The miles disappeared under the wheels of Logan's truck. Outside the window, spring was in full bloom. The world was lush and green again. Tight chartreuse buds had softened and opened. Cascading flowers rich with pollen seemed to catch Marie's eye wherever she looked. It made the blood tickle in her veins as she recognized a similar ripening in herself. She looked over at Logan. It would be soon, now. She could feel it peaking inside her.

"You know, I'm beginning to think you like this, sugar."

"Hmph."

He would not ever enjoy shopping. It was a necessary evil only, fine tobacco and motorcycles notwithstanding.

"What are you after today? Woodyard again? Paint? Appliances?" He had a TV now. Flatscreen. And a new fridge and oven. Stainless. Interestingly enough, a modern espresso machine had appeared recently. Also stainless. Even a couch. Logan had finished the hickory table and benches and a thick slab of natural maple had become a coffee table. Still no mention of a bed.

"Chair," he grunted.

"I thought you were making those?"

"Still am, but I want a leather one, too."

Marie's whole body shuddered at that. Logan just smirked. The last time they'd both been looking at a leather chair had been at The Red Door. A feral man had flipped a dark-haired woman around and fucked her over the back of it, hard enough to make her keen.

"Oh!"

"Heh."

She smacked his arm. "You got anythin' specific in mind, sugar?"

Her scent slid towards musk and spice.

"Do you?" The words themselves were banal but his tone was positively filthy.

Once, such a comment would have drawn a deep blush from her. Now she just grinned and her eyes sparkled with carnal promise. "Always."

"Christ." He ran a hand through his hair and sat back a little in the seat, widening his legs a little to ease the dull throb in his groin. He hadn't pushed her toward physical intimacy, but he'd stopped shielding her from how her words, and the long wait, had affected him.

The Rogue just smiled, enjoying their easy camaraderie as she felt the last grains of sand slip through that internal hourglass. It marked her readiness to let go of her fear and come to him, willing to accept all he had to give and to choose him as her own. It was exciting, but left her a little melancholy, too. The sun was setting on something beautiful, but she had hope that it would rise on something extraordinary.

He put an arm behind her on the back of the bench seat, wanting her aware of his physical presence. He wasn't sure if she was conscious of doing it, but she moved closer to him all the same. So responsive, to even the most subtle direction. When she finally came to him, she would be an amazing lover. A true mate in every sense of the word.

"You're quiet today," he observed.

"Just thinkin'."

"About?"

"Sunsets and hourglasses."

He'd long ago accepted her grasshopper brain rarely gave the answer he expected. It was one of the things he liked best about her. She was one of the few people who could truly surprise him. It delighted the predator in him, who found most people boring and predictable.

"Interestin'." It was. Time was clearly weighing heavily on her mind today. "Endin's and beginnin's?" he ventured quietly. He hoped so. He wasn't sure how much longer he could wait.

"Something like that."

"So nothin' about leather chairs, huh?" The casual comment was light. Easy. He wasn't really up for a heavy conversation today. The last few weeks had worn his patience thin.

"Oh, I didn't say that…" her smile was positively wicked.

A few miles rolled by where she felt pretty smug before Logan broke the easy silence.

"Saw you wrote a new story."

Marie flushed with equal amounts of embarrassment and pleasure. She'd been wondering if he'd say anything. "I did."

It was far and away the most explicit thing she'd ever written. A simple story inspired by the ZZ Top song that had been playing that afternoon she'd painted his kitchen. It had started with a motorcycle ride and ended with an intimate gift between new lovers.

"You really want that?"

"I want everything." It was an easier answer to give than: I want all of you. Though he seemed to hear it anyway if the way he jerked slightly in the seat was any indication. Her voice was soft. Gentle with hope rather than brassy with defiance. It touched him in a way that playfulness could not. Acceptance from her had always been the biggest chink in his armor.

Logan stared at her so long that the truck drifted over far enough for the rumble strips to growl loudly under the tires. Shit. He steered the truck back between the lines with a low curse.

His eyes were back on the road, but his thoughts were somewhere else entirely.

"You still tryin' to push me?"

This time she just smiled. "Not on purpose."

"Then why that? Why now?"

Marie felt like she was running towards the edge of a cliff; suspended in the moment, that gathering place just before she stretched out her wings and either caught the wind just right and soared magnificently or failed utterly and shattered on the rocks below.

"I dunno, sugar. You ever just do something because it feels right even though it defies reason and common sense?"

He nodded, stroking her nape with his thumb as he thought about that day on the snowy road so long ago. "Just once, kid."

~ooOoo~

The actual shopping for the chair was as painful as Logan imagined it would be. An irritating, fussy little man with zero sense of self-preservation kept trying to sell him a house full of furniture he didn't want or need, while a hundred TV's blazed in the background. The girls from Sex in the City were having an annoyingly graphic conversation about oral sex.

It didn't help his frayed mood for that to be the backdrop while he and Marie wandered through the sea of leather furniture. Still, it wasn't enough to dampen his enjoyment as he watched her gloved fingers skate over the smooth leather when she found one she particularly liked. It reminded him of the way she'd stroked the tank of his bike that afternoon in the garage when she'd asked him to take her to The Red Door.

He could tell what they'd seen there wasn't far from either of their minds.

She stopped before a formal leather armchair, high backed with carved gryphons on the legs and brass tack detailing. It was all wrong for the humble, rustic home he'd built, but the oxblood leather was exquisite. He couldn't resist stroking it either. He shook his head and they moved on.

A sturdy modern chair caught her eye next. It had clean lines and smooth dark leather the color of fine tobacco. He sat in it, stretching out his long legs with a sigh of contentment while she looked at him with a critical expression. It was only one of a handful he'd liked enough to sit in.

He got up and shook his head.

"Sugar?"

"Nah. Ain't right."

"I dunno. Looks pretty right to me."

"Ain't a bad chair. S'comfortable."

"But?"

Slowly, deliberately, he came around to the back of the chair and pulled her in front of him, her back to his front. She knew immediately why it wasn't right. The back of the chair only came to mid thigh. The angle was all wrong. His hand found her hip and he put his lips to her ear as he squeezed lightly with his fingers. "S'too low, darlin'."

"Too low?" She wanted to hear him say it. He was too tall to flip her over the back of it and fuck her the way the feral man at the club had taken the woman that night. Strong thrusts that had made her feet leave the floor. Her hips tipped on the fulcrum of the chair and pinned there by his iron grip. His body, thick and hard, sliding into hers until she shuddered and called out to him.

"Mmm. Yeah. Too low for what I want it for."

"Snoozin' by the fire?" She couldn't help but shine him on a little when he didn't give her the explicit answer he knew she wanted. He did it on purpose. She was aware it was his somewhat-less-than-subtle way of encouraging her to open that last closed door between them. He was more than willing to talk to her candidly about sex in general, but he flatly refused to discuss sex with her specifically. Whether it was because he couldn't or wouldn't, she wasn't sure.

Marie tried to turn in his arms but he wouldn't let her.

"No."

He very deliberately rubbed his thumb over her neck where he'd bitten her that night. She swayed against him, eyes closed, and then lifted her chin defiantly and met his eyes over her shoulder.

"I don't take orders from you, cowboy."

Ah, there she was. The Rogue was never far from the surface these days. He approved.

"Yes, you do…" he whispered huskily, nipping at her lightly for her insolence, before kicking her feet apart roughly with his boot. He stepped up behind her like he had that night at The Red Door, only this time he pulled her hips to his crotch. Not lewdly, but with enough force that she got his meaning even without the words.

It happened just that fast, her panties slick and wet, standing there in the middle of the store with Carrie Bradshaw and Samantha Jones nattering on in the background about downtown delights and how good it could be when a man really knew how to use his mouth. Logan growled against her throat.

He knew he'd made his point. They were both aware that if he leaned in and ordered her to put her hands on the back of that chair and present him with that sweet, round ass of hers, that she'd do it in a heartbeat. He wondered if that was her game. Trying to make him crack before she came to him of her own free will. Good luck with that, sweetheart.

"We both know you take orders real good…" He stroked her hip with frank appreciation. "But we ain't there yet, so don't push me like that again, darlin', unless you're ready for what comes after."

Unlike that night in the alcove when he hadn't so much as touched her, today he was pressed right up against her back and he felt her full body shudder at his low, gravelly words.

"God!" The more he talked, the wetter she got. The smug expression on his face and the flash of gold in his eyes told her he knew it, too. It was slippery and warm and felt sexy when she moved. It made her so aware of her body and doubly aware of him.

"So if you're done tormentin' me with your smart mouth and that goddamn luscious scent, let's buy a fuckin' chair already."

He wondered if she'd be pissed at him. He was rarely so high-handed with her, but he'd long reached the end of his rope. The Wolverine would garrotte him with it soon enough and then all hell would break loose. He was surprised when she giggled instead.

"What," he growled, more roughly than he intended.

"A fucking chair."

That made him chuckle, too. In point of fact, that's exactly what it was.

He didn't let go of her hips. They wandered the store, standing together before each chair. They found one at the edge of the showroom that was heavy and sturdy. The distressed leather was the color of rich bourbon. The back was just a little high for her until he told her to rise up on her toes. Ah, Christ.

Perfection.

Up next: Desperado. Two words. Aural sex. Yep, that's what I said. Heh. Logan and Marie spiral closer to the point of no return…

Okay, y'all. Imagine the Wolverine and the Rogue getting wild at The Red Door and give me your best dirty 80's song recs. Go!