Complications
by
Victoria P
Disclaimer: I own not. You sue not. All songs belong to their respective owners, none of whom are me.
Archive: If you want it, I ain't gonna say no. Just drop me a line to tell me where it's living.
Feedback: Me = Feedback whore
Notes: I'm in a very strange mood. I think it's the caffeine and the lack of sleep. This was originally supposed to be PWP, but then a little bitty plot snuck in. A really itty-bitty plot. I mean, like, a microscopic plot. *g*
Thanks to Jen, Meg, Dot and Pete for your support.
<< >> indicates thoughts
~ ~ indicates telepathic conversation
Logan looked at the woman sleeping in bed next to him and wondered how it all got so complicated.
He'd come back to Xavier's School after a year of cold leads and frustrating dead ends. He and the kid had become friends, something he'd never really expected or experienced.
She got over her crush on him enough to date Bobby for two years, losing her virginity to Popsicle Boy on the night of their high school graduation. She had consulted with Logan first about the best ways to go about such an important undertaking. He'd worried about her and given her the best advice he could, which basically amounted to, "Use a condom and tell him if he hurts you, I'll kill him."
She and Bobby drifted apart once he went away to college, while she stayed at the mansion and went to school locally.
She took up with Remy. That didn't last, since that boy couldn't seem to keep it in his pants, and he had execrable taste in women, Marie excepted. Logan had had more than one confrontation with the Cajun, where claws were extended and warnings given.
He knew she'd dated guys in college. Even brought one or two of them home for his approval. They'd show up and he'd look them over from a corner of the living room while they waited for Marie to get dressed. If they managed not to piss themselves, and showed a sufficient interest in hockey, they usually got his okay.
She graduated college and joined the X-Men and he really couldn't stop her, though he'd tried to talk her out of it. He didn't like to see her taking risks or in danger. He was still looking out for her, though six years had passed since that day on the train when he promised to do so. She was the one that had pulled him out of his meaningless existence; she was his best friend and his drinking buddy, and he never ever planned on that changing.
Even after they had sex.
He never planned on having sex with her, either. It just happened. They had returned to the mansion after fighting a mutant terrorist group trying to take over the Mexican government.
Logan was primed and ready for action. He always was, after a fight. It didn't seem strange that Marie felt the same. After all, she had an awful lot of him in her, even after all the years that had passed since that night on the Statue of Liberty.
He had a routine after missions. He showered, dressed, and went looking for a bottle of Wild Turkey and a willing woman. Neither was ever hard to find. He just never expected it to be Marie this time.
They were lagging behind the others on the way to the locker room, rehashing the fight, when she said, "Take me with you."
It was one of the few times she managed to surprise him. "What?"
"Wherever you go after this. I can't sleep. I'm too wired. It's still early." She repeated herself. "Take me with you."
He could smell it on her, the adrenaline and the arousal -- it reminded him of himself, and of himself inside her. Which was kind of a turn on, when he thought of it that way. <<Inside Marie,>> he mused, for once not stopping his mind from going where it usually went when he saw a beautiful woman.
He'd never allowed himself to think that way about her before. First, because she'd been a kid, and he'd been responsible for her. And then because it seemed strange to think of Marie as a sexual creature. Even though he knew she was having sex, it never struck him as quite real -- he figured parents probably felt that way about their children. But he never thought of her as his daughter. Ever. If he had, nothing that followed would have ever happened.
Occasionally he'd watch her in her lyrca gym clothes or in her leather uniform, but he always stopped his mind from lingering on her generous curves or her lush mouth. Until this time.
"Yeah," he said, a slow grin appearing on his face. "That'd be fun."
And it had been. They'd gone to a local tavern, instead of into the city as he usually did. They'd shot a little stick, and a lot of bourbon, and then suddenly she was on his lap in the booth, running her hands through his hair as he whispered in her ear all the things he'd like to do to her.
They barely made it back to her room before he had her lying on the bed, clothes off, his gloved fingers (he never went anywhere without gloves. It was a silent testament to the strength of his feelings for her, and his determination that she be treated as normally as possible whenever possible) slipping easily into the wetness between her legs.
"Oh, Logan," she hissed and the sound of his name on her lips made him harder than he already was. He stroked her until she came and he pressed her face into his shoulder so no one could hear her scream.
She reached for the zipper on his jeans, undoing it with a flourish. She pulled a condom from her night table drawer and lowered it onto him with her mouth.
"Where--" he gasped.
And she grinned around his hardness. Raising her head, she said, "You. Stripper. Miami," before returning her mouth to his cock and teasing him with her tongue.
He cursed when he thought about that later, because she'd lied to him. She'd told him a long time ago that she didn't really have clear access to his memories, just feelings and impressions, and this was a hell of a lot more detailed than he expected.
But he wasn't really thinking right now.
He put a hand on the back of her neck and tried to control himself. He didn't want to come in her mouth. That wasn't how he'd imagined it.
Sometimes things don't go the way you plan. She was better than he'd expected, wrapping her tongue around him and scraping her teeth along the sensitive underside of his penis. He couldn't hold on, thrusting himself deeper into her mouth and shuddering as he came.
She smiled at him, and stretched like a cat as he disposed of the condom and pulled out a new one.
"It's still early," he said, echoing her words. "We got lots of time." His healing factor was very useful in these situations.
They did everything he'd whispered to her in the bar. Twice.
Then she rolled over and fell asleep, mumbling about how she had a class to teach tomorrow, and she was probably going to be sore.
He lay awake, wondering if things were going to change between them. He couldn't even blame it on alcohol, since he wasn't drunk. She wasn't either, by the time they'd gotten home. He didn't want her to think he'd taken advantage of her in any way.
He considered going back to his room. If it had been any other woman, in any other circumstance, he wouldn't have thought twice. But this was Marie. He wondered what it meant to her, what it meant for their relationship. <<Don't be such a fucking pansy,>> he scolded himself. <<We're friends. She knows this didn't mean anything more than that.>>
He spent the night there anyway, and woke her up with an early morning display of his talents. She rolled over onto her stomach and he slid into her from behind, glorying in her tightness as he set the rhythm that would take them both home. She used a pillow to muffle her moans and he slid the sheet over her shoulder and bit down hard when he came.
After resting for a few moments, they looked at each other.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Never better, sugar," she replied, smiling. She pulled his arm around her, and snuggled. He'd kept his clothes on -- that was a first for her. Usually, the men she'd been with had stripped and required her to remain covered. She sighed contentedly. "This doesn't have to change things."
He smiled in return. "I knew you'd say that, darlin'." They lay silent for a few minutes, then he got up and walked to the door. "See ya later?"
"We got sparring at three," she responded. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."
And he left, thankful that he'd found someone who understood.
***
Rogue stretched and felt her muscles pull. She was definitely sore, but it was a good soreness. She thought about him and was glad she'd said the right thing. She didn't want to lose his friendship. This had been an aberration, based on adrenaline and alcohol, not love. For her as well as for him. She understood that, understood him.
He needed this, and she was, first and foremost, his friend. She loved him, always had, but had settled into comfortable companionship, since that was what he wanted. She wasn't going to let sex get in the way.
She had fallen in love with Bobby and again with a guy named Alan from college. Neither relationship had worked out, but not because of her feelings for Logan. They just accepted that he was part of her life, and never thought anything of it. That was how she always expected it to be. The idea that he would fall in love with her had stopped being a part of her fantasies a long time ago, and she wasn't going to start wishing for the impossible now. Though she'd never expected to sleep with him, she knew it didn't mean to him what it meant to other people, and she wasn't going to let herself be hurt when the relationship didn't blossom into something more.
They already had the best relationship anyone could ask for, and she didn't want it to get complicated.
***
Rogue entered the dining room cautiously, wondering if anyone had any inkling what had happened last night.
Ororo waved her over. "You look tired," the weather witch said by way of greeting.
"Thanks," Rogue responded wryly. "I can always count on you to give me the news straight, 'Ro."
"Going out drinking with Logan isn't the best way to look refreshed," the other woman replied. "Especially since you cannot keep up with him."
<<That's what you think,>> Rogue thought, struggling to keep from grinning idiotically. She sighed with gusto. "It's not fair, is it," she said. This was an old conversation.
Ororo laughed. "Life seldom is, Rogue."
They went on to discuss other things, mainly Ororo's rooftop garden and Rogue's promise to help prune the roses later that day. Rogue realized that nobody knew about her and Logan. Or if they did, they didn't care. Which made her feel even better about the whole thing. Because once other people got involved, things tended to get complicated.
***
They didn't become all about sex. In fact, it was months before they did it again. And again, it was after a mission. They didn't even make it to her room this time. He took her up against the wall in the garage, using a claw to cut a hole in the crotch of her tights and panties and using the condom in his wallet.
They giggled like schoolchildren playing a prank afterward. Well, Rogue did. Logan would never do anything so girly as giggle. He chuckled manfully, once. They felt like they were putting one over on everyone, though Logan could smell sex in the garage for days afterward. It made him grin as he worked on the bike.
They never talked about it, though, after it happened. It was just an occasional bout of sex-play between friends. They didn't think of themselves as a couple or as being "in love."
"We're friends who fuck," Logan told the bartender one night when asked about the little hottie on his arm. Rogue had laughed at that description, but it seemed apt.
"What?" he asked later, as they lay sweaty and content in her room. "That's the truth, right? No bullshit for us, Marie. We're always straight with each other." He raised himself up on one elbow and looked her in the eye, running a leather-clad finger down her nose. "Right?"
She grinned. "Right, sugar."
***
So it continued for a few months. He was seeing a woman in town. Rogue knew about it, and tried not to let it bother her. It didn't bother her, she told herself vehemently. This was exactly the sort of thing they were trying to avoid. Jealousy would kill their friendship, and that was more important to her than anything else in her life.
Keeping that in mind, she never commented on his activities with other women, and made sure that she always had a handsome man on her arm at public occasions.
It was after one such occasion, a homecoming dance for the students, that Rogue and Logan once again found themselves together and at loose ends. In the past, he might have taken her out for a ride on the motorcycle, but now, he just wanted to get her up to her room and ride her hard.
She knew what he was thinking when he looked at her *that* way -- his eyes dark and intent. It was a look she could easily become addicted to. Had become addicted to, if she was honest with herself. She tried not to think about him looking at anyone else that way, though she was sure he did. When she was honest with herself, she admitted she hated that idea.
She laughed and stretched ostentatiously. "Good night, Ororo, Hank. It's been a long day and I'm exhausted. I'm heading to bed."
Fifteen minutes later, he was at her door. His eyes widened in surprise when she opened it.
"You went shopping," he commented appreciatively.
"You like it?" she asked, whirling.
She'd found the perfect outfit for a woman with deadly skin. It was a long black negligee made of micromesh so fine that none of her skin was exposed, but so sheer that she might as well have been naked. Long gloves of similar material covered her arms, and her legs were encased in sheer black pantyhose, slightly modified to suit the occasion.
"God, yeah," he growled, reaching for her.
He backed her up against the desk and easily lifted her onto it, standing between her legs. He buried his face against her gauze-swathed neck, kissing and biting until she was gasping for air.
She was always amazed at how, with just a look and a growl, Logan could make her so wet. She'd had other lovers -- Bobby was inexperienced, Remy was selfish, Alan, tender -- but sex with Logan was so far beyond what she'd felt with them, that it couldn't even be compared. And it wasn't just because he was so knowledgeable.
At moments like these she was able to admit to herself that there was something between them that was more than simple companionship, but she was afraid to say anything, afraid to start hoping. It had taken her a long time to get over him the first time, and she didn't know if she'd make it if she had to do it again.
But there was no time for thinking, not with his hips rocking into hers, and his mouth -- oh, that hot and talented mouth -- latched onto one of her nipples. It was like she wasn't wearing anything.
She arched into him, panting his name. She pulled his head up and floated her scarf across his face so she could kiss him. She loved kissing him, would even consider giving up the sex if she could spend the rest of her life being able to kiss him without a barrier between them. Those were dangerous thoughts and there was no time for that now, as his tongue thrust into her mouth through the damp gauze and his teeth nipped at her lower lip.
One of his hands slid down her body to curl over her abdomen, his gloved fingers finding the "modification" on her pantyhose.
He pulled back and grinned approvingly. "Good thinking, Marie," he murmured, "though I kinda like havin' to rip holes in your clothes." And his fingers were buried in the soft folds between her legs before she could respond. She hissed his name as the pressure within her spiraled tighter.
"I want you inside me," she whispered, using one hand to unzip his jeans and the other to grab his wallet and remove a condom. His only response was a growl at the feel of her hand sliding up and down his hard shaft. She slid the rubber on quickly and then wrapped her legs around his waist, brushing the head of his cock with her warm, wet flesh. "Hard and fast," she murmured, carefully taking his earlobe between her teeth, with no cloth separating them.
He thrust deep into her, his hands cupping her ass as she moved her hips in time with his. She came in record time, biting her lip 'til it bled to keep from screaming his name and letting the whole house know what they were up to. His tongue flicked out and licked at her mouth, so quickly her deadly skin didn't have time to respond, and then his hand pressed her face to his still-covered shoulder as he felt himself fly apart, white lights exploding behind his eyes, growling her name.
They stayed that way for what seemed like an eternity, though in reality it was only a few seconds, her head resting on his shoulder, his chin on her hair. Tenderness, a fierce desire to never let her go, welled up inside of him, and he closed his eyes tighter, feeling his throat constrict. This was a totally new thing, something he only ever felt with her, and it scared him shitless.
He carried her back to the bed and ran his hands over her body. They weren't done, not by a long shot. He'd never been so happy having super-accelerated healing as he was on nights with Marie.
***
He was wrapped around her comfortably when he heard the knock at the door. Nostrils flaring, he could tell it was Jean. Which meant she could tell he was in there. He sighed.
Disentangling himself from the sleeping woman next to him, he pulled on a pair of sweats and opened the door. "She's sleeping, Red. What do you want?"
Jean's eyes widened slightly and he knew she knew what they were up to. <<Damn,>> he thought, <<you'd have to be three days in the grave not to notice.>> The smell of sex hung heavy in the air.
"We're supposed to go shopping for the Halloween party."
"She had a long night," he replied. "I don't want to wake her."
Jean grinned. <<I'll bet she did.>> "That's sweet, Logan. I'm so happy for you two."
"Whatever," he growled, his ears burning. 'Sweet' was not something he ever wanted anyone besides Marie to call him.
"See you later." She walked away thinking, ~Scott, I have the best news.~
He closed the door and walked back to the bed. He dropped a kiss on her hair and whispered, "Marie, I'm gonna take a shower."
She stirred and smiled. "Okay, sugar. See ya later."
***
Scott had been wearing that stupid grin all day. At breakfast he'd squeezed her shoulder. He was practically quivering with suppressed energy while he ran her through the scenarios in the Danger Room.
She couldn't take it anymore.
"What the hell are you grinnin' at?" she snapped when her workout was done.
"I think it's great that you and Logan have finally gotten together."
Anger chased shock across her face. How did he know? "Who told you that?"
His grin faded and he wondered what he'd done wrong. "Jean. Logan answered your door this morning when she came to get you. She said you two were --" he trailed off. "Did I just put my foot in my mouth?"
Rogue sighed. She couldn't be mad at him -- he was just being himself. Logan, on the other hand, was going to get his ears blistered the next time she saw him.
"We're not together, Scott," she said softly, and was that a little regret in her tone, he wondered. "Occasionally we -- sleep together. It, it doesn't mean anything."
His jaw tightened and his fists clenched. "That metal-skulled bastard. I ought to--"
She laid a hand on his arm. "No, Scott. It's what we want. We're friends, no more. It's just that sometimes, things get -- physical."
"It's what you want, Rogue?" He didn't sound convinced.
"Yeah," she said. She didn't either.
She walked away, trying not to think about it.
***
Rogue found him in the garden. Ororo had taken over the attic and made it her home, and that extended onto the roof. She grew all sorts of flowers up there, both inside and out, but the roses were her pride and joy. She and Rogue had spent hours of backbreaking work planting and pruning and making sure they were well-cared for.
Logan looked out of place amongst the delicate blossoms in the atrium, a bull in a china shop. He was meditating.
Rogue was always surprised by this side of him -- the side that spoke Japanese and sat next to a spray of calla lilies, turning his thoughts inward.
His eyes opened as he caught her scent, and he wondered what it would be like to make love to her among the flowers. And then he caught himself. He didn't make love. He had sex. He fucked. He got laid. Making love was for wussies like One-Eye or poets like Hank.
Still, though, he imagined it would be a great ride, outside under the stars, Marie in nothing but her hair and some rose petals... He thought about asking her, just to see if she would go for it.
"What the fuck were you thinking?"
"Just now?" His gaze grew hot as he let his eyes roam slowly down her body. "About how good you'd look in nothin' but flowers."
She gasped softly, but then remembered she was angry with him. <<Don't let him distract you with sweet talk,>> she told herself. "Nice try, bub, but no cigar."
<<Guess not. Maybe next time.>> He filed the idea away for possible future use. He cocked his head and looked at her, mentally reviewing the day to see what could have pissed her off. "Care to let the old man in on what's buggin' you?"
She cuffed him lightly on the shoulder. "Dammit, Logan, why'd you go and answer the door this morning? Now Scott's all googly-eyed over us bein' together and Jean keeps smirking at me."
"How can you tell Slim's all googly-eyed behind those damn shades of his?" Okay, maybe it wasn't the smartest thing he'd ever said, but it was an image that made him want to laugh.
"Logan! Pay attention. The whole point of us being together was that it was just us. Just another facet of our friendship. Not some great love affair that Scott should be swooning over. And once people find out, they're gonna ask lots of questions and give us all sorts of advice and that's exactly what you didn't want to happen! Once other people get involved, it's gonna get complicated. And you hate complicated."
He noticed she hadn't said anything about what she wanted, and that gave him pause. He wondered what, besides sex, she was getting from their relationship. It bothered him that he couldn't think of anything. Then it bothered him that he was worrying about it, thinking about it as a "relationship." <<Jesus, One-Eye's influence is insidious.>> But dammit, he wanted her to know it was more than just sex, and that he cared about her.
"Marie, if other people want to stick their noses into your business, you send them to me." He would protect her from gossip, like he tried to protect her from everything else. He always kept his promises.
It was clearly a dismissal, and she took it as such, annoyed that he could be so cavalier. <<Dammit. That's how he *is* and don't you forget it. Don't start expecting more. You'll only get hurt.>>
***
No one else said anything about it, and if Jean was sometimes overly solicitous of Rogue's well-being, or Scott was extra-sharp with Logan, they didn't comment on that either.
***
Soon it was time for the annual Holiday Ball, the premier fundraising event on Xavier's social calendar. Five hundred people were invited, as the school threw open its doors to donors and potential donors alike.
Logan hated these events. Usually he got out of going, but Rogue had convinced him, with a wicked grin and some very interesting work with her tongue. And then Traci, the woman he was currently seeing, mentioned how much she'd like to attend, as she'd read all about it in the papers, but never managed to snag an invitation, not being among the town's elite.
He thought the time had come to end their liaison, and he had a feeling she wouldn't take it well. He figured taking her to the party could be sort of a last hurrah. He'd already been with her longer than any other woman he could remember, except for Marie.
<<Why can't more women be like Marie?>> he wondered. She understood that he sometimes needed time alone; she did, too. She understood that sometimes silence is better than talking, and that actions often speak louder than words. Hell, she understood him like no one ever had before -- not even himself. She'd seen the whole of him and not run; in fact, she stayed close by and actually wanted to be with him for more than just sex. He could imagine spending the rest of his life with her -- and that brought him up short.
He didn't think things like that. Ever. He was Wolverine, certified bad-ass and loner. He didn't need anyone. Except maybe Marie.
<<Dammit. It's this goddamn penguin suit,>> he thought, running a finger under his collar, which suddenly seemed too damn tight.
He heard her laughter mingled with a vaguely familiar masculine voice. He turned to look and exhaled all in a whoosh.
She was wearing a little black dress that clung in all the right places, exposing miles of leg and highlighting her creamy shoulders and graceful neck. Long gloves and a sheer scarf completed the ensemble. He'd never seen her hair done like that before -- the silky chestnut mass was pulled back, leaving the white locks to brush enticingly against her jaw, framing her face. Diamonds glittered in her ears and hair.
<<She looks like seven kinds of sin,>> he thought, <<and all of ‘em deadly.>>
She was leaning on the arm of Scooter's younger brother Alex, attempting to fix the heel of her stocking. A low growl rumbled up from his gut and he started toward them, planning to pull her away and carry her upstairs where no one could get their grubby little hands on her, when he heard his name and felt a gentle touch on his arm.
"Logan. Logan?" He looked down into sky blue eyes. Traci. "You okay?" He grunted, which she took for a yes. "You gonna introduce me to your friends?"
That hadn't really been part of the plan, but he supposed it was the right thing to do. He stalked across the floor with her in tow and presented her to Chuck, Scott and Jean.
***
Scott stood next to Logan as the guests were leaving. "Traci seems nice," he said.
"Don't get your panties in a bunch, Cyke. She ain't spendin' the night."
"Who you sleep with is your own business, Logan. But you better show Rogue some respect, or even your damn healing factor isn't going to save you," he replied sharply.
Logan arched an eyebrow. "You wanna take it outside, One-Eye?"
"Too public. Down in the gym. Ten minutes."
Logan grinned fiercely. "You're on."
While they were busy beating the shit out of each other, the others gathered in the den in front of the fireplace once all the guests were gone.
Rogue went to the bar and said, "Anyone for a nightcap?"
Kitty smiled. "I'll have a whiskey sour."
"I ain't makin' no foofy drinks, Kitkat," Rogue drawled. "We got brandy, vodka, scotch or bourbon."
"Brandy, please," Kitty said meekly.
"I've got a better idea," Bobby said from his spot on the floor, pulling Kitty down into his lap. "Let's play a drinking game."
Jean and Ororo wandered over and exchanged looks. The redhead shrugged. "It's going to be a while before Scott comes back --" Her eyes met Rogue's and she didn't need telepathy for the other woman to figure out where Scott and Logan were. It was typical of them to beat each other up every few months over the slightest pretense. It was as good a way as any for them to let off steam. They both enjoyed it and no one else let on that they knew the fights weren't really in earnest.
Rogue brought over a bottle of vodka and some shot glasses. She looked over at Traci, who seemed a little lost without Logan. "You wanna join us?" she asked. It was only polite.
The blonde smiled eagerly. "Sure."
"Quarters?" Rogue asked, pouring out shots and handing them around.
"No!" everyone except Traci said vehemently. Rogue was the mansion's champion quarters player.
"How about the lyrics game?" Jubilee suggested idly, sliding off the sofa and onto the floor.
Rogue laughed. "God, it's been years since we played that."
"What is it?" Ororo asked.
"Slumber party game," Rogue answered. "I sing some song lyrics -- say, 'Keep your eyes on the road and your hands upon the wheel' -- and one of you has to name the song and the singer. If you can't, y'all have to do a shot. If you can, I have to do a shot."
"And Bobby can't play," Jubilee was adamant. "No obscure doowop or French pop songs. It's not fair."
"Can I help it if my musical knowledge is greater than yours, Jubes?" he teased.
"That's okay, honey. You can help me," Kitty said from her place in his lap, kissing him quickly.
"And keep the vodka cold." This from Jubilee.
"So, we have a quote. Anyone know who it is?" Rogue said.
Traci smiled. "The Doors. 'Roadhouse Blues.' I always wished I'd been around in the sixties to see Jim Morrison. He was hot."
Rogue smiled thinly and downed her shot. "Your turn, Traci."
And so it went, with the participants getting drunker and sillier as time passed. Jean and Ororo dropped out, and Kitty was barely hanging on. Jubilee stared into the fire, long ago having lost interest in the game.
Logan and Scott finished their workout and came upstairs, both wearing sweats without shirts. No one noticed. Traci was singing, "'You're the meaning in my life, you're the inspiration.'"
"Chicago," Rogue said immediately. "Urgh."
Traci frowned but ignored the commentary. Logan shifted uncomfortably in his seat in the back of the room. "Name the song," the blonde demanded.
"'You're My Inspiration,'" Rogue said after a moment. "My turn. 'Kiss me, please kiss me. Kiss me out of desire, baby, not consolation. Oh, it makes me so angry, but I know that in time, I'll only make you cry. This is our last goodbye.'" She had a sweet voice, soft, but on-key.
Scott glared at Logan as Kitty raised her head from Bobby's shoulder. "I love that song. So sad. Jeff Buckley. 'Last Goodbye.'" She closed her eyes. "I can't think anymore," she said. "Traci, you go."
Traci pursed her lips, trying to think amid the haze of alcohol. Giggling, she sang, "'Feel like makin' love.'"
Rogue snorted. "'Feel Like Makin' Love,' Bad Company." She closed her eyes and sang, "'Just a few minutes more, gonna get that old feeling when you walk through that door. 'Cause tonight is the night we'll be feeling all right. We'll be making love the whole night through --'" She broke off abruptly and opened her eyes.
Scott shot Logan another look. Logan almost squirmed.
"Whitney! 'Saving All My Love For You,'" the blonde said triumphantly and Rogue downed another shot of bourbon. They'd long since finished the vodka and the scotch.
"My turn again, little girl," Traci giggled. She was a giggly drunk. Rogue rolled her eyes. They were the only two left.
Rogue knocked back another shot, no longer feeling the burn. "Go for it."
"'Take me to heart and I'll always love you and nobody can make me do wrong --'"
Rogue didn't let her finish. "'Do Right Woman, Do Right Man.' Aretha." She smirked as Traci grimaced at the bourbon. She wasn't going to let Logan's little piece get the best of her. "Boyfriend, boyfriend, yes, I had your boyfriend." Everyone's heads shot up as Rogue sang. "'If that's your boyfriend, if that's your boyfriend, if that's your boyfriend, he wasn't last night.'"
Logan growled.
~Stop her from saying something incriminating,~ Scott thought at Jean.
~I think it's too late for that.~ "That's enough," Jean announced, standing up unsteadily.
"What's wrong, Jeannie?" Rogue asked mockingly. "Thought you wanted to know all about--"
"Let's go, Rogue," Scott was at her side, taking her arm and pulling her up off the floor. "I think you need some air." He looked back at Logan, who stood scowling in the doorway. "Logan, take Traci home."
Rogue gasped. She hadn't noticed their presence. She wrenched herself out of Scott's hold. "Sorry," she murmured, rushing past Logan, unable to meet his eyes. She suddenly realized what she'd almost done. She stumbled up the stairs and flopped onto her bed, crying.
She'd just ruined their friendship, everything, and all because she was jealous. <<You're in love with him,>> she told herself miserably. <<You always have been.>>
She fell into a fitful sleep that left her feeling worse than before. Sobriety didn't put a better light on things.
Logan was sitting on the end of her bed when she awoke. "Hey, kid."
"Go 'way," she groaned, burying her head in the pillows.
"Bad hangover, eh?" He reached a hand toward her. "Want me to make it better?"
She thought about that for a moment. If she let him touch her, she'd know how he really felt about her. She wasn't sure she was ready for that, or for images of him making love to Traci, or fantasizing about Jean, or any of a number of other women he'd probably been with since the last time he touched her.
She shook her head. "I don't think so, Logan." Then, "I'm sorry about last night."
"Ah, we all do stupid shit when we drink," he said. "Don't worry about it."
But she did.
***
Two nights later, when he gave her the look, she sighed. She couldn't do it anymore. She couldn't sleep with him and not let him know how she felt. When he arrived at her door, she stopped him. "We need to talk."
<<Damn. Nothing good ever follows those words.>> He sat and waited.
"I don't think this is a good idea. You have a girlfriend and you're cheating on her. It was one thing when I didn't know her, when she was just another faceless woman you had fucked. But I met her, got drunk with her. I can't do it."
He blinked, the only evidence that he was surprised by her words. She was right. Except that he'd told Traci it was over the night of the ball. Somehow, he forgot that Marie didn't know that.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "I'm sorry. You're right." He hauled her into a tight hug and dropped a kiss on her hair. "I'm a dick. I should know better."
She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him back. Pulling away, she said, "Yeah, you should. Now get outta here." She was afraid she'd change her mind if she stayed in his arms any longer.
***
Logan didn't really notice it at first; he just attributed it to her being busy with the holidays.
Then it was Christmas, and she barely looked at him as they exchanged gifts; she even managed to avoid being caught under the mistletoe. New Year's Eve came and she chose to go dancing with Jubilee and Remy, rather than drinking with him, which had been their tradition the past couple of years.
Marie was avoiding him, and he couldn't quite figure out why. He'd broken up with Traci, hadn't even really looked at another woman since then. He was sure she knew -- how could she not? But she spent more and more time with Ororo or Scott or Kitty; she always managed to leave the room quickly when he entered. He was starting to get a complex.
"She's in love with you, and you're being a big jerk," Scott informed him one morning as Logan stood staring at her retreating figure. "She doesn't know you love her back. That's why she's avoiding you." The younger man seemed to derive sadistic pleasure from teasing Logan.
"Fuck off, Scooter," he growled, and then Scott's words sunk in. "She's in love with me? How do you know? Are you sure?"
Scott grinned smugly. "Even a blind man could see it, Logan. Look closer." He walked away.
"I'm not in love," Logan called after him. "I just miss her."
***
But they wouldn't leave him alone. And Marie wouldn't come near him.
He spent a lot of time fighting holographic-skinned simulacra in the Danger Room, trying to get his head around what Scott told him. When he wasn't there, he could be found up on the roof, under the stars, bottle of bourbon perched next to him, staring moodily out into the night.
He smelled Storm before he saw her. "Love is often complicated," she said, sitting next to him. He growled. She ignored it. "Sometimes you feel lust, and also caring, but it is not the same as being in love with a person, is it?"
"It's just friendship," he responded.
Ororo snorted delicately. "Are you and I friends?"
The question startled him, though it shouldn't have. Storm had a way of cutting through the complications and getting to the heart of the matter. "Yeah, I guess. Why?"
"Because you have never looked at me the way you look at Rogue," she said matter-of-factly. "You have never looked at any of us, not even Jean, the way you look at Rogue."
"She's my responsibility. She's my friend," he defended. "I take care of her because I promised I would."
"Why did you make that promise?"
His mouth opened and snapped shut. He'd asked himself that question every day for the year he was away from her, and fairly frequently after he'd first come back. He still wasn't quite sure, except that she was Marie and she needed him. She was Marie, and he needed her.
"Shit."
Ororo rose, smiling. "I am sure you will find some way of letting her know how you feel."
"Could we," he hesitated, strangely unsure, "maybe use the atrium? Set up a table and eat dinner or something?"
Her smiled widened. "That would be wonderful. I will make the arrangements with the cook." She leaned over and kissed his cheek, a rare occurrence that made him almost smile. "I will even sacrifice some of my roses, so you can strew the petals all about." Now he was blushing.
"How did--" he stopped, not wanting to incriminate himself.
There was a knowing glint in her eyes as she walked away. He didn't finish asking, and she didn't need to answer.
***
Ororo was as good as her word. The next morning, she told him that in three nights, the cook would prepare a special dinner for two to be served in the rooftop atrium. "Now you must get Rogue to agree to join you."
"Shit." There was a time when he could have crooked his little finger and she'd come running, but now -- now, he wasn't sure how she'd react.
"And wear something other than flannel," she admonished. He fled before she told him he had to shave.
Looking through his meager wardrobe, he had nothing suitable for a romantic evening. Of course, before yesterday, he'd never planned on having anything resembling a romantic evening. Ever. Even with Marie.
<<Dammit.>> Just the thought of going shopping made him queasy. But he figured Storm was right. This had to be about more than sex. He supposed he could rent a tux again, but that was going too damn far. He wasn't wearing one of those again until he absolutely had to. Which would be exactly never. Unless... a vision of Marie in flowing white satin floated across his mind's eye, and he shook his head. <<Jesus fucking Christ. Now I'm planning our wedding? Better make sure she loves you first, bub. She hasn't spoken more than two words to you in a month.>>
He went up on the roof again, not even bothering with a glass for the bourbon this time.
Three days later, Jubilee and Kitty were at his door. "You know, it's not going to be much of a romantic dinner if you eat by yourself," Jubilee said.
He glared at her. He wondered how everyone knew, except the one person who was actually supposed to be in on the secret. "It's complicated." And why the *hell* was he justifying himself to the brat?
"No doubt," Kitty replied. "Well, we just wanted to lend our support." She held out a shopping bag. "These should fit." He didn't reach for it, so she dropped it at the end of the bed.
"And Rogue's in the gym, if you have something you need to tell her," Jubilee said over her shoulder as the two young women left.
He dragged himself off the bed. Zero hour. <<Go big or go home,>> he told himself, not liking the fact that he was feeling fear for one of the few times in his life. Fear! At asking a woman to dinner. It was ludicrous.
He wandered down to the gym and saw her. She was on the treadmill, running hard. She wore only a sleeveless unitard, with a sweatshirt tied around her waist.
"Hey."
She slowed down. "Hey yourself."
He shoved his hands in his pockets. "So, um, got any plans tonight?"
She cocked an eyebrow. "Not really, it being Monday and all."
"Wanna hang out?" God, he sounded like a dumb, pimply-faced teenager asking for his first date.
She fought the grin that threatened to steal across her face and lost. "I guess."
"I'll pick you up at eight. Wear something nice."
The eyebrow rose again. "Nice as in, we're going to a place that has tablecloths, or nice as in, we're attending the opera?"
He shrugged. "Whatever. How 'bout that red dress you wore New Year's Eve?"
Her eyes widened. He paid attention to her *clothes*? She figured that had stopped once he'd stopped acting like her big brother. "Sure," she said, still uncertain what was going on.
"Okay, then. See you at eight." He stood awkwardly, hating this whole thing. He just wanted to take her back to her room and ravish her. <<Ravish? Christ on a bicycle, I've been spending too much time with Hank.>>
***
She dressed nervously, slipping on the high heels that made the dress even shorter than it actually was. She was showing a lot of leg, and she knew this was a dangerous thing. Just being alone with him was dangerous. It was all she could do sometimes not to knock on his door in the middle of the night and beg him to make love -- <<Scratch that. Wolverine doesn't make love. He'd be horrified to hear me say that,>> she thought wryly -- fuck her.
She sighed. She knew she'd get over it. She was just tired of seeing the pitying looks, hearing the offers to talk. And the past few days had been the worst. It felt like everyone was laughing at her. Laughing at poor Rogue, who was in love with a man who probably had more notches on his bedpost than Warren Beatty and Charlie Sheen combined.
Her hair was up, little diamond studs in her ears. Lipstick -- scarlet, to match the dress. A faint hint of blusher across her cheeks, and dark kohl to line her dark eyes. Let him see exactly what he was missing, she thought, tossing her head defiantly at the mirror. She put a hand to his tags, the bits of metal she wore constantly around her neck, except for rare formal occasions. She was torn between leaving them on and taking them off. Then she thought -- and it made her eyes well with hot, bitter tears she refused to shed (she certainly didn't want to ruin her makeup) -- that she'd give them back to him tonight. It was time to cut the cord completely and let him go.
She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and had to grin slightly at her cleavage in the mirror. He'd certainly be getting an eyeful tonight, she thought.
The knock at the door put an end to her musings. She opened it and inhaled sharply. He was wearing black pants -- not jeans -- and a black shirt that looked like it was made of silk. She reached out a tentative hand, which he took and brought to his lips. She could feel their warmth through the thin red satin of her gloves.
"Let's go," he said, pulling her arm through his.
"But, my scarf. My purse..."
"You won't need 'em where we're going," he replied, cocky now that he had her where he wanted her.
He led her to the atrium, which was lit with what seemed like hundreds of tiny candles flickering in the warm, humid darkness. There was a table amongst the roses, draped in white linen, with two tall, creamy tapers standing in the center. It was set with Xavier's finest china and crystal.
"Logan," she gasped. He grinned but said nothing.
Bobby, dressed like a high-class waiter, poured two glasses of champagne as Logan led her to the table and pulled out her chair. Then he sat next to her.
Kitty and Jubilee appeared, also dressed in tuxedos, and began serving food from a small set of chafing dishes set up along one side of the room. When the plates in front of the couple were filled, the three melted into the darkness and were not seen again.
"What? How? Why?" she managed, still slightly in shock.
"Do you like it?" he asked, feeling nervous again.
"Like it? Oh, Logan, it's absolutely fabulous. A fairyland. But why?"
<<Damn, she's persistent.>> "Why you been avoiding me?"
The abrupt change in subject threw her for a moment. She shook her head. "What?"
"You heard me."
"I just, I can't, I don't know," she said.
"You're lying." She opened her mouth to refute it, but he hadn't stopped talking. "But that's okay. I understand. It's damn scary, ain't it? This whole love thing?"
Once again, there was confusion on her face. "What?" She felt like an idiot, repeating the same thing over and over.
"You. Me. Bein' in love. It's weird. I've never been in love before. I'd remember it, I think."
"You're sayin' you're in love -- with me?"
"Ain't no one else here, Marie," he said, grinning at her confusion.
"Do you like it?"
"Depends. Do you--" he stopped and she could tell he wasn't as sure as he seemed. Which gave her a wicked feeling of power that curled up in her stomach like desire.
"Oh, yeah," she whispered, leaning in close and wishing for her scarf.
He pulled a gauzy wad of material from his pocket. "Always be prepared," he murmured, floating it over her lips and kissing her tenderly.
"You sound like Scott."
"Why you bringin' him up while I'm kissin' you, Marie? Talk about a cold shower."
She giggled. "I'll warm you up," she purred, running a hand down his chest and coming to rest at his belt buckle.
He stopped her and she pouted. "I have a plan," he said, grinning wickedly.
"A plan?"
"A clever plan," he repeated, taking her hand and leading her away from the table.
There was a white sheet spread out, strewn with rose petals.
"Logan! That's so -- romantic!"
He could feel his ears burning as she flung her arms around him. "Don't tell anybody, okay?" Though, of course, they all knew already.
"It's our secret, sugar," she said, smiling as she sunk down to the ground, pulling him with her.
He kissed her again through the scarf, more passionately this time, and she responded eagerly, her tongue sliding over teeth and gums. His hands roamed over her satin-clad body and settled at her breasts. He kneaded them, feeling her nipples push against his palms. His mouth followed the path his hands had taken, but he quickly grew impatient. He stopped for a moment to pull his gloves on, then slid the straps of the dress off her shoulders, exposing her lacy black bra and the sheer body stocking it was attached to. He grinned. Perfect.
Then he was laving her nipples with his tongue and she arched into him, making little moaning sounds in the back of her throat, her hands anchored in his hair.
She bent her knees and wrapped one leg around his hip, trying to move him closer. He accepted her invitation and began rocking into her. He picked up a rose petal from the sheet and ran it across her cheek, then her lips. He kissed her through it and the heady taste of Marie and roses was better than he'd dreamed.
He could tell she was ready. She was unzipping his pants with an eagerness that made him want to howl. He cut a slit in the body stocking and pulled out a condom and then he was inside her and it was so good he *did* howl.
She felt the laughter and love burble up inside her even as their joined movement made all her nerve endings snap and frizzle and then the world exploded and she came, calling his name.
She convulsed around him and he thrust harder, feeling his climax begin at the base of his spine and then the lights went off behind his eyes and he said, "Oh, God, Marie," as he spasmed and poured himself into her.
He opened his eyes and stared into hers, lowering himself on top of her gently. "I love you," he said softly.
"I love you, too." She paused, then said, "See, not complicated at all." He growled and pulled her close. He'd never let her go.
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