Rogue was in the cockpit of the Blackbird, taking her sweet time to run through the post-flight checks. Everyone else was long gone. Logan was aware this meant one of two things; either she was waiting for him to leave the hangar before she deplaned, or she was waiting for him to come talk to her. There weren't too many truly private places on the school grounds. The mission hadn't gone very smoothly and it was anyone's guess which way her temper would break tonight, but he'd never been one to back down from a fight.
Logan slid into the copilot's seat, frowning at the claustrophobic feel of technology pressing in from all sides. A man with so much metal in him was never meant for the sky. And as always, there was that fierce longing inside him for open, wild places without walls and rules. He much preferred the sunset to neon lights and the creak of wind in the trees to the cacophony of human noise. The modern world was an assault on his senses.
"Hey, kid."
"Go away. I'm workin' here."
That answered that.
Logan stayed to annoy her. And because he knew they needed to clear the air. They'd been in the shit tonight— serious shit— and it had necessitated him giving her some orders that hadn't gone down well. Oh, she'd obeyed because he'd trained her right and she was a damn good soldier. Christ, but her eyes— they'd burned with the promise of bloody retribution. Retreat was not in her vocabulary.
His decision had been tactical and not personal.
Mostly.
And there was the rub. This erotic game they were playing— it was changing things between them. The set of her jaw and the tension in her body told him she knew it. And that it was burning her up.
"Bullshit. You were done twenty minutes ago. You're just fuckin' around now, killin' time."
Her eyes narrowed. "If you've got me all worked out, sugar, then why the hell are you still here when you know I could cheerfully kick your patriarchal, overprotective, egotistical ass clear into next week?"
Whoa. She was good and pissed. The woman in her was furious. The feminist was downright outraged. He didn't blame her, but he'd still have made the same call, regardless.
"You done?" he grunted, bracing himself. She was locked and loaded. Ready to let him have it with both barrels. Her body language alone told him this was far from over.
"Jesus! It's one thing to pull rank— but pullin' that shit? What we do in our downtime...me watchin' you—" she faltered there for a moment, clearly uncomfortable, "That doesn't give you any special power over me! You're senior to me, here, yeah, but you don't own me, and you sure as fuck don't get to make decisions for me that I'm capable of making for myself. Not in private— and not in the field. I don't need you to save me," she spat.
He winced. He knew he hadn't been that to her for a long time, but hearing it straight out like that still stung. Once upon a time she had looked at him with stars in her eyes and seen far more than he ever imagined.
I don't want you to go.
"This where you tell me you're all grown up?"
"Nope." Marie rolled her eyes. "If you haven't figured that out for yourself yet, hoss, that's on you."
He almost chuckled at her acerbic response, but he was aware with as volatile as she was right now she'd probably come right at him swinging hard, and he knew better than to mix it up with her in an enclosed space. He could be impulsive and reckless, too, but he wasn't an idiot.
"It was a sound tactical decision." Goddammit. That sounded defensive, even to his own ears.
"Maybe," she returned grudgingly. "But that doesn't mean it was the only option, or even the best option. Just one that didn't get us all fucked."
And one that marginally excused his uncharacteristically conservative decision to use her as an asset in a way that didn't put her directly in the line of fire. She liked to be there as much as he did. More to the point, she was fully capable of holding her own. Battle tested. Bloodthirsty. Deadly as hell. Chip on her shoulder wide as the Mississippi. She didn't need to be coddled.
"Mmph." Logan just grunted because there was no flaw in her logic. He could see the hot spike of righteous fire burn brightly in her eyes when he didn't contradict her.
"You do it again, and I'm not givin' you the courtesy of this little chat beforehand. I'm just gonna take your damn head off. Fair warnin'."
"Pretty big line in the sand to draw, darlin'. You sure you wanna do that?" He didn't mind her lighting into him, especially in this case because was right, but she wasn't going to dictate the rules to him. No fucking way. "That kinda arrogant bullshit'll getcha knocked on that pretty little ass."
"It's not an arrogant position if I can defend it, sugar, and I can." She didn't even give him the finger. She just arched one delicate eyebrow at him. "And I will if you ever try to pull that shit again."
Her response irritated him but she was not wrong. A little of the fight left him and he rubbed a hand over his face with a sigh that was more acknowledgement than acquiescence.
She'd won and she knew it. The brassy scent of triumph stuck in his head, winding him tighter. Her smile couldn't have been more vicious if she'd painted herself in blood and danced naked around a bonfire, breasts bouncing and palms raised to the stars. It was an image that had the animal gnashing his teeth and his cock swelling against the leather of his uniform.
The Rogue noticed, of course. She seemed to have a special gift for finding the chinks in his armor. And for using them against him.
Her smile slid from triumphant to positively bloodthirsty and the urge to wrap his hand around her throat and make her acknowledge this thing between made his fists shake. She saw that too and the spice of victory in her scent sat smoky-sweet on the back of his tongue. A feminine power that bled from her every pore and licked under his skin until his head swam. The savage wildness in the Rogue wanted him. Made the Wolverine uncoil and rise. But the girl was afraid. Damaged. And that's what ultimately stopped him from closing the distance between them and answering her call.
He needed to leave. Now.
Shoving his bulk up, he was forced to turn his broad shoulders to the side to pass through the narrow opening of the cockpit and into the cabin. It felt like a retreat even though she was really the one refusing to engage.
"You runnin'?" she tossed at his back and he could hear the amusement in her voice.
"You're the fuckin' expert. You tell me," he snarled, feeling his momentum — both physical and emotional — being pulled back. She was inescapable; a gravity well of temptation too strong to break free of, no matter his velocity or how hard he struggled against it.
"Bite me."
If only he could. Logan closed his eyes at the thought of her thrashing in his teeth. The heavy feeling between his legs grew more intense, harder to ignore.
Stupid. It was stupid to stay. He was too close to the edge, but he felt himself stop and turn, a growl building in his throat.
"You look like you could use a fight, sugar." Her smile faltered as she got a good look at his expression. "A real fight."
He needed something, but it wasn't a fight. It wasn't a fuck, either. What he needed was for her to be real with him. To stop hiding. To stop running. To meet him as an equal.
He waited, their harsh breathing loud in the cramped space. One breath. Another. Time stood painfully still, the energy between them sharp and awkward. Finally, Logan turned to go, frustrated and disappointed by her pathetic response. He'd earned more than this half-ass bullshit. Fuck her.
"I want to watch someone ride you."
His long strides halted. That was— surely he hadn't heard that right.
Logan turned, head cocked at an angle as he tried to read her.
"What?"
"Somethin' wrong with that fancy hearin' of yours, cowboy? I said I. Wanna. Watch. Someone. Ride. You." There was color in her face now. Flushed, but not with anger this time.
"Still livin' vicariously, kid?" It was a nasty little jab.
Marie reeled like he'd struck her. He sure as hell wanted to.
"Whatever you need to tell yourself to get the job done, sugar."
She'd been chafing under his authority all day. What she wanted wasn't really all that surprising. If she couldn't dominate him herself and expend that repressed energy with him to find balance again, watching another woman ride his prone body was probably as close as she could get. He hadn't expected her to acknowledge it, much less ask for it, though. Or to ever be the one to initiate one of these encounters. Giving him her opinion or even telling him what she wanted after he'd already invited her, yeah— but this was something new. A definite shift. She was striking her colors, boldly.
He wasn't sure if that was good or bad, but he wasn't in the right headspace to try to work it out just now.
"That's some hail Mary you just threw."
"We'll see."
His eyes narrowed. "You know what you're askin'?"
"Bless your heart. You need me to say it a third time?"
He growled at her and he could see she thought she'd won until he shrugged. "Fight bar's the wrong place. Need a bed for a ride like that." And a door that locked. Maybe that would finally be enough privacy for her to let go a little.
Marie's mouth hung open for a second. That was way more intimacy than she'd bargained for, but there was no way her pride would let her take back those cocky words now. Not after she had rammed them down his throat so righteously. He had her and they both knew it.
"Shit," she huffed under her breath.
"I pick where. I pick who." What she wanted was going to be difficult enough already, and like her, he didn't take direction well. He wasn't her puppet.
Marie said nothing. She was shaking, but that fierce light was still glowing in her eyes. Logan wondered what was really driving this. Was it just about pride and stubbornness— not backing down once she'd made a stand— or was it about wanting a deeper sexual experience with him that left her feeling empowered rather than resentful?
He wasn't sure it even mattered anymore, as long as she agreed. He'd reached his limit.
"Those are the terms. Take 'em or fuck off."
She made him wait for her answer.
"Fine."
His sharp teeth gleamed under the low lights of the cabin, but it was in no way a smile. "Deal."
"I want to watch you fight, first."
"No." That was too easy. He wanted her to own wanting him without that excuse— and he'd been burned and stabbed earlier on the mission. He didn't feel like taking any more cheap shots.
Her eyes were still blazing but she gave him a tight little nod. He didn't think she was done and he was right.
"Tonight." Her honeyed drawl didn't make it any less an order. His teeth clenched.
Logan looked her up and down and nodded curtly. Once.
"Wear the leather, darlin'." He'd always had a thing for her in that uniform.
It was not a request and the startled look on her face said the subtext had translated with zero ambiguity.
He was done pretending this was just about her.
Up next: Combust. Y'all know with that kind of wind up, it's only a matter of time before things go nuclear.