The afternoon was beautiful, a testament to the glory of spring. A light breeze played through his hair, and Logan inhaled deeply, appreciating the calm and peace surrounding him.

But that deep breath brought with it the realization that he was not alone, and his good mood was in imminent danger of being squashed like a bug.

Sure enough, seconds later, the voice came, effectively spoiling Logan's rare moment of serenity.

"Logan, what do you think you're doing?"

Logan cringed slightly in irritated reaction, then turned his face skyward, squinting against the bright afternoon sunlight. "Working on my bike, Summers."

The younger man snorted, surveying the scene before him, and Logan didn't need to see his eyes to see his disgust. He knew exactly what Summers saw - the ratty old bike, half-gutted, parts strewn about on the dirty drop cloth that was Logan's only concession to cleanliness and order... And then there was Logan himself, no doubt looking just as disrespectable, if not more so.

A grin spread across Logan's face as he wiped greasy hands across his chest, further marring the already smudged cotton tee shirt he wore. He knew the mess would piss Summers off like nothing else.

Good. Maybe the little squirt would finally cowboy up, throw a punch or two. He'd been spoiling for a good fight.

With that in mind, he turned and cranked up the radio he'd brought outside with him, then sighed and wiped his hands across his shirt again for good measure.

Summers had to raise his voice to be heard over the Steve Miller Band. "I can see that you're working on that thing you call a bike, Logan. I meant that," he elaborated, pointing at a spot near the radio.

"It's called a beer, Scooter." With those words, Logan reached for the bottle and took a huge gulp.

Summers clenched his jaw. "What the hell are you doing with it out here? You know the rules."

Logan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, no drinking in front of the kids." He paused and looked around, taking in the lush lawn and well-tended trees. "Do you see any around here?"

"As a matter of fact..." His voice trailed off as he nodded past Logan. Following his gaze, Logan turned to see Marie and two of her friends stretching on a patch of grass in the distance. Judging by their clothing, they were about to go for a jog. "Just get rid of the beer, okay, Logan?"

"Hang on, Summers." He raised a hand and yelled, "Hey, kid!" He grinned a little as Marie's head snapped up. "Come 'ere, Marie!" She exchanged a few glances with her little friends, then rose and half-jogged in his direction, her long ponytail swinging from side to side as she moved. "Bring your friends with you," he added, smirking at the man standing next to him.

The two other girls looked a little hesitant, but they followed Marie. When they reached him, Marie twisted a hand in the end of her ponytail and ventured, "What's up?"

He eyed her for a second, then asked, "Who am I?"

Her brown eyes widened, and her mouth opened a little, then closed again. "Umm... What do you mean?"

"Are you having some kinda...identity thing here, dude?" the girl named Jubilee interjected suddenly. "'Cause you're... Well..."

"You're Logan," Marie finished with a shrug. "I mean, is that what you wanna know?"

"Yeah, thanks." He ignored the blatant looks of confusion he was receiving from the girls. "And what do I do?"

"Uhhh..." This time, it was the girl named Kitty who spoke. "Scare people?"

"Smell bad?" Jubilee offered.

"Run around, actin' like a bad ass?" Rogue murmured her contribution with a small smile, and Logan winked at her. She continued. "You also growl, glare, smoke cigars, and drink beer like there's no tomorrow."

"Beer?" Logan feigned shock. "You all know I drink beer?"

"Duh." Jubilee snorted. "If it weren't for your healing factor, your liver would be the size of LA County."

Logan nodded thoughtfully, then grinned. "Thanks. That's all I wanted to know."

The three girls stood there for a moment, then turned to go, casting several glances back at him. As they ambled off, he heard them whispering about his odd behavior. Shrugging, he turned back to Summers. "There goes your theory about me corrupting the school's youth."

He merely heaved an exasperated sigh and stalked away.

Logan grinned again and turned his attention back to the bike. A new song rolled into play on the radio, and his grin widened as he recognized the opening guitar riff of an old Rod Stewart song.

"Hot Legs." He chuckled. How appropriate. His eyes strayed to where Marie stood, bent over at the waist, stretching her hamstrings. He averted his gaze quickly. The last thing he needed was to linger too long on the sight of her legs encased in that black leotard she wore under her purple tee shirt.

Who's that knocking on my door?
It's gotta be a quarter to four...
Is it you again coming 'round for more?

Okay, maybe the last thing he needed was to listen to that song. It made him think about Marie knocking on his door in the middle of the night, practically begging him to touch her. Gritting his teeth, he shoved away the images that immediately popped to mind. Marie wasn't the kind of girl you fantasized about, not just for kicks, anyway.

Hot legs, wearing me out...
Hot legs, you can scream and shout...
Hot legs, are you still in school?
I love you, honey...

Gotta most persuasive tongue...
You promise all kinds of fun...

Aww, shit. Stop it, Logan. Just stop it right there... He grimaced and picked up a wrench, trying to distract himself from the lyrics screaming out of his radio.

Hot legs, you're an alley cat...
Hot legs, you scratch my back...

Marie's fingernails digging into his back. Holy shit. It was getting hard for Logan to breathe, much less concentrate on the dismantled engine in front of him. He tried to suppress the colorful scenes floating through his head.

You got legs right up to your neck...
You're making me a physical wreck...
I'm talking to you,
Hot legs, in your satin shoes...
Hot legs, are you still in school?
Hot legs, you're making me a fool...
I love you, honey...

Logan cursed aloud. He should not be having dirty thoughts about Marie, he should not be...picturing her dressed to kill - literally - and using her body to tease and tantalize him like a practiced seductress. It was wrong, and it was...

It was a temptation he couldn't escape, a desire he couldn't quell. To see Marie as she could be in his mind, knowing and willing and...

Logan sighed and closed his eyes, letting the fantasy overwhelm him.

The club was everything he hated - loud, crowded, and trendy. Logan always preferred dive bars to newer club scenes. All he wanted was whiskey and a place to sit for a while, and you couldn't walk into one of these new dance places without a kid who looked like she should be at home in footie pajamas hitting on you every time you turned around.

If it were up to him, he'd leave. But it wasn't up to him, because she was still there, and he wasn't leaving until she did.

He eyed her from his spot in the corner. She owned the fucking dance floor. Several feet separated the other writhing bodies from hers as she twirled and dipped to the throbbing beat of whatever god-awful song the deejay was spinning. He was glad she was dancing alone, for several reasons.

The first was simple; he didn't want to have to slice and dice any stupid little boys just because they were drunk enough to try something with Marie. She might look like a good time, but he'd kill any dickhead who tried to touch her.

The second reason was not quite as simple, though intimately tied to the first. Her solo dancing made it easier for him to imagine that she was moving her body for him, and him alone. That her show of feminine sensuality and power was staged for his benefit.

And goddamn, what a benefit it was. She swung her head and hips in counterpoint, her hair falling over her face and... Jesus Christ. She was wearing a shirt that hugged her body, covering most of her skin, save for the plunging neckline that exposed breathtaking curves and hollows. Those rolling hips were clad in the tiniest silver skirt he'd ever seen, and it was made of some shiny material that glimmered like a rainbow in the colored light flashing across the dance floor.

He licked his lips.

Her dancing went beyond sexy and straight the hell into sinful, and it was filling him with a need he hadn't anticipated. He watched, spellbound, as she shifted without really moving, booted heels remaining in place. She threw her head back, hair cascading wildly around her shoulders, and he saw that her eyes were closed. She bit her lip in concentration, feeling only the music. One of her hands ran down over her shoulder, and the other... He swallowed convulsively as she lifted the already high hem of her skirt higher on one leg, flipping her hips easily from side to side.

Holy fucking hell.

With his stomach in his throat, Logan stared as she continued to move, her body traveling closer and closer to the floor until her ass nearly touched it. Then she shimmied back upright, kicking out one leg and turning before repeating the step.

It wasn't fair. He'd seen dozens of bona fide professionals do the same dance with far less clothing and far more interest in him, but it had never made him want to do the things that were occurring to him at that moment.

And it was Marie, goddammit...

He was still berating himself when sweet, innocent little Marie turned away, looked directly at him over her shoulder, and winked saucily.

Then she stopped dancing and headed for the back door.

She'd known he was there the whole time. The knowledge hit him like a body blow, and it was a full five seconds before Logan's legs obeyed his brain's command to follow her. He stalked toward the exit, intent on finding out what her game was...and what she planned on doing about it.

He slammed the door open and charged outside into a light drizzling rain. His eyes scanned the alley for several seconds. Sickly yellow light flowed from a single sodium-arc lamp, but it didn't illuminate much.

"Lose somethin', Logan?" The soft voice lilted out of the shadows, and she stepped forward, the odd light casting a glow over her smirking features. "Or do you just make a habit out of followin' me?"

He wanted to do about a dozen conflicting things at that moment - he wanted to laugh and he wanted to cry, wanted to beat her senseless and kiss her breathless. He contented himself with glaring at her. "Wanna tell me what that little show in there was all about?"

"Don't change the subject, Logan," she murmured knowingly, then shrugged. "You didn't like it? Watchin' me?"

"Did you want me to?" His voice was rough, and the question was harsher than he'd meant it to be.

But the woman in front of him just tilted her head coquettishly to one side and narrowed her kohl-rimmed eyes. "If I hadn't wanted you to like it, Logan, then I'd be talkin' to someone besides you right now, wouldn't I?" Then she smiled slowly. "Think about that."

Emotion rose in him again. There was irritation at her smirking confidence and desire at the low, smoky sound of her voice, but mostly there was just anger. Anger at himself for...

For something he hadn't done, but wanted to.

"This ain't exactly a little kid's game you're playing here, Marie," he growled, stepping closer to her. He expected his sudden nearness to shock her, maybe even scare her a little. She'd run, and his problem would be solved. Then, even if he wanted to touch her, make her his, he couldn't, because she'd be putting as much distance between them as she could.

He couldn't have been farther off the mark.

Instead of backing skittishly away from him, she leaned in closer, standing on her tiptoes. "You're right. This sure as hell ain't Candyland, Logan. And the next move's yours." Then she spun around and walked down the alley toward the street.

Logan growled softly and stood there for a moment, listening to the click of her heels on the cracked asphalt, the soft splash as she passed through puddles of gathered water.

His fists clenched and unclenched, and he watched the silver sway of her ass, the mile-long legs beneath it.

He couldn't let her leave.

He was behind her in a flash, grabbing her arm and yanking her around to face him.

"What are you doin'?" she demanded, glancing to his strong fingers wrapped around her upper arm, then up to his face.

Speech left him. And rightly so, because when it came right down to it, there wasn't much to say. Not with words, anyway. So he kissed her.

Her lips parted immediately, and his tongue slid between them, breaching the cavern of her mouth. She moaned, and he tasted blood as her teeth closed on his flesh, and he realized dimly that he'd backed her against a wall, thumping her head roughly against the brick.

But he didn't care because she didn't seem to. She merely clung to his shoulders with both hands, pressing her body against his. He lifted his head, groaning aloud at the sight of her flushed cheeks and wild eyes. "Let's get outta here, Marie," he rasped, grinding his hips into her.

"No," she refused, shaking her head. "Here." Her hands twisted in the fabric of his shirt, yanking it from his jeans. "No more waiting."

With another groan, he slid his hands to her ass and lifted her body up, closing his eyes as her booted feet scrambled for purchase and her legs locked around his hips. The tiny silver swath of fabric that she called a skirt rucked up, and he inhaled sharply as the scent of her arousal hit him.

"Logan..." she breathed, pulling at the buttons of his shirt. His mouth descended on hers again and their tongues tangled, wet heat mingling with need. He felt her fingernails score his flesh, and he hissed in another breath.

He was seconds away from exploding, and he'd barely touched her. He had to touch her, had to know what her naked skin tasted like. He wanted to feel her reaction to him, the warmth rising from the body he touched.

Bracing one arm against the brick, he reached around the front of her body with the other, dragging the edge of her skintight blouse down, freeing her breast. There was no time for finesse, no room for practiced technique as he latched a hungry mouth to her nipple.

Her back went rigid, and he heard the scrape of her hair against the wall as she threw her head back. Above the soft sound of hair against mortar was the roughness of her breath, panting in and out of her lungs, and the soft needy sounds slipping between her clenched teeth.

"Look at me," he choked against the supple swell of her breast. "Marie."

Her legs tightened around him with nearly bruising force as she raised her head, revealing unfocused eyes to him. "I want... Oh God, Logan, please..."

She braced her hands on his shoulders, giving him leverage enough to rip away the silk of her underwear. The torn fabric fluttered from his hand, unheeded, to the cracked pavement, and she buried her face in his neck as he opened his own jeans. The muscles in his hips twitched and flexed as he rested his cock against the wetness of her sex.

"You want it now?" he whispered roughly, wrapping his now-free arm around her waist. "Tell me."

There was a slight movement, and her mouth was on his ear instead of his throat. "Take me, Logan," she murmured, then slipped her tongue into the shell of his ear.

With a low growl, he arched against her, pushing until the full length of his erection was buried inside her. Untried muscles clenched around him, and blood roared in his ears as he fought the instinctive urge to thrust.

He pulled back and looked at her face, trying to ground himself in reality instead of the ecstasy of her tight body around his. Her eyes were half-closed in concentration, and she bit her lower lip as he began to move slowly.

"Don't, Logan. Don't hold back," she whispered, her breath brushing his cheek, his lips. "Give me all of you, everything. Hard, fast, and hot as hell."

The sound that escaped him was part whine and part growl...and all desperate need. With jerky, barely-controlled movements, he moved in and out of Marie's body. The sensation of finally being inside her threatened to destroy his last shred of sanity, but he held on, watching her for signs of hesitation or discomfort.

All he found etched on the curves of her beautiful face was pleasure, a pleasure that rumbled out of her in low moans and pleas. "God, Logan... Oh God..." Her brows were drawn together, and she panted heavily. "Ahhhh..."

Her soft voice crying out for him inflamed Logan's senses, and he rode her harder, each stroke carrying him closer to something he'd only glimpsed before.

Pure heaven.

Her body shivered, and she bit down on her lip, eyes slamming closed. "No, open your eyes," he rasped, his arm around her waist tightening, He stopped thrusting and she moaned in protest, her hands sliding down to clutch at his hips. "I want to see it, Marie...." With that, he rocked her against the wall, changing the angle of his hips, pushing her higher against the cold, wet brick.

Her eyelids lifted and she cried out, "Logan!"

He was shaking, his body screaming in protest at having to hold back, but he needed to see the look in her eyes when she came around him. So he drove harder, gritting his teeth. "Come on, Marie..."

Her moans melted into tiny muffled shrieks, and she trembled in his arms. Her legs clasped him desperately, silently begging him not to stop, not to ever stop.

Close, she was so close, he could feel it... "Just a little more," he rumbled through his clenched teeth. She began to thrash a little, and he almost lost it, his rhythm faltering. "God, Marie, come on... Just like that... God, that's--"

"That's positively disgusting!"

The laughing shriek yanked Logan from his pornographic reverie and back into reality. Reality happened to, at the moment, be three teenaged girls standing around, eyeing him suspiciously.

He looked for the source of the annoying yell. It was Jubilee. She stood on the other side of his bike, arms crossed, foot tapping. She looked downright gleeful.

"What the hell are you yammering about?" he demanded angrily, irritated and guilty and horny as all hell on fire.

"That!" she yelled in reply, pointing at the radio. "That guy just said the word 'pussy-whipped'. I heard it." Yes, she definitely looked amused. "Don't you think that's a little inappropriate?"

"Goddammit." She didn't know it, but the kid was pushing the limits of his temper. In a different situation, Logan might have blown up, but Marie was standing at the edge of the patio, chewing her bottom lip anxiously. So Logan sighed and shifted uncomfortably, then grumbled, "I didn't write the damn song, okay?"

The gratitude in Marie's deep brown eyes was almost tangible, and Logan was immediately glad that he'd reigned in his rage.

Jubilee shrugged, unaware of the fact that she'd almost received a heavy dose of Logan's wrath. "Whatever. You know, I should tell Mr. Summers that you're listening to--"

"Jubes." Marie's voice eclipsed Logan's warning growl. "Come on. We've gotta finish our run before class."

Jubilee looked disappointed at having her fun cut short, but she nodded. "Sure. Let's go. Catch you later, Logan," she called out airily as she and Kitty jogged away.

Marie lingered longer, casting him an apologetic look as she backed away.

Logan watched them round the side of the house, then climbed rather painfully to his feet. Thanks to his fucking imagination (no pun intended, ha ha), his body still throbbed with unsated desire. Oh well. It probably served him right for entertaining X-rated fantasies starring Marie.

Marie.

Logan ran his hands through his hair and sighed, then headed for his room. He needed a shower anyway, so he might as well take a cold one. And if that didn't work, well...

At least his shower was one place where his fantasies wouldn't be interrupted.

the end