Bikini Kill
by
Victoria P
Disclaimer: All X-Men characters belong to Marvel and Fox; this piece of fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights.
Archive: If you've already got my stuff, yes. If not, please just let me know you're taking it.
Feedback: Oh, God, yes!
Notes: Thanks Meg, Dot, Jen, and Pete. Um, Bikini Kill used to be a band, but they have nothing to do with this story. I just thought it was a cool name. Also, St. John/Bobby just seems right after jenn's On Love & Lust series, which I adore and am waiting for more of. Originally, this was going to be part of a larger story in "Achin' to Be" - and a version may still show up there, if I ever get unblocked on that damn thing - but here it is now…
Dedication: To Pete, since he was in a funk. Bikini!Rogue should cheer you up.
<< >> indicates thoughts
It started innocently enough. Well, as innocently as a bunch of eighteen-year-old mutants playing Truth or Dare could ever be.
"Jubilee, truth or dare?" St. John asked, playing idly with his lighter.
"Truth." Jubilee lounged against her bed, Remy's head in her lap.
"Have you slept with Remy yet?" the young man asked, an eyebrow raised in inquiry.
"Have you slept with Bobby yet?" she shot back, nonplussed.
"Not my turn, Jubes. Answer the question." He didn't seem disturbed at the question, though Bobby turned beet red.
"Kitty? Rogue? Help me out here," Jubilee appealed to her friends.
"Sorry, chica," Rogue replied. "It's all you, babe." Kitty leaned into Piotr and nodded her agreement.
Jubilee's eyes narrowed at her friends' desertion. "No. Not yet," she bit out.
"Remy takin' his time with the petite," the Cajun said, sitting up and wrapping an arm around his girlfriend.
"My turn," Jubilee said, her voice full of false sweetness. Rogue and Kitty straightened up, knowing what was coming.
"Rogue, truth or dare?"
Rogue thought about it carefully. Most of the questions had concerned sex. Since, as the only unattached member of the group, she was fairly certain she was safe, she figured "Truth" might be the way to go. However, there was that night when she'd come home at three am after a night on the town with St. John and Bobby, all three of them shitfaced. The others would be pissed they'd missed out, and gang up on her, so maybe "Dare" was the best option.
"Sometime this century, Miss Thang," Jubilee prodded.
"Dare," she blurted, hoping she'd made the right choice.
By the smile on Jubilee's face, she realized she had walked right into the other girl's trap. "Oho, what shall we make Roguey do, boys?" she asked in a voice that sent shivers down Rogue's spine. No one answered; they could tell from Jubilee's manner they weren't expected to. The Asian girl got up, walked to the dresser, and pulled out two green scraps of cloth. She tossed them into Rogue's lap.
"Wear that to the barbecue tomorrow."
Rogue held up the scraps of cloth. "What the hell is this?" she asked, turning it over in her hands, and looking at the tags, which were still attached.
"Kitty and I bought it for you. It's a bathing suit."
"I'd pay a dollar to see that," Bobby muttered. St. John smacked him.
Rogue shot him a dark look as she said, "I already have a bathing suit. Two of 'em, in fact." She did; Jean had bought them for her. They covered her from neck to ankles, much like the suits Olympic swimmers wore. She had matching aquasocks and gloves, to give others protection against her deadly skin.
"Not like this one," Jubilee responded.
"Kitty?" Rogue's voice was dangerously calm.
"Um, yeah, Rogue. We thought it would be great if you could, you know, sunbathe like the rest of us."
"And kill someone in the process?" Rogue said, her voice rising as she spoke.
"Calm down, chere," Remy said. "We'll stay far away."
"Great. So I have to wear this, this dental floss, and be treated like a pariah all day? No fucking way in hell, darlin'."
Jubilee and Kitty exchanged glances. Logan popping out was rare these days; he'd been gone for over a year, and his personality traits had mostly faded from the girl whose life he'd saved with a touch.
"It's the rules," St. John said. "You said dare, Jubes dared you."
The others all muttered things along the same lines, and at that point, she felt so much older than the rest of them. The rules. Like calling dibs on riding shotgun, or do-overs in wiffle ball games, only for children do "the rules" really matter. Adults prattle on and on about them, but live their lives free of all but the most general laws, while childhood is a tyranny of rules and regulations, many of them self-imposed. She knew she couldn't win this argument.
Sighing, she said, "Fine. But don't any of you come near me." And she stalked out of the bedroom she shared with the other girls, angrily clutching the green bikini.
"That went better than I thought," Bobby murmured.
St. John smiled. "I told you she would follow the rules. She's Mr. Summers' favorite, remember? Some of that stuffiness has rubbed off."
Jubilee snorted. "If Ol' One-Eye only knew what little Miss Rogue gets up to," she said, "he'd have her scrubbing toilets with the rest of us."
But her punishments, rare as they were, usually involved helping him wash the numerous cars in the garage, or working on his new motorcycle -- chores any of the others would have killed for. None of them begrudged her that special place, though. They knew that, even with their mutations, she was still worse off than most of them would ever be. They pitied her. And sometimes, she hated them for it.
***
The next day dawned bright and clear. At about noon, Rogue rolled over, covering her eyes with her pillow. "Five more minutes," she mumbled. "Femammem," is what Kitty heard.
"Rise and shine, Rogue. I've been up since eight. It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood."
Rogue sat up, eyes bleary. "Fuck Mr. Rogers," she snapped.
"Good morning to you, too," Kitty sang out, used to her roommates' morning surliness. Jubilee threw a pillow at her while Rogue raised her middle finger. "Weather's perfect for a pool party."
"Damn," Rogue muttered, trudging to the bathroom. She'd prayed for rain last night, though with a weather goddess in residence, she figured it was futile.
Jubilee jumped out of bed. She went from sullen to hyper in three point three seconds. She knocked on the bathroom door. "You forgot something," she called, holding the green bikini out.
Rogue snarled something unintelligible and grabbed it, slamming the door quickly. Jubes jumped, just getting her fingers out of the way in time.
"Dude, do you think this is a good idea?" Kitty asked nervously.
Jubilee turned on her. "Jesus, Kitty. She's been here a year and a half and she's still, like, totally scared to be around people. That's not good. In fact, I'd go so far as to say it's bad, KitKat. We have to show her that it's not all on her, that we can be mature and responsible around her, so that she doesn't always have to be afraid."
Kitty was about to respond when the bathroom door opened. "I am *so* not going outside in this," Rogue declared, her accent thickening with anger and fear.
She stood before them, her hands clenching and unclenching in her agitation. The bikini had little triangular, crocheted cups -- thankfully with an underwire, because there was no way she could go without one -- on top, and two teeny triangular patches of crochet front and back, held together by two thin strands of material that rode her slender hips enticingly, on the bottom.
For the two roommates, it wasn't much of a shock.
For the boys -- and the men -- it was a heart attack and a half.
When Jubilee and Kitty finally managed to convince her to leave the room -- after an hour of pleading and cajoling -- she was wrapped in the matching pareo. Crocheted, hunter green like the suit, it didn't offer much protection, and she walked with her arms crossed over her chest, green silk gloves covering them to just above the elbow.
Everyone was already out by the pool. She stopped at the glass doors that led to the deck. "I can't do this, guys," she whispered, her eyes wide with fear.
Bobby looked up and saw them in the doorway. Sauntering over, hair damp from the pool, he opened the door. "Join the party, ladies."
He put a careful, gloved hand on Rogue's arm, and she walked stiffly next to him as he led her outside.
"Do you really think you should be out here with bare legs, Rogue?" Jean asked, looking her up and down.
"You're right, Jean. I'll go back in and change," she said, quickly turning to go.
Bobby, Kitty and Jubilee grabbed her. The girls were gloved also. "We have a whole thing set up," Jubilee said. "Mr. Summers said it was okay."
Jean looked to her fiancé. "Scott?" she called.
He lifted himself out of the pool, water dripping from his lean, well-sculpted torso. More than one girl -- and a few of the boys -- sighed.
"Rogue, Kitty, Jubilee. Good to see you finally made it down."
"Scott, did you agree to Rogue's," she paused, as if searching for the right word, and then said, "attire?"
He turned to actually look at the girls now, and they had pried Rogue's arms -- and her covering -- away from her body.
His jaw dropped. He worked his mouth for a few seconds, but no sound came out. Then, "Uh --"
Jean looked annoyed. "Rogue. Her name is Rogue, Scott. Which you'd remember if all the blood in your system hadn't just headed south."
"Rogue. Right. Yes. Special arrangements. Over on the grass," he pointed, "there are chairs set up away from the main group. Kitty and Jubilee requested it specially for Rogue. So she could sunbathe."
No one could see his eyes behind his glasses, but Jean -- and everyone else -- was sure they kept darting over to look at the very exposed, very shapely young woman standing before him. He would never stare, but he would certainly take a good look. Every other male -- and a few of the females -- in the place was staring.
Rogue took a deep breath. <<Okay, no more deep breaths,>> she told herself as every eye honed in on her chest. <<You can do this.>> "Ain't y'all ever seen a woman before?" she asked, strutting out to the lounges Scott had indicated. <<Hell, I could learn to enjoy this,>> she thought.
Kitty and Jubilee trailed behind, grinning widely.
***
It had been a long eighteen months, Logan thought. The trip to Alkali Lake had given him a number of leads, all of which eventually led to dead ends. He was tired, he was annoyed, and he was finding that thoughts of Westchester -- if he was honest with himself, thoughts of Marie -- haunted him more and more.
He'd been away a while, and he wasn't sure what kind of reception he'd get, but he hoped the kid would be happy to see him. He imagined her running down the driveway, his dogtags bouncing around her neck, big smile on her face.
He didn't expect the nothing that welcomed him. No one at the door. He heard shouting and splashing and followed the sounds around the side of the mansion and out to the back, where a big party was in process.
He took in the sight of Jean Grey, in a red one-piece suit, going off the diving board. Ororo Munroe, in a white bikini, lying on a float in the pool, trying to avoid a group of boys splashing each other loudly.
He sniffed the air, checking for Marie's scent. She was here. And she was wearing sun tan lotion. He grinned. Following his nose, he walked over to the far side of the pool, keeping to the shade of the house, unnoticed by the revelers.
And was greeted by the sight of six or seven teenage boys fawning over three young women in bikinis. He recognized the girl who walked through walls -- she was wearing blue. The Asian girl was in bright yellow. And the third girl -- "Christ on a fucking crutch," he growled, dropping his bag and stalking over to the rowdy group, scattering the boys like a cat among the pigeons, or, more accurately, like a wolf among the sheep.
Rogue looked up at him -- the man who'd haunted her thoughts and dreams for the past eighteen months. The postcards had come with great frequency at first, then dwindled in number as time went on. She'd just about given up hope of ever seeing him again -- had even put the dogtags away, with her stash of mementoes from home and her eight months on the road. Part of her wanted to leap up and throw herself into his arms. The rest of her figured that wouldn't do, so she arched her back slightly and pointed her toes.
She grinned at the way his eyes widened.
"Hey sugar," she said. "How's it hangin'?"
"Marie, what the hell is goin' on?"
"It's a pool party, Logan. Haven't you ever been to one?" She cocked her head, as if thinking. "Though I guess up in the Canadian Rockies, they don't have too many pool parties, huh."
"I meant -- dammit, what about your skin?" he ground out. He paid no attention to Scott, Jean and Ororo as they made their way over.
"Deadly as ever, sugar. Which is why I'm over here in the corner. I'm thinkin' of callin' this," she waved a hand to encompass the area where she and her friends were sitting, "the Rogue's Gallery." She put a finger to her chin. "Or is that cheesy?"
"Welcome back, Logan," Jean said in the momentary silence, moving in to give him a hug.
He looked at her, startled, then returned the hug peremptorily. He said, "Hey, Red," before turning back to the girl in the lounge chair. Scott grinned smugly.
"It is good to see you, Logan," Storm said in her musical voice. He nodded but his attention didn't waver.
"I think we need to talk, kid."
"I ain't a kid anymore, Logan," she replied, tossing her head. He felt desire for her rush through his veins and he wondered how he'd lost control of the situation. Then he realized he'd never had control of the situation. "Why don't you pull up a chair and join us? Maybe take off some of those clothes. You sure look… hot." And she licked her lips. The little witch actually licked her lips.
Two could play that game, he thought. "You're right, kid -- Marie," he said, stripping his jacket off and pulling his t-shirt over his head. He knew the effect his bare chest had on most women, and she was no exception. He dropped down on the grass beside her and looked up at the crowd gathered around. "Marie and I got some catching up to do," he said. "Do you mind?"
They all scrambled to get away and he smirked. <<I still got it.>>
"Whatcha been up to?" she asked, twirling a piece of hair around her finger.
"A little of this, a little of that," he replied, not really wanting to talk about it. "Didn't learn anything, if that's what you mean. A whole lotta nothin' is what I found."
She frowned and laid a hand on his arm. "I'm so sorry," she said softly, and he could tell it was genuine.
"What about you?" he asked, cursing himself silently for bringing her down, when she was obviously having a great time.
She spread her arms wide, giving him a great view of the way her breasts strained against the little patches of material that barely covered them, and said, "Oh, it's been pretty good here. Everyone is great. I'm starting college in the fall up in White Plains. I'm training and hope to join the X-Men in a year or two, or maybe after college. I'm not quite sure how that works."
He leaned on an elbow and rested his head on his hand as he let her chatter wash over him. He'd missed her, more than he thought was possible. Had thought about her -- Christ, he'd dreamt about her, and not brotherly type dreams either -- all the damn time while he was away. He still couldn't figure out why he hadn't called or written more often, except that he was too damn scared of his own feelings for a girl young enough to be his daughter.
They ate -- burgers barbecued by a huge guy covered in blue fur who spoke like he'd swallowed a dictionary. He talked briefly with Xavier about what he'd found, and accepted the other man's offer of a home, for a while at least. But his eyes and his thoughts never strayed far from Marie.
He loved watching her chatter with her friends, hearing her laughter ring out while she told some outlandish story involving a goat, some carrots, new license plates, and the woman from the DMV. He noticed -- how could he not? She was practically naked -- the way a steady diet had filled out her figure and gave her eyes and hair a luster she'd been missing when he met her in Laughlin City.
Finally, she said to him, "You wanna come upstairs and I'll give you your tags back?"
"You don't--" he started, and then he kicked himself. <<A beautiful lady invites you up to her room, you don't say no, asshole.>> "Let's go," he said, putting his shirt on, picking his stuff up and getting his driving gloves out of his jacket pocket.
Pulling them on, he took her by the elbow and led her into the house. As they walked up the stairs to her room she said, "I missed you, Logan. Why didn't you call? Those postcards were kind of -- meager."
He sighed. "You're right. I'm a dick. I wasn't sure you'd want to hear from me." They reached her room and he stopped, unsure of what to say next. "I thought maybe you'd wanna forget the old guy who couldn't protect you."
She pulled him inside. "Dammit, Logan, you saved my life. *Of course,* I wanted to hear from you. I thought maybe you forgot all about me." She went to the closet and bent over, looking for something, and he closed his eyes, willing his body to calm down as desire raged through him again.
"I could never forget you, Marie. You're all I think about. Hell, thinking of you kept me pretty warm on some cold goddamn nights." <<Maybe that wasn't the smartest thing to say,>> he thought, until he noticed how her face lit up as she turned to him, dogtags in hand.
She held them out and he took them, noticing how her face fell a little when he did. He moved closer to her -- closer than was probably safe -- and slipped the chain around her neck. After he fixed the clasp, he ran his hands over her neck and her shoulders, hearing the hitch in her breath as he touched her.
"You got a boyfriend?" he asked gruffly, his hands running up and down her arms.
She laughed. "Nope. You?"
"Nope. Or a girlfriend, either."
"That's good to know," she murmured, her eyes half-closed as she swayed toward him.
He walked her back to the bed and laid her down on it. Thinking, he quickly shucked his t-shirt in favor of something with long sleeves that he pulled from his bag. Then he took the filmy white scarf tied to her bedpost and laid down on the bed next to her.
"We're gonna take it slow, Marie," he said, already fighting his arousal. He was the adult. He had to be smart for both of them.
She rolled on her side, facing him. "Do we have to?" she whispered.
He gently placed the scarf over her lips and pushed her onto her back. "Yeah," he replied, his lips already against hers.
She'd been kissed since she'd been at Xavier's. Both Bobby and St. John had asked her out before they realized they loved each other, not her, but it was nothing like this.
She felt like he was consuming her, and flames licked her skin where his mouth pressed against it. She gasped, trying to get a handle on what she was feeling, but his mouth and hands were everywhere, branding her as his.
He slid his fingers along the edges of her top and then it was untied and her breasts were bared to him. He took their heaviness in his hands, gently caressing and squeezing, wafting the scarf over her, covering her from nose to hips, so he could take one taut nipple into his mouth as he rolled the other between his fingers. She arched into him, her legs cradling his hips as her hands dug into his scalp. He switched his mouth to her other breast, as she moaned his name. One of his hands moved up to trace her lips as the other slid down to the warmth between her legs.
Her hips bucked and he raised his head and grinned. She dragged his head up for another kiss, her tongue thrusting against his in a way he found all too arousing. He was going to keep control, make this all about her and how good she could feel.
He stroked her through the material of the bikini, but soon it wasn't good enough. Pushing aside the scrap of fabric, he stroked her from front to back, driven by her moans and gasps of pleasure. He found her clitoris and rubbed it gently, causing her eyes to fly open and her breathing to become even more ragged.
Pulling the scarf downward, he licked her through the thin material as he slid a gloved finger into her tight, wet passage and flexed his forearm skillfully.
She moaned loudly as intense pleasure rippled through her and she found her release. "Oh, God, Logan. Logan!" Over and over again she called his name and he growled in response.
"That's it, baby," he said, straining to control his own desire as she clenched around his fingers and her taste was in his mouth. "It's all about you, Marie. All you. Only you," he murmured, moving back up to kiss her gently as the shudders running through her faded.
"What about you?" she asked huskily, feathering a hand down his body, enjoying the feel of his muscles as he tensed in response.
"You don't have to," he murmured, as her hands started working on his belt buckle.
"But I want to," she whispered, pulling the belt off and dropping it on the floor. Her hands worked on his jeans next, and she muttered, "Damn button fly," making him chuckle.
"Let me," he said, undoing it quickly. He knew, even if she'd forgotten in the daze of passion, he had to keep his pants on. There was too much of her skin exposed for it to be safe, and while he didn't care so much what happened to him, he didn't want this to turn into a bad experience for her.
She freed him from his jeans, muttering, "I knew it!"
"What?"
"That you didn't wear underwear," she said, and again, he laughed delightedly. He couldn't ever remember laughing at all during sex -- it was always grunting, straining, moaning and goodbye -- and it was wonderful.
He was done laughing, though, as she slid her hand down his hard length. She bit her lip in concentration -- a look most of her friends knew was one that heralded the search for a specific memory among the jumble in her head. Then she cupped his balls and squeezed lightly and she continued moving her hand up and down his shaft, a little harder than most women did, and much better than he expected. If he thought about, and he did, later, he'd realize she was accessing his memories about what he liked and wanted, and even how he did it himself.
But he couldn't think with her eyes so intent and her hand on his cock. His hips jerked and he knew he wasn't going to last much longer. He pulled her hands away, not wanting to come all over her.
She looked stricken. "What's wrong? Oh, God, did I do something wrong?" she asked breathlessly.
"No, Marie, you did perfect," he managed. "I just don't want to ruin your pretty gloves." She blushed at the implication and watched as he pulled a condom out of his wallet. She took it from him and rolled it on. "How do you know how to do that?" he asked, jealous.
"Hank taught us in health class," she replied, smiling wickedly and dipping her head down, following her hand with her mouth. He slid his fingers through her hair as he came, jerking his hips and grunting her name. She knotted the condom and threw it out when he was done.
Satisfied for the moment, he hauled her up, kissed her deeply through the scarf, and wrapped his arms around her. "Sleep, baby," he whispered, and she did. He stayed awake and watched her.
***
When Kitty and Jubilee got back to their room later, they heard the grunts and moans, and wandered back down to the rec room, their plans to shower and change shot.
"Damn," Jubilee muttered, "I didn't think they'd be shagging like crazed minks within a day of his return."
"St. John wins the pool," Kitty said disgustedly. "How does he always manage to do that?"
Jubilee laughed. "Hell if I know. But damn, chica, that bathing suit was the best sixty bucks we ever spent."
Kitty laughed and agreed.
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