Logan pulled back and the bike let loose a fierce snarl, alerting the local mutant refuge that he’d come home, as promised. He steadied the monstrous beast, gravel crunching beneath his boots and killed the ignition, surveying the landscape. You never knew around here what might go flying by. Or exploding. Today, though, the grounds were uncharacteristically quiet for such a beautiful spring afternoon.
At least they were a minute ago. Logan heard a loud *TING* reverberate and echo against the mansion’s garage door, piercing his acute hearing, followed by muffled coughs and a string of words that almost made him blush. He grunted, cocking an eyebrow, and stuck a Cuban between his teeth, using the toe of his boot to lay the bike’s weight on the kickstand as he dismounted. He considered walking right on by until the cough borderlined on a sob. One that he recognized.
He jammed in the key access code with a quick, steady efficiency despite the adrenaline flooding his veins, a skill years of battle had honed and perfected. The wide metal electronic door moved too slow for his liking and he ducked under it before it had time to reach his waist, only to be met by dark black rolling smoke that burned his lungs and twisted, climbing his legs and chest, making his eyes water. Logan spit out his cigar, covering his mouth with his leather bound arm as he coughed and stumbled, fumbling through the thick fog as his head spun, recognizing the sweet scent of carbon monoxide, undetectable to most, and tried to follow the sound of the faint choking to his left.
He fell sideways into an open cab, banging his hip against the metal frame and groaned, and felt his hand grazing something silky.
“Get-“ *cough cough* “OFF-“ *COUGH* “Of me!” *Cough cough*
Logan got dizzier but blindly hooked his arm around the small strip of skin he felt and yanked her hard back against him. They both fell, her limply on top of him and he rolled them towards the light out onto the drive and into the clean air, hanging on tightly to Rogue’s smooth midriff until she was coherent enough to violently push herself off of him.
“DAMNIT LOGAN!”
He tried to huff but still couldn’t move. He hardly managed to cut his eyes at her, vision still hazy and dark around the edges.
“What. The. Fuck, Rogue?”
She sat up, putting a naked palm to her blackened forehead, trying to make the ground quit swirling beneath her bottom. She’d never noticed there were so many colors in gravel before…
Oh boy.
She roughly swiped away the hot tears streaking down her cheeks and stood up, brushing off her behind and went to offer Logan a hand up before thinking better of it. Instead, she placed them on her hips, glaring down at him, waiting for him to get to his feet.
“What are you doin’ here, Logan?” she demanded.
His broad carved face twisted in anger.
“Nice to see you too, darlin’.” He growled as he rose unsteadily and went over to his saddle bags, flipping them open impatiently and yanked out a Molson’s as his healing factor did it’s job. “Savin’ your ass again, apparently.”
The beer *PSSHTED* and fizzed as it met the heat and he chugged half of it in one swallow, ignoring the foam burning on the way down, his adam’s apple bobbing beneath the shadow of his stubble as he pulled.
Rogue eyeballed the movement and pursed her lips, a far away look in her doe eyes.
“Hm.” she turned, platinum streaked pony tail flipping behind her haughtily and flashed him a look of disdain over her shoulder. She walked back into the smog, now a dim gray, waving the lingering smoke away from her face as she strode towards her truck, which had sputtered and died. Almost like she had. “My ass don’t need savin’ Logan. And surely not by the likesa you.” She slammed the door to the ’73 Gladiator. The antique metal creak sent a shock down Logan’s spine and made his hair stand on end. Why did she insist on driving that damn yard art? With her wanderlust she was bound to end up stranded God only knew where and have some freak pick her up and… The thought made Logan’s knuckles ache.
“You’re right, seems like it’s anglin’ for a good ass kickin’ instead.” He rumbled, polishing off the beer. “You wanna tell me just what the fuck you’re doin’?”
He’d thought she’d been relatively happy when he’d taken off. Sure, still untouchable, maybe, still slightly an outsider, but still as close to other people as she could ever get. He thought that helped. Made it easier, to be around others with life altering powers they could never turn back from. He wouldn’t have left if he’d thought different. And he sure as hell never thought she’d go as far as endin' her own life. What the hell had he missed in just a month?
Rogue bent over to pick up the discarded wrench. The clear culprit of the garage door assault and Logan tensed, ready to duck if she decided he looked like her next target.
“She just needs a little oil. That’s all.” Rogue grumbled under her breath.
What? Logan felt his shoulders relax slightly and his fists unclench as his mind slowly put the pieces together. Black smoke. Exhaust. Oil. Oh. Huh.
Right.
“Next time might I advise opening the garage door before…”
“Shut up, Logan.” she snapped.
He quirked a brow, amused but unmoved by her quick retort as he watched her hoist herself up on her elbows over the big block engine, little feet dangling, ass in the air, and his eyes locked on the drop of sweat sliding between her creamy Venus dimples, and licked his suddenly dry lips, jaw clenching as she wriggled. He swallowed past the sudden knot in his throat and forced himself to tear his gaze away and redirected his attention, grabbing another beer and leaned against One Eye's Harley and observed, curious to see what the wrench was for. He took a drink and waited, crossing his boots at the ankles. He tilted his unruly head for a better view. If there was one… he mentally chastised himself for being a damn animal.
Rogue had the oil cap locked between the wrench’s forceps and was twisting with all her might, lithe muscles straining, eyebrows drawn in concentration, tongue sticking out of the side of her mouth. Her hand slipped and so did she.
“OW! GOSH DANGIT ALL TO HELL!” she lifted the wrench over her head and swung, hitting the blasphemous oil cap with renewed vigor. “SON OF A BITCH! UGH. PIECE OF SHIT, I HATE YO-“ she paused mid swing, chest heaving, breathing labored, her breasts straining against the white fabric, eyes shining, and Logan caught himself wondering if that was what she looked like when… he chugged his beer and adjusted himself in what he hoped wasn’t a noticeable way. Shit. Fuck. If there was any kind of decency inside of him he’d leave. But he had a hard time walking away from her when something was so clearly wrong. He cleared his throat suddenly, eyebrows drawn and she lifted her chin, meeting his somber gaze straight on, dark eyes lit with from within with a fire that had burned. He shifted, uneasily.
“I just need… the right tool.” she whispered breathily, blowing the lightning streak out of her line of vision. She placed the wrench on the engine, gentler than he’d expected and strode over to him. He froze, trying desperately to convince himself that he was immune to the sway of her hips as his body vibrated with her nearness. The faint smell of sweat, motor oil and wildflowers wafted up to meet him, dancing on the breeze and clouding his judgment, the sound of her racing heart pounding in his own ears.
“D’you trust me?” she leaned in to him.
It’s not you that I don’t trust, kid...
She took his silence as a green light.
"Don't move."
As if he could. Unless you counted the beer bottle he was about to shatter in his hand. He took a deep breath through his nose and his muscles tensed suddenly as she confidently dipped her dainty fingers behind his belt buckle and jerked, taking his belt off of him in one fell swoop with a sharp *CRACK* that went straight to his groin.
Where the hell did she learn to do that so well?
Logan thanked God for predatory reflexes as he barely held on to his beer and stood in stunned silence as she didn’t wait for his reaction, and jogged back over to the open hood of her truck, shimmying back up. There was an air of efficiency about her that fascinated him. He stared wordlessly as she placed the buckle on top of the oil cap and hooked it underneath, pushing down. And off it popped. Like a gasket in his brain. Logan’s luminous eyes widened in astonishment. A cry of relief broke from her lips and his stomach tightened.
“YAHTZEE!”
Logan snapped his mouth shut. Her cold resentment vanished and she couldn’t keep herself from laughing as she proceeded to pour a couple quarts of oil into the old engine before she hopped down, wiping her hands on the red grease covered rag dangling out of her back pocket.
“That is what you call southern ingenuity.”
Logan finished his beer.
Both saddle bags.
Rogue helped.
After all, he hadn’t brought her a birthday present.
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