Well, at least it's not as late as last week. Progress, hey? As for the story, thanks for being willing to take a ride on the Rogan (smut)express train to Cluetown. Population: two. Heh. In other news, for those of you who don't know, I recently (read: finally) took the plunge after putting it off for many moons. If you wanna come say hi/vent/toss bunnies in a different kinda venue, I'm thelachlanrose on tumblr. Also: it's a bigger time suck than I ever imagined. (And let's just say my imagination was pretty damn generous.) Onward!
Marie had invited him to meet at a crappy fight bar for drinks. Logan wasn't sure what that meant. Was it just drinks? Was it some kind of olive branch? Things had been pretty tetchy between them since their walk in the woods and Marie's shocking revelation. Married and divorced all before the age of twenty-one— and she'd never once said a damn thing to him about any of it. What the fuck?
Logan didn't think it was an overt come-on, but Marie was unpredictable on a good day. Hell, maybe she was feeling the itch and just wanted to watch him get off. It had been awhile and she was fertile again, her scent climbing toward that luscious peak that made him crazy, but she wasn't quite there yet.
Three rounds in, he made the mistake of asking her what they were celebrating.
"It's my anniversary."
He choked on his beer. "Shit," he muttered, struggling to get a breath as he glared at her. "What the hell's wrong with you?"
"With me?" Her eyes flashed dangerously.
"Yeah, with you. Wantin' to celebrate that dick after what he did?"
"Is that what we're doing?"
"Ain't it?"
"Hey, nobody's makin' you stay."
"Mmph." Screw that. She wasn't going to drive him away that easily.
"Maybe I'm just mournin' the loss of something that was important to me. Did you ever think of that? You're the one who wanted to know 'the big things'."
Well, shit. She had him there.
"Not sure how it can be both a big thing and a thing that wasn't meaningful," his reply was surly and clipped. "Next time, get the firecracker to come with ya."
"What's the matter, cowboy? Am I coloring too far outside the lines again?"
"Fuck the lines. I don't wanna hear about Gumbo while you cry in your beer."
"Gumbo?" She arched a brow.
He just shrugged.
"Gambit," she offered when she realized he wasn't going to say more.
"Hell, anythin's better than Remy. What kinda pansy-ass name is that?"
"You're a ray of sunshine tonight, sugar."
"Nobody's makin' you stay, either."
"Well, forgive me for includin' the one person north of the Mason-Dixon Line who knows I was married." She stood up.
"Sit your ass down." She sat and he knew, then, she was really struggling and needed some company tonight. Otherwise she'd have stormed out no matter what he'd said. He ordered another round. Two Southern Comfort doubles and another pair of Molsons.
Marie swirled the strong, amber spirit in her glass. "Did you know this was invented in N'Orleans?"
"Jesus Christ. Enough already. Anythin' but that."
"Fine. How's this? I have a tattoo."
That he didn't expect. He hoped it wasn't something stupid. The world didn't need any more tramp stamps. Still, the thought of something intimate and meaningful marking that flawless canvas of creamy skin got his libido revving pretty good.
"Of what?"
Marie shook her head.
"You at least gonna tell me where?" Shoulder blade? Breast? Hip?
She deliberately misunderstood the question.
"Memphis."
"Chicken."
"Yeah, I'm shakin' in my boots over here, hoss."
Logan chuckled, head cocked, looking at her.
"What?"
"I just can't see it."
"Can't see what?"
"You doin' the whole picket fence thing."
"I thought we weren't talking about that?"
"That's you not him."
"Whatever." She rolled her eyes.
"Look, I'm just sayin' you spend your free time runnin' drills in the Danger Room and field strippin' your weapons and knife fightin' with the Tinman when you ain't doin' that Krav Maga shit in the gym. More the kinda person I picture filin' their teeth into points— not makin' pot roast in heels and pearls."
"Oh my God. You're a total Neanderthal." The words were light but he noticed she took a healthy sip of her drink. "It doesn't have to be one or the other, you know? And for your information, I'm a Southern girl, born and bred."
"Which means what, exactly?"
"That I'm fully capable of kicking your ass and making a pot roast."
"I didn't say you couldn't. Just that I can't picture it."
"Then that's on you."
"Maybe."
His flippant response seemed to have inadvertently struck a nerve.
"You think I can't make a home? Make a place where someone might feel safe and loved and like they matter?"
Shit. Her eyes were shining wetly even as they blazed fire at him. He was deep in the minefield now. No way out without getting blown to hell.
"Whoa. Back that truck up, sweetheart."
"So because I'm — I'm like this…" she waved a gloved hand at herself. "Damaged and broken," her voice cracked, "I'm only fit for fighting and not worthy of anything else?"
"What? Jesus. NO!"
"Hey, if we follow that logic then maybe all you're good for besides killin' is a hard, animalistic fuck."
He grunted, jerking as if she'd struck him.
"You gotta nasty mouth on ya."
She ignored him.
"What about her?" Marie's eyes slid over to a petite blonde across the room. She'd been trying to catch Logan's eye since they'd ordered their first beer. "She looks like she'd appreciate a good, hard roll in the hay."
"No."
"Why not?" She leaned in and the luscious scent of her, slippery and ripe and reeking of want, made the world go a little fuzzy around the edges. "You're hard."
He was, but only because he'd been thinking about her tattoo. Putting his mouth on it. Biting it. Coming on it. Licking it off. Stroking it and making her shiver. It was more than just that. The wildness in her was on the edge tonight. Challenging him. The animal had risen to her call and the musky, wanting scent of her wasn't helping him keep his shit together. He wasn't a god. He was just a man. One who fucked up as much as any other man. Probably more so, given the number of years he'd been up to bat.
"So?"
"So what's the big deal? It's just sex. It doesn't mean anything."
He wasn't sure who she was trying to convince.
"It means somethin' if you're watchin'."
He had zero interest in fucking a random cage bunny tonight but he was willing to do just about anything to get Marie to finally admit to this thing between them.
Her lips thinned into a line. She didn't move and she didn't reply.
"Fair enough, kid." He sat back slowly. The movement gave the appearance of lazy disinterest but his body was coiled with tension. He took a dismissive sip of his beer, like they hadn't just been dancing at the edge of the flames. When he reached for a cigar, she broke.
"Fine! Have it your way. It means something, okay?"
Ah, Christ. There went the Wolverine, tearing through every chain that bound him like tissue.
His black smile was wholly predatory.
"Watchin' me get you hot, darlin'?" He had never been so direct, but the animal had little patience for her hesitation.
Her eyes widened and he thought for a moment she might bolt, but Nature was a real bitch. She was at the mercy of her body too. Hormones and hardwired drives that were every bit as primal as his own. She might be afraid to touch, but she still needed it. The Rogue did not miss the flash of gold in his eyes and he could tell she was responding to the wildness rising in him. They were both caught in something bigger than biology and chemistry. They had history, too.
"I said - does it get you hot?"
It was a dick thing to do to push her on a night she was already emotional, but he'd never been one to let the opportunity to gain an advantage pass him by. Surviving didn't come easy. It wasn't luck that had gotten him this far. Calculation and cunning and predatory instincts almost always overrode society's notions about what was right or proper.
Marie nodded.
"Say it," he rasped, leaning in.
The fire in her dark eyes grew hotter, with fury rather than arousal. She hated to be manipulated as much as he did. "It gets me hot." The words were an angry whisper.
"Say it again."
She finished her drink in one swallow and then put the glass down between them with the overly precise motions of a person about to lose their shit entirely. "Watching you get off gets me hot, okay? Christ! Makes me wet, too. Makes me come harder than I ever have in my life."
A fierce, low rumbling growl echoed in his chest at that unexpected revelation. Maybe he wasn't out of the running for the top spot on the ladder just yet.
"That good enough for you, cowboy? That what you wanna hear? Or maybe you need it written in blood, too?"
While he wasn't opposed to the idea of their blood mixing in any number of ways, he knew he could only push her so far. She'd given him more tonight than he ever dreamed.
And now he had to pay up.
~ooOoo~
They caught up with the blonde in a shadowy corner niche that seemed expressly designed for exactly the kind of encounter he had in mind.
"I'm Summer."
Logan was not impressed. The girl Marie had chosen seemed like any number of other attractive young women he'd known casually over the years— youth being the defining characteristic. Barely out of her teens and looking for validation from any man who'd make her feel pretty and wanted for a few minutes.
"Wolverine," he said, eyeing her in a way that conveyed his amorous intent.
"I know who you are." She tongued the neck of her beer lewdly in response, letting him know she'd gotten the unspoken message loud and clear. Logan put his hand on her hip, rubbing her stomach with his thumb possessively. Like most of the girls who came to places like this, she'd dressed to get a man's attention. Skirt that barely covered her ass. Midriff-baring top. Leather jacket over it all and stiletto heels so tall she almost looked him in the eye. Her skin was soft and warm and she smelled blandly of artificial vanilla and strongly of lemon vodka.
"This is Rogue." Logan gave Marie a nod. "She likes to watch."
"Whatever lights your fire, hun." Summer ran her hand up Logan's arm, feeling the steely ropes of muscle and tracing the vein up his bicep with her finger.
He understood it was a natural gesture. She wanted to confirm the strength of the man she'd chosen, but it still made him feel uncomfortably like a side of beef being inspected before consumption. Which given their respective desires, probably wasn't all that far from the mark.
"I'm not into girls, but if she's willing to share you, then I guess I don't mind too much if she watches." Her fingers trailed down his chest, circling the showy buckle before slipping lower to explore the hard cock below. "God! I hope you know how to use that!" she tittered. "But I guess you do, seeing as how your girlfriend here isn't limping and—"
Logan kissed her to shut her up.
A chatterbox. Fucking perfect. The blonde closed her eyes and he glared at Marie, whose body language said she was still furious with him. But now she was turned on too, whether in response to his own arousal or because she liked giving him orders, he wasn't sure.
"God! That's a five alarm stunner!" The blonde opened her eyes, breathless from his kiss. "What do you wanna see, hun?" She looked over at Marie expectantly.
The Rogue's eyes narrowed. That was against the rules. She never, ever talked to the women.
She directed the curt reply to Logan. "Make her come. Right here. Use your hands."
"Mmm… I like her," the blonde bubbled, opening her legs to admit the thick wrist sliding confidently between her thighs. No panties and already slippery enough to take two fingers with little effort. She was smooth and hairless and pierced. Logan flicked at the little beaded ring and felt the first stirring of sexual arousal that wasn't directly inspired by the Rogue.
He liked the jewelry. And the blonde's responsiveness. A little curl of his fingers just there and she yelped, gushing sweetly against his palm. This he could do with little effort, and however wrong it was, it felt good to be able to bend something to his will when everything else was spinning wildly out of control.
Marie lounged against the wall, alternately watching his face and the play of muscles in his thick forearm as he worked. Logan moved his bulk nominally to shield the girl, but a few patrons eyed their shadowy corner as he crudely fingered the little blonde to a noisy orgasm.
Pinning the girl to the wall because her shaking legs wouldn't hold her, he looked over at Marie. "Ya want me to fuck her here, too?"
Her bluff called, Marie turned on her heel and stormed out.
Logan stopped only long enough to settle the shaky girl into a chair and order her another drink before he lit out after Marie.
~ooOoo~
Logan caught up with Marie beside his truck. She hadn't even finished climbing in.
He put his hand on the door, not even stopping to question why she'd gone straight to his truck and not her own ride. It was telling though, something he owned being her safe place to run to. He'd had the windows tinted recently, thinking of her intense need for privacy. "Slide over."
She did, grudgingly.
"Goddammit," he muttered under his breath as he settled into the seat. His erection throbbed uncomfortably, trapped beneath the restrictive denim.
"That wasn't nice."
"My dick hurts."
"I meant leaving that girl like that, you ass."
He shrugged.
"You're the one who said sex don't mean nothin'. Can't have it both ways, darlin'."
"And you're the one who made me say it did."
"There ain't a man alive who can make you do jackshit. You do what you want. Always have."
"What's the matter? That not allowed, your highness? You don't own me! If blind obedience is what you want, go back in and finish fucking that little doormat." But there was a fine line between passion and anger and he could see that home fire was burning wildly out of control. She needed to come. Otherwise, she wouldn't have made a beeline for his truck.
"Not interested."
"Whatever." She shifted restlessly. Her response suggested she found his nearness both annoying and arousing. He shifted a little closer, moving his thighs apart as he adjusted himself absently. She bit her lip, breath catching when his thumb lingered, rubbing at that spot that got to him so good.
"Watchin' get you hot?" Her scent was stronger in the cab, thicker now that she was openly observing him try to massage his heavy erection into submission.
"Yes," she growled, breathing hard. Her fingers were clenched into fists. If she wet those full rosy lips one more time, he was going to lose his mind.
"I need t'come." Hard and loud— and if she was going to stay and watch— probably more than once. "You can still watch, darlin'. S'okay. I wantcha here."
"Not— not like this!"
He misunderstood.
"It ain't her. It ain't any of them. It's you. You know that, right? Havin' you here is what does it for me." Maybe she needed to know it wasn't one sided. That she affected him powerfully, too. God. If she touched herself now, he was going to come in his pants. "Whatever you want, darlin'. Whatever you need." He reached for his buckle.
"NO!"
The sharp panic in her tone instantly killed his raging libido.
"Whoa. Easy, kid." He put his hands on the wheel, slowly and with great care. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her.
"Not like this," she repeated, looking miserable.
"Like what, then?"
"Not — not alone."
Logan immediately understood. It was too intimate for her to watch him by herself. She still needed the buffer of another person. Even now that she'd acknowledged this thing between them, she still needed to pretend.
And that made him wildly, irrationally angry. It had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with vulnerability. She was still holding back when he'd laid himself bare over and over again and allowed her to flay him raw.
Something in him snapped.
"You tellin' me you'd rather watch me fuckin' some stranger on this seat with you sittin' right there than watchin' me get off when it's just us?" His tone was incredulous. "After everythin'?"
She nodded.
"Get out."
"Because I turned you down? You're kicking me out?"
"It doesn't have a goddamn thing to do with sex."
"Right."
He lit a cigar because if he didn't have something to do with his hands, he was going to put his claws through the dash. He was deeply hurt that ugly thought had even crossed her mind. What they had wasn't conditional. Sure he wanted her to be honest with him and he resented her continued distance— but it didn't change how he felt about her.
He'd put himself between her and Sabretooth. Between her and Magneto. Between her and death, itself. How many times did he need to lay his life down for her to get that? They were both spiraling more and more out of control. Couldn't she see he was unraveling? Tonight, he'd had enough.
"Get OUT!" he roared.
Even then, there was a glimmer of hope that the Rogue would rise to that wild cry of the animal in pain. That she'd respond, even if it was in anger. That she'd meet him in that place as an equal.
Instead she left in silence, with round wet eyes and stinking of regret and sadness.
The Wolverine closed his eyes and put his head on the wheel, the taste of defeat bitter in his mouth.
Up next: Flashover. In which a single moment in time changes everything. Forever.
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