1. Engagement
Rogue was tired. She had worked hard, helping Ororo plan the surprise engagement party for Jean and Scott. They hadn't wanted a big celebration, feeling it was ridiculous to have a party for an engagement that had existed for the past two years, even if it hadn't been official until a month ago. But Professor Xavier had insisted, and he'd deputized a willing Storm to organize a party. She, in turn, had called on the older students to help out. The place looked like a fairyland of lights when Storm and the girls were done. They had a big soiree in the gardens, with music, dancing and food.
Everybody had a great time. Scott turned a blind eye as alcoholic beverages were consumed by the most recent graduating class of the school, even though they were underage.
The only dark spot was Logan. He'd stalked around like a bear with a bee sting for the past month, since the engagement had been announced. Everyone had been afraid he'd cause a scene, but he hadn't shown at all, tearing off on his motorcycle early in the afternoon and not coming back until who only knew what hour.
Exhilarated by the success of the party, and more than a little tipsy, Rogue luxuriated in a hot shower. She loved showers to begin with, but taking one while she had a good buzz on had been a new, fun experience. She settled into bed and was just drifting off to sleep when the door to her room -- she thanked her stars that after graduation she'd moved into a room of her own on the teachers' floor -- opened.
"Kid, you awake?"
"I am now," she grumbled.
"You smell like a brewery," he said, picking up on the fact that she'd had a few, even though she'd showered and brushed her teeth.
"You're one to talk," she snapped back, smelling the whiskey and cigar smoke and cheap perfume emanating from him as he sat down on her bed. "At least I don't smell like a whorehouse."
"Marie!" he said in mock consternation. "How would you know what a whorehouse smells like?"
"I got you in my head, don't I?"
That sobered him. He knew his mere presence in her life had tainted her; his memories in her head had corrupted her innocence and put her through pain no one -- let alone a sixteen-year-old girl -- should have to face. "Oh. Yeah."
She sensed his change in mood and put a hand on his sleeve. "It's okay, Logan," she said softly. He stared down at the ungloved hand, nails neatly manicured. He wondered briefly why she painted them --no one ever saw her hands ungloved except for him, on occasions like this.
The thought drifted away as he refocused on his reason for visiting her. "I can't believe she's actually gonna marry that dick."
Rogue sighed. She couldn't believe she had to listen to this again. Every night since the engagement, Logan had gone out, gotten drunk and come to her room, whining about Jean choosing Scott over him. She knew no one else had ever seen this side of him, but truthfully, she wished she hadn't either.
Part of her -- the part that recognized he'd never love her that way, so she should take what little he'd give her -- was thrilled that he trusted her enough to be so unguarded. The other part -- the one that still dreamed of romance and adventure in his arms -- hated listening to him mewl and whine over Jean. She was obviously too stupid to appreciate his sterling qualities and choose him over her loving, but staid, fiancé.
So far, the reasonable part had won out, but tonight, for some reason -- she thought -- she didn't want to hear it. It tore her up inside to see him brought so low by his love for another woman, and his total obliviousness to her own feelings for him was like salt in the wound. Didn't he realize what these nightly visits did to her?
"I swear to God, Logan, if you do anything to sabotage that relationship, I'll kill you myself."
He was startled by her ferocity. "Marie," he was the only one who called her that, "what are you saying?"
"I'm sayin' she made her choice and now you have to accept it. Sometimes," she said, speaking from experience, "the one you love doesn't love you back, but life goes on. No one ever died from unrequited love."
He looked at her intently, but still didn't see. "Any man who doesn't love you back would have to be insane, kid. Besides, any man who makes you unhappy will have to answer to me."
Even after three years, he still calls me that. He's never gonna see me as an adult. And he's never gonna see that he's the one making me unhappy. She wanted to scream in frustration, but instead she laughed bitterly, almost hysterically. He caught the strange edge on it, but thought it was the beer.
"Drink some water," he advised. "You gotta hydrate your ass so you're not hung over tomorrow. Then get some sleep." He lifted her ungloved hand, which still rested on his arm, to within a hair's breadth of his lips and softly kissed the air above it. She shivered at the feel of his breath sliding over her knuckles.
The next night, and for many nights thereafter, there was more of the same. Mostly they just sat and stared at each other, each wishing silently for a love they didn't have.
Finally, after a month of this, Rogue had reached her limit. The piece of him that was left inside her head had had enough, as well.
"Listen to yourself," she exploded. "You're Wolverine, the baddest badass there ever was. And you're bitchin' and moanin' over a woman who doesn't even want you, like some damn pussywhipped pansy. My God, you make me sick."
He recoiled as if she'd struck him. She gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth, but it was too late. She couldn't take it back, even if she wanted to. Which she didn't, really. He walked out without a word.
The next morning, he was gone.
2. Detachment
He went back to Canada, looking for his old life, and he found it. He sought solace in the arms of strange women -- always redheads to remind him of the one he couldn't have.
He sometimes considered going home and laughed bitterly to himself, wondering how he could make his home in the place where the woman he loved was married to another man. But unbidden, Marie's face would come to mind whenever he thought of home. He wanted to give the kid a call, but he wasn't quite ready to admit the truth of her words.
One night, he thought he saw her in the mob that was cheering for his opponent -- a young girl, thin, dark-haired, scared. At the end of the evening, he sat with his beer, looking at the last lonely remains of what had been a large, rowdy crowd.
She was sitting at the end of the bar by herself. He knew it wasn't Marie, but from a distance the similarity was eerie. A man strode in, obviously looking for someone. He came over to the girl and grabbed her.
"There you are, you little bitch!" he shouted. "Who do you think you are, runnin' out on me like that?"
The girl tried to pull away. "Leave me alone, Rollie." But Rollie persisted.
Logan unfolded himself from his barstool. "You heard the lady," he said, the potential for violence implicit in his stance.
Rollie recognized him, eyes widening. "The Wolverine."
"Yeah, and the girl's with me now." Rollie backed away. At the door, he spat, "I don't know what you want with trash like her. And she's a lousy fuck, to boot." Logan growled and Rollie hurried out.
He turned to the girl. "You okay, kid?"
She smiled slightly. "Yeah. And I'm not a kid."
"Whatever." Up close, the resemblance was less striking. She didn't have Marie's porcelain fineness or her innocence. He turned to walk away.
Her hand on his arm stopped him. "Thanks. I owe you. Is there anything I can do for you?" The words were innocuous, but the intent was clear. He shuddered inwardly, thanking whatever gods there might be that he'd met and rescued Marie before she'd been reduced to selling herself to strangers in backwoods bars like this one.
"I'm not into kids," he said gruffly.
"I'm not a kid," she insisted. "I'm eighteen. My name is Sue."
"Nice meetin' ya, Sue," he said. "You oughta be careful of who you take up with."
"I'm just trying to get to Vancouver. Rollie said he'd take me, but we ended up here, and just stayed."
He looked at her, imagining Marie in her situation. "I'll take you to Vancouver."
She grabbed her backpack and followed him into the night.
His motel room had only one bed, but there was a chair she'd be able to sleep in, he figured, not expecting her to put the moves on him again when they arrived. But she did, her hands reaching for his zipper almost as soon as she'd taken her coat off.
He pushed her away roughly. "You don't have to do that, kid."
"I need to thank you for everything."
"Then say 'thank you,'" he snapped. "I ain't doin' it for --" he stopped. He almost said, "you." He was doing it for Marie. But instead he said, "Sex." He threw a pillow and blanket on the chair. "You sleep there. I'm warnin' you now -- I'm a light sleeper and I don't wake friendly, so stay off the bed."
He felt sick at the memory of impaling Marie on his claws when she'd tried to wake him. It had become another of his recurring nightmares, except in his dream, she never managed to save herself and he was left with her bloody, breathless body in his bed. He knew this girl had no mutant power. She'd be dead if the same thing happened to her, and he didn't need any more deaths on his conscience.
She nodded, wide-eyed, went into the bathroom and washed, and then curled up on the chair to sleep.
He kicked his boots off and lay on the bed, wondering what Marie was up to in New York. It had surprised him that, when he thought of the school, his mind turned immediately to her, rather than Jean.
Maybe she's right. Life does go on, even if the one you love doesn't love you back. He wondered how she'd gotten so wise at such a young age.
Moonlight filtered in through sheer white curtains that fluttered lightly in the breeze. He stood in the doorway, watching. The woman on the bed raised herself up, arms outstretched, welcoming him. With low growl, he moved into them, pressing her down onto the mattress with his weight. They made short work of the clothes that separated them from each other. He dropped kisses all along her silky skin, luminous in the moonlight, as she gasped his name over and over, her hands exploring every inch of him.
She drew her legs up, placing her feet flat on the bed, and he drank in the deep, rich scent of her arousal as she offered herself to him.
"Logan, please," she cried, voice filled with need.
He grinned fiercely at her response to him, positioning himself between her legs. "We got all night, baby," he murmured as he sheathed himself deep in her tight, wet heat. Her hands clutched convulsively at his shoulders, and her hips rose to meet his, locked in a rhythm older than time. She wrapped her legs around him, drawing him in even deeper. They moved together and he kissed her as she moaned her release. Then he let himself come. Shuddering, he cried out, "Marie," and sank down on top of her, satisfied.
He bolted upright, panting, eyes darting around the motel room.
Sue was still in the chair, looking at him with wide eyes. "Who's Marie?" He didn't answer. "You all right?"
"I was havin' a nightmare," he lied, getting his breathing under control, still shocked.
"Didn't sound like it," she replied. "You should call her, whoever she is. Sounds like you miss her." She smirked.
"Go back to sleep." She shrugged and turned over.
He lay awake the rest of the night, disturbed. He wanted to call her, but didn't trust himself to be rational with the image of so much of her silky skin so clear in his mind. He could never have Marie like that, even if he wanted to -- which he didn't, he told himself forcefully -- because that beautiful skin was deadly to the touch. Just like he couldn't have Jean because she had tied herself to Scott.
Was he destined to only want the things he couldn't -- or, in Marie's case, shouldn't -- have? Deciding not to dwell on it, he chalked the dream up to Sue's sexualized nature and her resemblance to Marie. But the images stayed with him for days, keeping him warm during the cold Canadian nights.
3. Reconnection
Three days later, they were in Vancouver. He dropped Sue off at her friend's house, making sure she was actually welcome before he left. He hoped she was, because she was getting on his nerves. Always talking, always fiddling with the radio, and always badgering him to call Marie.
So he waited with her on the doorstep. The door opened and a bleach blonde squealed, "Susie Sue! You made it!" She gave Logan the once-over and said, her voice dropping an octave, "Who's your friend?"
"This is Logan. He helped me out when I was stuck."
"I'll bet he did," the blonde said. "Why don't you come in for some coffee?"
"Got business to take care of," he said shortly and walked back to his trailer.
"Call her!" Sue shouted as he pulled away. He raised a hand but didn't turn around.
He soon found himself in a dive bar in a slightly seedier part of town. Vancouver didn't have much seediness, and you had to work to find it, but he had a nose for the type of place where he'd be most comfortable.
He sat and drank and watched the Canucks lose to the Rangers. Damn, everything made him think about New York. He'd had another dream last night, which made the first look like a Disney flick. Maybe if he called her, the sound of her voice would bring him back to reality.
He got up and went to the payphone in the back, ignoring the fact that it was 3 am on the East Coast. He pulled out his phone card and punched in the numbers, his heartbeat quickening like a teenage boy calling his first crush. He told himself to calm down.
"Hello," a voice said breathlessly after three rings. He froze. Jean's voice, not Marie's. He could have sworn he'd dialed directly to the kid's room. "Hello?" she said again, impatiently. He felt all the pain of her rejection flood back and hung up abruptly, resting his head on the wall above the phone.
He went back to the bar and knocked back a few of shots of Wild Turkey in quick succession, feeling sorry for himself. It took a lot to get him drunk, but he was on his way when he suddenly cursed. He had dialed Marie's room direct. If Jean was there in the middle of the night, something was wrong.
He headed back to the phone, praying everything was all right. The phone rang four times, then he heard Marie's voice, filled with sleep. "Hello?"
"Hey, kid. You okay?" he said, relieved.
"Logan!" She perked up. "That was you earlier, wasn't it." It wasn't a question.
He shifted uncomfortably, though she couldn't see him. "Yeah. I, look, is everything all right? Why was Jean in your room?"
"Oh, the usual nightmares and stuff," she said, striving to sound unconcerned. It didn't fool him.
"Shit." He was having sex dreams about her while she was still suffering from his nightmares. "I'm sorry, Marie. For everything." He hoped he didn't sound too pathetic.
"I am, too, Logan. I was outta line. I understand what you're going through. I just don't like to see you hurtin', ya know?" she said gently, and he smiled at the southern accent that even three and a half years in New York hadn't erased. "When you comin' home? I miss you."
"I miss you, too, Marie." His voice was rough with an emotion he wasn't eager to identify. "I'll call you soon."
She sighed at his non-response to her question. "You better, sugar. And be careful. Okay?"
When had she started calling people "sugar"? he wondered. "I will, kid." He broke the connection.
"I love you," she whispered into the now-dead phone, before replacing the receiver on the cradle. She sighed. It was so typically Logan to call at 3 am, not thinking about waking her or anyone else, since he was up.
At least he was safe. She'd been angry at how he'd gone without a word, but anger had quickly turned to regret, guilt and worry.
She walked over to her dresser, picking up the intricately carved cedar box he'd brought back from Canada for her the first time he'd left. Opening it, she pulled out his dog tags. She'd taken them off in anger when he'd left this time. But he did still care, even if it wasn't the way she wanted him to. He wouldn't have called otherwise. She traced the letters of his name with an ungloved, unmanicured hand, and then slipped the chain on over her head. She'd missed the feel of the tags around her neck and it was almost a relief to have them on again.
She climbed back into bed and slept dreamlessly until her alarm went off.
She had class all morning, and then training with Scott and the other X-Men in the afternoons. She had been offered a spot on the team, as sort of a junior member, and since her power was basically only good only under emergency circumstances -- and in close quarters -- Scott was training her rigorously in fighting and other skills.
Evenings were spent doing homework and watching way too much television. That was her routine now that Logan was gone. When he left, she'd found herself at loose ends. She finally gave in to Remy's pursuit and went out with him, more to break up the monotony of her days than out of any real desire for him.
He wasn't a bad guy, really, though his constant use of the third person when talking about himself drove her nuts sometimes. They went out to the movies or dinner, and then he'd whisper sweet nothings in her ear and they'd fool around in the backseat of his car. He was quite adept at touching her without actually touching skin.
They were parked on the far edge of the property, away from the prying eyes of both teachers and younger students. She was just starting to get lost in the sensations his hands were producing when he found the dog tags.
"What's dat, chere?" he asked, pulling them out of her shirt. "Why you wearin' these again? He abandoned you, chere, and he ain't comin' back. Not wit' Jean marryin' Scott."
"He is coming back," she insisted, hugging the secret knowledge of his phone call to herself.
Remy shrugged. "If you say so, petite. But I don't like seein' my girl wear another man's chain. Take it off."
"What?"
"It ain't right for you to wear his chain. You Remy's girl now." He tried to lift the chain over her head.
On some level, she knew he was right. Wearing the dog tags was like wearing a sign saying she belonged to Logan, but it also gave her a piece of him that no one else, not even Jean, had. She wasn't ready to let that go, and she certainly wasn't going to let Remy dictate terms to her.
She snatched the chain angrily and said, "I'm nobody's girl, Remy. I belong to me, and I'll wear what I damn well please." She got out and slammed the door. It was dark, but they weren't that far from the house.
"You got to give him up, chere," he called after her. "He only gonna break your heart again." She flipped him off and stalked away.
Back in her room, after she calmed down, she hoped they'd still be friends -- when she and Bobby had broken up, there hadn't been any tension, just the acknowledgement that comfort and convenience weren't good enough reasons to stay together.
She crawled into bed, comforting herself with a brand new romance novel and a Hershey bar. The hero (who always looked like Logan, regardless of how the author described him) had just taken the heroine (the role she assigned to herself) in his arms and was kissing her passionately, when the phone rang. She jumped. It was 1 am.
"What?" she barked into the receiver, startled.
"Marie? It's me."
"Hey, sugar, I'm sorry. I was just readin' and I got scared when the phone rang."
"Whatcha readin'?" he asked, more to have something to say than out of any real desire to know.
"Oh, this cheesy romance novel about a duke who falls in love with his kids' governess. But she's really not a governess, she's an heiress in disguise, on the run from her mean old uncle, who's trying to marry her off to one of his repugnant friends."
He laughed. "The crap you read, Marie. I swear I'm surprised they let you bring that shit into the house."
"Oh, it's very educational, Logan," she teased. "In addition to learnin' all about the nineteenth century British aristocracy and the Napoleonic Wars, I've learned all sorts of funky sex stuff that--" she broke off, hearing his sudden intake of breath. She'd forgotten who she was talking to and she blushed scarlet. She was glad he was on the other side of the continent, unable to see.
"I hope you're not plannin' on tryin' any of it out," he said sharply.
She laughed mirthlessly. "Not likely, since I just broke up with Remy tonight."
"You what?"
"Broke up with Remy. He was tellin' me what I should and shouldn't do as his girl."
She heard some muffled curses, as if he'd moved the phone away from his mouth, and then, "Dammit, Marie, I told you that guy was no good for you. I'm gonna cut his balls off and feed them to him when I get back."
He was coming back. She had to laugh. "It's okay, Logan. I dumped him. I only went out with him because," you weren't here, she thought, but said, "I was bored. And he's a good kisser." She figured maybe if he realized other men wanted her, he'd realize she was an adult, desirable as a woman.
More mumbled cursing, then, "I'm comin' home soon, Marie, and if that prick hurts you, I'll kill him. You can tell him I said that."
She hugged herself in delight. "Yes, sir!"
"I'll call you soon."
"You better. I miss you."
"I miss you, too, kid."
She hung up the phone, thrilled. In celebration, she broke out the blue nail polish and painted both finger- and toenails for the first time since he'd gone.
Logan stared at the wreckage he'd made of the bank of payphones, hoping no one had seen him do it. It was bad enough knowing she was reading sexy novels, but to think of her with that dick Gambit, trying out stuff that he'd been dreaming of doing with her... His claws had come out before he was able to stop them, and he'd immediately decided to go back, broken heart be damned.
Remy had been sniffing around her even before he'd left, but a few growls and a lecture at claw-point had driven him off. Obviously, it was time to give the guy a refresher.
They were in the shower, hot water beating down on them, sunlight pouring through the skylight, gilding their bodies and making rainbows on the white tile.
She was pressed against the wall, legs wrapped around his hips as he pounded into her. Her nails scraped down his back, and he wished for once the scratches wouldn't heal instantly, so he'd have some physical evidence of the best damn shower he'd ever taken.
He had one hand braced against the wall and the other worked its way into the white and auburn of her hair as she screamed his name. He buried his face in the hollow of her throat, biting hard enough to leave marks as she came, pulling him over the edge with her. "Oh, God, Marie," he groaned, and kissed her deeply.
He woke feeling lost without her at his side, and disturbed that he was still dreaming about her. Maybe calling her had been a big mistake -- one he was determined not to make again.
For years, his sleep had been haunted by the nightmares of what had been done to him, and sometimes of what he had apparently done to others. But he would have welcomed their return with open arms if he could only stop dreaming about Marie. He was enjoying the dreams --he would have said he was enjoying them way too much, if he talked about them at all -- but he was troubled, as well. In fact, the pleasure he was getting from them was part of what concerned him so much.
He knew it was wrong. It had to be wrong. She was much too young, even if she was nineteen. He knew she cared for him, knew she'd had a crush on him even (something he'd never really thought about until now, and it made him hard whenever he considered it, much to his dismay), but he'd always kept his behavior toward her brotherly. He'd been in love with Jean, and he hadn't wanted to hurt the kid. He figured if he pretended not to know, it would just go away.
And it had. After a year or so, she was able to be around him without any telltale signs of a crush -- her heart rate was normal, and she didn't hang on his every word. He had been remarkably patient, for him, because he couldn't bear to think of hurting her, and he certainly felt unworthy of the hero worship in her eyes. It had never occurred to him to think of her as anything other than a little girl, even after Bobby and then Remy started hanging around, looking for more than friendship.
Apparently, though, his unconscious mind felt differently.
He decided he didn't have to rush home. First, he'd take a little time to figure out what was going on with these dreams. He didn't want images of himself making love to Marie to cloud his reunion with her, making both of them uncomfortable. And he wasn't calling her again. He was starting to look forward to hearing her voice, and that was something he was not interested in. He was dependent on no one and nothing, not even his sweet Marie.
His resolve not to call lasted three days. He was in a bar in Seattle, doing shots of tequila with a blonde who was old enough to be Marie's mother but probably still young enough to be his daughter. He was trying to drink himself into wanting her when the song came on. Patsy Cline's heartbreaking lilt singing "Walking After Midnight." He could see Marie's face when he closed his eyes to listen. He got up and, tossing some money on the table so the blonde could pay the tab, walked out and went to the payphone on the corner.
It only rang twice before she answered. "Hello?"
"Did I wake you?"
"No, I was," she hesitated, and he half-hoped she'd say, "waiting for your call." Instead, she said, "studying."
"Oh. Well. I don't want to interrupt. Chuck would kill me if I screwed up your studies."
"It's not an interruption, Logan, really," she assured him. "I was getting headachy and the words were startin' to swim. I needed a break. Your timing is perfect."
"Okay then." He tried to think of something to say to get her talking so he could lose himself in the honeyed tone of her voice. He went with the obvious. "What are you studying?"
"Psychology. It's fascinating." And she regaled him with the latest theories on everything. He didn't get half of it, but enjoyed the excitement in her voice as she told him all about it.
Finally he said, "Kid, I gotta go. This call is costin' me a fortune."
"Oh." Her voice grew small. "I'm sorry for talking so much."
"I didn't mean it like that, Marie. You know I didn't. I like listenin' to ya. I miss our nightly talks."
"Me, too," she said, even though they'd always been about Jean, a subject she was not really interested in discussing anymore. Maybe he wasn't either. He hadn't mentioned her once this time. "Call collect next time. I've been doing odd jobs around the mansion for Scott, and he's been paying me. I can afford to spend some money if it means I get to talk to you."
He felt a tightness in his chest at the offer and found it hard to speak for a moment. "Nah, kid. I'm making enough money to pay the phone bill."
"You're cage fightin' again, aren't you?" she accused. "You said you weren't gonna do that anymore."
"I'm only doin' it to make enough money to get by, when I can't do other stuff," he equivocated.
"I worry about you, you know. You could get hurt."
"I heal fast, kid," he said, stating the obvious, touched at her concern, and silently berating himself for causing her more worry. "Don't worry about me at all. I'm Wolverine, remember? Baddest badass ever," he quoted her words back to her. "I'm the one worryin' about you.
She laughed, but there was a slight hitch in it, like she was choked up. "That's what friends do, Logan. They worry about each other."
"That's a deal then, Marie. I'll call you soon."
"You better. I miss you."
"I miss you, too." He hung up the phone and wandered the streets of Seattle until dawn, avoiding sleep and thinking.
They were outside, under the stars. He was lying on the blanket, cradling her in his arms, her hair spread over his chest. Her hands roamed over him, languidly at first, and then with greater purpose, stroking him until he couldn't speak. She smiled, eyes glinting devilishly as she feathered kisses down his body. "You don't have to --" he started, realizing what she was doing.
"I want to," she whispered, and then took him in her mouth. He almost died feeling her warm, wet tongue wrapping around him.
"Marie," he moaned, threading his hands through her hair and pulling her head up.
"What? Was I doin' it wrong?" she asked, bewildered.
"No, baby, you were doin' good. Too good," he managed. "I just want us to be together when we come."
Her smile returned and she straddled him, using a hand to guide him into her. "Like this?" she purred as she moved up and down slowly, torturing him by tightening muscles she was just learning to use. Soon she was in the same incoherent state he was, and they moved together, rushing toward their climax. The world shattered into pieces behind his closed eyes and she leaned forward, kissing him gently.
"I love you, Marie," he whispered.
He was not calling her again, he told himself. Sure, he missed her, but talking to her was only feeding his fantasies, which were getting more vivid every night. He bought a few porno magazines, trying to exorcise her from his system, but that only made his dreams more graphic. He gave up that strategy in favor of drinking heavily, taking cold showers and sleeping as little as possible.
He lasted a week and a half without hearing her voice. Then he was in a convenience store on the outskirts of Duluth and he caught a whiff of vanilla. There was a whole rack of air fresheners at the counter.
Marie always smelled slightly of vanilla. Even when he'd first met her, in the bar in Laughlin City, she'd carried a faint hint of it through the fear and smoke and stale beery smell of the place. She had probably been wearing it so long it had seeped into the fabric of her clothes.
The girl was bagging his stuff when he said, "You got those prepaid phone cards?"
"Yeah."
"Gimme a couple of 'em."
"I'll have to ring that up separately," she said sullenly.
"Whatever," he replied, pulling the money out of his pocket. He was already telling himself not to call her. Maybe he'd call Jean's room, give Scott a hard time. The thought left him curiously unmoved. He still thought Jean was hot, and he still got a charge out of breaking One-Eye's balls, but he didn't feel the overwhelming sadness or anger such thoughts used to bring. His five months away had allowed those wounds to begin to heal.
Marie really did know what she was talking about. He'd have to ask her how. She'd probably laugh and tell him she'd learned it from those trashy novels she was so fond of. His mind shied away from thinking that she knew it from experience. She hadn't loved him, not really. A crush isn't love, he told himself, and she got over it a long time ago.
No, he wasn't going to ask her anything. He argued with himself for a good part of the night. You're not calling her, dumbass, he told himself. But a little voice in his head taunted him. What are you afraid of? Think maybe she let that bozo into her pants? Maybe he'll answer when you call. What'll you do then, tough guy? You're a thousand miles away.
He looked down at the desk he'd just mangled when his claws popped instinctively at the thought of Marie with the Cajun.
He picked up the phone and dialed before he could have second thoughts. It rang and rang and he started to worry. It was 1 am in Duluth, which meant it was 2 am in New York. Which meant Marie should be snug in her bed, alone.
"Hello," she said breathlessly after an endless seven rings.
"You okay, Marie?"
"Never better, sugar. Happy Halloween!"
"What?"
"Happy Halloween, silly." She giggled.
"Marie, are you drunk?" he asked incredulously.
"Drunk is such a ... strong word, don't you think? Toasted, maybe, or tipsy. I like tipsy. What do you think?"
He laughed. "Tipsy it is. I can't believe Scooter allows you kids to drink."
"I just got home from a Halloween party on campus. I was just about to get undressed, that's why it took me so long to answer the phone. I was washing my makeup off."
He sucked in a breath at the thought of her undressing, her body relaxed in his bed, her hair spread against his pillow. Get a grip, man. "Was it a costume party?" he asked, proud that his voice sounded normal, now imagining her in a French maid's outfit.
"Uh huh. I'm a cat. Meow." She purred. Down, boy, he told himself sharply.
"How'd you manage that?" He sounded a little hoarse.
"Oh, I wore one of those lycra catsuits Jean and Ororo use to train in, and I got little gloves with furry cuffs. The costume shop had ears and the most adorable fuzzy tail, so I was good to go. All the boys wanted to play with the kitty. Meow." The alcohol exaggerated her drawl. He closed his eyes, trying to get his raging hormones under control. He knew what he'd be dreaming of tonight.
He thought of things he'd heard on the news, about date rape drugs and fraternity parties. "Boys, Marie? You were careful, right? Those guys are dangerous."
She giggled again. "You're always worryin'. Of course there were boys at the party, Logan. It was at a frat house. But nobody can touch me, remember?" Her voice was suddenly sad. Oh no, he thought. He didn't want to start her on a drunken crying jag. "Then again," she continued, sounding a little more cheerful, as if she'd thought it over, "you don't really need skin-to-skin contact to have a good time."
He made a sound that was somewhere between a whimper and a growl. Whimper at the idea of having "a good time" with Marie, and growl at the idea of random frat boys having "a good time" with Marie. She was going to be the death of him yet.
"Don't be such a killjoy, Logan." She had only picked up on the growling. "I'm not making a reputation for myself or anything. But I'd like to have some fun before I die."
"Marie, you're nineteen years old. Why you even thinkin' about dyin'?" This was one of the strangest conversations he could ever remember having.
"I'm on the team, now, Logan. Well, sort of. I go on rescue missions and less dangerous stuff." He was slightly ashamed that his first thought was about how fine she'd look in one of those leather outfits. Then he thought about how dangerous being on the team could be.
"Be careful, Marie. I'll be home soon--"
"You're sure takin' your sweet time," she muttered.
She knew how to make him feel guilty without even trying. He continued as if she hadn't spoken, "and I expect you to be in one piece when I get there, ya hear?"
"I hear. I wish you coulda seen my costume, Logan. I won a prize."
"Me, too, kid." If only you knew. "Those boys didn't stand a chance, Marie."
"Damn right," she said smugly. She yawned. "Sorry. So tired. I'm gonna shower now, and go to bed."
He flashed on memories from his dreams and sought refuge in the brotherly persona he'd spent so much time erecting. "Put one foot on the floor if the bed starts spinning," he said.
She giggled again. "I kinda like the bed-spins. Reminds me of Tilt-a-Whirl from when I was a kid. And I gotta hydrate my ass. I remember."
He laughed and tried not to think about her ass. "Go to bed, Marie. I'll talk to you soon."
"You better. I miss you."
"I miss you, too."
4. Return
His return this time came with no fanfare, no killing of the proverbial fatted calf. He had run away, pouting like a spoiled child whose feelings had been hurt, and they treated him that way.
He found it easy to slip back into old routines. Like staring wolfishly at Jean, making her blush, when all he really wanted to do was sling Marie over his shoulder, carry her back to his bed and make love to her until neither of them could walk.
He also reinstated his habit of visiting Marie almost nightly. She would chatter on about her day and he would sit in silence, since he would never be mistaken for a conversationalist. But now, when the conversation petered out and they sat looking at each other in the darkness, they both unknowingly wished for the same thing, though neither spoke of it.
She would occasionally catch a glimpse of something in his eyes --they were darker, hotter -- as he gazed at her, but she attributed it to the moonlight or her imagination. Those looks were reserved for Jean, she told herself. She had learned to keep her love for him hidden deeply and stripped of any hint that she wanted more than his friendship.
The holidays came and went. Soon spring was on the way. Preparations for the wedding intensified.
They were being fitted for their bridesmaids' gowns when the professor called. ~Jean, Ororo, please return home immediately. We have a situation.~
In a frenzy of taffeta and pins, the women removed their emerald green gowns and rushed back to the mansion.
Rogue wondered if she would be going out this time, and if Logan would be, as well. It would be the first time they'd worked together as equals, and she wanted to show him everything she'd learned.
Professor Xavier, however, had other ideas. Logan was going, but she was to stay home and wait. "It's too dangerous, Rogue. Sabretooth is on the loose, and he's holding a bus full of children hostage, trying to get the government to release Magneto."
Logan felt a chill run down his spine, though nothing showed on his face. He did not want Marie anywhere near that psychotic freak. "Yeah, kid. Let the experts handle this one," he said.
"I've been on a bunch of missions-- " she began hotly.
"Rescue missions," he replied dismissively. "This is different. We're not picking up scared kids being chased by a mob. There's fighting involved."
"Scott's been training me." He growled at that. Rogue didn't mean to sound like a whiny child when she said, "You're taking Bobby." But obviously that's what everyone thought, though at least the professor should have known better.
"That has nothing to do with you, Rogue," Jean said. "Bobby's skills may be necessary to help save the children. The bus is currently teetering on the bank of a partly frozen river up in North Dakota."
"Don't patronize me, Jean." Scott looked from one woman to the other, but before he could say anything, Rogue went on, "Just forget it."
"Enough," Xavier snapped. "Scott, you need to get started. Rogue, you will wait here with me."
As they walked toward the locker room to get changed, Logan muttered, so only Rogue could hear him, "We'll talk about this when I get back."
She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Don't want to get in the way."
"Marie, I--"
"Just go, Logan, all right?" her voice rose slightly and Scott looked back, concerned. She gave him a slight shake of her head and he moved on. She blinked rapidly, willing the tears burning her eyes to go away. Then she turned to Professor Xavier and said with false brightness, "So what do we do now?"
"We wait. Sometimes it's the hardest job of all."
And so they did, for hours. The professor kept in touch with the team telepathically, and it was close to midnight when they finally got word that the mission had been successful, the children were safe, and the team was on their way home.
"Go to bed now, Rogue. They'll be home in a few hours." He hesitated slightly, then, "I understand your desire to be seen as an adult, and as a full-fledged member of the team. But arguing during briefings is not the way to go about it. Scott and I make decisions about who goes or stays based on a number of factors, but favoritism is not one of them. I think you know that."
She looked down at her hands. "Yes, sir. I understand, it's just that--" she broke off, feeling uncomfortable discussing her romantic flights of fancy, and her irrational jealousy of Jean, with him.
He smiled kindly. "I know things seem difficult now between you and Logan, but I'm sure you'll figure something out that will make you both content and won't interfere with our work."
"I hope so," she murmured doubtfully.
He took her hand and squeezed it gently. "Now go to bed. Tomorrow you'll have to go back to the bridal shop for your fitting. I don't want to see dark circles under those lovely eyes, my dear."
She smiled wistfully and went to her room.
But she was restless. After pacing for a few minutes, she slipped down the hall into Logan's room. Settling down on his bed and burying her face in the pillows, which carried his scent, allowed her to feel closer to him. She finally fell asleep.
Logan was exhausted. Rescuing the kids and routing Sabretooth had been more difficult than they'd expected. The local police had "helped," mainly by getting in their way. But the kids were all safe, even if the furry psycho had escaped again. All he wanted to do was take a shower and fall into bed.
He stopped outside his room, senses alert to every sound and scent in the dark hallway. Someone was in his room.
Marie was in his room.
He closed his eyes, willing his body to calm down. He wasn't sure he'd be able to resist the temptation to take her in his arms and plant a kiss on those soft but deadly lips.
He opened the door and took in the scene. Marie sleeping soundly in his bed, her white locks glowing in the moonlight.
It was all too reminiscent of the first dream he'd had of her. He must have made a noise, because she stirred, stretched and opened her eyes.
"Logan?" she asked sleepily.
He fought the urge to unsheathe his claws -- the pain would help him focus, prove he wasn't dreaming.
"You all right, sugar? I was worried," she said.
He was breathing heavily. "What are you doin' here, Marie?" he asked harshly.
"I was worried," she repeated. "I couldn't sleep." She dropped her head and he could tell she was embarrassed. "Sometimes, when you were away, I would, I used to come in here when I couldn't sleep or when I had nightmares. It helped, made me feel like you were still around."
She had no idea how close she was to being ravished. He kept himself tightly in check and said, "Go to your room, Marie." It was one of the hardest things he'd ever done.
"Logan, please--"
"Get out, Marie," he growled.
She rose from the bed and reached out a hand. He didn't think he could hold himself back if she touched him.
He flinched.
He saw the pain in her eyes as she rushed from the room, choking back tears.
He sat wearily on the bed, hating himself for hurting the woman he loved. Tomorrow he'd explain to her. He hoped she'd understand.
That night, for the first time in months, he dreamt of killing her.
Rogue rocked back and forth on her bed, arms wrapped around her knees, crying.
She was still in that position, eyes dry and hollow, the next morning when Jean found her.
"Rogue," the redhead pushed open the door, "we're ready to go."
"Go without me," the brunette replied dully, not turning around.
Jean knew the younger woman wasn't sulking over her exclusion from yesterday's mission. Something must have happened with Logan, she thought. Only he could reduce Rogue to this state.
She tried again. "I'm sure if you talk to Logan, everything will work out. But you really need to get fitted -- the wedding is next month."
Rogue laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Things will never work out with me and Logan. He still wants you. And you're marrying Scott. Why'd you have to get Logan, too?" She knew it wasn't fair, but she couldn't help it.
Jean took a deep breath. Rogue was hurting and didn't need to be told that she'd never encouraged Logan's advances beyond some harmless flirting. she thought ruefully.
"Rogue," she said, reaching out a hand to stroke the girl's hair.
Rogue was off the bed like a shot. "Don't touch me!" she shouted, moving to stand against the wall, arms crossed protectively over her chest.
Before Jean could speak, Logan burst through the door, wild-eyed, claws out, flecks of toothpaste on his face. He was only half-dressed.
"Marie, you okay?" he asked, bewildered to see it was Jean, and not some dangerous enemy, in the room.
"Don't call me that," she cried.
Logan and Jean exchanged glances. Jean rose. "I'll leave you two to work this out," she said. "We'll be at the bridal shop for a while, Rogue. You can meet us there." She left, closing the door behind her.
"Go away, Logan."
"Make me."
She walked deliberately toward him and reached out a gloved hand. He took it and pressed his toothpaste-stained lips to its back. She gasped.
"You're mad at me, kid. Don't take it out on Jean." He sat on the bed and pulled her with him, still holding onto her hand. "Just like last night I was -- angry that Sabretooth got away, and I took it out on you." Okay, so that's not one hundred percent true, he thought, but he hadn't worked up enough courage to tell her how he felt, and he didn't think this was the right time. "I was afraid that if I let you touch me last night, I'd hurt you." That's closer to the truth. "And the last thing I ever wanna do is hurt you, Marie."
She sighed, tension leaving her body. He put his other arm around her and carefully pressed her face -- covered by her hair -- against his bare chest. Her breath caught, a different kind of tension filling her. She tried to quash it as she said, "I'm sorry I was such a brat yesterday. I didn't mean to be. I just wanted" you to see I've grown up "to help."
"I know," he said gruffly. Then, before things could get out of hand, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head and said, "If you hurry and get ready, I'll take you to your fitting on my bike."
She grinned. "That's a deal, sugar."
He left, relieved that she didn't hate him.
She got ready, relieved that he didn't hate her.
They were content for the moment with a return to status quo.
Jean was in the gazebo, working on the seating chart for the wedding, when Logan found her.
"You got a minute?" he asked, feeling awkward.
She smiled. "Maybe even two."
He gave her a half-grin that disappeared quickly. He paced back and forth, obviously trying to figure out what he wanted to say. She sat and waited.
"I'm in love with Marie," he blurted.
She chuckled. "This is news?"
He stared, stunned at her reaction. "What?"
"Come on, Logan. Since you've been back, all you've done is stare at her like she's a big drink of water and you're just back from forty days in the desert." He opened his mouth but she waved a hand. "Don't try to deny it. I'm not the only one who's noticed. Ororo and I both think it's darling."
He was having a hard time forming words. "Darling?" he growled.
She nodded. "Darling."
He let it pass. "You don't think she's too young?"
"Logan, for all we know, you're older than dirt. At this point, probably everyone is too young for you."
He laughed, then sobered quickly. "So how do I tell her? She thinks I'm in love with you."
Jean rose and walked over to him. "Just look into her eyes and say, 'I love you.' Or, in your case, grab her, carry her back to your room, and kiss her into submission." She surprised him again. "It's not like the two of you aren't spending most nights together anyway."
He flushed. "You know about that?" He thought he'd been quiet, sneaking down the hall to her room for their nightly chats.
She chuckled again. "Everybody knows, Logan. And nobody disapproves. So go ahead, tell the girl you love her. You'll be amazed at her reaction."
"You think she loves me back?" He hated feeling unsure, like a kid going on his first date.
She patted his cheek. "Doesn't matter what I think. Tell her and find out."
He smiled ruefully and took her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. "Guess you'll never know what you missed out on, Jeannie," he said devilishly.
She laughed. "One of life's great mysteries. I suppose I'll live."
He leaned in close. "Don't tell him I said so, but you and Scooter are good together."
He walked away, leaving her with a bemused smile on her face. Shaking her head, she went back to her seating chart.
Neither noticed Remy watching from the garden.
It was late when he found her, reading in the den.
"Chere, can we talk?"
Rogue looked up from her book. "I'm kind of busy now, Remy."
He held out a hand. "We really need to talk."
She'd never seen him so serious. She put the book down and took his hand.
He led her out to a bench in the garden. The moon was high and bright, making it look like an enchanted forest. Rogue knew her fairy tale wouldn't come true, though. She sighed.
"Rogue, you know I care for you, yes?" he began. "Remy's not one to carry tales, chere, but you should know what I saw this afternoon." He reached over and pulled the tags out of her shirt. "He was wit' Jean. They called each other 'darling.'"
She pulled away. "I don't need to hear this."
"I think you do," he said, putting a hand on her leg, pinning her to the bench. He was stronger than she expected.
"Even if he comes to you, chere, it's only because he can't have Jean." He put his other arm around her shoulders. "Remy wants you for you, petite. Not because he can't have someone else."
She looked into his red eyes, so strange and yet so compelling. Maybe it was time to give up the dream, give up hope that Logan could want her the way she wanted him. The way Remy wanted her.
"I --"
"Shh," he said, pulling her scarf up over her lips and kissing her. She let him, closing her eyes against the tears starting to form, against the fact that it was Remy, and not Logan kissing her, and against a future in which she'd never know the touch of the man she loved.
He murmured tender, meaningless things as he dusted kisses along her jaw and neck. She tried to think of nothing but him, and failed.
"Remy, I, I don't know," she whispered, pushing him away.
He reached for the dog tags again. "Put away childish things, Rogue. You're a woman, not a pet."
"Even the devil can quote Scripture, Remy," she responded, before his lips captured hers again.
He finally broke the kiss and said, "Remy be waitin' for you, chere, when you finally wake up to reality." He got up and left.
5. Convergence
She was still stunned by what had happened. She hadn't thought Remy cared at all, yet he obviously did.
She walked into the dark familiarity of her room, intending to think some more about what he'd said and done, her hand pressed to her still-swollen lips.
Someone grabbed her roughly and she shrieked. "You have his scent all over you," Logan growled. "What the hell happened?"
She gasped. "Logan! What the hell are you doin' in here?"
"It's midnight, Marie. Our time to talk. Or did you forget that while you were lettin' that prick paw you all over?" He was furious. She couldn't see his face, but his voice was low and harsh, little more than a growl.
He pulled her into the tiny bathroom. He had to get the Cajun's smell off her -- it was making him irrational. He flicked the light on and got a good look at her face. She was flushed and her lips looked like they'd been thoroughly kissed. He extended a claw, planning to rip the clothes right off her and wash her down himself, when suddenly he noticed the fear in her eyes and in her scent. She'd never been afraid of him before.
"Logan, what, what are ya doin'?" Her voice, soft even in anger and fear, brought him back to himself. He let her go and sat down heavily on the edge of the bathtub, putting his head in his hands.
"I'm sorry Marie, I don't know what came over me. I was angry, jealous even," he mumbled.
"Jealous?" she breathed, barely able to believe it. "Of Remy? Of the fact that maybe I'm getting some happiness that doesn't involve you? What? You can follow Jean around like a lost puppy and I'm supposed to wait in my room for you like a good little girl?
"Well, I'm not, Logan, I'm not a little girl anymore. I may not love Remy, and he may not love me, but at least I know he wants me --the whole package, poisoned skin and all.
"God, how could you be so blind? I waited years for you to notice me, to see I'd grown up and to want me. I thought, I thought while you were away that you did. Your voice on the phone, some of the things you said -- but you came back and it was all about Jean again and I was just an annoying kid who hung around, gettin' in the way.
"You use me when you need someone to talk to, someone who cares, but you never give back. You never see that I need you to care for me, even if you can't love me the way I love you --" she stopped, breathless, terrified that she'd revealed too much, but glad it was finally out in the open, that she didn't have to keep it all inside anymore.
His eyes bored into hers. She couldn't read his expression. He looked away first.
"I've been an asshole," he began.
"Boy howdy!" she interrupted. "Tell me somethin' I don't know." His mouth quirked into a half-grin.
"Let me finish, Marie. I'm sorry. While I was away, I starting thinkin' about you more and more." He looked down at his hands. "I started dreamin' about you. Good dreams. Sexy dreams." Her eyebrows rose in surprise. She knelt down on the tile between his knees, resting her hands gently on his thighs.
"Go on."
He swallowed, trying to find the right words. He was never much of a talker, but he had to make her understand how he felt, and it was doubly hard with her kneeling there, so similar to his dreams, yet stinking of that red-eyed bastard.
"I thought at first that it was wrong. You were just a young kid and I was in love with Jean.
"But then, while I was away, we started talkin' and every night I thought, 'I'm not gonna call her. This is getting too complicated.' Because I didn't think you loved me like that -- that you could, you know? I knew you had a crush on me before, but you were with Bobby when I came back the first time, and I was so wrapped up in wantin' Jean, I didn't even think.
"And then you told me no one ever died from unrequited love, and I wondered how you could know, how you could be so smart. I never thought --
"On the road, your voice was like a drug. I'd swear I wasn't gonna call, but then something would happen -- a song on the radio, or someone wearin' gloves like yours, and I would think, 'I need to talk to Marie,' and I would call. And it was so good to hear your voice. And then I started thinkin' I could make you love me back, make you want me, make all my dreams come true."
It was the longest speech he'd ever made. Her eyes were filled with tears until she noticed-- "Logan, are you blushin'? That's so sweet."
"Goddamn it, Marie," he growled, embarrassed. "If you ever tell anyone, I'll deny it."
"Oh, no, sugar. I don't want anyone else to see this side of you. You're already beatin' the women off with a stick. They find out how sweet you are, I'd never get you alone, and I got plans for you." She grinned saucily, causing his heart to pound and his blood to race away from his brain. She brought him down to earth quickly. "But what about Jean?"
"What about Remy?" he countered.
"I already told you I don't love him."
"And tonight?"
"He told me he saw you with -- her, and that he could give me something that wasn't all about not havin' someone else, even if it wasn't the greatest love of all time, or even love at all, really. I was so shocked -- one, that he really cared for me, since I'd always thought it was a big game to him, and two, that you'd gone runnin' back to Jean, even after all our phone calls and all the nights we spent talkin' since you been back.
"So he kissed me, and I let him, but then he started again with how I shouldn't wear your tags, and I wasn't ready to let you go. God, I don't think I'll ever be ready to let you go, Logan, even if you don't love me."
He ran a hand down one of the white locks that framed her face; her hair protected him as he cupped her cheek. "Jean was, she was a fantasy. She's a damned attractive woman, don't get me wrong, but I knew I could never have her. Oh, I know if I had tried really hard, maybe, but she'd never love me, and she'd have ended up hating me, and you'd have hated me, and I'd have lost what little good I'd found.
"It's much easier to be the one outside, the one with the broken heart. It keeps you from havin' to deal with anybody new, keeps you from lettin' somebody in and gettin' hurt. And I was so used to not lettin' myself get hurt that when I realized I'd already let you in -- you crawled under my skin the way you crawled into my trailer," he gave a sharp bark of laughter, "and I couldn't have you either. You were too young and I couldn't touch you."
Her face fell, eyes closed. "I'm sorry, Logan. I'll stop botherin' you," she said, trying not to cry.
Hand under her chin, still wrapped in her hair, he raised her head. "Open your eyes, Marie. I need you to look at me when I say this." She did as he asked, a tear spilling over and down one cheek. Taking her scarf in his other hand, he gently wiped the tear away, his eyes locked on hers.
"I love you, Marie, in all the ways a man loves a woman, and you could never, ever be a bother. I know you're gettin' the short end of the stick if you say you wanna be with me, 'cause I'm no prize. But if you're willing to give this old man a try, I'll do my damnedest to make you happy."
"Oh, Logan," she whispered, turning her head so she could kiss his hand through the scarf. "I love you and I think you're the one gettin' a raw deal. There are things we'll never be able to do--"
"Shh, Marie. We'll figure it out." He grinned rakishly. "I spent my time on the road well, kid, thinkin' about ways to get around the no-skin business."
He could tell from the change in her scent and the rapidity of her breathing that she was as excited as he was. He looked at the scarf he was holding. "Do you have something that doesn't smell like that jackass Cajun?"
She giggled. "Be right back," she said, rising quickly. "Don't you move."
"I ain't goin' nowhere," he promised.
She went back into the bedroom, flinging the scarf away and tearing off her shirt and gloves. She pulled on a sheer blouse with long sleeves, a gauzy silk scarf and short cotton gloves.
"Is that better?" she asked breathlessly. He took in her high breasts and flat stomach, visible through the blouse.
"God, yes," he whispered, running a hand up her side and then pulling her down onto his lap.
He kissed the top of her head, luxuriating in the feel of the soft silkiness of her hair. Then he raised the scarf to cover her lips and kissed her gently, moistening it with his breath and tongue. She opened her mouth eagerly to him and he felt himself get even harder. She wriggled slightly and he moaned.
She broke the kiss. "Logan, let me," she gasped, shifting so she straddled him.
"Oh, Marie," he whispered as he felt her warmth pressing down on him, even better than in his dreams, because it was real.
She captured his mouth again, while her hands worked to unbutton his shirt. He caressed her back through the sheer blouse, hands fumbling in his eagerness to unhook her bra.
She gave a frustrated grunt as she opened his shirt and saw the T-shirt underneath. He pulled away momentarily to shed both layers, allowing her to touch his bare, well-muscled chest. She slid a hand down, exploring him, tentatively at first and then more boldly as she felt his response.
His hand fell to the zipper of her jeans. "Take them off," he demanded.
"But, my skin--"
"Take them off." It was a growl this time.
She stood and did as he said, a seductive grin overtaking the fear on her face. She unzipped with a flourish and then swiveled her hips, slowly peeling the jeans down her long legs.
He thought that next time, he'd have to remember gloves, but the T-shirt would work for now. She stood before him in blouse and panties, unembarrassed because of the unabashed hunger in his eyes.
"Lean against the wall," he rasped, slipping off the side of the tub and kneeling before her, positioning her legs the way he wanted, wrapping the T-shirt around his hand to protect himself. He gently and oh-so-carefully pulled at the elastic of her panties, ridding her of them and gaining access to what he wanted. Popping a single claw, he ripped the T-shirt in half.
"Logan," she hissed, her hands flat against the wall, "what are you doin'?"
He grinned up at her. "Givin' you the best night of your life, darlin'," he said as he placed the remains of the T-shirt over her sex, protecting himself from her bare skin.
With his fingers, lips and tongue, he worked her until she couldn't breathe, couldn't stand, couldn't do anything but clutch his hair and shoulders and cry out his name as waves of ecstasy rolled through her.
Then he carefully (always, always carefully) lifted her in his arms, still using the T-shirt as a shield, and laid her gently on the bed, cradling her to him.
"What about you?" she asked when she could speak again.
"We've got all night, baby," he whispered.
6. Communion
Rogue was tired. The wedding had gone off without a hitch. Scott and Jean were on their way to the Four Seasons, where they'd spend their wedding night before heading to Florence in the morning.
She stood at the window, watching the caterers dismantle the pavilion in the garden.
"Come to bed, Marie," Logan said from behind her.
"It was so beautiful, wasn't it?" she sighed.
His eyes never left her. "You were, darlin'. You put even the bride to shame."
She grinned, secure in his love for her, and glided toward the bed. "You ain't seen nothin' yet, sugar," she drawled, removing the lacy pegnoir she wore, revealing a sheer black body stocking that covered her completely, leaving her free to be touched.
He growled and pulled her down into his arms. He was still awed and humbled by her love for him, and he never missed a chance to show her how he felt. She giggled as his hands roamed her body, and his breath tickled her ear. He told her about another dream he'd had, and they set about making it come true.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thanks to Dot, Jen, Meg and Pete.