There was no definite line between sleeping and waking as Marie gradually ascended to awareness in the dark motel room, soothed by the sound of two heartbeats, two sets of breathing. The sounds were good, and the bedding smelled right, and everything was how she liked it.
Inhale, inhale, exhale, exhale.
Tha-thump, tha-thump. Tha-thump, tha-thump.
Safe.
The word rose up in her mind along with a warm feeling. Rogue was close to the surface, the feral’s presence somehow softer now, easier to accept. Marie didn’t feel as she had the day before, out of control, bombarded with half-understood urges and instincts.
This was . . . comfortable. She was reminded of how she used to share her mind with Rogue, the easy give and take. Marie still missed her protector, even though she knew the distinction between ‘Marie’ and ‘Rogue’ had, quite literally, only been in her mind. That distinction had crumbled. But in the warm, safe darkness, she was able to nurture the hope that everything was going to be okay. She could cope with this new Rogue, could adjust as she had after every other major absorption.
It was always a jarring transition—absorb, compartmentalize, integrate—until her mind managed to settle itself and accommodate the massive influx of thoughts, feelings, memories, inclinations. Not to mention the physical changes that sometimes came with it.
And this absorption had been more jarring than most. More foreign. Whatever Rogue had brought into her—no, whatever Rogue had been forced to bring into her—Marie knew that she wasn’t entirely human anymore. If she ever had been. But, all things considered, she was doing pretty well. She had been beyond reason, homicidal after absorbing Erik, and suicidal after absorbing Carol. This absorption felt more natural, in some ways. And she knew that Logan’s acceptance of her, his understanding, this strange kinship they now shared, played a big part in that. A smile curved her lips as she realized she did feel much better this morning. “Logan was right,” she muttered sleepily.
“Always,” he grumbled in her ear.
Marie squeaked and tried to sit up, but an arm clamped down on her waist, pulling her back flush against his front. She squirmed and was met with a growl, the low warning one with which she was becoming quite familiar. He seemed to have perfected it on her. She stilled.
“S’early. G’back t’sleep,” Logan whispered scratchily.
“Why’re you in m—“
He growled again, tangling one of his legs over hers. “Shhh. Y’had nigh’m’re.”
She hissed, “I had a nightm—and ya took that as an invitation to sleep with me?”
A trace of indignation crept into his mumble. “Grrmph. Yer in m’bed. Cr’wled in w’me.” He tightened his arm and leg around her, nuzzling into her hair and breathing deeply. She could feel his chest expand against her back. And at the cleft of her backside she could feel . . .
Oh.
Oh God.
She started to move again, but his growl was harsher this time as he settled her against him to his liking. He gave the back of her neck a nip for good measure, and she stayed put, feeling chastised. Her appreciation for Rogue’s presence took a significant drop when she found she lacked the will to disobey the al—Logan’s—unspoken command to stay.
That was just really unfair.
Logan seemed oblivious to her inner struggle. He rubbed against her backside a couple of times, groaned . . . and fell still. She didn’t think he was entirely awake. She cleared her throat. “Logan . . . my skin . . .”
She felt another nip at her neck. “Shut up. Sleep w’me.”
Well then.
Logan’s breathing slowed, his heartbeat following. Marie’s own heart slowed in response, and just as gradually as she had woken, she drifted back to sleep.
------------------------------------
“D-d-daaa . . . n-nn-nnnnn . . . hurrrrrt . . .”
Logan woke for the third time to Marie’s squirming and mumbling. He hugged her and kissed the back of her head. “Shhh, shhhh, hush,” he muttered until she calmed. He assumed she was dreaming about the incident at the gas station. As far as nightmares went, it had nothing on getting flayed open without anesthesia and having liquid-hot metal poured over your bones.
Or being tied up and eaten alive by a pack of wolves, for that matter.
Still, she had seemed so shaken by it when she came to him for comfort, half-asleep and whimpering, earlier that night. He had pushed her away, told her to go back to bed, and she had let out the most pitiful little whine. She had to know what that sound did to him; he didn’t have the will to deny her anything when she begged like that. So of course he let her crawl in with him and stay, flimsy justifications rising easily to his mind.
She needed him, and that was that.
There was little risk of an accident, really.
He wasn’t worried about their skin touching with her dressed in socks and gloves.
And if vicious, hungry wolves couldn’t so much as leave a bite mark, his claws probably wouldn’t puncture her skin either. Not that he hoped to test that theory any time soon.
He wouldn’t let himself fall asleep, anyway.
But Logan hadn’t been prepared for just how much he would enjoy holding her. For all the things he had done in bed, he could never remember actually falling asleep with a woman. Couldn’t remember actually holding one without letting his hands wander, pushing for more, coming on hard and strong, and getting gone once he’d shown the lady a good time and got what he needed.
He was venturing into uncharted territory, but something about it felt natural, soothing to his feral side. The body he already knew so well by sight and smell, he now allowed himself to learn by touch. Marie was warm, soft in interesting places. And though he knew she was deceptively strong, she felt so achingly fragile as her delicate ribcage rose and fell with her breathing. His big frame practically engulfed her smaller one; it made him feel strong and protective, masculine in a way that even sex had never fulfilled in him.
And she smelled so good. Especially with traces of him rubbed onto her. He couldn’t help feeling that his scent belonged on her neck, and her inner wrists . . . and the soft skin of her breasts . . . and between her thighs . . .
Logan realized his hands were wandering and brought them resolutely back to her midsection. Holding, he reminded himself. Just holding. Don’t scare her. Don’t hurt her. It was hard to remember all the reasons why this was a bad idea with her so close. And there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that with a little persuasion, he could overcome her reservations, too. She would be willing and eager to please him—at least, part of her would be.
But part of her wasn’t enough. So as soon as her breathing had leveled off and he was sure she was deeply asleep once more, he removed himself from temptation.
Logan showered methodically. When his hands made their way between his legs, he considered his options. Sometimes bringing himself off satisfied him. Yet, with his healing factor, sometimes it just heightened his desire and made the tension even worse.
With the object of his desire fresh on his mind and sleeping in the next room, he had a feeling the latter outcome was much more likely. He sighed, turning the water cool and shivering under it until his morning hardness went away.
As soon as his arousal had receded enough to let him think coherently, Logan’s mind was drawn to Carol Danvers. He toweled off and went through the rest of his morning routine by muscle memory. He played over the woman’s words, wondering what the hell it would be like to be trapped inside another person’s mind, whether she was sane, whether she was lying, whether Marie knew anything about their conversation.
Logan wondered what would happen if he told Marie. What if she locked Carol away and never let her out again? What if she looked into Carol’s memories and discovered things about Logan that she didn’t like? Carol said she thought he was a good man . . . but Logan found that difficult to believe.
There were times when the yearning for his past filled him like a physical ache. And then there were times that he thought he would rather not know.
He’d be damned if he had a clue what to do. And when in doubt, he played his cards close to his chest. Logan wasn’t ready to make a move yet. He needed more information. The question was, where to get it?
Logan glanced over at Marie, sleeping peacefully now, hugging the pillow and rubbing her cheek against it in a way that made one side of his mouth quirk up in a smile.
He snagged the complimentary notepad and pen from beside the phone and sat down on Marie’s bed, writing easily in the darkness.
Carol Danvers
KGB, Lubyanka, undercover
S.H.I.E.L.D.
Blue bitch? Marie a weapon?
SD (Special Director?) Stryker
Editor, literary journals
Alien hybrid, superpowers, crazy?
The neat script he never remembered learning filled the page. He ripped it off, along with the next two sheets that carried impressions, folded them neatly and stuck them in his leather jacket’s inner pocket.
Logan had far more questions than answers. Still, it was a start.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
The chapters weren't splitting as neatly as usual, so kind of a short one today. More of an interlude, but I didn't want to screw up the chapter numbers by labeling it as such. Anyway, thanks for reading and reviewing, everyone! It was really cool to look and see that this story had gotten 100 reviews. A preview of attractions still to come: there will be interpersonal tension, jealousy, craziness, action, a sinister government conspiracy, badass!Xavier, notsoevil!Mystique, and (duh) smut as the story unfolds. Feedback, negative or positive, is most welcome. Um I think that's all. Thanks again for reading, guys!