Rogue's body and mind were exhausted. She could feel the warmth of Wolverine's arms encircling her, could smell the salt of her tears dripping down her face, heard the rustling of his beard against her hair. She could still smell the stench of Remy and Victor on her skin, but it had lessened somewhat once she shed her uniform and found herself in Wolverine's embrace. His scent was wild and calming all at the same time, and she took immense comfort in it, even as she could tell her borrowed senses were beginning to fade. Her eyes were swollen, her nose dripping from the force of her sobbing. She hadn't completely processed the events of the last few days, but she did know that she was naked and in Wolverine's arms. And it was Wolverine's arms who held her now. Not Logan. Though she'd had him in her head for only a few days, she knew enough about the two different sides of his psyche to know the difference.
Wolverine had brought her back to herself by calling to that dark, wild, primal part of herself. When he'd touched her, she, Rogue, had wanted to respond and call back to him somehow. Creed's presence had been like a thick oily blackness, seeping into the recesses of her mind, taking over every part of her. Wolverine's call had pierced a hole in that stifling darkness, allowing a light to shine through and reach her. The feeling of his lips on hers, his hands on her body, the feelings he roused in her, had brought her back to life. When he'd bitten her, marking her as his - oh, god, his mark - she'd nearly come right then and there. Being branded like that had driven Creed batshit insane, and that, along with the Wolverine prowling in her head, had been enough to regain control and force him into the temporary confines of her mind. She knew was going to need help from Charles to contain him further. Creed's personality was nothing like the simpler human personalities she'd absorbed during her escape from that hellish basement years ago and she could tell his current cage needed additional mental reinforcement. But it would hold. For now.
When Logan had kissed her, coaxing her out of the numbing darkness in Cerebro, she'd been wholly unprepared for the feeling of absorbing a mutant. Not only a mutant, a feral mutant. A feral mutant with a fully human mind, powers, and instincts for her to sort through. She had a feeling that Wolverine had made it easy on her; that he'd wanted to help her. But still, there was a mass of memories just beneath the surface of her mind that she knew she was going to have to confront.
Creed, though also a feral mutant, had fought literally tooth and nail against her. And in the end, she'd been unable to control him. He'd taken over, and she'd felt herself shoved aside, a prisoner in her own body. She didn't even have the comfort of Wolverine prowling around with her, as he had somehow been kept separate from her for days while Creed controlled her.
She didn't even know how she'd gotten back to their base in Canada. She had no clear memories of her own from the moment she'd grabbed Creed's face during their fight and his sick blackness began to seep into her, until Wolverine had brought her back to herself. Oh, jesus, she thought, struck by a sudden thought. Tell me I didn't hurt anybody.
"C'mon," Wolverine rumbled into her ear. "Let's get you cleaned up."
She nodded numbly, and felt herself led up the stairs of the sub-basement toward the showers of the women's locker room. She didn't know what day it was, what time it was, if anybody was around, and she didn't care.
When they reached the showers, Rogue looked up at Wolverine. She wasn't surprised to see his golden eyes staring down at her, but was startled to hear a deep rumbling of warning coming from deep in his chest as she continued to stare into his eyes.
Don't test him right now, darlin'.
Rogue recognized the echo of Logan's voice in her mind. Why not? She asked him, unable to help herself, even as she reflexively lowered her eyes from Wolverine's.
He's dangerously close to losin' control. He almost lost you. Again. You smell like his enemies, and -
He cut himself off and she frowned, wondering what he could possibly have to say. What? She prodded.
And, Logan continued, yer naked. The last word was said in an approving growl.
Oh, she said in a small voice as she felt herself blush.
Christ, stop blushing, Marie. Yer makin' him want to rub himself all over you.
Rogue found herself pondering just how you stopped yourself from blushing as Wolverine started into one of the shower stalls with her and roughly twisted the shower handle to start the flow of water. Rogue instinctively knew that if he was in here with her while she was naked and wet and ridding herself of the smells of Remy and Creed, that the physicality of what they'd started earlier would quickly escalate. And Rogue wasn't ready for that. Not yet. Not after everything that had just happened. She needed to process the events of the last week, to sort through Logan's memories of her and ensure that he knew she wasn't the same person as the Marie that he'd lost. She needed to come to grips with the fact that The Brotherhood had needed her to confirm something about Rift. And that her way home might still be out there. Even if she wasn't so sure she wanted to go home anymore.
"I can wash myself," she said to him, her voice echoing off the tiled walls.
He gave a terse jerk of his head in response, turned his back on her, and began to pace the length of the shower room.
It was the longest shower of Rogue's life. She stepped into the warmth of the water and increased the temperature until she felt her skin stinging with the force and heat of the spray. She washed herself again and again until she was sure that she no longer bore the marks of her capture. Then, finally, she turned off the faucet and stepped out of the stall, feeling slightly more put together. The shower had helped to calm and clear her mind somewhat, but she knew she desperately needed to sleep. As she came out of the shower, Wolverine had turned his back to her, and she saw that he'd retrieved a clean towel as well as a pair of gray sweatpants and a tank top for her to change into while she'd been showering.
"Thanks," she said as she began to towel off. She quickly dressed herself, threaded her fingers through the tangles of her hair and moved to stand next to him.
"You need sleep," he rumbled as she neared him.
They headed up the stairs to the main floor, and passed the kitchen on their way toward the second floor. Scott, having just caught a glimpse of Wolverine and Rogue, stepped away from the counter where he'd been enjoying a cup of coffee with Jean, a look of pleasant surprise on his face. "Rogue -" he started, but Wolverine had growled a warning and Scott immediately backed off. Rogue didn't have the energy to explain, but then felt a spark of memories appear in her mind. Scott had backed off without argument because he knew what to expect when Wolverine was feeling possessive. Then, another flash of memory as she saw herself, bone claws extending from between her knuckles as she stood over Wolverine's unconscious body, swiping a warning at Jean for getting too close. She shuddered at the strength of the emotions the memory stirred within her, but she also felt herself too tired to care about Scott or Jean's feelings at the moment, and continued following Wolverine past the kitchen.
As they reached the top of the landing and Wolverine turned to the left, she stopped in her tracks realizing where he was headed.
"No," she said emphatically as she folded her arms. He was leading her to her own room. There was no fucking way she was going to be alone right now. If Creed somehow escaped his confinement, she needed to be in a place that he hadn't liked. Logan's bedroom would smell like him, and she, in turn, would be surrounded by his comforting scent. Until she could ask Charles for help to reinforce the bars of Creed's mental prison, she wanted to make her body as uncomfortable as possible for Sabretooth. And that meant being immersed in an environment that he hated. Namely; Wolverine's den.
"What do you want then?" he growled back at her.
"Take me to your room." There was no room for argument in her tone and she stood toe to toe with him, daring him to turn her down.
Marie, her internal Logan cautioned. Careful.
I know what I'm doing, Logan. And if he really wants to protect me, he'll take me there.
He had no response to that, but she could feel him stepping back to watch how Wolverine would react to her demand.
Wolverine was silent for several moments, his fists clenching at his sides as he stared at her, his chest rising and falling with every breath. Finally, he nodded once and turned to step in the opposite direction toward his room.
Rogue let out a small sigh of relief. She didn't want to have to argue about this. She was too exhausted to fight.
Wolverine turned the door knob to his room and stepped aside for her to enter. She inhaled deeply as she moved inside, feeling some of the lingering tension leave her as the scents of his space surrounded her. There was the warm smell of leather, cigars, woods, and something else. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on, but liked nonetheless.
She immediately headed to the bed, her eyes bleary with fatigue, and she pulled back the covers and slipped beneath them. "Stay," she said softly when she saw he had turned to leave the room, one hand already on the door knob. "Please."
She saw him swallow and clench his jaw, but he didn't protest as he turned around to sprawl in the worn leather armchair across from his bed, his golden gaze watching over her.
Rogue knew she was going to have to process everything that had happened. But right now, she couldn't care. She felt safe and warm in Wolverine's room. He was here, watching and protecting her. With that last comforting thought, she let the lull of sleep claim her.
Logan wasn't surprised to find himself startled out of his light doze by the sounds of Rogue tossing restlessly in his bed. It had been seventeen hours since she'd demanded he take her to his room. She'd hardly moved at all for the first twelve hours, and if he hadn't been able to hear the deep, even sounds of her breath and the steady beating of her heart, he would have been worried. And as the hours passed, and the immediate threat to Rogue's wellbeing lessened, Logan found Wolverine calming somewhat. She was safe in his territory, in his bed, with his mark on her, fading slowly though it was, and Logan had been able to resume control. But he could still feel Wolverine's heightened awareness, determined to prevent anything else from happening to her.
During the last five hours, however, she'd become increasingly more restless, turning and mumbling frequently in her sleep. And Wolverine in turn, had begun to pace and snarl. He didn't like the sound of her distress, and he was pushing at Logan to do something about it. Logan found himself agreeing with the beast and rose up out of the chair and rolled his neck to work out the kinks, enjoying the sound of his joints cracking.
He strode over to his bed and leaned over to gently rub the back of his knuckles against one smooth pale cheek, appreciating the feeling of her silken skin between his knuckles. Her hair, which had been damp when she'd fallen asleep, had dried in a tangle of curls around her face. Her skin was flushed with the warmth of sleep and she'd partially kicked off the covers sometime during the night so that her sweatpants clad legs were tangled between his sheets. The sweet, sleepy, and clean scent of her was drifting through the room, mixing with his. Fuck, he thought. She was all over his bed meaning he wouldn'y to get a decent night's sleep again until he claimed her. Fully.
He resisted the urge to snarl in satisfaction as she unconsciously turned into his hand. "Rogue," he murmured determined to keep his animalistic urges in check, "Marie. Wake up."
She slowly roused from her restless dreams and blinked rapidly as she focused on his face, a slight frown marring the fullness of her bottom lip. He regrettably withdrew his hand from her cheek and straightened up. They were going to need to sort out a few things between them, and he wasn't sure what her first thoughts would be upon finding him standing over her.
"How are ya feelin'?"
"Jesus," Rogue said running her hands over her face briskly as she sat up.
His stomach sank as he assumed she was upset to herself with him and in his room. He stepped back further, determined to stay away from her if that was what she really wanted.
"Goddamn," she groaned, her voice husky from disuse. "I'm starving."
He was instantly relieved and let out an unexpected snort of laughter. Logan recalled his own immense appetites after a fight where his healing factor worked overtime to keep him alive. Usually copious amounts of food, a quick fuck, and a nice long sleep had him feeling relatively normal again in no time. He wondered if she felt the same aftereffects from her own experience, and found himself preoccupied with the thought of rough sex with a slightly feral Rogue. The animal inside was rumbling with approval, convinced that it would happen soon.
He cleared his throat, trying to force his imagination away from the thought of her snarling at him and his answering growl as they writhed against each other in his bed. "Yeah. Healin' factor will do that to ya. Wanna go downstairs and grab somethin' to eat?"
"God, yes," she responded as she scooched forward to the edge of the bed and stood up. She rolled her shoulders and sighed as she popped a couple of her joints. "Tell me you've got some spicy boiled crawfish, collard greens and bacon, and cornbread downstairs."
"Nope," he said brusquely as he followed her toward the door. "But I think there's some leftover pot roast and bread."
"That'll do just fine. Mind the drool," she said with a grin pointing to the corner of her mouth.
The house was quiet as the made their way down to the kitchen, all of the other remaining X-Men having gone to bed several hours ago.
"What time is it?" She asked him as she hunted around in the fridge for the leftover pot roast.
"Dunno," he rumbled back, "Late though. Get the butter while yer in there," he told her as he grabbed the bread from the counter.
She nodded and headed back to the counter, arms full of food. He grabbed glasses for water and a couple of Molsons from the fridge as she went about the process of heating up the food. Soon the only noises in the house were the faint creaking of settling wood and the sounds of the two of them eating. He could tell she was enjoying the meal and, he realized with a slight frown, he was too. It felt like the first time in a long time that food had held any real appeal for him. He found himself savoring the tender beef, chunks of potato, baby carrots and onions in red wine gravy, wiping up the remains of the sauce with a hunk of crusty buttered bread.
"This is good," she muttered, continuing to help herself to another portion. "Who's the chef?"
"If you can believe it," he said as he reached for another hunk of bread, "Bobby."
She snorted at his answer. "At least he's good for somethin'."
He grinned at this, enjoying the thought that this Rogue didn't seem to overly care much for the iceprick.
They continued eating, and Logan grabbed another beer for each of them from the fridge as Rogue drained the last few drops of hers and set it on the counter, then pushed her plate back.
"God, that's better," she said as she took another pull from the fresh beer. 'Is it always like that?" she asked shifting around toward him, her face abruptly serious.
"Like what?" he rumbled back at her, suddenly nervous.
"The hunger," she responded quietly, clear brown eyes turning to focus on the beer she held between her palms.
Fuck, Wolverine growled. Dangerous territory. Tread lightly, bub.
No shit, Logan barked back at him.
"Yeah, sometimes." He gulped down half his Molsons and stood up, feeling suddenly restless. "Listen, kid. We should talk," he rumbled back at her as he began to put their dishes away. He desperately wanted to clear things between them, talk her through what had happened, and learn more about her. He knew he wanted her, and knew at least a part of her wanted him too. But after the words that Sabretooth had spoken from her mouth about Remy, he needed to be sure that she really did want him, and that he wasn't just a matter of convenience.
She sighed, but didn't protest as she sat back in her chair, running one hand through her tangled hair.
"One day," Rogue said softly, looking up at him, her face serious.
"What?" he frowned back at her, utterly confused at what she was referring to. One day until they talked? One day that she would allow him to touch her? What the hell did she mean?
"One day," she continued, "Was the difference between her meeting you, and me not meeting you."
"Jesus fuck," he muttered dumbfounded by this statement. "How do you know that?"
She quirked one eyebrow at him. "She talked about when she left her parents' house with you. You had the memory of that, and now I know it too," she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"So. We really never met in your world?"
She shook her head. "No."
He hesitated, feeling somewhat vulnerable as he asked the next question. "Ya ever hear of me? Of The Wolverine?"
"No," she repeated. "Sorry," she added softly as she looked at him.
"Nothin' to cry over," he said clearing his throat. He wondered if there really was another him in her world. Wandering aimlessly, looking for threads of a past that was long gone, without the comfort of having someone like Rogue with him. Fuck, he thought as he was suddenly struck by a million other thoughts. Had the other him ever even been experimented on? Did he have adamantium lacing his skeleton? What if he didn't have his mutation and was dead and gone, buried a hundred years ago? He shook his head once determined to stamp out the thought. That line of thinking was a veritable fucking rabbit hole of depression, if ever there was one.
Logan sat back down next to her and they continued to sip their beers in a slightly uncomfortable silence. Deciding he'd had enough of the quiet, he finally asked the question he'd wanted to know the answer to for well over a month. "What happened to your back, Rogue?"
Wolverine had injected a bit of a snarl into his voice, and Logan roughly jerked back the chains that held him. He was hell-bent on approaching this conversation as calmly as possible. He knew she'd withdraw from him if he was too rough. That's what had happened last time he had tried to find out.
"Good lord," she muttered into her beer. "You don't start with the easy questions, do you?"
He didn't say anything else, but waited for her to decide what she wanted to do.
"It goes back a ways," she said quietly. "Back to that one goddamn day."
He said nothing, determined to wait her out until fucking next week if that's what it took for her to tell him the entire story.
Finally, she took a deep breath. As she started talking, he noticed her peeling back the white label of her beer, just like his Marie had always done if she was troubled about something. An unexpected pang of loss hit him and he clenched his jaw, trying to focus on the Rogue in front of him.
"You already know about how I manifested. It's the same as her. David and I were kissin'," she continued looking up at him, "In my bedroom."
He nodded curtly at this. He didn't want to hear anything more about her kissing some teenage prick, even if it had been close to ten years ago.
"My parents, after their initial freak out, wanted to try and help me. They looked up all sorts of information on the internet, convinced they'd be able to rid me of my mutation." She scoffed then as she finished ripping the remains of the label off her Molsons, leaving a couple of strands of adhesive covered papery strands. She took another slug of her beer and placed it back on the counter with a loud clang. "They were real religious, my mama and daddy. I used to be too, I guess," she added darkly. "When I'd finally had enough of them tryin' to change me, or cure me," she said inflicting the word with a world of bitterness, "I told 'em I was leavin'."
Logan noticed her accent becoming more pronounced as she continued the story. The markers of her origins coming forward as she relived her past.
"They convinced me to stay," she continued, "'Just one more day!' My mama said. 'Don't go yet, Marie.'" She shook her head and drained the rest of the beer.
"Another?" he asked quietly, not wanting to disrupt her train of thought.
"No," she responded. "Thanks."
He grunted once as he moved to obtain another beer for himself, convinced that he was gonna need it before she was done.
"I agreed to stay one more day," she began again. "They had a special dinner for me with all my favorite foods, tellin' me they wanted me to write them from Anchorage and tell 'em all about my adventures. I almost didn't leave. But I couldn't stay. Not with how everyone else acted around me." Rogue stood then, and began to pace the length of the kitchen island.
"Can we go outside?" She asked abruptly.
"Sure, kid. But it's about ten fuckin' degrees outside."
She shrugged. "I don't care. I want to smell the fresh air. You got any coats or blankets around?"
He nodded and jerked his head toward the living room as he pushed back from the counter. She followed him out, and he moved to the coat closet by the front door, retrieving his own worn brown leather jacket. Adamantium covered bones didn't feel too good when it was this fucking cold out.
Rogue picked out a plush navy blue down coat, stepped into a pair of Kitty's snow boots, and they headed out the double French doors onto the balcony.
Logan thought back suddenly to her first night here. She'd come out to the deck, spotting him with a cigar between his teeth, clearly hesitant to come out and join him. That was almost three months ago now. Tonight the deck was covered in several inches of freshly fallen snow, the storm having moved out several hours previously. Now the night sky was clear of clouds, and the stars shone back brightly in the inky darkness. Logan clenched his jaw as he saw the moon. It was that same goddamn crescent.
The snow crunched under their boots as Rogue took in several deep breaths, her exhalations forming a dense cloud of condensed breath.
"I've never told anyone this," she said softly as she brushed some of the freshly fallen snow off the railing with the edge of one coat sleeve. "Though I suppose the Professor likely knows."
"What? What is it that you haven't told anyone?"He asked, stepping closer to her as he noticed her shivering. She closed her eyes briefly and then stared out at the snow-covered mountains.
"I decided to leave my parents' house in the middle of the night. I suppose it's 'cause I'm not good at saying goodbyes and I didn't want to see my mama's face covered in tears." She folded her arms across chest and turned around to look up at him. "I was on my way to the bus terminal, thinking about how different a summer night would be up in Alaska, when this van pulled up."
Logan couldn't help the rumble of anger that sounded in his chest. She turned her head to glance at him from the corner of her eye. He didn't like where she was headed. But he only nodded at her, encouraging her to continue as he clenched his fists deep in his jacket pockets to prevent the release of his claws.
"These two guys in masks grabbed me, stuck a needle in my leg and drugged me. When I woke up, I was alone. In a basement. In a cage."
"Fuck," he ground out.
She nodded in response to his single-word reaction and continued. "I was there for over a year. Made to eat and drink out of a metal bowl like a dog. That is," she scoffed bitterly, "When they felt I deserved to be fed. I was beaten, whipped, shocked, and starved. All because Father Emmett Knox of the Church of Humanity had convinced my parents that the healing light of Jesus would purge the mutant filth from my body."
Logan couldn't help it. He wrenched away from her side as his claws exploded from his knuckles, shredding the pockets of of his jacket to extend down to brush his jean-clad thighs. He was breathing heavily, trying to focus on regaining control so that she wouldn't stop sharing this with him. Even if it was painful for him to hear, he knew it was worse for her to have lived it. But to think that her own fucking parents had done that to her, went against every goddamn protective instinct he knew and made him furious.
To her credit, Rogue didn't appear to be surprised by his reaction. She merely waited patiently, arms hugging herself for warmth, until he calmed down. Logan turned back to her, grinding his jaw together. "How'd you get out?" His voice was low and deep, edged with violence.
"When I found out my parents were the ones who'd done that to me, I decided I was gonna have to save myself. Nobody else knew I was in that basement. The few friends I had left thought I was going to Alaska, so why would they come lookin' for me? I waited," she said, so quietly that he almost didn't hear her, heightened senses notwithstanding. "Waited until that bastard slipped up. I pissed him off. Though I never had to work too hard to make him angry, I stepped it up one day until he started raving. He got too close to my cage, and I reached through the bars and touched him."
He saw her shiver again, though this time he knew it wasn't from the cold. Logan felt rage burning through his veins, but knew that it was important for her to keep talking. If she'd never told anyone about this in almost ten years, it must be a huge fucking relief to finally get it out.
"After he fell down, after I -," she swallowed hard, "Killed him, I grabbed the keys from his pocket and unlocked my cage. I ran into two others before I got out. Turns out I was in a fuckin' church basement just two streets down from my parents' house. I was so close to them. For over a year. And it's like they just stopped caring about me. Like I was dead or somethin'."
He wasn't sure she had realized her voice had begun to take on a monotonous quality, and he realized she may not be fully aware of what she was saying.
"I stole some clothes out of the church donation bin, took the money from Father Knox's wallet, and ran. I decided to head up to Alaska anyway since it was as far as I could get from home without a passport. But I never did make it. I was in bad shape after I escaped. My back - it was infected. I made it to Missouri, walkin' and hitchin' rides before the X-Men found me a week later."
She paused for a moment, shaking her head as though clearing it. "It's why I worked so hard to control my skin, you know," she continued, anger beginning to lace her voice now. "To hear that son of a bitch, rattling around in my mind day after fucking day, telling me how useless I am, how I'm less than scum, how I'm not even human, how -" she broke off suddenly and he smelled the salt of her tears on the cold air.
"God. Rogue," he said quietly. "I-" But he was cut off as she suddenly whirled around, eyes blazing, and launched herself against him, pressing her lips against his, wrapping both legs around his torso. The hard rubber of her snow boots, damp with cold were digging into his back, and he didn't give a single fuck. One of her hands wound itself in his hair to moved down to his neck and rake her nails across his skin, while the other moved down his chest, moving the worn leather of his jacket aside to grab at the hard muscles of his chest above his t-shirt. The fucking animal in him roared with satisfaction and pleasure at her actions. He felt the push of Wolverine, felt the desire of the animal to take over. But he'd be damned if he lost control now. Not when she was finally trusting him.
He growled into her mouth and demanded entrance to hers with his tongue. She didn't hesitate, but opened her mouth and stroked her tongue against his. He didn't want to rush this, and at the same time he wanted to shove her down on the snow-covered deck and plunge himself inside her taking her rough and hard underneath the eyes of the stars. He wanted to enjoy every second of this and have it last a thousand years as he slowly stroked the length of his cock inside her soft and warm and wet walls.
He was finally alive again. He felt his blood pump through his veins, smelled the dampness in the air, the decaying leaves underneath the new snow, and felt the warmth of Marie's body reaching right through him to touch his damned fucking soul. He couldn't get enough of her, of the feeling of Marie against him, the slick warm wet of her mouth, and he took his time as he re-learned the feeling of her lips against his tongue.
Logan could smell the rapid heat of her arousal thickening in the cold air around them and he moved his hands down her back to cup her ass through her sweatpants, grinding the length of his erection against her through his jeans as he turned and took them back inside the house. He didn't break away from the pleasure of her mouth as he strode up the stairs back to his room, the soft pants of her breath echoing in the quiet dark of the house. He slammed his door behind them and shoved her back against the wall, moving one hand up from her ass to rip the coat off of her shoulders. She arched against him, eager to speed up the process of removing the now unnecessary garment, and he threw the coat to the floor. She reciprocated by shoving his leather jacket down his arms and moved her hands greedily over the warm skin of his biceps before he tilted her jaw back to take her lips again.
He thought about stopping. He knew she was feeling vulnerable after opening up to him. He knew they needed to talk about her absorption of both him and Sabretooth, about what she wanted from him, about what that fucking Cajun bastard had done to her, and about the Remy of her world.
"Logan," she breathed into him. "I want you."
And then he didn't fucking care about any of it. All he knew is that he never wanted to stop tasting her, smelling her, feeling her. He growled again, and moved his hands down to the plane of her stomach to lift the edge of her tank top over her shoulders to expose her breasts. He bent his head and raked the side of his jaw down her throat as he continued downward to the warm fullness of her breasts. He took one reddened tip into his mouth and sucked hard, enjoying the feeling of her hips bucking against him as she gasped with the sudden pleasure of it. He moved to her other breast while gripping both hips in his hands and rocking against her at the same time he bit down, nipping the warm fullness of her between his canines. The sound of her moan was like a goddamn symphony to his ears, and he moved back up to trace the edge of her jaw with his tongue.
"Fuck. Marie," he said into her ear as he bit the skin just below it and rubbed the roughness of his beard against her throat, pleased to see the instant reddening of her skin. Whatever healing she'd borrowed was gone now after nearly three days. And he was glad of it. It meant that this time, his mark wouldn't fade from her skin for fucking days.
She pushed away from him suddenly, panting, seemingly trying to bring herself under control. Confused, he released her from his hands and she slid down his body.
"I'm not her," she said softly, a bit of hurt mixed with pride in her voice. She looked up at him, eyes slightly glazed with passion, chest moving rapidly as she struggled to catch her breath.
He looked back at her, his own eyes blazing now with a golden light. "I know that. Fuck. I know!" he roared. "She's fucking dead!"
The air around them snapped with tension as they stared at each other. Finally, she spoke, her voice low and hoarse.
"Then who do you want, Logan?"
His mind was racing. Who did he want? Was he just chasing a fucking ghost? Did he only want her because she looked and smelled and tasted like Marie? He rejected the idea immediately. Maybe he'd wanted her for that reason at first, but he wanted her now. This Rogue. Her discipline, her history, her vulnerability, and her humor, were all different than the Marie he'd known. He wanted to know more about her, learn what made her tick. Find out what had happened to her after her idiot fucking parents had nearly destroyed her by giving her to the Church of Humanity. And fuck his soul, he wanted her body. Wanted to crawl inside her skin and fill her up so completely that she saw stars and yelled his name as she came, her body shuddering and clenching around his as he roared and marked her from the inside, his arms wrapped around her holding her tight against him.
"You," he growled. "I want you, Rogue. And who do you fucking want then? Me? Or Remy?" he practically snarled the word at her.
He saw her body shudder at the mention of his name and smelled just the tiniest bit of fear edging her scent. She shook her head and her hair rippled over her naked breasts. "I want you, Logan," she said roughly. "You and Wolverine."
She stepped away from him, kicked out of her snow boots, and thumbed the edge of her sweatpants over her hips until she was completely bare and exposed to him. Jesus fuck, he thought. He knew she'd be bare underneath her sweatpants. He was the one who'd purposefully avoided getting her any underwear when she'd been showering. The apex of her thighs was glistening with her arousal and he couldn't wait any longer as he dropped to his knees in front of her to thrust his nose into her warm damp center. He inhaled deeply, feeling the sweetness and salt of her fill his senses. He drove his tongue into her and felt her body jerk in response as he pressed hard against her clit. His hands kneaded her ass, holding her in place as he dragged his mouth over her tasting her, saturating himself in her.
She gripped his hair in one hand pressing him harder against her and he slowly slid one finger inside her, feeling the impossible slickness of her against his skin. He then sucked hard on her clit as he slowly began to thrust his finger inside her.
"Oh God," she moaned as her free hand rode up the skin of her stomach to cup one of her breasts.
The sight of her trying to bring pleasure to herself while he had his tongue buried in her folds stirred the beast within. He wrenched the hand that had been inside her to her lips and growled with satisfaction as she instantly slicked her tongue over his fingers, tasting her own wetness. He inhaled sharply at the sight and met her eyes, now as wild as he was certain his own must be. He lost his control then and felt the snap of the chains as though it was a physical thing inside his mind.
With a growl, he rose from the floor and quickly shed his remaining clothing. One of her smooth pale hands reached out to run itself down the rugged muscles of his stomach to grip his erection in her hand as she leaned in to kiss him. Every nerve ending was hyper aware, his hips bucking into her touch.
And then, he couldn't stand it anymore. He needed her. Every fucking inch of her. He grasped the hand that had been wrapped around his cock in his hand and crowded her body back against the wall, pinning both her arms above her head.
"You're mine, Rogue," he growled against her throat. He pressed himself hot and heavy between her thighs, feeling the slickness of her coat the aching tip of him and she wrapped one long leg around him, allowing him to press into her. He was surprised at the discipline he showed as he slowly worked inside her, moving in and backing out, allowing her wetness to spread around both of them. She tried to arch against him to force him deeper, groaning with need, but he denied her. He would take her and mark her when he was ready.
"Who do you belong to?" he asked as he stared down into her eyes. He was going to make her say it, make her admit that he owned her, body and soul. He moved himself deeper, jaw clenched with the force of his restraint.
"Fuck. Logan, please." Her breath was shallow, her skin flushed, her dark hair tousled around her face, and she looked fucking lovely.
"Not good enough," he rumbled in response. His chest was heaving, "Who do you belong to, Rogue?" and he bent his head to grate his teeth over one taut tendon of her neck.
"Christ," she murmured, throwing her head back to allow him easier access to her throat. "You, Logan. I belong to you!"
And he slammed himself home inside her, the satisfaction and truth of hearing her words pulse through him. He felt the tight slickness of her body surround him, and he loosened his grip on her hands. She immediately lowered her hands, one to wind itself in his hair, the other to grip one of his biceps as she held on.
He fucked her then, hard, wanting to bury himself so deep inside her that she felt the imprint of him forever. He growled things in her ear with every thrust. About how he wanted her, about how he wanted to mark her body, and about what he wanted her to do to him. He didn't hear her shouted responses, he didn't have the ability to comprehend words anymore. The friction between their bodies was building into an inferno, blazing white hot and he felt her body begin to shudder against him, the walls of her sex clenching as she screamed into his ear, her body bucking, slick and hot against him. His own orgasm slammed into him and he roared as he felt himself explode inside her, dipping his head down to bite the tempting pale skin of her neck. He rocked his hips back and forth, pumping the last of himself deep into her with a shudder.
She'd thrown her head forward so that she rested limply against his shoulder, her leg sliding down his back to rest against his leg. He gathered her close against his body and strode to the bed where he pulled her against him, sweat beading instantly between their skin as he gripped one smooth hip in his palm.
"So," she panted as she backed herself tighter against him. "Is it always like this? The hunger?"