The strange equilibrium Logan and Marie had reached that night on the dock lasted nine days. They had managed to sustain it through a typical week at the school and an atypical mission. The calm lasted through the gradual hormonal fall to the metallic hint of blood, accompanied by the sharper side of Marie's tongue. Soon the glorious rise and agonizing peak would follow, and that slow sultry drawl and swinging hips would transition into a beautiful slickness and a full, gorgeous scent that announced, in a way that could not be ignored, that she was lush and open. Ready.

It was a rhythm that Logan largely ignored and rarely noted in any detail — except to absent himself during that scant handful of days her scent literally drove him to distraction — though he paid closer attention now. The anticipation of another erotic encounter was growing with each day that passed. He would issue another invitation soon and he knew there was no way he could endure the luscious scent of her fertility while spending himself in another woman.

With the Wolverine on board, that was a risky enough endeavor as it was. Adding a primal drive he was unable to resist into the mix was pure madness.

Soon, he thought again, watching the Rogue complete a post-flight check on the Blackbird from across the hangar while he and Pete relocated a mountain of supplies and munitions. The intense physical exertion helped some, but didn't really take the edge off. Not with his mutation working to replenish what he lost. He needed a different sort of catharsis.

For as much as Logan was a man to let things evolve as nature intended, he recognized the need for some forethought about what would follow his dirty invitation. At the very least, he needed some vague plan to frame his runaway carnal thoughts into a semblance of convention. He realized he'd gotten lucky last time. Marie had happened to stumble across him at just the right time. The location hadn't exactly been ideal, but they hadn't been interrupted, either.

He didn't think she was ready to join him in a hotel room. Not yet. Maybe not at all. That not only felt too staged, but carried the weight of too many unspoken expectations. His apartment was out for the same reason, and he couldn't see Marie being comfortable in a lot of the places he normally took a few minutes of stolen pleasure. She was his friend, and that put her above dirty back-alley fucks and cramped bathrooms with rowdy drunks knocking around in the adjacent stall or hammering on the door. Manager's offices and shadowy alcoves might do for a while, but even that was pushing it. It was not a problem with an easy solution.

He turned the idea over as he worked. The notion of fucking some barfly on the seat of his truck while an aroused Marie sat a foot away was ludicrous and uncomfortably exciting in a way that made him feel both guilty and turned on. He suddenly missed his old camper that had been destroyed years ago. Close without being cramped. Private without being intimate...

Pete noticed the strange expression on his face and chuckled when his searching comments drew a gruff, "Fuck off. More work n'less yappin'," from the usually stoic Wolverine.

Logan threw himself into the job at hand and firmly pushed thoughts of the coming encounter from his mind.

~oOo~

"Hey."

Marie jumped a little at Logan's husky greeting, turning from where she was pulling billowing whites off a clothesline and tucking them into a basket at her feet. The mansion had a well-appointed laundry room but Marie was a country girl through and through and swore by drying things the old-fashioned way whenever possible. She always just shrugged and said she could smell the sunshine on them.

Logan was inclined to agree. Occasionally he could catch the scent of it on her skin. He tried not to think about Marie's body wrapped in crisp white sheets, warmed by the sun.

"Hey there, sugar." She poked her head out from behind a sheet as it whipped forward in a slow rolling wave. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"Puttin' out your cigar before you came up here. I'd hate to have to kick your ass in front of the others, but nobody messes with my whites."

"Yes, ma'am."

He didn't smile, but the warmth touched his eyes.

He knew she was particular about things that touched her skin. He also knew she was just teasing. Mostly. She'd told him once that she knew he didn't remember his mama, but that there were things he did automatically that told her he'd been raised right. He hadn't realized at the time what a compliment that had been, coming from a woman raised in the deep South.

"What's up?" She folded a shirt against her midsection, smoothing a hand from breastbone to belly before adding it to the basket. "You got that look."

"What look's that, darlin'?"

"Like a long tailed cat in a room full of rockers."

"Mmph."

"Suit yourself. You always do anyway." Marie wiped at the sweat on her brow and grinned at him. "It's hot as a freshly fucked fox out here today." He huffed in amusement. "That's one thing I miss. That and mama's sweet tea." She sighed. "The air seems to move here, but there's no breeze. Know what I mean?"

"No," he said curtly, as unfamiliar with Mississippi as he was with sweet tea— and all of that was a world away from the alpine forest that seemed to be the place he felt most comfortable. She knew damn well he hadn't come all the way out here to talk to her about the weather.

His irritation must have bled through clearly enough, causing a smile to tug at the corner of her lips.

"I guess that temper's a hard dog to keep on the porch, cowboy."

That made him chuckle. Her way of using a colloquialism to roundaboutly call him on something without putting him directly on the spot was one of the quirks he'd always liked about her. It was like a strange sort of shorthand that was somewhere between the language the man spoke and the language of the animal.

"Yeah," he said, owning it.

"So…?"

That was another thing he liked about her. Sometimes she went right after him and called him on his shit. She faced up to the proverbial firing squad without so much as a blindfold or a cigarette. She had a strong, feminine power about her that struck a primal chord in him. Some things, private things, scared the shit out of her, but she had grit and steel and more damn tenacity than anyone he'd ever met. He couldn't help but admire that, even when it was pissing him off.

"I'm fightin' tonight."

"And?"

She could pretend nonchalance all she wanted. He could hear her heart race and tipped his head to catch her eye.

"You comin'?" The word choice was deliberate.

"I don't know about that, but I'm up for watchin', sugar."

The blush on her nearly killed him. Jesus.

"You know that dive out on 21?"

"Just past the fish place that burned last winter?"

Logan nodded, a little disturbed by her familiarity with a fight bar that was pretty much known only by word of mouth. It was a test, and he couldn't quite work out if she'd passed or failed. "Yeah. Fights start at ten."

It seemed slightly ridiculous to be having this discussion with her in the bright afternoon sunshine while she took in her washing. The unspoken message was clear. They would not be arriving or leaving together. Logan had little use for any laws but his own, however, even he couldn't imagine sitting next to Marie in silence on the long ride back after he'd just fucked the hell outta some girl in front of her. Evidently even the Wolverine had limits. At least, when it came to her.

And to be honest, he really wasn't interested in deconstructing what happened afterwards, blow by blow. It was enough that Marie was present when it happened — and that she liked it— at least enough to do it again, which was really all that mattered.

"Logan?" She wasn't looking at him, her gaze was focused on a casual white skirt with little eyelets. One of his favorites. She usually wore it with boots and a denim jacket over a t-shirt and sometimes his old cowboy hat.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think we should maybe have some, I dunno, ground rules or something if we're gonna make a habit outta this?"

The Wolverine didn't do rules at a matter of course, but he understood it might make her feel less anxious. He shrugged. "Darlin', I invited you there to watch, not join in." He hadn't imagined her playing an active — or even interactive part. "I won't touch ya. I won't let anyone else touch ya. I'll keep ya safe if you wanna touch yourself. You don't gotta worry." It was sex, not rocket science. Nature had a way of working itself out, at least on that front.

"Lawd!" Her eyes were wide and round and full of a dark fire he'd rarely let himself even imagine. "What about— what about a safeword? You know, just in case?"

"In case of what? Fifty shades of bullshit? Nobody's gonna keep you there, darlin'. You don't wanna see somethin', don't look. Hell, walk away. Whichever. The invitation was to watch, not direct the action. I'm not a fuckin' puppet." Something about those words made her twist up that white skirt in her gloved hands. The predator in Logan zeroed in on that action, something about her body language making him press when he might have backed off. "What? You wanna drive that train? Tell me how to get off?"

Her response had surprised him. He had imagined that she might enjoy an intimate look at what he liked and how he liked it and, maybe, to cast herself in the role of his partner when she replayed it in her mind, after. He hadn't expected that she might want a larger degree of control, or a say in the content.

He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

"NO!" She swallowed, taking a minute to rein herself in and compose a response that wasn't so emotionally charged. "No. I mean, that's not really how I pictured it. If I could be invisible, I would."

"Fuck that." That would deny him the pleasure of her reactions. His offer to let her watch hadn't been selfless. Surely, she knew that.

"You know what I mean," she chided. He did, now. She wanted to be invisible to the women. Not to him. Interesting.

"But…?"

"It's not really a 'but'. Not like you mean. Some things interest me more than others, that's all."

He wasn't a performing monkey, but she had to know he wasn't going to let that go. And to be honest, the idea that she didn't want to be a completely passive observer made the slow, heavy roil in his belly shift lower; a congested, buzzy sort of sensation that was precursor to the full erection he'd have if he thought too much more about Marie taking a more active part in their erotic little game. It certainly brought it out of simple voyeurism and into another arena entirely.

"Fair enough." He stepped closer, until they were concealed between two sheets that effectively walled off the rest of the world. In the heat of the midday sun, he watched gooseflesh rise on the strip of skin between her shirt and her gloves. If just his proximity drew such a reaction from her, imagine how responsive a lover she'd be? He made a low noise, somewhere between a growl and a groan. "Maybe it ain't so much drivin' the train as it is lettin' me know where you might like it to go?"

"Gawd," she shuddered, flushing a bright pink.

"I ain't makin' promises, kid." Logan chafed at the idea of this inexperienced slip of a girl giving him any sort of erotic direction when she was too afraid to participate in the act herself, but this wasn't only about him. Marie had to get something out of this too, and the motivation for that wasn't purely altruistic. The Wolverine needed to hook her real good and make damn sure she wanted to do it again. And again. And again. "Might be open to suggestion though, under the right circumstances."

"Is that right?"

Logan nodded. Once.

"And those circumstances might be…?"

His expression was wholly predatory. "That you have the balls to tell me straight up, right here, right now, what you wanna see tonight. Otherwise, I pick." He was pretty confident in his ability to know what she'd like, but he still felt like it wouldn't hurt to hear it from her. He wanted it to be so damn good she couldn't walk away. And he wanted her coming back for more.

"What about the, uh, girl. Doesn't she get a say?" She was breathing harder now, somewhere between aroused and pissed. Leaning towards pissed, he thought.

Logan shrugged. "Not usually. Mostly I just do what I want." And he assumed, quite correctly, that his partners typically got what they wanted on his way to satisfying his own desires. He knew that annoyed Marie, but that cocksure attitude was in part what drew the women to him. They recognized his power and wanted to feel it for themselves. They wanted to submit to that raw, male force. They came to him not in spite of that attitude, but because of it.

Marie was proud and strong and he knew that would rub her the wrong way. He also knew she felt it too, and that's what was really pissing her off.

"And that works?" He wondered if she had any idea her hand was clenched into a fist. They were probably overdue for a fight. It had been a while since their last real go-round.

"Yeah," he offered without a shred of remorse or regret. He wasn't even gloating. It was a pure statement of fact. If she didn't like it, too bad. He didn't make the rules. He merely exploited the ones Nature had made that seemed to lean quite heavily in his favor.

He could see her screwing up her courage to respond. Logan was prepared for something along the lines of: I wanna see you do it from behind, sugar. Rough. Pull her hair. Pin her hands. Maybe something edgy that skated pretty close to actual violence. She was primed for a fight and that's generally what women expected from him. A good, hard fuck from someone who made no excuses for what he was and what he wanted. And generally, that's pretty much how he wanted it too. Hot as hell. Dirty. Sweaty. Wild. He had few limits and appreciated the same quality in his sexual partners.

"Tender," Marie finally blurted out.

"What?" For a moment, Logan couldn't comprehend her meaning, it was so far outside the realm of expected possibilities.

"Tender," she said again, and he wondered if maybe her answer had less to do with what she really wanted to see and more to do with trying to push him out of his comfort zone. "Not— not lovemaking. That implies emotion. I'm not an idiot. But soft, you know? Slow. Tender, like..."

"Like...?" he prompted, when she trailed off and fell silent, probably reading something in his expression. Good, because he was hoping his face was in agreement with his mind and broadcasting a very clear: What the ever-lovin' fuck?

"Maybe like a first time. Like that."

A truly disturbing thought suddenly occurred to him. "Jesus Christ. Tell me you ain't a virgin, kid."

Marie threw her head back and laughed until her eyes were wet. When she slowed and met his horrified gaze, her peals of silvery laughter rang out again until she finally stopped, breathing hard, and wiped the wetness from her eyes.

"NO! God, no!" Another giggle bubbled up. "You should have seen the look on your face, though."

"Mmph." Likely, there was a touch of murder in his eyes. Probably something darker, too. Something he didn't have any intention of analyzing too closely. The rending of her body. Virgin blood. A claim that couldn't be undone. He couldn't even think about those things without coming apart at the seams.

Another laugh spilled out of those full lips and his frown deepened. "Sorry. Sorry!"

It was probably partly the excuse she'd given, and partly it just helped dispel the tension of an uncomfortable discussion.

"You shittin' me?"

"Geez, Logan. I lost it years ago. Move on, already. I have."

"Not that." He clenched his jaw. "Tender?" he scoffed. His tone said: Have you lost your fucking mind? "And you think I can do that after I've been fightin'?"

"Yes." She didn't say it like a dare, she said it like a home truth. And that spooked him. Bad.

"That's what you wanna see?" Really? He was stunned. Stunned and uneasy. That was one tall goddamn order.

Her blush was back, but she didn't flinch away from the intensity of his stare. "Yes."

"Why?"

She didn't answer and he knew the reason. He wasn't playing by the rules of their unspoken contract. Her confessions came after. He had to pay for them first with secrets of his own. Shit.

Stalemate.

Finally he shrugged. "Fine. But like I said, I can't promise nothin', darlin'. Soft n'sweet generally ain't what women are lookin' to get outta me."

Her color rose, but this time it wasn't with embarrassment. "Newsflash, sugar. You just told me that you did pretty much whatever the hell you wanted with those women."

Damn her. He had said that.

"Shit," he grunted, reluctantly conceding the point.

She'd trumped him and she knew it. That sense of power around her seemed to swell and she … brightened … somehow. Wild and vital. It was intense. On par with her demeanor in battle, focused and ruthless.

It made his forearms itch with an almost uncontrollable urge to release his claws. It also made him rock hard. Fight or fuck. He wondered what would happen if they ever didn't choose fight.

"If we do this, I have rules." That fierce energy reached in, grabbed the Wolverine where he lay coiled, ready... waiting, and shook him violently, announcing she was a creature worthy of respect and letting him know that she would not tolerate the treatment he doled out so casually to other females.

Logan grunted. He had no words for this fierce being. There was only a low growl locked behind his clenched teeth.

She pulled the hand from her hip and ticked the rules off on her gloved fingers. "One. The girls know I'm there — and consent — or I walk. Two. They don't talk to me. Three. No redheads."

His mouth might have hung open there for a second at the end. Logan couldn't have been more surprised if she'd pulled back her fist and cold-cocked him right there on that smooth green rise above the back quad.

Christ, she was glorious. The sun lit that streak of maple in her hair, so bright it almost hurt to look at her. Legs planted. Chest heaving. Hellfire in her eyes and more confident than he'd ever seen her.

The Wolverine snarled his acceptance of her rules. He was well past speaking in pitiful human words. The wild creature before him would hear and understand.

The Rogue smiled and nodded.

The Wolverine flashed his teeth too, but it was not a smile. Tonight, men would bleed.

And after?

Hell, after was anyone's guess…

Up next: Cinders. And so it begins...