Uncurling the clenched fist he had in Cheyenne's hair, Logan gentled the touch on her scalp, more an apology than a caress. He liked women and generally didn't use one so roughly unless she'd indicated she was willing somewhere along the way.

Fuck.

Cheyenne turned to look at the girl who'd watched her pleasure the Wolverine, casually wiping her mouth on the back of her hand before giving Logan a look that he interpreted to mean: Take care of your business here and get back to me. He owed her an orgasm and she intended to collect. He didn't disagree. She pushed herself to her feet. "Gonna go get a drink, babe."

Logan gave her a little nod that said they weren't done but that he needed a minute here to talk. But mostly he just sat in the creaky old chair and caught his breath, a little disconcerted that he'd come too soon.

The Rogue, uncharacteristically, said nothing.

Cheyenne left without another word. Her heels clicked on the uneven floor. Painfully aware of Rogue's eyes on him, Logan swiped a heavy boot through the wet remnants of his orgasm. Where everything had been hidden before, he was completely exposed now; thick, moist cock half-hard and twitching with little aftershocks. He caught the last lingering drip with his thumb and licked it absently before tucking himself away, suddenly feeling acutely uncomfortable. Fly open, he watched Marie watch him still breathing hard and wondered what the fuck to say to her.

He hadn't thought this far ahead. Generally he didn't stick around long enough for there to be much post-orgasm awkwardness. It was obvious Marie was still furious. And aroused. Christ, horny and angry. It was definitely a combination that worked for him, but he couldn't even begin to guess about the state of her emotional landscape. Her scent told him she needed to come about as badly as she needed to tear a strip off his hide. She was jumpy in her own skin and twitchy as all hell, fire burning in her eyes like he'd never seen. He liked it, but it also made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

She looked from the dark stain seeping into the dry wood to the scruff of thick hair advertising his masculinity quite clearly from his open fly and finally met his gaze from under the brim of the beat up cowboy hat tipped low over her face.

"Impressive." Her mocking tone rubbed him the wrong way and he felt his features harden. Marie was obviously on the offensive because she was overwhelmed, probably by what she'd seen and how it had made her feel, and by the fact that he'd issued the invitation to begin with, but he wasn't her goddamn punching bag. And he wasn't giving up, either. She was a tough nut to crack. He figured it'd take more than a few tries.

"Mmph." A grunt in reply because that comment was beneath her, and because it touched his pride, and because there wasn't enough space in this little room for World War III if he said what he was really thinking.

"Thanks so much for the invite, sugar. I always wanted to be just another prop in your fucked-up post-fight sex fantasy." Her eyes narrowed when he jerked as if she'd struck him, but she was still watching his face. That was something, at least. Especially considering his belt and pants were open and showing off everything from belly button to pubic hair. "Cage bunnies not enough to get you off anymore? Just how many does it take to fuck the Wolverine into oblivion these days?"

Oblivion? As if that were even possible? Peace was as elusive as it had ever been. The realization only put him in a blacker mood.

"Hey, you got this all wrong, kid." He hadn't done this to taunt her. He'd been trying to give her something.

"You really expect me to believe that?" She hissed the words at him. "I thought you were smarter than that."

That hurt. He took that shit personal, same as any other below the belt blow, and fired one back just as hard.

"And I thought you had more balls. Guess we were both wrong." He blew out hard, doing up his pants and buckling them with blood-spattered hands, suddenly wanting as many layers between them as he could get. Jesus. How had this night gotten so fucked up?

Sex, for him, was about release. For her, it was clearly about something else entirely. He'd made a serious miscalculation. He was suddenly aware this was way more intimate than he'd imagined it would be. He'd given away far too much and he was unsure, now, where to go from here. He abruptly felt vulnerable and he was aware she was awash in what she'd seen and what it might mean - or not mean - and it all suddenly felt like a very bad idea.

"Bullshit. I'm here, aren't I?"

"Yeah," he said tiredly, reaching for the bottle of cheap tequila and taking a long pull. "But you didn't—" she hadn't really been a part of it. Hadn't opened herself to it like he'd hoped. Hadn't purposefully given any of herself in return or accepted what he'd offered in the spirit it was meant. Instead, it had just been one giant clusterfuck. "Look. This was a bad idea."

The look on her face told him that was the wrong thing to say. Shit.

Everything he did to defuse the situation only seemed to make it worse. Story of his life.

"Why? Can't handle it?" She purposefully eyed the smear of ejaculate staining the planks between his feet, letting him see her do it just to push his buttons, which was both stupid and dangerous.

He shrugged, wondering if she'd have succeeded in goading him into a fight if he hadn't just had one of the most intense orgasms he could remember. He was still slumped in post-orgasm lethargy. As it was, he was itching to let her have it, but not only would that be counterproductive to his endgame goal, he was suddenly tired of banging his head against this particular wall of denial and feminine futility. And he was still dismayed and somewhat shaken that Marie's presence had affected his considerable restraint. He did not lose control of himself with women. Ever.

That he hadn't once considered what her presence might do to him pricked at him too. That was one damn big blind spot. He should have known better.

"Ain't me dyin' to come so bad I can hardly keep still," he observed. Her twitchiness was making him uncomfortable and he wasn't the sort of man who pulled his punches.

For a moment he thought she was going to fight him and then she threw her head back and laughed, a brittle sound that probably revealed more about the depth of her pain than anything she'd said so far. "Sure, sugar. Whyever would I wanna pass on that? Because, hey, it worked so well for you."

"Shut up." It was more a growl than anything else.

She carried on, too furious to stop even though she knew she should. "Maybe that's what I need, huh? Some stranger to stick their tongue between my legs because getting drunk and getting off is easier than making a dadgum meaningful connection with another person."

"Nah." Logan uncoiled from the chair and rose, suddenly a menacing presence in the confined space as he loomed over her small frame. Marie would have taken a step back, but she was already against the wall. There was no place to go. No escape to be had. "S'better your way. Why bother with people at all when runnin' keeps 'em all away?" He ignored her gasp. "Ya know, your skin ain't a prison. It's a goddamn excuse. You're a coward, darlin'." Too far, he knew. But fuck her. She was really pissing him off now.

"And you're a cold-hearted bastard."

"Maybe. I ain't wrong, though. Hell, I bet you a bottle of the good stuff that you haven't a meaningful connection with anyone since you shot yourself up with the Cure."

"Go fuck yourself." Her face was red. She was angry. And ashamed. And embarrassed, because they both knew he was right.

"Honey, I'm gonna go fuck that girl waitin' for me at the bar and you're gonna go home to a cold, empty bed, so tell me again which one of us is gonna be fuckin' themselves tonight."

"I hate you," she spat at him, reeling.

"No you don't. You hate that you're too scared to tag along and watch."

That struck a nerve, he could see it on her face — her eyes blazed but her lips were trembling.

"You… you—"

"Christ, kid, you really think this was about me gettin' off? Or tryin' to hurt you in some way?"

She stared at him with wide, wary eyes. "What then?"

He sighed, pushing a hand through his wild hair in frustration. "Fuck if I know. I thought you'd want it. And that I could give it to you." To be honest, he'd thought it would be pretty easy. Casual sex had never been a problem. He should have known nothing involving Marie was ever casual or easy. "But if you'd rather spit in my face than take it, then that's up to you."

It was a butchered, disjointed explanation at best. Emotionally charged conversations were not his forte. More to the point, how could he put into words what he didn't understand himself? But something must have pierced that armor of hers, something must have gotten through because the fight seemed to go out of her.

She was still guarded, but the aggression had bled from her stance. They shared the same small square meter of space and yet, an ocean may as well have been between them. He could feel it, cold and dark and bitter.

Logan forced himself to take a step back when all the Wolverine wanted to do was press his advantage.

Marie gave him one last uncertain look and bailed, too shaken to even stalk away with her hips swinging and her chin held high. Instead she lit out of there like hellhounds were snapping at her heels.

He turned to go, suddenly feeling strangely deflated. Another night shot to hell. Another run-in with the kid that ended in flames. Par for the course lately. Jesus, he should be more enthusiastic about the impending sex, at least, but he just felt weary. Drained, right down to his bones.

Up next: Embers. Man, I just love the hell out of damaged people making questionable choices that wind up having some pretty serious consequences. So, now these two are going to have to figure out how to go forward from here…