Author's Chapter Notes:
Ok, so I'm feeling Christmassy. Think I must be in a soppy mood or something tonight. Where's the angst? Where's the smut? The humour? I think it was Skybluerae who said that if I wrote a fic in which I wasn't torturing Logan with strip clubs or spandex – then it was time to visit the doctor. Ooops. *Books appointment.* Marie's POV, sometime after she's taken the cure.It's a bit low on the specifics...but hell – that's what imagination's for *g*. It's also a bit low on plot... but you're all creative people *g* - you can imagine that too! LoL! I kinda like it short and sweet :o)
My first kiss put a boy in a coma. That's never easy to live with.

My second stole the mutation from my boyfriend and sucked away at his life until he was forced to push me away.

Can you blame me for not expecting a third?

But it happened. One ice cold winter's day.

I was outside, stamping the warmth back into my feet after a walk round the gardens. I could feel the chill gnaw through my gloves, see the breath cloud in front of my face, but I didn't mind. It was nice to be out and about. Fresh.

I sat down on a stone bench, under the weighted branches of an evergreen tree, and I watched the snow fall.

He gave me this lopsided smile, eyebrow half raised, when he found me. I remember it because he didn't call me kid. Just huffed a laugh at me for trying to catch the snowflakes on my tongue.

He sat down beside me, stretching out his legs. Around his boots, the bottoms of his jeans were dark, soaked through with snow. But he paid them no attention. Instead he casually lit a cigar, leaning back as he exhaled contented clouds of wispy smoke. The snow sizzled slightly when it touched the burning tip.

I said something, I don't remember what, but when he turned to look at me, it was a little oddly, a frown briefly crossing his face. Then it relaxed into a comfortable smile, almost a smirk, as he told me I had snowflakes on my eyelashes.

I remember laughing. Then I remember him leaning closer, catching my wrist to stop me as I went to brush them away, his thumb going there instead, and something changed. My smile became something else. I was suddenly nervous. He was looking at me so strangely.

And then he said something. My name.

I saw him blink, felt the warmth of his breath as he leant even closer still. It was not how third kisses should be. It was awkward, strange at first, his stubble grazed my chin, I think our teeth clashed, and he pulled away as embarrassed as me. He laughed at himself for making such a hash up of it. The Wolverine. Kissing like a schoolboy.

He asked if he could try again.

My lips felt cold where he had taken his away, and I nodded. I looked shyly up at him as he drew his forehead against mine. Resting it there for a moment as his hands slid slowly into my hair. Then he moved his head to the side so that our cheeks pressed together, warming each other against the cold, then a little more, a little closer, and something inside me began to melt in anticipation, knowing what was coming, waiting for his mouth to find mine.

Just a press of lips on lips. Gentle. Then again. Then more, moist and warm and not quite so awkward. The slight taste of bitter smoke and the dark curl of the whisky he'd drunk before coming outside.

I felt him breathe out through his nose, let him tilt my head and part my lips. Unsure of what to expect from him. Nervous, until I felt the first brush of his tongue against mine, rough and smooth and different. It sent a giddy kick through my stomach, made me flush with warm colour, as my senses came alive with the scent of him around me.

This time, when he pulled away, he was looking at me intensely. I could feel the damp heat left by his mouth fade as the cold whipped it away, but his slow burning gaze did not diminish, and it ignited something else inside.

He studied my reaction. Then a smile broke through.

When he stood up, he offered me his hand. I took it, and he pulled me to my feet, suddenly laughing and yelling as he took off back to the mansion at a run, dragging me behind him through the snow.

There were, of course, other kisses. But that would be another story.
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