Oh god, oh god. I am SO SORRY for waiting so long to update. I have been freaking out these past few weeks. I'm transferring to a different college, and I don't know which one yet, and I've got so much other shit going on. However, that is not an excuse! I have lost all inspiration for everything in my life right now. I can't do anything and I don't know why. Not even hentai can do it for me anymore. What has happened to my life?

Anyway, I've been working really hard on this for over a month. I have no idea why I've been struggling so much with Wolverine but here you go. I'm sorry it sucks ass. Speaking of which, if you're reading my Clex fic, I keep fantasizing about all the things I want to shove up Clark's ass. Look forward to it.

Also, look forward to more Wolverine. I didn't realize how long it'd been since we'd seen him (chapter 8!). So because of that, the fact that I love him, and a request by ElvenMuggle, he's back!

Enjoy!

-Forbala-

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: LEARNING

When Marielle woke up the next morning, it was to the semi-familiar yet still shocking sight of Raoul's face, inches from hers.

"Motherfucking—! What the hell, dumbass?" she asked, smacking him and pulling the covers up to her chin. Not that she had anything to hide, she realized; she was still in her jeans and t-shirt from last night. Well, at least he hadn't done anything stupid, deadly, or unforgivable.

"Have I told you how cute you are when you sleep?" he asked. He reached for her hand and she smacked it away.

"Get out!"

"As you wish, chere," he said, kissing her hair and rolling out of the bed. He disappeared and she punched the pillow he'd been lying on.

"So," Raoul said over breakfast, about half an hour later, "we have an apartment. It's furnished. We have jobs. The fridge is stocked. We just need to go shopping one last time."

"What in God's name for?"

"You need more than a week's worth of clothes, chere."

"I do not, and I'm not going shopping today. Next weekend maybe, but don't make me go today. I can't go shopping again or I'll go insane."

"Then we can train."

"We need to find a gym first."

"Oui, but that's not what I was referring to. I meant your powers."

"Raoul, we can't train my powers and you will never be able to touch me. Accept that," she said. Then, muttering, "I have."

"I won't. I know you can touch. We just have to work on it. You couldn't fight, but you learned by training every day. Same with your absorption."

Marielle sighed. She wasn't going to cry or scream again. It didn't do any good. She simply ignored him and kept eating. Raoul, interpreting her silence as acceptance, stood suddenly and went to his room. Marielle watched him disappear, then reappear a moment later, carrying a first aid kit and a small heart rate monitor.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"We're training."

Marielle raised an eyebrow, like "are you for real?"

"After breakfast, of course, chere."

"Hm."

X

Logan walked down the dock, his duffel thrown over his shoulder. At the end of the wooden path sat a magnificent sailboat: It was large with three mainsails and in perfect condition. He'd hired a small crew—well, two men, actually—and they were going to sail across the Atlantic. Logan had got wind that Rogue was in France, and a ship was the only way for him to get there: He couldn't use the X-Jet because of Chuck's disapproval of his little adventure; he couldn't get help from Nick Fury or SHIELD; he was on his own. He couldn't buy a plane big and powerful enough to make the trip, or to hold his weight. He couldn't fly commercial because of, again, his weight and also his adamantium skeleton. He'd never get through security. So that left him to the ocean. He needed a boat big enough to hold his weight and make the lengthy, difficult trip, but he couldn't man a ship that big by himself, so he hired a couple men.

And here he was. Everything was ready for his trip. It would take about a month, depending on weather and currents, but Logan was a fairly good sailor and he had all the charts and supplies he would need. He was ready and eager to get moving. The sun crested the horizon as he reached the ship.

"Is everything ready?" Logan asked, with no preamble whatsoever. The hands—whose names he didn't care to remember—looked up at him, surprised by his arrival and abrasive manner.

"Uh, yeah, it's all good to go. We're just loading the last few things."

Logan nodded and stepped easily onto the ship, bobbing just a bit in the tiny harbor current. He disappeared into the cabin and threw his bags onto a bed, then reappeared on the deck. He walked about the ship, double-checking everything with a professional eye. When he deemed it acceptable, he went to the aft where the hands were waiting.

"I'm your captain. You will call me such. Now, tell me your names again," he said, lighting a cigar.

"Harry," said the first.

"I'm Cory," said the second, slightly shorter and darker in hair and skin than Harry.

Logan nodded and then they kicked it into high gear. The sun was rising fast and Logan was on a deadline. They sailed slowly out of the harbor and then through the bay, and finally out into the open ocean. Then the sails went full and they started speeding through the surf.

X

Raoul blinked, his vision blurry but becoming clearer, slowly. He saw Marielle's face, covered in worry, looming above him. "How'd we do?"

"Dammit, that's the third time! Raoul, we have to stop or you're going to become comatose!"

"Nonesense, chere. We touched for almost thirty seconds that time."

"This is pointless!" she yelled, standing up and pacing the kitchen. Raoul sat up slowly, letting his head clear, and enjoying the view of Marielle's perfect round ass shaking as she paced away from him, then her supple breasts bouncing as she paced passionately towards him again. She noticed him staring and kicked him half-heartedly in the leg, muttering, "Pervert."

Raoul stood up and grabbed hold of Marielle's hands, gloved now, and pulled her close to him. He moved one hand to the small of her back when she was pressed flush to him, and with the other he held both of her hands between their chests. He nuzzled his face in her hair and breathed deeply. He smelled the floral shampoo she used, but it couldn't mask her own personal scent, which was both homey and exotic, and utterly intoxicating.

Rogue froze initially, but only for an instant before she relaxed into his embrace, her forehead resting on his collarbone.

"Rogue, Anna Marie, Marielle, ma belle chere, ma fille parfaite. I trust you absolutely. You don't realize that I would die a thousand times just to touch you, kiss you, once. Rogue, I love you. And I know that if we work at it, we'll be able to touch one day. For as long as we want. As much skin contact as we can bear. I want to touch you and kiss you everywhere. I want to worship you."

Rogue began to shake with fear: Remy was being so honest—she didn't even have to look at him to know he wasn't lying—and so personal. It was actually terrifying. It was scary because Rogue couldn't return his feelings, no matter how much—or even if—she wanted to. She was trapped in this cursed body, and she knew it. But never more than right now did she want to believe she could train the absorption and learn to touch like a normal person. Never had she felt so close to Remy, or so afraid of him. If he loved her, truly loved her, that much, what could she offer him? What would he do? Love was a powerful, dangerous emotion and she couldn't reciprocate.

But for now, just a short moment in time, maybe she could pretend she could.

She pushed herself closer to Raoul and pressed her lips against his cotton t-shirt. He shivered. He released her hands and pushed his now free hand into her hair, lifting her face up to look at him.

"I love you, chere. Do you even understand? I love you so much."

"I know."

Raoul kissed her and tried to pull her closer, until they might've fused together. He kissed her passionately and softly and aggressively and feathery-light. He couldn't get enough of her. And she kissed him back with just as much vigor, but a few lonely tears slid down her face, onto their lips. They didn't notice. At last they pulled away for air. Raoul was lightheaded from the kiss and from her so-called poison skin. His hands rested on her jean-covered hips and they stood, panting, staring at each other.

"Raoul…"

"We kissed. For a long time. And I'm still conscious." He wouldn't tell her how dizzy he was.

"How?"

"You just need to let your guard down, chere. You've built so many walls to protect everyone from your skin, you can't let them down and relax and touch. You're too afraid of your own body."

"I don't even care right now. Just hold me," she said, curling into his body again. He scooped her up and carried her to the couch, where they sat snuggling for a long time. No more kissing, no groping or anything. Just sitting there, together, no worries. They weren't mutants or refugees or in cognito. They just were. And it was the happiest Rogue had ever been.