Title: One Night is Not Enough
Author: Luckyfox
Rating: PG-13 to mild R
Genre(s): Dramatic romance and angst
Pairing(s): Rogue/Scott, Rogue/Wolverine, very minor background Pyro/Magneto
Five Main Characters: Wolverine, Rogue, Scott, Pyro, Mystique
Setting and Time: This is a movie-verse fic set a few months after X3, with some minor changes; most notably, Scott and Xavier are alive, although Jean is not.
Summary: "The way to love anything is to realize that it may be lost." (G.K. Chesterton). A foolish mistake threatens to destroy the closeness between Rogue and Logan forever, while Magneto brings trouble down onto the rest of the team.
Notes: This story was inspired by the Snow Patrol song "One Night is Not Enough", which I've thought would be perfect for Wolverine/Rogue fiction for a very long time. I hope I've done it justice.
Warnings: This story contains some sexuality between the main characters, as well as minor mentions alluding to homosexuality (slash) in the background.
"The way to love anything is to realize that it may be lost." - G.K. Chesterton
"Buy a girl a beer, Logan?"
She sauntered over, across the dusty, tiled floor that smelt of spilt whiskey and old cigarettes, just the lightest whiff of perfume evident on her skin, like she'd sprayed on some hours ago, in the heat of battle, and it had sunk into her pores, been absorbed by her devouring skin.
"Might be obliged," I teased back lightly, downing my own drink and signaling to the barkeep. He slid two whiskeys across the polished oak bar, raised his eyes to Rogue for a fraction of a second, then caught sight of me and got busy wiping down his glasses and refilling the bowl of stale pretzels in the corner.
We had just come off a mission not an hour before, knockin' heads with a few Friends of Humanity. Mostly, that consisted of breaking up one of their little rallies; nothing all that exciting, but a couple of the scumbags wanted to play so we had to engage. They'd rounded up a few stray mutant kids, mostly homeless teens they found living off the street, and lured into a van the way I heard it; beat 'em and drugged 'em, then took 'em to the rally to demonstrate their might against the mutant menace. Luckily, we turned up. The kids were scared - bruised and shell-shocked - not to mention hungry and tired, but Storm and Hank got 'em calmed down while Chuck went to deal with the police about pressing charges against the FOH bastards. It was my job to keep an eye on Rogue, Bobby, St John and Kitty while Storm flew the kids to the mansion and Hank did his diplomacy bit for the cameras.
Rogue took a dainty sip of her drink, holding the shot glass real lady-like in her hand, grimacing and frowning at the strong taste of the alcohol, but she has never been one to let herself appear childish, so she downed it. "Can I have another?" she asked, reaching across to pull my cigar out of my hand and raise it to her own lips. She was a bit more practiced in smoking than in drinking, so she managed not to choke or cough, just to give me a sour look as she blew out the silvery smoke, pursing those petal pink lips all pretty. "Please?"
"Well, since you're askin' so nice..." I shrugged. "Leave the bottle," I told the bartender, and paid in full 'cause he was givin' me a suspicious look like I might cheat him. Just for luck, I dropped a two dollar piece into the tip jar; no matter how often I use it, I still find Canadian change in the pockets of my jeans or tucked between the cushion and the frame of the chair I sit on all the time in the lounge. It was practically Canada where we were anyway; same scent in the air, cold winter and smoke. "Slide that glass here, kid."
"Hardly a child, Logan," she told me in that haughty voice she sometimes uses when she's put out, just to show you she's pissed. "I'm eighteen." That, added defensively, went to show just how young she really was, but it was sort of endearing anyway, just like the brash way she tilted the amber alcohol to her lips and poured it down her throat. She jutted out her hip, making me look her over, and that body definitely did not belong to a child. She'd filled out a bit since I'd found her as a stowaway; instead of sharp angles she was full of soft curves just begging to be touched.
Chomping on my cigar, I looked her over. "Eighteen, huh? Not old enough to be drinking, the way I see it."
"I can handle my liquor."
"Ready for more, then, or you want me to order you a pina colada?"
"Fuck you, Logan," she said, but she was laughing, and she tipped the bottle over my glass, filling it to the brim. "I know what you're trying to do, sugar, and I'm not that dumb. You're not gonna get me drunk while you sit there sober."
"You can't get me drunk, kid, so don't try. Anyway, I've got a van load of kids expecting me to get 'em back to the hotel safely." I looked over to the wide corner booth where Bobby and St John were talking to Kitty. She was flattered as hell by the attention; Kitty was a cute little girl but Rogue usually drew the boys like bees to honey, so gettin' the two of them, most eligible bachelors of the house or whatever, to pay attention to her was a dream come true. "Guess we're in no hurry."
"Drink up!"
"I don't get drunk, kid -- Rogue. Healin' powers, remember?" The smirk irritated her, and she punched me on the upper arm, her knuckles digging into the muscle there, leaving a bruise that faded in a second. "Speakin' of powers, how are yours holding up?"
She got serious for a second and pressed her hands against the bar palms down, her fingers splayed wide. "All right. I've still got control." She frowned though, and a second later she told me why. "One of those creeps, a FOH guy -- I had my back turned because I thought they were all gone, and he grabbed me. My power kicked on right away, there wasn't any time to control it because he startled me so bad. I got a heavy dose of his thoughts; he was going to do something to me, I'm not sure what, but I can guess." She sighed, dipped a finger in her whiskey and sucked on it. "I took hold of his arm, meaning to shove him away, but I think I held on too long. His thoughts are still in my head. I think -- I think I might have hurt him really bad."
"You can't beat yourself up about that, kid. He's FOH; he would've done worse to you if you'd let him."
"Yeah, but..." She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. "I hate it, Logan. I hate this power, this mutation. Storm calls our mutations gifts, but they aren't gifts, they're curses. Mine might of killed someone tonight. He was a bad guy, yeah, but maybe he didn't deserve to die and I killed him anyway."
"Or maybe he's all right. You don't know --"
"I'm telling you, he's probably a goner." She wrapped her arms around herself. "It's a curse, it's definitely a curse. I can't get rid of it. No matter what I do, it comes back, worse than ever. First I nearly killed you, twice, and all that stuff with Magneto -- then I tried to cure it, and what happened? The cure's faulty, the cure doesn't cure it, it makes it stronger!"
"Yeah, it made it stronger. That cure's also the reason you're sittin' here tonight without gloves on. Call it a silver lining or whatever you want, but you can control it now. You reacted on gut instinct when that guy grabbed you; I'd have cut him clean through before I'd stopped if it had been me. But you're not hurtin' anybody now. It isn't like it used to be."
She brushed her hair out of her eyes and glanced over at the kids laughing in the booth, her gaze lingering on Bobby for a long time. "I used to think I'd give anything to be able to touch someone, just to enjoy normal human contact, same as everybody else. Now, I can, but it doesn't matter."
"Course it matters. What do you mean, it doesn't matter?"
Shrugging, she cocked her head. "He stayed with me for two years, Logan. Do you realize that? I dated Bobby Drake for two years. All that time, we couldn't touch. I loved him, and I thought he loved me; I knew about his hopes and his dreams and his family but I didn't have the slightest idea what his skin felt like, or what it might be like to really kiss him beyond a peck. When I came back, after the cure, I was so scared to face everybody but I was also so excited. I thought finally, it was going to be normal between him and I. He found me in my room a couple hours after I got back, and he held my hand, and I felt his skin. Things were going to be perfect then, I was so sure of it, but it's like the day after I walked in all cured, he lost interest. He's too nice of a guy to say so outright, but he says it a hundred other ways."
Back in the booth, Bobby was holding onto Kitty's hand, squeezing it tight. She was laughing, he was grinning, they looked like they were both in on some great joke, but I could see the pain all over Rogue's face, like she'd just been crushed.
"Aw, now kid --"
"I'm not a kid, remember?" Anger, for a minute, just a sharp flint spark, and then a smile. "Let's not talk about this anymore, okay? Pour me another drink, will you?" The bottle was half gone, somehow. I'd only drank three shots, and Rogue seemed to notice. "Some for you too, I'm not drinking alone!"
Whiskey tasted like forgiveness, and her lips tasted like sin. Just for a moment, she leaned across my lap, one palm flat against my thigh, and kissed me before I even knew what she was doing.
"Sorry," she said, the coquette, as she withdrew. "Just wanted to see what that was like, and to thank you for putting up with me. I'm really not myself tonight, I guess. Must be Bobby, and everything that happened at the riot."
"Can't blame you for feelin' out of sorts what with that creep grabbing you -- and did you just say you wanted to see what that was like?" The thought clicked into place. "Kissin' me, you mean?"
She shrugged, sort of laughing. "Kissing you, yes, and kissing in general. I've wondered about that for a while. I don't really have a lot of experience in that area."
"Wait, now," I said, real slow. Blinking, I shook my head. "You mean to tell me you walk around lookin' like that and nobody's kissed you yet? But, what about the Ice Cube?"
"Bobby did kiss me once, when we were in Boston, but only that one time, and it just lasted a second. I wanted it to be longer, but that was a long time ago, and I would've hurt him if it had been any longer."
"He never kissed you since you got the cure? Since you could?"
"No."
I couldn't even fathom it. Rogue walking around in those tight leather uniforms that trace her curves like skin, and Bobby keeping his hands off. Those lips, pouting and sensuous, always damp because she runs her tongue over them when she's nervous and she's nervous a lot, and he never thought to kiss her. She could touch, bare skin to bare skin, and he never wanted --
"I don't believe it."
She snorted a little. "Believe it, Logan. He never wanted me, not like that, not as someone he could touch, someone he had a physical relationship with. I'm not sure what he wanted, really; looks like Kitty might have the answer. But I don't care. I really don't. Let's not talk about this anymore. I want to enjoy the rest of the evening. I think I might get a pina colada after all; the whiskey's getting to me."
"Not that. You don't want to mess with mixing up alcohol, might make you sick." I ordered a whiskey sour for her. "That might taste a little better." I lit a cigar for myself and held out a spare. "Want one?"
"Nah, but I want a dance partner."
"I don't dance, kid. Might ruin my image. Can't scare the boys and keep 'em in line if they see me out doing the waltz with a pretty girl."
Her laughter was infectious. "All right then, you just sit on your barstool and watch. I'm going to dance." She glanced over to where Bobby and Kitty sat; St John had found himself a partner and they were discreetly smoking cigarettes in a shadowy corner, like he thought he was getting away with something. Rogue's hips twitched and twisted, keeping up with the tempo of the music playing over the speakers. She grinned. Every movement made my blood boil a degree hotter and kicked up my pulse another notch until my jeans started to feel too tight for comfort and my thoughts swam, not from the alcohol, but because she intoxicated me.
After ten minutes, she slid back over to the bar, pleased with herself. The few patrons eyed her enthusiastically but they kept their distance. I guess I was radiating ownership, and anyway, she was hangin' on me. She poured herself a whiskey, spilled it down her front, laughed, and slumped against my shoulder.
"I'm feelin' kinda funny," she said slowly, her words punctuated with giggles.
"Drunk, more than likely. C'mon, you three, let's head back to the hotel," I called over to Bobby and Kitty, and beckoned St John as I slung an arm around Rogue's shoulders to keep her upright.
Bobby frowned. "The pizza's not finished."
"Then get a box for it." I handed him a couple of twenties. "Pay the bill before you leave; this should take care of it. If you want anything else, get it to go. I'm taking Rogue out to the van; anybody isn't out in five minutes we'll pick you up in the morning before we drive back to New York." With that, I helped Rogue gain an unsteady footing and glide through the door. She laughed a little, and tried to articulate something that came out as gibberish. "Don't worry, kid, we'll get you home safe."
"I said," she hissed into my ear, "I'm not ready to go." Her hot breath tickled my skin and I had to shift to cover up the sudden desire evident on my face.
"You're drunk as hell, kid. You've had enough."
"But I want to kiss you again. Mmm, Logan, I just want to kiss you again, okay? Just once?" Her voice was all pleading and beggin' as though I had any intention of denying her, and we sort of slid together right next to the van, her feet slipping in the snow and my arms holding her up. I pressed her against the van, then opened the door and pushed her inside a little, half wantin' to get her in her seat, half wantin' to kiss her forever. Her mouth was so warm, I kissed her back a lot rougher than I meant to, but she responded all the same.
"We've gotta stop, kid," I warned her, pulling away just before Bobby saw us as the kids trooped out of the building carrying boxes of pizza and bread, oblivious. "C'mon, sit up." Somehow, I got the seatbelt on her and closed her door before she slumped and rested her head against the window. I got into my own seat, watched the kids argue good naturedly about the radio station before we took off, speeding down the highway towards the hotel a couple of miles away.
St John leaned forward. "Is Rogue okay?"
"Fine. Sit back."
"She looks drunk."
"She is. Now sit back."
He gave me a look like he was pissed off but he complied and kept silent the rest of the drive. Bobby and Kitty looked at each other, meaningful looks that seemed to be exchanging a lot of secrets in the quickest of glances, but Rogue didn't notice. She closed her eyes and leaned back, one bare hand resting on the arm rest so that I could feel the heat of her. In the compartment of the van, the scent of whiskey was overwhelming. I smelled the kids too; innocent rush of pheromones from Bobby and some kind of sugary, flowery shampoo on Kitty's hair. St John smelled like stolen cigarettes and hot ash. Trying to ignore him, I floored it, speeding down the road.