Author's Note: Hey guys! This chapter is gonna be a little shorter because I felt like it was perfect to leave it off at this point in order to capture suspense and building feeling. Also, another thing I wanted to say was about Logan's hair: his hair right now is like his hair in X-Men Origins: Wolverine. I just love his hair like that, so that's the way I'm picturing it. You can picture it anyway you like though. Just clarifying!

Thank you: FrozenFractures, Killin-time, I'm a Nerd and Proud, Peyton Cummings, tanya2byour21, JaynaLeeTietje, maji343, Guest 1, EndlessDelenaObsessedDesire, identityless, Roganette, The all mighty and powerfulM, EllezBellz, AB Feta, Bookworm22, Blab Labels, and Guest 2.

Song: Dear Marie by John Mayer (this song is the one I used in the chapter. It's beautiful and the most meaningful lyrics are in the story.)

Chapter 7: Watercolors

I've not talked to Logan for a full day now. Not the rest of yesterday, after we'd kissed, and not today at all. It's already six o' clock at night and I've begun to feel anxious. This morning he left me alone for hours to go and check the traps, but it doesn't take hours to check the damn traps. Sure, he came home with some rabbits but he came home with smeared blood on his face.

The Wolverine told me that the human side of him just needed to calm down with some cage fighting since I riled him up real bad last night. But I didn't kiss him, he kissed me. And he said that he regretted kissing me, but then I said that I didn't. Stupid.

I fried up some rabbit and made him another stew since he'd liked the last one so much. He ate dinner in the living room on the couch while watching some stupid television show. I just ate my bowl of soup in the kitchen while I'd paged through my book like some idiot.

He kept on watching his television. Setting his empty bowl on the coffee table in front of him, he waited for me to come pick it up. I didn't, at first. I washed the rest of the dishes, put them away and stored the rest of the leftover stew away into the refrigerator.

When I took his bowl, he murmured a brief 'thanks', though keeping his eyes glued to the television screen. Now I'm sitting here, completely humiliated and upset with myself. My hands twist the lemon pound cake scented candle that I'd lit and I watch the fumes curl up into the dark air.

I hear footsteps behind me, and I freeze. He's standing right behind me, opening the refrigerator door and fishing himself out a beer bottle. He's had about a dozen Molson's today. Instead of going back to the couch where I predicted, he comes and sits right in front of me.

"I'm getting' rid of tha shower."

I look up at him with an astonished look in my eyes. What the fuck? Why would he get rid of the shower? "Is there a reason to get rid of the shower, or are you just being an idiot?"

His lip quirk up at the corners. I can't tell if he's joking or not, but he's making me feel slightly uncomfortable. "Don't want ya wipin' me out of my mutation again because you're havin' sexual fantasies in the shower."

I cough loudly, my eyes bulging out my head. "Excuse me?"

He taps his nose and gives me another satisfactory grin. "I can smell everythin'. And since Wolverine's in yeh mind now, he can tell me this kinda shit." I'm absolutely horrified and I'm not sure whether I want to slap the bitch out of him or not. My hands are shaking, and my face is surely turning a dastardly shade of pink. I use my free hand to wipe my hair out of my eyes.

"Who were ya thinkin' of?" he asks me.

My head whips up to give him a deathly stare. He smirks at me and leans back in his seat, tipping back the bottle. "You really wanna know, huh?" Two can play at this game. He nods his head and gives me a slow forming grin.

He's drunk, and he wants to play. So I'll play. "Who is it, baby?"

"Scott," I lie.

He's a little surprised. No, fuck it, he's really surprised. He even looks a little hurt when he hears my answer. Because it's not him, and it's his arch-nemesis. Not that I care, though. But he decides to go play in the deeper waters. "And what did Scooter-bug do ya, huh, baby?"

I narrow my eyes and dig my nails into the wood of the table. "All kindsa bad stuff," I whisper. "It's real naughty, sugah. I don't think I should go into much detail."

He growls and slams his bottle down on the table, challenging me. "Tell me. Now. I want it in full fucking detail. What was Scooter doing to ya in yeh little dream?"

I stare at him and chew my lip. "He was touchin' me all over. Kissing me all on my breasts, runnin' his hands over my ass…" His eyes narrow and his claws poke at his skin. "He was kissin' me on my neck real nice and tender and whisperin' real sweet things in my ear."

He growls. "You liked it, didn't you? Fucked ya like a slut. Don't tell me yeh proud of that, Marie."

Next thing I know, I'm by the door with my coat and boots on, storming out into the miserable weather. Logan's a little dumbfounded, scrambling to the door after me. "Fuck you," I whisper.

"I know yeh better than that and I know that yeh were lyin'. If ya want some time alone, I'll go out. Don't go outside, it's miserable." He tells me.

"You act like you care," I whisper.

He's a little flustered by my comment. "Don't ever say that I don't fuckin' care about ya. I'm sorry about what happened last night and the shit I just said, but you gotta know that I'll never stop caring about you."

I push past him and stumble down the icy stairs. He slips on his coat and stumbles after me, slipping on his boots and coat as well. "The cold doesn't bother me," I whisper as he comes up by my side.

He grabs my arm and yanks me back a little, forcing me to face him. "Get yer skinny ass back in the cabin, Marie."

I yank myself out of his grip and trudge deeper into the snow, snowflakes falling down slowly and softly landing in my hair. "I was lyin' about Scott," I mutter. "I was really thinkin' about you."

He nods his head slowly. "Yeah, I know. I guess I was just tryna see if yeh would tell me the truth or not."

"I hate fightin' with you, Logan," I tell him, staring at him.

"Ya think I like it?" he asks. Logan pulls me closer, halting my movement. "Hate fightin' with you, darlin'. Feels like shit when I see ya cryin' and all upset. M'not worth yer tears."

I stare down at my boots, sheathed in seven inches of snow. "You're crazy if you think you're not worth my tears. Either that, or you're just too fucking blind to see that." He grabs my arm and squeezes me hard through my coat, but I still don't pay him any mind. "Get off," I hiss. "That hurts."

He snarls at me. "Come inside. Now." He's acting all macho and tough, but that's only to scare me into coming back inside with him. I'm enjoying the miserable weather. Everything's coated in white snow like vanilla icing on top of a cake.

I finally give in and let him tug me back to the cabin. I stumble over my feet and almost land face first in the snow. But with the help of Logan, I strategically escape from that outcome. He yanks me back to his side and shakes his head. "Jesus, kid," he murmurs. "Walk much?"

I yank away from him and kick my boots off on the cabin porch. "Don't wanna go inside yet. Leave me alone, please." I whisper. He just stares.

"Kid, I said that I was sorry 'bout what happened and what I did—"

I turn away. "I know. Ya told me that already. Just leave it alone, Logan."

I don't expect him to leave. But he does, disappearing into the cabin with the shake of his head. I bite back a pained sob and tried to distract myself with how pretty the iced stick-bare trees really aren't. I sit down on the snowy wooden bench and take my gloves off, feeling the wind claw menacingly at my skin.

"Kid."

So we're back to that stage, are we? I turn and see him standing there with two mugs of tea. He hands me a cup and I cautiously take it, feeling the warmth engulf my frostbitten fingers. I look down at the cup. He sits down next to me and sends me a sideways glance.

"Green," he mumbles. "With cinnamon and honey."

My eyebrows shoot up. "You remembered?" I ask him.

Nodding his head, he answers with, "I do listen, you know."

I take a sip of the tea and let the warm liquid slide down my throat. "Why don't we just…forget about what we were arguing about? We're up here supposed be having fun, and I don't want something silly to ruin that."

He nods his head again and looks out into the snow. "Yeah. Yer right." Then he adds, "It's fuckin' miserable out here."

A gust of wind picks up some of the softer snow laying on top of the ice and sends it flying into my eyes. I wipe it away quickly and nod my head. "Yeah, that'd be nice."

0o0o0o0o

He took a nap for an hour, leaving me to do whatever the hell I wanted. I was in the spare room that I'd told Logan not to trash, trying my skills on painting. I'd created a sunset over a lake, and a meadow with bright flowers and a puffy-cloud filled sky. Now I was busy painting a picture of the cabin with snow everywhere.

"Hey."

I jump at his voice. I'd been softly playing music from the old radio I'd spied sitting on one of the dusty old shelves and the only radio stations that could connect from all the way up here were the fuzzy radio stations that played soft songs and country-folkish songs. Not that I minded, though.

"I can do paintings," he says, sitting down on a stool beside me. I chew my lip and my brush flies a mile a minute. I dip my brush into a different shade of brown and smooth out the imperfections in the wooden cabin that I was constructing.

The song finished and on came one that I never heard before, but it was about me. John Mayer wrote about me. And Logan.

Dear Marie

Tell me what it was I used to be

"Yeh paintings…they're real good. Where'd you learn ta paint like that?" Logan asks me curiously.

"I used to take these art classes back in Mississippi, and I was the teacher's pet. Ms. Bowler loved me because I always had the best pieces." I say quietly, smearing the paint a little to create a more 'woodsy' effect on the cabin.

He looks at my other paintings and shakes his head in awe. I sneak a glance at him through my peripherals. "You still mad at me, darlin'?"

I shake my head, denying his answer. "No, just focused." My brow furrows and I dip my brush into another shade of paint. Shadowing the items in a painting makes it look all the more realistic, as I'd learned before.

And if you're further up the road

Can you show me what I still can't see

Logan was obviously searching for attention, trying to make me aware that he was sitting right next to me when he dabbed two fingers in one of my cans of paint and wiped them on the side of my cheek, leaving two purple streaks running across my skin. I gasp and drop my brush, standing up from my seat as I wiped at the paint.

Remember me

I'm the boy you used to love

When you were fifteen

"What the hell?" I ask, wiping my cheek off on a towel. He just smirks and flicks more paint at me. This time it lands on my shirt. I gasp again and scowl at him. "Are you trying to make me hurt you?"

He snorts and dabs his fingers into the red paint. "Nah. Just tryna have some fun with ya, that's all."

I scoff. "You think this is havin' fun with me? Well—" I turn away just as he flicks more paint onto me. "You asshole! My shirt's gettin' all dirty now!"

He shrugs his shoulders and moves to the green paint. "Then take it off," he says, like taking off my shirt so he could fling paint at my naked skin was no big deal.

"What are you implyin'?" I ask him with narrowed eyes. He puts his hands up and shakes his head.

Remember me

I'm the boy you used to love

When you were fifteen

"Just sayin' that ya should take yer shirt off so ya don't hafta get yer crafty shirt all full of paint and shit." Logan replies with a casual shrug. When I see that he's getting ready to launch more paint at me, I rip off my shirt and throw it into the corner of the room.

I had hoped that I was wearing a bra…and God is real. It was a pink push-up bra, not the best to be showing to Logan. I heard the Wolverine growl in the back of my mind, and I know that what he's seeing, he approves of.

He moves for the paint, but I'm too quick. I grab the blue paint can, the one that's nearest to me, and splash it onto him, making him curse loudly and stand up as the paint drips down to his pants. I'm cracking up in the corner as he rips off his shirt before paint can drip all the way down his legs.

"How does it feel now?" I ask through spurts of outrageous laughter. "Ya look like a smurf! Papa smurf."

He growls and wipes at the paint that soaked through his shirt and onto his chest. "Ya wanna play, darlin? Let's fuckin' play." He comes at me with the paint dripping from his fingers and draws on my skin while I struggle in his firm grasp, trying to escape.

Dear Marie

Tell me, do you still believe in me?

"Let go of me!" I'm laughing against my better judgment and I've stopped struggling. He chuckles softly and goodheartedly picks up the paintbrush. The wet tip tickles my skin as he paints on me.

He growls at me again, his lips pulling up over his teeth. I lightly jab his cheek with my finger. "Now you look like Grumpy smurf," I murmur. His growl dies down immediately and he can't help but smile.

I pick up some paint and turn around in his grasp, using my paint-drenched fingers to create some odd tribal markings on his chest. He doesn't seem to care, so I draw my fingers up his neck and feel when he breathes in.

The stubble on his chin, the veins, the rough bones of his jaw, his hot cheek…

He lets me go with a strained cough and goes back to the paint to avoid any awkwardness. He dumps the pink paint on me and I screech as it goes sliding down my stomach. He laughs and I wipe it away, coming at him and pressing my pink handprints down on his chest, over his muscled pecks.

He stumbles back against the table and knocks some papers off of it. I laugh and fling more paint at him. It slides down through the indentations in his muscled abdomen (Jubes said that girls these days call it six packs, or whatever). He smiles when I laugh again.

Oh dear Marie

Tell me, do you still believe in me?

I glance down at myself. I look like a human-rainbow, the way different colors of paint swirl over my breasts and stomach. He looks like a Native American with the way I used the red and black paints to make tribal markings on his skin, overriding the blue paint that I'd graciously dumped on him a few minutes before. It's a good look. It's a sexy look, to be frank.

The room's trashed, with paint everywhere on the walls, chairs, and tables. And us, of course. The paint was even in my hair. Logan just stands there, his breath labored and his eyes lustful. There's brightly colored paint staining my tight-fitted yoga pants and my once-clean pink bra.

I wipe my hands on a paper towel, getting rid of the wet paint there. "I'm a complete mess," I say softly. "We should probably hop in the shower."

"I got rid of tha shower."

My face reddens in embarrassment. "Gawd, I thought you were kiddin'." I say.

He shakes his head. "I don't really kid that often."

I shift in my stance and feel some yellow paint drip down my abdomen. "How the hell did you get rid of the shower with me knowin'? What did you use to dismantle the, uh, shower?"

He pops his claws and shows them to me. "Sliced 'em like a knife through warm butter, darlin'," he explains.

"Well, what's there now? How're we gonna get cleaned, huh?"

"I got a bathtub."

I nod my head. "Bathtubs…they're nice."

0o0o0o0o

"I promise ya, I'm not gunna look or nothin'." Logan explains, turning on the washing machine. "Just give me the clothes and then ya can run yer nekkid ass over to the bathroom."

I nod my head even though he's not looking at me. I strip out of my clothes and hand them to Logan. He takes them and throws them into the washing machine, along with his shirt and dirty pants. He strips down completely bare. "Holy shit!"

He's got a nice backside, I'll agree. I didn't know he went commando, but I know now. "What, ya ain't never seen a man's ass before?" he asks, beginning to turn around. When I shriek for him to turn around because I'm naked, he adds, "And it sure as hell ain't like I never seen a naked woman before."

My face reddens like a tomato about to burst. I open the door to the laundry room and run quickly over to the bathroom. He's already started the bathtub up for me and was nice enough to set my soaps, washcloth, and towel on the floor beside the tub.

The tub sits where the shower used to be, attached to the same pipes and overlooking the window. It was a window that I would like to leave the blinds open with because absolutely no one was out here to spy on me out here in the middle of fucking nowhere.

The tub was right in front of the door, so that if someone were to walk straight through the bathroom door, they'd see the naked person in the tub first. But I couldn't change a thing about where Logan chose to situate the bathtub.

I climb into the tub, moaning softly as the hot water bombards my freezing skin. It's like heaven when a body's resting their achy, chilled bones in a tub of nice, hot water.

I grab my soap and washcloth. My body wash smells like mixed berries and honeysuckle. It's a weird combination, but it smells like soap heaven. I squirt some onto the washcloth and rub it over my arms.

I rub my skin raw, making sure the paint is completely off of my skin, before until I move down onto my legs and feet. I hold my foot with my hand and scrub the soles of my feet, where I seemed to have stepped in some black paint.

"Dammit."

It's not coming off, and I lift my leg higher, scrubbing my foot harder. My momma always used to tell me that I was rubbing the skin right off of my body, and I wouldn't disagree with her.

The door closes shut quietly. Normally I wouldn't have heard it, but my senses were heightened when I absorbed Logan's mutation earlier. My head whips towards the door. He's standing there with a towel wrapped around his midsection, paint still covering his body.

"Did you mean it when you said that you didn't regret the kiss?" he asks me, his eyes lowering to stare at the towel on the bathroom floor.

I lower my leg cautiously, dropping the washcloth back into the water, that has now turned into a swirl of colors (watercolors, I suppose). "Of course I did." I answer the question without thinking about the consequences, if they end up being bad or good.

His body's still painted with the colors I'd given him, red and black tribal markings, pink handprints on his chest, and spontaneous blue splatters here and there. He's stepping inside of the room now, slowly, so painfully slowly. "Once I start, there's no going back."

I'm not sure what he means. I'm confused. My body sloshes the water in the tub a little as I situate myself up higher. He walks over to me, his breathing heavy and labored. I'm aghast.

He kneels at my side, sticking his hands inside of the water carefully. The paint bleeds into the water and curls over the tops of my naked breasts. Logan seems hesitant at first as he leans his head towards mine.

When our lips touch, a burning fire travels through my body. He kisses me harder this time, forcing my mouth open with his teeth and filling it with his tongue. He lifts himself up to get better leverage. He smacks light, sweet kisses over my open lips before dipping his tongue inside of my mouth to taste me again. His hands travel through the water, up my neck until they reach my cheeks.

He grasps my face in his hands and I surge forward, getting lost in the kiss myself. When he pulls away I'm left gasping for air. That was without a doubt, the most passionate, lustful kiss I'd ever experienced.

Now I'm left wondering what I did wrong for him to pull away. He looks conflicted with himself, and it breaks my heart a little. "Let me guess," I say sullenly, leaning back in the water, my damp hair fanning around my shoulders. "You regret that too?"

He shakes his head, a serious expression on his face. "I was lying when I said that I regretted our last kiss." My eyes grow wide and my lips part as I take in a much-needed breath. "And…" his voice is husky and filled with lust. "I'd be lying if I said that I regretted this one too."

And with that, his lips descend upon mine again.

0o0o0o0o

Thanks for reading, guys. Leave a review and tell me what you think is going to happen between Marie and Logan next! The more the merrier, and the merrier I am, the faster my pen flies. (:

Courtney xx