give me fuel
give me fire
give me that which I desire
"Fuel" - Metallica
The first thing Rogue noticed were his hands.
No, that would be a lie. The Wolverine was in a cage fighting; she noticed lots of others things about him. But when he sat down at the bar, it was his hands that drew her attention. Solidly built, capable hands that held the cigar.
Rogue watched him manage the ensuing trouble. It surprised her to find his hands could be deadly, but only if he wanted.
As time went by those hands of Logan’s gained new significance. A protective hand during a time of need. Gentle hands, seen through Logan’s eyes, removing Rogue from a machine made to kill. Awakening to caring hands cradling her body, trying to save her life.
Before Rogue realized, she was gauging all men by their hands. Mr. Summers had well-manicured, slim hands that fit nicely with Dr. Grey’s. Bobby’s hands were soft, inexperienced, and unsure; not quite what she was looking for.
When Logan returned and embraced her, holding her again in his strong hands, her mind was made up. Rogue wanted to explore the hands of this man further. From then on she took every opportunity to study him. She learned his habits and knew his vices.
After her first real mission, Logan came to check on her. His hands distracted her, having seen the full extent of what his hands could do, and she wanted to know if they felt the same as before. Rogue had no idea what Logan was saying; she was not listening. Instead she blurted out a request for him to touch her.
Logan hesitated only a second before his gloved hand cupped her cheek, the other wrapped around her waist, pulling her body flush to his. The hand on her face traveled to her throat, then further down her body.
Rogue closed her eyes, resting her head on his shoulder, savoring his hot breath on her ear. He walked her into a darkened corner of the hall as some one passed. Logan easily drew out moans she stifled in the crook of his uniform-covered neck. He lowered the zipper of her uniform. Bared teeth recklessly made their way down her neck and across her collarbone, leaving a trail of heated flesh behind.
Once turned out not to be enough. Logan was more than willing to oblige in stolen moments and secluded places. He took his time learning Rogue's curves, perfecting their routine. She needed to watch his hands on her, to feel the heat through her clothes. Until the day he left his gloves on, insisting he needed to see her body. He proceeded to slowly strip her of her uniform. Rogue was sure this wasn't quite the battle Xavier meant the uniforms to be used for.
Rogue did not want to stop and analyze what they were doing. She tried not to think of the feelings he stirred up in her heart. For now, she only wished it to continue.
When Rogue found out there might be a cure for her mutation, she rushed to ask. Her question was met with debate; only Logan remained silent in the background. He gave away nothing to the others, but Rogue knew him better. Watching, she saw him flex his hands as if wanting to scratch an itch. Logan felt her eyes on him and shoved his hands into his pockets.
The decision was made. Rogue would take the cure. To feel Logan's bare hands on her skin, to help him satisfy the itch. Even if it only lasted a mere hour or two, she would deal with the disappointment later.
Rogue wouldn't lie to herself now. She was in love and afraid of losing Logan when he decided he wanted more.
Waiting in line, Rogue felt guilty. There were mutants whose lives were obviously affected by their 'gift', who were afraid to even be in public. Rogue could pass for relatively 'normal'. Her need for the cure was purely to feed a fantasy.
The longer she stood there, the heavier Xavier's words weighed on her. Rogue contemplated leaving when she saw restraints on the chair. She closed her eyes, envisioning Logan's hands, steeling herself for her turn.
When Logan found Rogue, she was swaddled in a blanket on her bed. He tenderly pulled her, blanket and all, into his lap, cradling her while she cried. He stroked her back through the blanket and she realized that his hands would always be strong, even without the adamantium-laced bones.
"I took the Cure," Rogue sobbed out. Logan tensed like he was bracing for a blow. "It hurt…really bad."
The pain had overwhelmed her; it scorched her flesh like a fire. Even now Rogue was afraid her skin would slough off.
"Why?" Logan's voice was barely a whisper.
She could hear his heart beating steadily, but knew he worked hard to keep his breathing even. "I thought you wanted…" Rogue peered out from the blanket covering her. "You're always stretching your hands like you need something more."
Logan choked out a laugh. "Marie, I always want more where you're concerned." He started stroking her back again.
Rogue knew the mistake she'd made, projecting her own wants onto him. She had spent so much time not thinking about what they were doing that she missed all the hints Logan had left along the way. The murmurings, his understanding of her body and the fact that he no longer went in search of the one-night stands.
She felt like crying all over again.
A new thought seized Rogue. What if he had only enjoyed the challenge? What if his attention drifted now that her mutation was gone? "Logan, what if it doesn't last?"
He snorted, "Your mutation never mattered to me. I'd want you with or without it." Logan stood up, holding her securely. "How about for now we go down to the med bay and have you double checked. Make sure your okay. We'll sort the rest out later."
"All right," Rogue sighed.
There was definitely more to this man than his hands.
~*~
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Story Notes:
Thanks to SJ and RogueLotus for the beta.