a grandfather clock struck somewhere in the mansion, Logan's ego slightly deflated.
It was a little after midnight on a school night of course. Perhaps the expectant hug would come in the morning.
Instead, Logan trekked up the stairs to his room, located on the farthest end of the mansion. However, his feet took a detour. He might as well see if Chuckles was in his office before heading to his room to crash.
Little did Logan know this would be a gigantic mistake. If only he had waited until morning, then maybe would not have spent the next day lamenting his loss.
Because what Logan was about to witness would shake him more than a battle with Sabertooth.
What Logan was about to see would question his resolve over finally claiming his mate…and especially whether or not she would allow herself to be claimed.
As Logan neared the Professor's wing, he saw a light emanating from behind the slightly ajar office door.
He bypassed the student desk in front of Xavier's office, where he stopped to read a neon yellow note on a dry erase board on an easel set up beside it. Logan couldn't help but wince at the bright wording.
*Bitches,
Moi has gone to the mall for the rest of the day. If you want to make an app. to see X, see me in the morn (after 11:00).
Until then,
XOXO…J*
While Logan was recovering from the eyesore ink, he heard something come from Chuck's office that made him freeze in his tracks.
"Aaahhh…my dear, Rogue," the Professor sighed.
Logan quirked an eyebrow.
He hesitantly stepped to the slightly open door…wondering what he was about to see.
Peeking through the gap, Logan saw the Professor's desk cleared as if in a rush. Items were thrown haphazardly on the ground. There was broken glass and a chess board. Logan could see a pool of liquid on the desk trickling down to a stain on the carpet.
Chuck was sitting in his wheelchair behind the desk with his eyes closed and rubbing his temples. Rogue was nowhere to be seen and Logan was trying to assess the danger of the situation.
…or trying to assess the danger of the situation until he saw… the back of her head emerge from under the gigantic mahogany desk.
"I'm so sorry, Professor," she said as she ran her hands through her hair bringing her white streaks to mix with her brown hair in the back.
"My dear, it's quite alright. It's only natural," Charles replied.
"Here, let me finish," she said as she disappeared back under the desk. "Professor, I don't know how you manage by yourself," came her muffled voice.
"I do have other ways," came Chuck's crisp response.
"It's just that sometimes my hands have a life of their own," continued her muffled voice.
"Understandable. You have nice hands and you are very talented. I must say, we have made immense progress," Chuck said as he tried to get comfortable in his chair.
"We do this almost every night. You must be extremely tired during the day," Rogue continued.
Logan's jaw dropped as he heard her hurried movements from under the desk.
"My dear, for you I always have time. You bring a freshness every time I see you and if we can only see each other on nights like these…then so be it."
Neither seemed to realize that Logan was on the other side of the door. How long had this been going on?
Logan himself was too shocked to move. There was no way that this was happening. This so called 'Professor Xavier' had taken Marie before he could.
All Logan could think of was that while he had spent all this time considering himself to be too old, Marie was using her pink lips to give head to Chuck, a physically older and bald man.
Logan couldn't decide if he should throw the door open or leave.
But when Chuck began saying, "The pointy end….right there….right there...RIGHT THERE," Logan turned on his heel.
A dejected man, Logan quietly made his exit and realized that he was most definitely too late. If she had already made her choice, then anything he would do (like gutting Baldy) would not bode well with her.
As Logan made his way to his room, he couldn't help but think about what the hell she saw in him.
And that he was definitely out of the game. Logan had lost.
_____________
Charles rubbed his temples to reduce the pounding in his head.
Rogue appeared from under his desk and put the remaining chess pieces on top.
"I am so sorry, Professor. I didn't mean to," came her harried words.
Charles just chuckled at her. "It's alright. Now if you would be so kind to get my pen. I see the pointy end from right under the desk there."
Rogue merely nodded as she ducked under to grab all the scattered things.
Charles shook his head in slight amusement. The girl had come to him after another restless night of nightmares. He, of course, still had days when he couldn't sleep because of teenage projections.
He and Rogue had some tea and began playing a game of chess until they began a discussion which one of her myriad of personalities disagreed with.
The result: Rogue swiped everything off his desk in a rage before she came back into control. Her sudden rage gave him an intense pang of pain in his head.
"My child, don't worry about the rest. If you can just hand me the pen, I would most be delighted. It's a personal favorite," Charles said still eyeing his pen on the ground.
Ideally, he had other ways to gather things he'd drop, but picking things up after such a sudden outburst seemed to calm Rogue. He murmured words of comfort and encouragement to keep her from feeling too bad.
Rogue was still in a slight daze, reeling from her sudden rage and trying to exert her control.
Charles let her have a minute as he tried to sit comfortably to dim the pain left in his head. Once the pain had receded, he sensed something else.
A brooding presence.
No doubt, Logan had returned. Charles had to admit he was slightly surprised. He had received no foreword and it had been almost four years since Logan last set foot in New York.
Logan's mind always perplexed him, but perhaps because Logan was so much of a loner, Charles could never freely probe his mind as he did with others.
Although Logan was brooding, Charles also detected a certain amount of animosity directed towards him.
As Charles tried to figure out why Logan could possibly be mad at him, he said aloud, "Logan's back."
There was an immediate thwack under his desk.
"He is?" came Rogue's surprised reply.
Before another word could be uttered, Rogue crawled out from under the desk and took off running out of Charles office.
"Rogue….my dear…" Charles gave up, knowing where Logan was considered, Rogue was her own person.
Charles eyed the remaining chess pieces and papers scattered throughout the room. His eyes finally fell on the pointy end of the pen, a gift from Moira, halfway under his desk that still hadn't been retrieved.
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Story Notes:
As ever…totally senseless...slightly OoC...not beta read…don't own jackshit…blah…blah…
Rating will eventually be upped ;)
Rating will eventually be upped ;)
Chapter End Notes:
Thanks for reading!
-Pepper :)
-Pepper :)