DISCLAIMERS POSTED IN PART 0

                         *                *                *

He asked her to marry him, of course. It didn’t require thought — it was
what a man was supposed to *do* when he’d gotten a gal in the family way.
Probably another symptom popping up of having formed his initial
attitudes and reactions in a much earlier decade, when leaving a woman
unmarried and pregnant was still considered to be a serious misdeed.

Which was why he’d always been so careful about using condoms in his
remembered past. He didn’t really give a damn about diseases what with
his healing factor, but the prospect of leaving one of his one-nighters
pregnant had been severely worrisome. One of the more nightmarish ideas
about his forgotten life was that he might have left a family behind, and
he was sometimes haunted by the idea of one day running across a child of
his own that had grown up fatherless. (He always imagined his own
irascibility as being a trait that would have been passed on, leaving him
to one day be greeted by a surly, intractable adolescent or young adult
with a lifetime grudge against the drifter who had abandoned him and his
mother to a succession of uncaring boyfriends or surly stepfathers. For
some reason he never pictured his putative abandoned offspring as having
grown up well-adjusted in happy homes with loving parents.)

He had only stopped using rubbers with Cissy because she had told him she
was on the pill, and with a healing factor she had no more reason to
worry about STDs than he did. It wouldn’t be until much later that the
thought would occur to him that Ciss might have deliberately skipped a
pill or three to trap him with a baby — at the time, he was merely upset
with her for her carelessness in having forgotten.

He didn’t gripe at her for it, though. Instead he silently kicked
himself, for having put too much trust in someone who had proven to be
untrustworthy. Whether she had missed a pill "accidentally on purpose" or
just through genuine forgetfulness, clearly he had been mistaken in
leaving the matter entirely up to her.

True to form, he didn’t really try to discuss it with her. Just told her
to make whatever wedding arrangements she wanted, and he’d go through
with it. She wanted a nice ring, yeah, sure, just pick it out and he’d
fork over the cash. Then he went out and desperately attempted to get
severely drunk — a wasted effort, with his healing factor clearing the
alcohol from his system almost fast as he could drink it.

If Marie’s wedding had been a knife to the gut, and her brief doomed
pregnancy a desperate sinking within his soul, then his own impending
marriage was a set of shackles being currently made to order. To
*Cicely’s* order, and he left her to it. No need to bother him with the
news of the preparations — it wasn’t that he didn’t care so much as that
it was more than he could stand to hear.

The X-Crew were delighted. Another wedding among the teammembers, and
long enough after Rogue and Gambit’s that people were eager to go through
the fuss and excitement again. Logan made his disinterest in the planning
abundantly clear, and this was almost universally chalked up to his being
male and therefore disinterested. Cissy was excited enough for them both,
and a fair number of the teammembers and older students eagerly swirled
about her debating bridesmaids’ dresses and floral arrangements.

Marie was not one of their number. At one time Logan would have been both
delighted and encouraged by her noticeable lack of enthusiasm regarding
the idea of his marrying another woman, but under the current
circumstances he found such optimism to be both misplaced and badly
timed. Besides, she knew him well enough to probably be sensing just how
little he really wanted to marry Ciss.

One thing was for sure — the rest of the X-Crew seemed largely oblivious
to his reluctance. The consensus opinion was that the two of them were
such a well-matched couple that a long-term pairing was only appropriate.
The news of the baby was being kept under wraps for the moment until the
wedding was over, barring a few people. Jean and Hank knew, as the team
doctors, and so did Cyke and Xavier, since the mommy-to-be was taken off
the "active teammembers" list in terms of going on missions. Logan had
told Marie over a few beers at their favored dive, so she knew the real
reason for the wedding — perhaps part of her lack of enthusiasm lay in
knowing that Logan was marrying out of obligation rather than love. So
for the moment the only teasing Logan had to deal with concerned his
impending assumption of marital responsibilities.

Which was fine with him, since he was still trying to deal with the
implications of the upcoming marriage. Once he had a handle on *that*,
time to worry about parenthood. After all, the wedding would be over and
done with months before he had to cope with an infant.

In keeping with his quest for mental clarity regarding the approaching
changes in his accustomed lifestyle, he spent a fair bit of time out and
about, away from the X-Mansion and the alarming wedding preparations.
Including the usual amount of bedhopping — hell, he wasn’t married *yet*.
There was no bachelor party, as such — he disappeared on another of his
excursions about a week before the wedding, and didn’t come back till the
morning of the ceremony.

He had judged his timing nicely — returning early enough to shower,
neaten up, and dress in that damned tux before he had to put in his
appearance — without having had to get out of that stripper’s bed too
unpleasantly early. He stood in front of his gathered friends,
teammembers and students and absently said what he was supposed to, while
wondering in a small part of his mind whether Cissy had chosen anything
interesting when selecting the underthings to go beneath her
inappropriately snowy-white dress. The realization that he’d be finding
out for himself later wasn’t nearly as tempting as Cicely would have no
doubt hoped, being overshadowed by the sad thought that he’d never
particularly found a bridal getup to be arousing, with a single
exception.

Marie had been literally heartbreakingly beautiful in her wedding dress.

Cissy was breaking his heart in her wedding dress, too — but not in the
same way.

                         *                *                *
My apologies if the formatting has been odd.  My e-mail program can't
seem to decide if this is an html document or not, and the formatting
changed when it was sent...

FyrDrakken
She Whose Quotations Are Both Exotic and Appropriate
Keeper of his Deadly Startle Reflexes, Guardian and Examiner of the
Adamantium-Revealing X-Rays, and Official Listener for the Occasional
Aussie Vowels

"When did things start going so bad?  I've been talking to dead rabbits
and feeding bloody walls.  I've done horrifying things with salad tongs.
It's really eaten into my social life."
   -- Johnny C, JOHNNY THE HOMICIDAL MANIAC #6, by Jhonen Vasquez
________________________________________________________________
GET INTERNET ACCESS FROM JUNO!
Juno offers FREE or PREMIUM Internet access for less!
Join Juno today!  For your FREE software, visit:
http://dl.www.juno.com/get/tagj.

DISCLAIMERS POSTED IN PART 0

                         *                *                *

The honeymoon actually wasn’t too bad. Niagara Falls, conventional enough
but really just an excuse to get away from the X-Mansion for a couple of
weeks of intensive sex. Not a lot of talking required, though Cissy did
quite a bit of that anyway. Logan just lay and let it all wash in one ear
and out the other, trying not to think about how much more attractive he
would have found Cissy’s throaty velvet murmur had it come with a
Southern accent.

The honeymoon ended in more ways than one when they got back home. Going
away on vacation together was one thing — moving in together was quite
another. Merging disparate decorating styles was bad enough. Trying to
work out an equitable division of closet and bathroom space was worse,
though Logan mostly just let Ciss have the lioness’ share. (After all,
she had more clothes and bathroom junk both.) A more basic
incompatibility occurred between Logan’s military neatness and Cissy’s
tendency to mark her own territory with randomly scattered personal
items.

Then of course there was the talking issue. It wasn’t just that in
sharing living space Logan now had to hear so much more of Ciss — it was
that *now* she was finally deciding it was time to get his input on
certain matters. Which meant that instead of being able to let the
chatter wash over him like before, he was now periodically jolted into
awareness by a, "What do you think?" or worse yet, "Are you listening to
me, Logan?" or even, "Answer me!"

The wedding crap now being over and done with, a lot of her questions had
to do with baby stuff — again, something he was more than willing to
leave up to the lady in question — though he was gradually beginning to
be sneakingly interested in the matter. But sometimes she wanted to hear
about his *feelings*, or generalized relationship shit, and he just
wasn’t really on board for that kind of talk.

Besides, why the hell did she have to get so damn *talkative* at the end
of a long day? He just wanted to plop down in front of the TV with a
sixpack and unwind, and here she was asking him some damn thing about
wallpaper for the baby’s room or what have you.

And then there was the sex. The one part of their relationship that he’d
had no complaints with, aside from the private wish that she were
smaller, dark-eyed and white-streaked brunette. But with the new hormonal
cocktail swirling around in her bloodstream, coupled with a certain
baseline tiredness caused by the new demands on her system, she really
wasn’t in the mood as much often anymore. And having been removed from
missions and discontinued her physical combat practice until after the
birth, she was no longer getting a periodic adrenaline jumpstart to the
libido.

Which kind of offended Logan. Wasn’t that supposed to be the one major
compensation of marriage — that at least he could count on getting sex
regularly? Okay, he could see that maybe she wouldn’t be interested
*every* night, especially what with the baby and all — but after a full
week of, "Not tonight, Logan," "Not *now*, Logan!" and, "Can’t you just
give it a *rest*?" he metaphorically threw up his hands in exasperation
and took a little trip into the city to find someone who *was* in an
affectionate mood.

If and when challenged, he had a lot of justifications ready. That
nowhere in that "To have and to hold, cleaving only to each other," crap
had there been anything *specifically* forbidding one-night stands. That
it would be pretty fucking unfair of Cissy to say that no one else could
have him for a few hours when *she* hadn’t wanted him for an entire week.
That it wasn’t like he was planning to run off for good and leave her and
their kid starving in the streets or whatever — he just needed to go out
and have a little fun sometimes.

All of which was rationalizing bullshit, and he damn well knew it. The
truth was that he was acting like some cranky teenager, just barely going
through the motions of something unpleasant he felt he’d been forced
into. You were supposed to marry a girl after you got her pregnant, and
he had. You were supposed to take care of your wife and kid(s), and he
would. But he’d be damned if he was going to bend over *that* far
backwards to meet Cicely’s demands.

Yes, he knew that fidelity was generally considered to be part of the
deal in marriage. But he was cranky and unhappy and he knew how to play
the part of the unregenerate Neandertal if he chose.

So he was expecting to walk into a storm of disapproval when he got back
home. He was surly and unrepentant, and more inclined to defend himself
than to beg forgiveness.

He wasn’t expecting quite the fight he walked into.

                         *                *                *

FyrDrakken
She Whose Quotations Are Both Exotic and Appropriate
Keeper of his Deadly Startle Reflexes, Guardian and Examiner of the
Adamantium-Revealing X-Rays, and Official Listener for the Occasional
Aussie Vowels

"When did things start going so bad?  I've been talking to dead rabbits
and feeding bloody walls.  I've done horrifying things with salad tongs.
It's really eaten into my social life."
   -- Johnny C, JOHNNY THE HOMICIDAL MANIAC #6, by Jhonen Vasquez
________________________________________________________________
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Join Juno today!  For your FREE software, visit:
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Before the Afters

Author: Sineya

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Rating:NC-17 -although it seems R to me, but that's ratings for ya.

Summary: Sometimes it's what happens next that counts.

Category: Rogue POV, Logan/Rogue

Warning: This is an insanely strange blend of fluff and humor. It confused the
author, it'll confuse you.

Author's Notes: I've been out of circulation for awhile. Blame on it me, blame
it on my ass of a significant other, blame it on my boss who has an enormous
stick up his rectum. And blame this story on my bodice-ripper obsession that
colors losing your virginity with pretty pastels.

Thanks to: Tris, for getting me off my hard-working ass and back to the
obsessive fanfic world. Thanks babe, I can always count on you to pull me off
the bandwagon.

*****************************************************************************

We make our first sexual experience into this monumental act, and because our
mind has conjured up this fantasy of immense proportions we're inevitably going
to be let down.

Throughout our life we're hit with various stereotypes that portray your first
time as this major milestone. Your first word. Your first potty. Your first time
riding a bike without training wheels, or speeding down the freeway hours after
your road test.

Poets write about the beauty and blissful unity. Singers trill loudly about the
ecstasy. Writers pen numerous pages about 'quivering members' and 'dripping
heat.'

The one thing they neglect to mention is the excruciating pain when his
'quivering member' delves into your 'dripping heat.'

And a few other minor details.

The sweating and uncomfortable weight of a 200+ lbs. mass of muscle above you.
The harsh, grating voice panting in your ear and whispering sweet, endearing
terms like -"Who's your daddy? Huh bitch? Who? " and "I'm gonna fuck you so hard
you won't be walking anywhere tomorrow." (The kind of romantic sentiments that
make your heart go pitter-patter.)

While your trying to turn your moans of pain into moans of pleasure as he grunts
his way to satisfaction all the while screaming out that you're 'one hot piece.'

Of what you're never sure, he likes to say it's ass.

So, while your bones crack and bend as he thrusts into you harshly, your nails
scoring down his back in a semblance of passion -and he'll never know it's not
of the amorous kind- and your muscles are trying to squeeze him dry so it'll be
over and done with and you can maybe catch that Rocky Horror special on VH1.

While you think about how stupid this was and how dumb you were not to wait
until you were ready.

And after he's all done and you feigned the big O, he pulls you close and
whispers into your ear that he loves you and wants to stay with you forever.

And you blink sleepily, your attention caught by his uncharacteristically tender
words, and the blissful gleam in his eyes as he stares down at your sweaty,
naked face. He smiles down at you, and rubs a hand across your now hair-strewn
cheek.

And you return the smile, and sigh into arms -thanking the lord for what you
like to call body condoms.

He falls asleep against your silk-wrapped neck, unconsciously pressing a gentle
kiss to your protected skin.

And you smile again, and fall asleep thinking that maybe the first time isn't
the all-consuming experience its made out to be.

Maybe it's the afters that count.

~*~ Finis ~*~



[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

Disclaimers etc. in part 1

~~*~~

{Xavier}

I arrive in Logan's room just as Ororo sends the children back to their
rooms. Jean is monitoring Logan's vital signs, and with a quick brush of
her mind against mine, she informs me of all that has happened.

Once we are assured that he is going to be all right, I settle myself at
Logan's bedside and send Jean and Scott to bed. They need their rest as
much as everyone else does.

"Logan, you are a mystery," I mutter, gently easing myself into his mind
to confirm Jean's diagnosis that no damage had been done. I am slightly
stunned by the welter of emotions and images that assault me. Chief
among them is self-loathing, fear of what may happen to Rogue, and a
sudden strong desire to live, where I had not sensed the latter before.
I pull out, not wishing to intrude for any longer than necessary.

Rogue's gift is quite intriguing. She might be a touch-telepath, so
acutely attuned to others that she absorbs the energy and memories of
the people she touches. It will be a great challenge to see if we can
teach her to control it. Otherwise, I fear she will isolate herself,
even from us, and that is a horrible fate for such a promising young
woman.

After several hours, Logan wakes. His first thought is of Rogue, which I
can only consider a good sign.

This man, who has been so grievously wronged and, as a result, shut
himself off from the world, has already come to care for the untouchable
girl. I have high hopes for both of them.

He asks what happened, and I begin to explain.

~~*~~


victoria

--

"I go online sometimes, but everyone's spelling is really bad. It's
depressing." Tara, _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_

--

The Muse's Fool - http://www.unfitforsociety.net/musesfool
Unfit for Society - http://www.unfitforsociety.net

Disclaimers etc. in part 1.

Thanks to everyone who's already sent feedback, and for sharing your
ideas on why and what happened in the time between the incident and the
Mystique-Rogue conversation...

~~*~~

{Logan}

You're not gonna get me again, you bastards!

I let out a roar as I lunge at the assholes who were working on me.
Bastards! How do you like the claws now, eh?

A gasp.

A feminine gasp.

Shit. Suddenly, I realize where I am.

Oh, God, no. No, no, no, no, no. Not the girl, not Marie.

I slide the claws in and she stumbles away. The look in her eyes --
she's dying. I've killed her. That's all I am -- a killer.

"Help!" I try to shout, but I can't quite manage it. "Somebody, help
me!" That was louder. That should bring the tightass and the doctor.
God, I hope she's a good doctor, because the kid -- the kid's not gonna
make it. I've seen that look before. I've heard that sound a million
times -- that death rattle. I put the blades right through her chest.
She's dead, even as she's standing in front of me.

She looks like some kind of angel, all in white, with that dark hair and
those full lips and her eyes -- her dark, deep velvet eyes that are
staring at me. I've killed her, and she knows it. Those eyes shine,
forgiving me even this, the worst of sins.

She reaches out, and I whisper, "No." I don't know why. I don't know
what happens when she touches people -- she just said they get hurt. I
don't know if I'm saying no to her touching me, her forgiving me, or in
some kind of crazy denial of what I've done to her.

Her fingertips graze my cheek, and they're soft, so soft, like she is.
And then there's a feeling like fire all along my veins -- as though I'm
being burned from the inside out, and I can feel everything in me
pouring into her. I watch as her eyes widen.

She is death. She is what I've been looking for these past fifteen
years, and now that I've found her, I don't want to leave her.

I watch as the wounds close up. I know that other people are staring
now, I can hear the racing heartbeats, smell the stink of fear filling
the room.

Then everything goes black.

When I wake up, Wheels is sitting next to me.

"Logan," he says.

"What happened?" I'm a little blurry on the details, though I'll never
forget the sight of Marie on the end of my claws. "Is she all right?" I
need to know. I need to make sure that she's all right, that I didn't
kill what might have been my one shot at humanity.

"She'll be all right."

"What did she do to me?" I'm weak as a newborn kitten. I can't remember
the last time I felt this way -- of course, there's a lot of shit I
can't remember, so that doesn't mean much.

"Whenever Rogue touches someone, she takes their energy, their life
force. In the case of mutants, she absorbs their gifts for a short
while. In your case, your ability to heal," he explains.

Absorbs their life force? Like some kind of vampire? Jesus.

"Oh. I feel like she almost killed me." And while yesterday I'd have
welcomed death, after staring it in the face, I didn't want it anymore.
She showed me that, and I'm grateful.

"If she'd held on any longer," Chuck is saying, "she could have." He
shuts up and we sit there for a while in silence. That's okay by me.

Who'd have believed the mighty Wolverine could get taken out by a girl?
Not that I haven't seen some kickass chick fighters, 'cause I have, but
Marie -- she's a tiny, little thing. Probably no more than a hundred
pounds soaking wet. And so soft and sweet -- she really is.

Get a grip, bub. You can't think of her like that. It's bad enough
they're all probably wondering what the hell she was doing in my room in
the middle of the night. I know what old One-Eye is thinking. Before I
saw her in that nightgown, I would have laughed at him and felt
comfortable, knowing I never would have looked at her and imagined her
in bed with me. She's too young -- young women are a lot more trouble
than older ones. They have dreams and expectations -- shit a man like me
ain't prepared to deal with. But Marie -- it might be worth getting to
know her, sticking around to see what kind of woman she grows up to be.

If she'll even have anything to do with me after this.

I have to talk to her -- explain, apologize -- something.

Shit. I killed her. If she hadn't had that life-sucking skin, she'd be
dead, and I might as well have been dead, too.

I have to make it up to her. I know that with this healing factor, I'm
not going to age like other people. That means I can be in Marie's life
for a long time to come, looking after her.  I owe her at least that. If
anything else happens, well, I'll deal with it when it comes.

Things are looking up, I think, and I can feel myself drifting off to
sleep again. I'll talk to her later. Things are definitely looking up.

END

%%%

victoria

--

"I go online sometimes, but everyone's spelling is really bad. It's
depressing." Tara, _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_

--

The Muse's Fool - http://www.unfitforsociety.net/musesfool
Unfit for Society - http://www.unfitforsociety.net

I know this is off topic;but,I need help finding a site,Please
don't kick me off...
   I am looking for a site,that has the Movie Toad as te main
character for a story...I read part of it ,once;fell in love,and lost
the url...
   From what I remeber: He was put up fer adoption by his folks,and
wanted to find them..He does,and discovers he has two sisters,and a
niece named Hannah,who is alot like him...there is also some felinoid
involved...That is all I can remeber of it...If anyone on this list
knows where I can find it at,or send your feelers out for it,I thank
you...

Title: Complicated Explanations
Author: Jengrrrl (bjorkfan@...)
Rating: PG
Series: All Aboard #9
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters.
Category: AU
Summary: Robert Darkholme tells his tale. Marie and Logan continue their search.
Distribution: Disquieting Muses (http://www.wolverineandrogue.com/muses), and
WRFA
Author's Note: This won't make sense without having read previous parts. Go to
DM. It'll help. Really.
Feedback: As always - much appreciated. To above address.


Complicated Explanations



"Speak, monsieur. The faster, the better."

"How much do you need to know?"

"All of it."

"All right, then.I suppose I should start from the beginning.

"It all started when I visited Munich with a business partner. Not a business
trip itself, but it never hurts to be close to those you're dealing with.

"Anyhow, it ended up being a pleasurable enough experience, especially after I
met a beautiful woman at a party. I know what you're thinking, but it wasn't
that. She was refined and cultured and I was completely captivated. I hadn't
felt that way since my first wife died. And besides, this woman wasn't the sort
you had a brief affair with. She respected herself too much for that."

Remy snorted, but Darkholme ignored him and continued.

"I extended the trip; I stayed in Germany after my associate decided to return
to the States.

"I became infatuated with the woman, courted her daily and bought her whatever
came to mind: jewelry, clothing, everything and anything. I felt like a nervous
schoolboy around her. Perhaps because she was so young.

"My affection was not one-sided, I assure you. Though she was a bit timid at
first, she slowly began warming to the idea of us being more than casual
acquaintances."

Remy looked bored. "I thought you were going to tell me about Lensherr."

"I'm getting to that. After several weeks of what I can only describe as a
whirlwind romance, I proposed marriage to my young lady. She was hesitant,
understandably; as I said, we'd only known each other some weeks. But, after
some tender cajoling, she ceded. We sailed home and became man and wife."

"That doesn't explain Lensherr."

"That's because Lensherr meant nothing to me then. I'd only met him briefly at a
dinner party, where he'd been introduced as a successful businessman. What sort
of business, I never enquired."

Remy looked about ready to interrupt, but Darkholme stopped him with a raised
hand. "This is where my marriage enters into it, sir.

"My son, my pride was abducted some time after I was married. Of course, I
assumed it was for money; I had no enemies to speak of. I am a wealthy man, but
everything I have was earned fairly."

Remy said nothing, and both men were silent for a long while.  They could hear
the wind howling outside the small cabin.

"This time is difficult for me to remember. So much seemed to be happening.  I
was sent a ransom note. The amount asked for was exorbitant. An amount few
people would be able to gather; I was not one of them.  During this time, I
tried to keep a calm demeanor. I had my daughter and wife to think of, after
all.  But inside, I was grief stricken." Darkholme took a deep breath before
continuing. "This was before I knew my son was dead."

"Lensherr?"

"Yes. I came to know that upon receipt of a second note, one that came directly
from my son. Or so I thought.  In reality, Eric Lensherr had forged his writing,
sending me a note from a son long dead.  Robert was only sixteen."

"I don't understand."

"He wanted me to know who he was. And he wanted me to know he had killed my only
son."

"Why?"

"My wife."

"Your wife?"

"He knew my wife would know exactly what it was about, and that she would tell
me."

"And?"

"She did. When I read the note to her, and Lensherr's name was spoken, she went
ashen. In all the time I knew her, she'd never looked so frightened. We'd been
married two years then and I thought I knew everything about her.  In reality, I
knew very little.  When I asked why she had reacted so badly, she would not
answer. All she repeated was the name of the man who has become my torturer.  I
begged - I forced her to tell me what she knew. In the end, she did.

"What she told me left me cold.  She admitted that the man who had kidnapped my
son -for I did not yet know he was Robert's murderer - had been her lover. 
That, in fact, my very relationship with her was the cause of his ire.  She had
left him under bad circumstances, stolen from him, and married me in order to
escape. Robert was Lensherr's revenge.

"And now, he intends to kill me, perhaps in hopes of keeping Raven for himself.
I don't know.  Why do you look at me that way? You wonder why I stayed with her,
after everything?  I'm only a man, Monsieur LeBeau.  I love my wife beyond what
is reasonable.  I desire her more than I should."

"I'm not here to judge," replied Remy, lighting another cigarette.

"But are you here to help?"

"Fifty thousand?"

Darkholme nodded, expectant.

"All right.  Give me some time. Remy will think of something."

---

Marie Darkholme reached into her coat's pockets, trying to warm her hands from
the ever-increasing force of the wind.  In one pocket, she could feel the cold
metal of the gun Logan had given her, in the other her father's watch.

She reached inside and opened it. They had been trudging through the snow for
more than an hour. It was getting colder and colder; her teeth were beginning to
chatter.  "How much longer?" she asked.

Logan was walking slightly ahead of her, gauging their direction with a compass
he periodically produced from his pocket.  "Not much actually, but only because
we're going to have to stop.  It'll be dark soon, and I don't want to be caught
in the middle of a storm."

Marie frowned, aware that there was no place within the vicinity in which they
could lodge. "Stop where?"

Logan turned and pointed south. "We're going to backtrack. I saw a small cave
where we can at least stay dry. I have a couple of blankets in that bag, too."

"Cave?"

"Well, more of a hole in a big rock, really, but it'll do." He started walking
again. "Let's go."

After about fifteen minutes, they reached the "cave". Logan was right. It was
more an outcrop of a small rock formation.  It would provide shelter from the
snow and the wind, but not the cold.  Logan went to work on building a small
fire, and Marie sat back and watched him work.  After a while, he was finished
and sat beside her.

"Here," he said, handing her a blanket. "It's not much."

"But it'll do," she interrupted, nodding. "You think of everything."

He nodded and smirked. "I try."

"Logan?"

The sky was darkening and clouds threatened to cover whatever moonlight emerged.

"Yeah?"

"If we find my father."

"When."

"When. When we find him, what will we do?  Lensherr's bound to have men all
around him.  We're only two people."

"I'll think about it when we get there."

Marie stared at the small flames before her.  She watched as they swayed and
threatened to be extinguished altogether. She glanced back at Logan. "Aren't you
going to cover yourself?"

"It seems I only packed one blanket." He smiled at her. "I'll be fine."

"All right."

Leaning back against the rock, she closed her eyes. She could feel him, sitting
next to her, awake and tense.

"We could share."

She opened her eyes to see Logan staring at her quizzically. "I thought you
didn't like being touched?"

"I.don't. But I don't want you freezing because of me."

"I won't. Don't worry."

Marie didn't say anything more.  She sat back and closed her eyes, realizing for
the first time how very tired she was. If Logan didn't want to share her
blanket, she couldn't force him. Within minutes, she had drifted into a
dreamless sleep.

Some time later, she awoke with a start, surrounded by complete darkness.  Logan
was still sitting upright beside her. He was smoking a cigar.

"Are you cold?" she whispered.

He turned to look at her and she thought she caught surprise on his darkened
features. "I thought you were asleep."

"I was." She scooted up next to him and held one side of her blanket to him.
"Come on, I won't rest easy knowing you're cold."

For a brief moment, he looked at her without moving. Then, he wordlessly shifted
his body, discarding his cigar and wrapping himself within her blanket, pulling
closely to her comparative warmth.

She felt him place a tentative arm around her. "Can I?" she heard him ask.

"Yes," she said softly, already feeling the effects of him next to her, their
bodies creating heat. "You must be very tired."

"It's not so bad."

There was a long period of silence during which she could almost feel his heart
beating.  Her being hummed with exhaustion - and something else. "I never
explained why I don't like being touched."

"You don't have to," he murmured.

"It's nothing, really. And, it's not that I don't like being touched as much as
it makes me feel uncomfortable."

"Sorry." Logan began pulling away.

"No! No, not you. It's all right. Just," she paused, "David, the boy from
Mississippi."

"The idiot?"

She smiled. "He used to touch me a lot, you know? Holding my hand, hugging, a
caress, a kiss. it was how he showed his affection.  When I realized how false
that was, his affection, I just didn't care for touch.  It's like people have
power over you if they can touch you.  It's the best way I know to explain it."

"I'm sorry he hurt you that way," she felt him whisper against her hair.

"Logan?"

"Hmm?"

"You don't remember loving anyone?"

"No."

"How about hurting someone?"

"I would never hurt someone that wasn't after hurting me."

"Have you killed anyone?"

"Not that I remember, but I was a soldier - and lived to tell about it - so I
imagine I did my share."

"That must be terrible," Marie offered through a yawn.

"I expect so."

Her eyelids drooping, Marie felt herself leaning into Logan's shoulder. "I
wonder," she mused, "what it would have been like to meet under different
circumstances."

"We probably wouldn't have."

"Why not?"

"I'm not the sort of guy you usually socialize with, rogue."

"If I'm a rogue," she countered sleepily, "then I would definitely socialize
with you."

"How would we have met? At a ritzy dinner party?"

"In a Canadian bar."

"Now you've gone daft."

She continued, unfazed by his comment. "And we would have looked at each other
and just known."

"Known what?" His voice vibrated through her.

"That we were meant to meet."

"Marie?"

"Yes, Logan?"

She felt him move so that his face was before hers and before she knew it, he
had pressed his lips to hers. The moment was brief, but after it was over she
swore she could still feel his beard prickling her cheek.  He leaned back to his
previous position and said, "Get some sleep, rogue. I will, too. We'll need it."









[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

Hey there...

I don't mean to spam the lists, but rather than repost an entire story I
wanted to find out what's up first.  I sent a story out... tuesday?  I
normally dont get a lot of feedback, but this was strange.  I didn't get any
response... at all... so just-for-fun I checked the group archives...
according to what I saw, no one got part 3, and neither xmenmoviefanfic nor
logans_marie got any of it at all.  Is this right?

Does anyone even care if they didn't get it? <g>

Does anyone want it?

The title is The Birthday Present, and it's complete on my site, but I'd be
happy to send it to the lists if you'd like.  If not, that's cool too... just
wanted to check.

I dont' know which I hate more... AOL or Yahoo <g>.  Mail should not be this
complicated.

Let me know what I need to do.

Thanks,
J CrysJ
Come visit my site at:
www.geocities.com/cryswimmer/CrysMain.html

     Scott turned to [Jean], and was struck once more by how beautiful she
was.  As long as he lived, he didin't think he would ever tire of simply
looking at her.  So good and kind, intelligent and noble, and so
intimidatingly gorgeous that in another age, songs would have been written
about her...
     "Scott," she said in a hushed voice, her face reddening, "you're
embarrassing me."
     "Oh, come on, honey," Scott laughed.  "Can't a man gush over his lady
once in a while?  Besides, they were just thoughts."...
     "Still," she said in a girlish way...
                                                     Christopher Golden
                                                     Sanctuary
                                                     Volume 2 of Mutant Empire

Let's try this again...


[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

Last one... I promise :)


[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

In a message dated 7/14/2001 4:46:59 PM Eastern Daylight Time,
dewaldd@... writes:

<<
  Just an FYI…your repost of parts 3a and 3b didn’t have any text. >>

Did I mention that I hate both AOL and Yahoo??

One more time...


Logan stretched, sighed, and moved towards the warmth that was radiating from
the other side of the bed.  He could see the light even through closed
eyelids, and he knew it must be late in the morning.  He stretched again,
reaching out an arm and encountering something.

Something warm.

Despite the irritation of opening his eyes into such a bright morning, he
cracked one to find out what the hell was going on.  He was met with a
curtain of brown hair.  Brown hair with a few white strands mixed in.

Marie.

While his mind tried to cope with the insane situation of waking up with her
in his bed, his body had no such difficulty.  With a mild groan he realized
that his body had figured it out a very long time before his mind.

Damn.  Options.  He had to have options.

Thankfully, she'd tugged a blanket up around her shoulders, so her bare arms
weren't really a danger to him.  He wondered what the fuck she was doing!
She knew better than this, better than to take the chance.  It wasn't that he
didn't want it, because they both wanted it, but rather that it wasn't the
safest choice.  He wasn't thinking about sexually transmitted diseases, or
even pregnancy.  He was thinking of death for him and true insanity for her.
Good God what had she been thinking?

Option one was to get her out of his bed.

"Marie?" he said softly, shaking her lightly by her blanket-covered arm.

"Hmmph."

It wasn't the reply he had hoped for.  "Marie," he insisted, shaking with a
little more energy.  "Marie, you need to wake up.  I'm against the wall, and
I don't want to crawl over you."

With a little more coherence, she muttered something and rolled towards him.
Not what he had been going for, but it looked like progress.

Her smile was sleepy, her face flushed, and her eyes were beautiful.
"Morning," she murmured when she had them fully open and focused.  "What are
you doing here?"

"It's my bed," he answered wryly.

She blinked.  Her eyes closed for a time, then opened, and she looked around
the room a bit.  Shaking her head as if to clear it, she looked around the
room once more.  "Why am I here?" she asked, but the drowsy curiosity was
replaced by concern.

"No clue, kid," he told her, reminding himself at the same time.

She started at that, her eyes flashing to his.  "Marie," she corrected.

He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.  She was right.  He wasn't going
to be able to get out of this by lying to himself.

"I woke up and you were here, Marie," he told her, emphasizing the last word.

She nodded, and then scooted up towards the pillow.  He held his breath as
she straightened the tank top that had shifted during sleep and was exposing
more than he really needed to see at the moment.  His body was giving him a
hard enough time, no pun intended.  He moved onto his side, and prepared to
move around her and get out of the bed.  Only one thing stopped him.

He didn't have a stitch of clothing on.

It was a fact that apparently hadn't escaped Marie's attention, as her eyes
were glued to his bare chest.  He hoped she had no idea that there was a
whole lot more bared beneath the sheets.

"Sleep good?" she asked softly.

He wondered at the tone of her voice, but didn't dwell on it.  "Pretty well,"
he decided.  "Well enough that I didn't notice when a woman showed up in my
bed."

She grinned at that, and then tugged her knees up to lean her chin on them.
She didn't seem to be in any rush to leave his bed, despite what he had
asked.  What was worse, much worse, was that he was smelling a lot more than
fresh lemons and warm Marie.

There were times he wished his senses were like anyone else's.  No one should
be able to smell human pheromones, he decided.  It just wasn't fair.  Marie
was aroused, and he knew it beyond question.  Thankfully, he was in control
of his own actions.

He hoped.

"Ready to start the day?" he asked with a hell of a lot more enthusiasm than
he felt.  He sounded like a damn cheerleader, but he didn't care.  He needed
a way to get her up and moving, so he could get some distance.

"Actually, this is a pretty good way to start the day," she told him.  Her
voice was definitely different, he realized again.  It was deeper, husky, and
almost seductive.  Not that practiced fake seduction that you heard in bad
porn, but real seduction.  Honest. Genuine.  He was in trouble.

"I need to get up," he told her firmly.

"So, go," she agreed.

"Marie, I'm not wearing anything," he finally told her.  Maybe she'd take the
hint and go.

Instead, she grinned from ear to ear.  "I didn't think you were," she told
him.  "You told me pajamas were for geeks like Scott."

"So move," he said firmly, trying not to do something stupid, like blush.

"You have plenty of room," she told him with a smile.  That seductive voice
again.  Shit.  There was no way he was going to get out of this bed with his
flag at full mast.  Not going to happen, no way, no how.

"I don't give peep shows."

"I'm not an audience."

"Marie…"

"Logan."

"Shit."  He sat back, tugging his sheet with him.  She had the blanket, and
he didn't think he could get his hands on it, even though he would have liked
the better coverage.

"I've seen you without clothes before," she reminded him.  "More than once,
as a matter of fact."

"That's different."

"It sure is," she agreed.  "Jean isn't here to ogle you, too."

"Jean doesn't ogle," he informed her.  "She's a doctor."

"There isn't a woman alive that wouldn't ogle you," Marie said softly.

He met her eyes at that, sensing more behind the words than just her playful
teasing.  Hell, he didn't know how playful she was at the moment, but he
hoped she was playing.  If she was serious…

He didn't have any words for her.  There was no quick comeback to the look in
her eyes, no way to dismiss the more-than-casual interest.  The only way he
could see to get out of this was to hurt her, and he wasn't willing to do
that.

"What do you want, Marie," he finally asked.  There was no teasing in his
voice, no anger.  He honestly needed to know.

"I don't know," she answered.  At least she was being honest.  "I know I want
to look," she added.  "I like to look at you."

Logan sat up a little more, reached out and tucked a strand of her hair back
behind her ear.  "I like to look at you, too," he told her.  "But this isn't
the brightest thing we've ever done."

"I know," she admitted.  "But it's just looking.  I can't hurt you by
looking."

He understood then.  Insecurity.  Longing.  Fear.  He could smell it, mixed
in with the arousal and lemons and Marie.  She was afraid, and that was one
thing he just couldn't stand.  "Marie…" he began, but he had no idea how to
finish.  He leaned over and kissed her, gently and carefully.  Quickly.
Then, he stood up without the sheet, letting her look all she wanted as he
walked over to his suitcase for a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.  Seconds later
he disappeared into the bathroom to change.


(continued in 3b)

In a message dated 7/14/2001 4:46:59 PM Eastern Daylight Time,
dewaldd@... writes:

  <<
   Just an FYI…your repost of parts 3a and 3b didn’t have any text. >>

  Did I mention that I hate both AOL and Yahoo??

  One more time...

(continued from 3a)


Marie turned her face into her knees and tried to catch her breath, tried not
to cry, and tried to calm herself down.

He wanted her.

Good Lord!  She'd seen him naked before, but never naked and aroused.  He
looked so… and he moved… and then… wow.  Just… wow.  She didn't have any
doubts about his attraction to her, his seeing her as an adult.  His body was
a lot more honest than he was, at least about this.

She knew that men tended to be aroused when they woke up.  She'd read it in
Cosmo, something about testosterone levels and such, but she'd never
experienced it.  He was beautiful under any circumstances, but she'd never
seen anything like Logan this way.  She was amazed.  And yes, she was awed as
well.  He had all that passion for her, his little Marie.  God, this must be
making him crazy.

He'd still waked away.  He said that Scott was the Boy Scout, but Logan's
sense of honor was unparalleled.  She didn't exactly mind.  It was a part of
him, and she had to take the good with the bad, but it did get on her nerves
occasionally.  She wasn't fragile.  She wasn't a child.  And God, she wanted
him.

By the time Logan exited the bathroom, now wearing the jeans and t-shirt, she
almost had herself under control.  Almost.

He walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed.  When she started to
scoot back and make room, he placed a hand on her knee to still her.  "I'm
sorry," he said, after being silent for longer than she was comfortable with.
  "I probably handled that badly.  I was uncomfortable, and I wasn't exactly
being considerate."

"It's fine," she assured him.  But it wasn't, and he knew it.

"It's not fair," he told her with a shrug.  "A lot of life isn't."

"I'm twenty-three, and I've never had sex," she said softly, but not
necessarily to him.  It was more thinking out loud.  Then, turning to Logan
she added, "And, I love you."

He smiled at that, reached forward and touched her lightly on the cheek.  He
couldn't do it for long - it wasn't safe - but he was the one man that could
at least have contact with her without dropping over dead.  She supposed that
was something.  "There's nothing I would like more," he told her.

She sighed.  "Alone with you, legally of age, and not a damn thing we can do
about it.  Life sucks."

He laughed, the smile on his face genuine, and it made her smile as well.
"Maybe not sucks," he corrected, the grin still firmly in place.  "Trust me?"

"What kind of a question is that?" she asked.  He'd saved her life a dozen
times, been her friend when everyone else was afraid, and was the only man
that had ever touched her, really touched her, voluntarily.

He moved one shoulder in a shrug, and then leaned forward.  She thought he
was going to kiss her, waited eagerly for the sensation, and was shocked when
she felt the tip of his tongue trail across her lower lip.  She gasped at the
glittering sensation that started at her chest and trailed down to her toes.
"I trust you," she said softly.

Logan nodded, as though her answer was all he had been waiting for.  His
hands moved, coming to rest on her ribs, and then he leaned forward again.

He didn't kiss her, didn't touch her, but instead he just stayed so close
that the not touching was itself a caress.  He breathed on her, warm moist
air that teased without satisfying.  She arched into the almost-touch, and
then she felt his hands move.

The hands that had been at her ribs were moving up.  Firm, gentle, and all
too knowing they came to rest at her breasts, cupping them lightly as his
thumbs began their own separate game.  He touched, tempted, and finally
grasped the nipples between his thumbs and forefingers to roll them lightly.

Marie was having trouble catching her breath, her body arching into his,
small and desperate noises coming from deep within her throat.  She felt hot,
and cold, and a thousand things in between.  It wasn't that they hadn't
touched before, because they had done their share of through the clothes
petting, but this was different.  Perhaps it was the proximity they'd slept
in, or the arousal they'd both clearly felt before they started.  Maybe it
was just the right time and the right place.  Marie didn't know, and didn't
care.  She was going up in flames and she loved it.


Slow.  Gentle.  God, this was going to kill him.

He'd thought a few minutes away would help steady him, but he'd apparently
been wrong.  He was just as out of control as he'd been before, if not more
so.  Marie was coming apart beneath him, and all he'd really done was touch
her, play with her breasts a little through the tank top.  He hadn't done
anything to justify her being this far gone, and yet she was.  Heaven help
him, he was too.

He changed position just enough to reach the erect tip of one breast with is
mouth.  He wished that the cotton weren't there, but even so the sensation of
having her nipple in his mouth was pretty incredible.  He moved one leg
between hers, allowing him to put a little pressure against his groin, and
didn't know whether he was relieved or in pain.

He should have taken care of it in the shower, was his thought.  He should
have, but even as he'd planned to do so he couldn't get the look in Marie's
eyes out of his head.  She'd looked so disappointed, so lost and unsure.  He
couldn't do that to her.  He just couldn't.  They'd managed some heavy
petting in the past without letting things get out of hand, so he'd thought
they could do so again.  The thing was, he didn't know how much longer he
could keep things in hand.

Tiny hands floundered around his body just enough that he wished he'd put on
a long-sleeved shirt.  Those hands finally found their way to his body,
settling in at his chest.  Even as he moved from one breast to the other,
Marie was seeking and finding his own nipples, and managing to make him
harder than he'd been before.  He hadn't known it was possible.

"Logan?"  Her voice was high-pitched and breathy, right on the edge of
passion.  God, this would be so easy.  He wanted nothing more than to push
her right over the edge, but he was half afraid of doing so.

"How far do you want this to go?" he asked, his hand trailing down to slip
between her thighs.  He gently traced the crotch of her pajamas, and he could
feel the dampness that was already soaking through.  "Baby?"

"Logan, please," she begged.  He didn't even think she knew just what she was
asking, but he sure as hell did.  It took every ounce of control he could
manage, but he finally pulled his hands away and got her to meet his eyes.

"Marie, if you want this to stop, I need to know it now."  He tried to sound
serious, but to his own ears it sounded impossibly needy.

"Please," she asked again.  Her hand slipped up to barely touch his lips,
drawn tight with need and patience that was coming to an end.  "Please."

He nodded once, taking her words for permission, and reached into his back
pocket for his wallet.

As most men did, he had kept condoms in his wallet for as long as he could
remember.  While he couldn't die of a sexually transmitted disease, he wasn't
sure about his ability to pass one to someone else.  That, combined with the
reluctance to leave a baby where he never intended to stay, had made him very
careful.

Now, he removed the little blue square from his wallet, and tore the wrapper
before setting it down on the edge of the bed and resuming his place at
Marie's breast.  While his mouth was busy there, he touched every inch of her
that was covered in cloth, and a few that weren't.  Absently he wished that
he had a pair of gloves handy, but he hadn't worn them once they realized
that he had some level of immunity to her.  There hadn't seemed to be a need.

He needed, now.

When Marie was squirming constantly beneath him, her voice breaking over his
name, he finally unbuttoned his jeans.  The faint popping sound seemed
unusually loud as he ripped them open, and his eyes flashed up to Marie's.
She just smiled, put her arms around him, and lifted herself to gently bite
his chest.

What he wouldn't have given to get rid of the shirt.

He applied the condom with a practiced ease despite his shaking hands.  Once
it was in place, he went back to pleasuring Marie.  Using gentle fingers, he
prodded and rubbed until she was arching against his hand, squirming all over
the bed.  He had to smile at that. Marie never did anything half way.  As her
breathing became less regular, he slid the pajama bottoms down, but not off.
Carefully, he eased the cotton panties aside, and checked quickly with bare
fingers to ensure she was wet enough that they would be able to manage.

Finally reassured, he looked back up into wide-open eyes and a gentle smile.
"Please," she told him again, and he never had been able to tell her, "no".

It wasn't as easy as he had hoped.  It was awkward trying to keep material
between them at all times, even with the jeans and panties to help.  Her
hands finally stopped grasping at his arms when he put one up above her head
for support and used the other to guide himself to where he should be.

God, she was hot.  Even through the latex he could feel the heat of her.  She
was also just about as close to the edge as a woman could be.  She kept
arching up to him, making it damn hard to go slow as he'd wanted to.
Somehow, he managed to keep himself controlled enough not to dive into her
the way he really wanted, but instead to stay on the very outside, never
going in far enough to hit the hymen that he knew must be there.

Gently, gently, barely in and then out, and then barely in again.  He set a
slow pace, but steady.  Given the way Marie was writhing beneath him, he was
getting the job done.  Sweat broke out over his body, trickled down his back
as he tried to keep the pace slow without driving himself over the edge.
He'd had rough and aggressive sex, but this was something totally different.
Gentle and sweet, warm and comfortable, it was easy to get lost in the
sensations, to let them sneak up on him and drive him over the edge.

He was so concentrated on holding back that he almost missed the explosion.
Marie gasped, arched up once more, and then he felt the telltale contractions
as she cried out.  He gave her a minute, waited until he was fairly certain
that she had gone as high as she could, and then he pressed his hips forward.

His hope had been that she would be so involved in her own orgasm that she
wouldn't experience any pain at the initial penetration.  As it was, he never
did feel himself break through anything, nor did he feel her pull away in
discomfort.  He moved deep within her, keeping the same gentle pace with
deeper strokes.

It didn't take long.  He'd been holding back for quite awhile before she'd
peaked, so it took only another minute to bring him the rest of the way.  The
world shattered, his body pressed forward, and forward, and forward as though
he could climb inside her warmth and never be cold again.  The words circled
in his head - I love you, I love you - but he didn't dare speak them.  Too
many times those words were used in the heat of the moment, and he didn't
want to make that mistake.


So, this was being a woman.  Cool.

She'd expected pain.  She'd felt nothing except pleasure.  She'd expected
blood and pain.  Hell, she'd never expected this to happen at all.

Logan was laying beside her, his hand trailing down her top.  He'd had a hand
on her ever since he'd rolled off her, and she liked that.  It was
possessive, sure, but that wasn't a bad thing.  She didn't mind being his.
In fact, it was very much what she wanted to be.

"You okay?" she asked softly.

He gave a gentle laugh.  "Isn't that what I'm supposed to ask you?"

She shrugged and smiled.  "I'm great."

"Me, too."

He continued looking at her.  Just looking, with that smile on his face that
she couldn't place.  "What?" she finally asked, punching him lightly in the
chest.  He could be so exasperating!  Why didn't he just say what was on his
mind?

"I love you," he told her softly.

That was it.  No violins, or fireworks, or any of that other mushy stuff…
just Logan, his voice deep and rough, with his hand warm on her ribcage.

"I love you too," she told him, and she meant it.  She'd wanted to say it
earlier, but the physical sensations had been in the way, overwhelming her.

He smiled at her, then leaned forward for a quick and gentle kiss, bare lips
to bare lips.  "Happy Birthday, Marie."

And it was.  It really was.

(the end)

Here he comes!  Here comes Speed Racer!
GO Speed Racer! Go GO Speed Racer!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
http://www.wolverineandrogue.com/cheeto/strips.html
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
New Jubes Shows Ya How is *not* up yet, but will be soon.  Promise with
a big kiss.  (Natas, you have like - three letters that Jubes is going
to answer so you're lucky big boy).

Nacey.
Comical avenger, obsessive compulsive at large.
--
Lifelong member of PETS:
People for the Ethical Treatment of Scott [Summers]
--------------------
"If Logan & Rogue were supposed to be sibling-like,
  then Hugh and Anna didn't get the friggin' memo..."
--------------------
"There are moments in life when I wish there was an undo button."

Hello everybody! I just wanted to tell everyone that today is my birthday, so
happy      b-day to me! I figured I'd tell someone since no one here knows.
anyway I'm 19 now and I'm just a couple days older that Anna (I know that was
so sad) thanks anyway & keep up the great work!


[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

Title: Happily Ever After
Pairing: Logan/Marie
Rating: PG at this point, but probably progressing to R
Summary:  Rogue's mission doesn't go as planned, and Logan has to make a
serious decision about their future.
Feedback: PLEASE!!  Some days that's all I have ;)

Happily Ever After
By Crystal Wimmer

Logan muttered an oath as he reached behind his back to slam the offending
alarm clock into oblivion.  Thankfully, his claws remained sheathed, so the
clock's demise was of a temporary nature.  In any case, it silenced the
blasted noise, and that was enough for him.

Marie shifted against him, bringing a smile to his face, and a painful
sensation to his groin.  Waking up with her in his arms was something he had
yet to get used to, and she'd been sharing his room for almost a month.

"Mornin'," he grumbled, shifting himself away from her tempting backside.
Damn, three layers of cloth and she still had him as hard as he'd ever been.

"Mmph," was her only reply.  He smiled at that.  The nightmares had come
again last night, and she'd spent most of that time wide-awake.  He loved
that he was a part of her, if for no other reason than that Marie seemed to
like having him in her head, but not all of the things he'd given her had
been good ones.

"That was the clock," he told her unnecessarily..

"Mmph."

Logan pressed a quick kiss to the back of her head, and then rolled away from
her to get out of bed.  If he stayed next to her, it wasn't going to matter
that he'd promised Cyke that he'd take the eight o'clock assault class.  It
wouldn't matter that he had on sweatpants, and Marie was bundled into the
same and then wrapped in a blanket.  It wouldn't matter that there were still
a hundred and one reasons he should keep his hands off her.

He rubbed his hands over his heavily stubbled face, and then got up to go
into the bathroom.  He relieved himself, and then turned on the shower to let
it get hot.  He was just stripping off his sweats when he felt soft hands on
his back.  Soft - naked - hands.

With a grin, he reached behind him to grab a clothed wrist and move her hand
out of the danger range.  "Nope," he said, facing her.  "Not a chance."

"No shower?" Marie pouted.

"Wait your turn," he told her firmly.

"A few minutes wouldn't make a difference," she reminded him.  It was an old
discussion, and one he didn't rally want to go into again.  She had too many
logical  points, and he wasn't awake enough to argue effectively.  Kill, yes…
he could do that with no sleep, but he couldn't wage a battle of minds
without coffee and time to gain his faculties.

He settled for another grunt, then turned away from her to step into the
steaming shower.  He hated the brief look of disappointment on her face, but
something inside him told him that it was for the best.

Marie was the untouchable one.  Her skin was poison to anyone who came in
contact with her, and because of this she had lived the last several years of
her life isolated from others.  He was the exception to that poison, having
developed quite an immunity to it over the last few years.  He didn't blame
her for wanting to be touched, but he couldn't bring himself to entirely give
up his response to her mutation.  Someday, she might need his healing, and he
didn't want her to be immune to him at that time.

Ironically, Logan hated his mutation as much as Marie despised hers.  While
he could be touched, he'd come to a point where he rarely allowed it.  It was
almost poetic that Marie was the one person that could touch him emotionally.
  He had the ability to heal, a regenerative capacity that was virtually
unlimited.  He didn't die, he didn't age, and his "gift" had made him a
target for experimentation.

He had never asked to be a killer.  He'd never asked to live forever.  While
he had no memory of his past, he did have enough foresight to realize that
anyone he loved would certainly age and die before he did.  Even in the last
few years he'd watched Marie grow from a frightened teen into a beautiful
woman.  He'd seen Jeannie and Scott age as well, and most of the kids that
had been students when he'd arrived at the school were now adults, either on
their own or on the team.  His senses were more acute than most, another
manifestation of his mutation, so he saw every wrinkle, every line, and every
gray hair.

He, however, was essentially the same as when he'd first arrived.  No older.
No more wrinkled.  No more certain who he was, or where he'd come from.  He
had memories of only the last twenty years or so, beginning in a clearing in
the woods with no clothes and blood on his hands.  He didn't know what he'd
been before, but someone had turned him into an uncaring, unfeeling killing
machine at some point along the way and he wasn't happy about it.

Stepping out of the shower, he grabbed the towel that Marie had left him on
the lid of the toilet.  Drying himself off, he caught the scent of lemons and
had to grin.  She'd somehow managed to get that sweet lemon scent of hers on
everything that belonged to him.  He was pretty sure she didn't even know it,
that only he could smell it, but it still amused him.  As far as he was
concerned, he could smell her on himself most of the time, and that was about
the most sexy thing he could imagine.

Shaking his head in confusion, not knowing what to do about her now any more
than he'd known when she'd been a teenager with an enormous crush on him, he
settled for getting ready to teach his class.


Marie pulled on the body stocking that she'd special ordered a few weeks
before.  Made of a stretchy material, rather like pantyhose, the
flesh-colored garment covered most of her skin.  From toes to wrists to
neckline, she sheathed herself in the thin material to protect her from the
thoughts of others, even as she protected them from certain death.  She hated
the thing, but was grateful for it just the same.  At least she looked normal
when wearing it, even if she felt like a freak.

She slipped on shorts and a tank top, shivering slightly after the warmth of
the sweats that Logan insisted she wear to share his bed, and then reached
for her shoes and socks.

Logan.

Now, there was an enigma if ever she'd known one.   He was sweet, caring,
stubborn as hell, and just plain mean on occasion.  She still wasn't sure
exactly why he was so unwilling to touch her, even after a dozen discussions
on the subject.  He was all but immune to her mutation, able to touch her now
for several minutes before her power kicked in, and yet he still withheld
that part of himself.

She knew it wasn't about their relationship.  They'd been together for almost
a year, and had slept with one another off and on for the last few months.
Three weeks ago, she'd finally just moved her things into his room.

The professor had cautioned them.  Scott had been furious.  Hank had been
concerned.  Jean had been thrilled.  Logan, well Logan had just found a
second dresser for the room and moved his stuff to one side of the closet.
He hadn't even brought up the move, or questioned her.  He acted as though
he'd just been waiting for her to decide to take the step, and perhaps he
was.  In any case, she'd thought they'd made progress then.

Now, she wasn't sure.

Initially, she had agreed with his caution.  She would kill herself before
hurting him, and she'd told him as much.  Still, his immunity to her seemed
to grow, and eventually she'd gone to Jean and Hank about the matter.  Hank
had agreed that he was developing a resistance to her mutation, but he hadn't
recommended experimenting with it.  It was simply too dangerous.  Jean had
agreed wholeheartedly, although with slightly more compassion.

They hadn't exactly experimented, but over time they'd had several occasions
that he'd needed to share his healing with her.  Each time, the transfer had
taken longer, until they'd begun to think it wouldn't happen at all.  In
addition, they'd begun to control how much she took, so that he wasn't
incapacitated afterwards.  Marie had thought that they had finally mastered
it.

Logan disagreed… and what Logan said was law.

He seemed to be more careful now than he had been when they were worried
about his safety.  He touched her, but only with gloves and material between
them.  The gloves that had disappeared years ago had suddenly reappeared
after they'd made love.  He kissed her less, and held her more, and Marie was
completely confused.  How could he be willing to live with her, and yet want
to close himself off?  It didn't make sense.

After dressing, Rogue grabbed her gloves and headed for the dining hall.
Logan was still in the shower, and she was just irked enough at him that she
wasn't willing to tell him she was leaving.  When her head rang with
Professor Xavier's voice, she was actually relieved.

Rogue?

Yes, Sir?

We have a situation that I could use your help with.  Do you have any plans
for the day?

Rogue smiled.  No Sir, she thought.  Not a single thing.

Meet the team in the War Room when you've finished eating, he requested.

I'll be there.  Thank you, Sir.

With a sense of purpose, Rogue grabbed a blueberry bagel from the cafeteria
line and then headed for the War Room.  She'd been on several missions,
mostly as an assistant pilot or communications monitor, and she'd come to
love helping the team out.  It seemed so much more meaningful than helping
Jean in the lab, or filing things for Scott and Ororo.  She knew that she
wasn't qualified for more, and had lost the option when she'd turned down
college, but she hadn't been ready to leave the mansion then.  She knew she
wasn't ready now.

As she entered the room, she saw that Scott and Jean were already there.  No
one else.  It was odd, she supposed, that there wasn't more of the team in
attendance.

"I'm here," she announced, somewhat unnecessarily, but the excitement was
getting the best of her.

"Thank you for coming, Rogue," the professor said with a smile.  "We're
preparing for a short  recruitment mission, and I think you can be of help."

"Me?" she asked, taking the chair next to Jean so that she could be briefed.

"Yes.  The mutant Cerebro has detected is quite powerful, but she's also
rather withdrawn.  She's an outsider, Rogue, and currently a runaway.   It
might be helpful to have someone on the team that's been there."

"I understand, sir.  Isn't Jubilee available?"  Rogue knew that either
Jubilee or Scott usually handled the runaway recruits.

"Yes, but I thought you might like to try this one," he said kindly.  "It's
certainly more interesting than filing or cleaning instruments in the clinic."

Rogue blushed at that, knowing that the professor must have picked up a few
of her thoughts immediately before calling her down for the briefing.  She
hoped that he hadn't picked up her thoughts about Logan in the stream of
consciousness.  When she looked up, the professor smiled softly and looked
away.  That answers that, she realized, and did her best to control her
embarrassment.

"You won't be going far," the professor said briskly.  "As I was telling the
rest of the team, the girl is located just outside of New York.  You'll take
the jet, but more as a means of tracking and following if necessary."

"What's her mutation?" Jean asked.

"Multiple," the professor replied.  "To begin with, she flies."

"Like Warren?"  Scott asked.  "Wings?"

"No," the professor answered.  "Nor does she use wind or telekinesis.  Her
powers are physical, more so than psychic.  She is exceptionally strong,
nearly invulnerable, and she seems to cause a manipulation of the air
particles around her to achieve flight."

"If she's a loner, it may be difficult to make contact," Jean commented.

"That is why Rogue will be accompanying you," he explained.  "She might have
a better idea of how to reach a runaway and convince her that our school
would be a more acceptable option than the street."

"What's her name?" Rogue asked, taking the drawing that the professor handed
her and glancing at it.

"Carol," he replied.  "At least, that's what she answers to.  I cannot
determine anymore at this distance without a particularly invasive probe.  I
don't believe it would endear her to us."

"Carol," Rogue murmured, passing the sketch to Jean.  "So, we give her the
sales pitch, and then bring her back?"

"That's correct."

Rogue looked over at her teammates, her fearless leader and his wife.  "Then,
lets do it."

(continued in part 2)

(continued directly from part 1)

Logan prowled the hallways once he'd finished teaching his class.  As usual,
the kids had given him a hard time about learning the science behind the
attack moves he taught, but he was used to their shortsightedness.  The fact
was, unless you had some idea of the theory, knew what your opponent was
likely thinking, you didn't have a prayer in a battle.  Well, you did if you
had eleven-inch adamantium claws, but anything short of that put you at a
distinct disadvantage.

He supposed he should be glad that the class had run long.  Once it was done,
he was finally ready to face Marie in a way he hadn't been prepared for when
standing nude before his shower.  He was in control now, no longer a slave to
his body's early-morning responses and hormone levels, and he was ready to
have a reasonable conversation.

He knew he'd hurt her.  He was the one man in the world that could touch her,
and yet he didn't.  It had to hurt, whatever his reasons.  They were damn
good reasons, though.

He was the only man who could touch her.  As much as he loved her, he didn't
want to touch her because of that.  He wanted to be her choice, not who she
settled for.  Things had already gotten way out of hand, and he needed her to
get it back in perspective.  Hell, she was living with him!  He still wasn't
quite sure how it had happened, only that he couldn't say "no" to her.  He
just couldn't.  The woman had lost too many things in her life, and he
wouldn't take anything else from her.

So, he prowled.  He searched for her in the clinic, only to find it closed
with a note to call Hank on his cell-phone if any emergencies arose.  It
seemed odd that Jeannie wasn't there, but Logan didn't dwell on it.  He went
upstairs, checked out Scott's office, and found it locked.  He knew Ro would
be teaching, so he didn't bother with her office.  He finally decided to
check with the professor.  Marie had been annoyed that morning, and while he
didn't think she'd take off, she had been known to do so in the past.  Damn,
that was his mind in hers again, the bad that outweighed the good.

Truthfully, it was the second reason that he didn't touch Marie.  Each time,
she knew a little more of him.  She hadn't run, and she reassured him almost
daily that his past didn't matter, but he couldn't believe that she wanted
his horrors in her mind.  He didn't even know all that he'd done wrong in his
life, but Marie got more of it each time he touched her.  She was the one
that had his nightmares, the one who remembered things his own mind had
carefully blocked.  He truly believed that if she took much more of him she'd
go crazy.  He couldn't do that to her.

The third reason was purely selfish.  He hated his mutation.  It served no
purpose except to make his life an endless hell.  Still, if there was any
value to being able to heal, it was that the mutation had saved Marie's life
on more than one occasion.  By giving the gift to her, if only for a few
hours, he was able to keep her alive when she might otherwise have died.  As
much as he cursed the mutation, he had to consider its value for Marie as a
gift.  He could do for her something that no one else could, and that made
all the forgotten years, the nightmares and the pain, well worth it.  She was
worth anything to him.  Everything.

And, at the moment, she was totally illusive.  The professor hadn't been in
his office or the study, although both were unlocked.  The day planner open
on his desk didn't show any appointments, and he hadn't mentioned anything
the night before.  Finally giving up, Logan decided to take out his
frustration, now bordering on aggression, in working on his bike.

On his way down to the lower levels, Logan waited with impatience for the
elevator.  When it opened, he was shoved out of the way as the professor
exited quickly.  Nearly falling over the wheelchair, he turned to follow.

"What's going on?" he asked anxiously.

"The mission went badly," the professor told him.

"What mission?"

"Jean and Scott are bringing her back, but they haven't been able to
stabilize the recruit."

"Bringing who back?" Logan asked, his voice becoming frantic.  He had a very
bad feeling about this.  "Who's the recruit?"

Hank!

Logan's hands went to his head as the professor's voice echoed there
painfully.

"Where's Jeannie?" Logan asked quickly.

"On the mission.  She's bringing them in."

Hank! The professor called mentally again.  The intensity of the call made
Logan faintly nauseous.  He imagined half the mansion would be fighting
nosebleeds if the all-call message wasn't returned quickly.  The mental
volume was shattering.

"What can I do?" Logan asked.

The professor stopped for a moment, his expression focused.  Logan imagined
that he must have finally connected with Hank.  He waited quietly until the
professor's regard fell on him once more.  "Go down to the landing bay," he
said firmly.  "They may need help if the sedation wears off."

"I'm gone," Logan answered, turning to head back the way he had come.


Jean finished the chest compressions and moved to give another breath to her
patient.  She'd been unresponsive since they'd pried her hands from Rogue's
wrists, but the doctor wasn't ready to give up her patient just yet.  ETA?
she called out mentally as she moved back into position at the woman's chest.

"Thirty seconds," Scott answered, his attention divided between landing the
Blackbird and watching Rogue for signs that the heavy sedation was abating.
So far she seemed to be out, and he prayed that she'd stay that way.

He didn't know how it had gone so horribly wrong.  Rogue had approached Carol
tentatively, quietly.  He and Jean had given her room, heeding the
professor's advise about Carol's tendency to run, and her unusual strength.
He had hoped Rogue would be able to reason with her, and they would only be
providing backup.

Neither he nor Jean had seen Carol reach for Rogue.  In fact, the first
indication that anything was wrong had come when Rogue screamed.  Jean had
picked up on the reason before Scott had been close enough to see it.  Carol
had grabbed Rogue by the wrists, and she wasn't letting go.

Rogue had struggled.  Oh God, how she'd tried to get away.  Carol had been as
strong as the professor had said, and no amount of prying had removed her
fingers.  Both Jean and Scott had done all they could, and as soon as Carol's
grip had relaxed they pulled her away from Rogue.  But the damage had already
been done.

Rogue had flown into the air, and then crashed back to earth with a sickening
thud.  Jean had moved to check for life signs in Carol, and Scott had done
his best to contain Rogue as she returned to the air.  He hadn't been very
successful.  Finally, after several minutes of calling to and pleading with
the panicked woman, he'd carefully aimed a concussive blast towards her.
Rogue was knocked into the building behind her hard enough that she fell to
the ground, stunned.  He had then injected her with a powerful sedative that
was stored in a pressurized injector, one of those precautions that the
professor insisted upon.  Scott remembered vaguely how he had argued the
concept, stating that enemies should be eliminated rather than contained, but
the professor's sense of fair play was well developed.  They all carried the
injectors in their uniforms, and Scott was thankful.

It had taken all strength to get the three women into the Blackbird.  Jean
refused to give up the lifesaving measures for Carol, and Rogue had begun to
regain consciousness almost immediately.  A second injection seemed to put
her out once more, and Scott had taken the controls.  It was only an eight
minute flight back to the mansion, so he had taken to the air and radioed
their position even as the professor's voice in his head told him that it
hadn't been necessary, that he'd been monitoring them with Cerebro the entire
time.

As he flew the plane back into its hanger, a direct descent made possible by
the high technology VTOL system that the professor had procured, he glanced
down to see his wife nearing exhaustion.  Even as he began the shut-down
procedures for the aircraft, he lowered the ramp so that they could get help.

Hank was the first up the ramp.  He carried a portable defibrillator with
him, along with a box that contained their life-support equipment.  If they
could get a pulse, Hank and Jean would be able to pull her through.

Logan moved up into the plane and took Rogue into his arms before Scott could
warn him.  On the line between consciousness and unconsciousness, Rogue
thrashed violently and knocked the wolverine to his butt.  Under other
circumstances Scott might have been amused, but as it was he moved to help
his teammate.

"She absorbed Carol," he told Logan quickly.  "She isn't thinking like
herself, and she's stronger than you are.  Be careful."

"Marie," Logan called.  "Kid, settle down.  It's me."

Rogue showed no recognition as she crouched against the wall of the
blackbird.  She looked like a panicked animal, half awake and confused.
Suddenly, her eyes rolled back in her head and she fell to the floor.  Logan
wasted no time lifting her into his arms.

"I have sedated her," the professor called from the ground.  "Mental sedation
is less dangerous than medication.  Logan, get her to the med lab, and see
about some restraints."

Logan growled, but he did as the professor said, carrying Rogue towards the
elevator.

The professor wheeled closer, watching the activity of Jean and Hank.  He
closed his eyes and concentrated, then after a moment Scott saw his eyes open
once more and his expression fell.

"Jean, Hank, you can stop." His voice was soft, but it carried authority.

Jean looked up, her face covered in perspiration and her expression mutinous.
  When she met the eyes of her mentor, she sat back on her heels and stopped
the chest compressions.  Hank was slower to respond, still trying to get a
reading from the defibrillator, but when he saw Jean's resignation he turned
to look at the professor.

"Take care of Rogue," he said gently.  "She needs you, and there's nothing
more you can do here."

Scott watched his wife walk down to the hanger floor and towards the
elevator.  Her shoulders were slumped, her every move showing defeat.  He
wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and tell her that it would
all be okay.  He didn't know that it would, but it's what he wanted to do.
He was her husband, and it was his job to see that she was happy.  I love
you, he sent mentally, but it seemed like to little.

I know, came back to him.  I'm okay.

"I'll take care of things here, professor," Scott said quietly.

The professor watched him a moment, then nodded.  "It wasn't your fault," he
said gently.  "You couldn't have known."

Scott nodded, but he didn't really agree.  It had been his mission, his
responsibility.  If his team hadn't been there, a young woman would be alive
right now, and Rogue wouldn't be sedated in the med-lab while body tried to
cope with yet another aggressive personality.  It was his responsibility.

With a final glance at the professor's retreating wheelchair, he leaned down
and looked at the woman that had started all of the action.  Blond, thin, and
so young.  She hadn't known what she was doing, couldn't have known what
touching Rogue would do to her.  She was dead, had been since they'd pried
her hands from Rogue's wrists.  She was gray, and what little warmth her body
had would soon ebb away.  Scott closed his eyes a moment to gather himself,
and then stood to get what he would need.  A gurney first, and then a body
bag.


(continued in part 3)

Title:  No Guarantees
Author:  jenn (jenn@...)
Codes:  Jean, Logan/Jean, movieverse
Rating:  PG-13
Series:  How Things Change #4 (follows "What We Leave Behind",
"Projections", and "Letting Go".)
Summary:  In which it is late and people aren't sleeping.
Author Notes: Thanks to Eiluned for the beta--sorry this took so long, it
just seemed off and it still does, but it also seemed finished.  You're a
sweetie to volunteer.  To Andariel for the encouragement.
Archiving:  Take if you want it, just inform me where it's going.
Disclaimer:  I don't own them.  So very much understood.
Feedback:  Bencheley Apricot tea with feedback cheerfully accepted.

*****

It was a dark and stormy night--without the storm.  And not so dark when
Jean got downstairs, the moon spilling through the large windows and
coloring the kitchen silvery white and strangely eerie.

It was a midnight refrigerator raid--not exactly the most refined she'd
ever been in her life, flannel pajama bottoms faded from years of use, the
t-shirt stained from a few too many early-morning cups of coffee when
insomnia got the better of her and drove her downstairs so Scott could
sleep.  Feet bare and her hair twisted haphazardly away from her face with
a pencil she'd grabbed from the desk when the fine-motor coordination
required to get into her new bathroom drawers eluded her.

No, not refined at all.

These days, her bed was empty, so she could certainly feel free to toss and
turn to her heart's content with no one the wiser.  Habit, however, was
stronger than her new freedom, and she looked speculatively at the
cappuccino maker seated temptingly on top of the refrigerator and forced
herself to walk away.

God, though, a chocolate latte would be good right now.

She shook herself, thinking of the remainder of the cigarettes she'd shoved
into her pajama pocket before leaving her room and the lighter in the
kitchen drawer to her left.  Relaxation outside meditation had never been
her strong point, and tonight, for some reason, her exercises refused to
take hold--her mind was running too fast and too hot with too many emotions
and too many conflicting thoughts that she could barely define, much less
explain to her own satisfaction.

She fingered the cigarettes again, running the tip of a recently manicured
nail lightly up the length of one before resolutely jerking her hand from
her pocket.  Probably not a good idea--it'd been years since she'd been a
serious smoker.  Not for Jean Grey the casual utilization of nicotine at
stressful moments--oh no, even in her vices, she'd been an overachiever,
and graduate school had seen her up to a pack and a half a day, coffee by
the gallon, and a blending of days into nights into weekends where she
couldn't clearly define the date unless there was a paper due.

Scott had brought her Thai food and hid her books until she went to sleep.
The edge of pain that accompanied the memory wasn't unexpected, and she
half-turned, almost expecting him to be leaning into the doorway with that
patient smile that told her she hadn't fooled him any by slipping out.

But Scott wasn't at the door and that decided her--she rummaged through the
pantry, finding the box of instant cappuccino and pulling out two packages,
taking it to the microwave and going on a hunt for a decent size mug.  A
telekinetic push brought it harmlessly to her hand from the highest shelf,
and she filled it with water before programming the microwave and standing
back to light her cigarette.

And she'd been the one to institute the no-smoking rule in the
house--stressful days when she'd been quitting and stale smoke was enough
to send her looking for a cigarette and some privacy.  Irony.

As the microwave rang, Jean began to reach for the door, then paused,
stepping back and blinking before focusing her strength, smiling a little
in sheer wonder as the door swung open and her cup levitated itself up and
over--trembling a little when she split her concentration to shut the
microwave door, frowning as she brought it back down to rest neatly--if a
little messily--on the counter.

Not bad.  She'd conditioned herself for so long to control her powers, when
she could use them and when she couldn't--it was strangely free to feel it
all now.

A flicker of her hand pulled a drawer open and the spoon hurled itself
roofward--Jean laughed, covering her mouth quickly, and brought it to a
stop, letting it rest midair before it clattered with a decided lack of
grace onto the counter.  The slightest trace of a headache formed just
behind her eyes, but Jean Grey ignored it as one packet danced into the
air--

--and she knew she just didn't have the fine-mental coordination to try and
tear paper with a thought.  And hell if she wanted to spend any part of the
night cleaning up the remains of  powdered mix from the counter and floor.

She snatched it out of midair, carefully pouring it in and tossing it
behind her, visualizing the trash can.  Listening carefully, she heard it
hit the wall, then slide slowly down until she freed her control and it
plunked neatly on the floor.  Damn.  But her smile lingered when she dumped
the second package and picked up her spoon, stirring the instacappuccino
into double strength, double sweet, double caffeinated perfection and
lifted it carefully in one hand as she approached the door, a mental nudge
pushing it open and allowing her to emerge.

Walking back toward the stairs, she glanced toward the rec room and
realized she wasn't the only one who was having trouble sleeping.

Friday nights were the deadest nights on campus.  Anyone with sense or a
social life made a run for New York to lose themselves in whatever
amusements were to be found for mutant kids who pretended to be normal for
one night a week.  She could hardly blame them for that, even if she did
know Remy wasn't exactly pursing the most legal avenues open to him and St.
John would probably find something that was just begging to be charred.
There was always the off-chance a call would come in and Xavier's money
would have to smooth the problems of a rebellious night.  An adult was
always awake and on-call just for just such an emergency.

She just didn't expect it to be this one tonight.

Logan was sprawled on the couch, in grey sweat pants and a hastily donned
t-shirt that had obviously seen better days--not looking particularly happy
with the world, but Jean could count on one hand the number of times Logan
had been in a genuinely good mood.  A small pyramid of neatly placed beer
cans rested by one foot and he was absently drinking another without any
real enjoyment--probably because all they had was American in the house and
Logan's tastes ran to the very dark and very heavy.

The briefest debate before she made her decision and approached the door.
She had barely stepped a foot into the thick rec room carpet before Logan
sat up, looking at her without a trace of surprise.

Sneaking up on someone with his senses was beyond an exercise in futility.

"Insomnia?"  he asked, and she nodded slowly.

"What are you doing up?"  Because it was endlessly strange to see him
wandering around here when he could be anywhere else--a bar, a fight, a
hunt, something that would let him release energy and tension, let him
return that much calmer and that much more relaxed, ready to face another
day of adolescents and Scott.

A scowl before he swung his legs over the side of the couch and leaned
forward, elbows rested on his knees to give the television a long glare, as
if it were to blame for all the troubles of mutantkind.  Her mind picked up
vague images of Scott giving the order, and sometimes she wondered why it
was Scott always tended to choose exactly the wrong way to handle Logan.
Of all the X-Men, Logan was the closest thing to a free agent they had, and
pissed off, he could and would leave without notice.  It was something the
Professor understood very well, but the fact that Scott hadn't yet worked
this out for himself was something that still left Jean a little bemused.

"Curfew duty."  He shrugged slightly, leaning back into the couch.  "Sit do
wn, Red.  No good game tonight."

Jean glanced at the basketball game on the television as she gingerly took
the seat beside him, automatically curling her bare feet up under her,
feeling the heat of Logan's body only inches away.

There was a long stretch of silence while Jean watched a man in green shoot
a basket and then, for some indefinable reason, the referee whistled.
She'd never been very into sports--frankly, she'd never had the free time
to cultivate an interest.  Beside her, she felt Logan's focus on her, no
matter where the hazel eyes were fixed, and tried to decide what to do
about it--or if she should do anything at all.

He hadn't pushed her since they got back, and she found that more unnerving
than anything else.  She wished he had, that he'd asked her, demanded
answers of her, walked into her lab, shut the door, and forced her to make
a choice.

Scratch that--made her confirm her choice in the rational, clear light of
day when she wasn't high on adrenaline and the rush of psychic energy.  She
should have known from the beginning Logan would never accept her
compromised.  It was always all or nothing.

Slowly, she turned her head to look at him--

--and it was the same dizzy feeling as standing in the rain, sensing so
much waiting at the tips of her fingers if she reached.  How this could be
different, could be possible, could be probable, could be inevitable in
ways she'd never explored before.  It was change, and Jean wasn't used to
wanting change.

She certainly wasn't used to seeking it out, a yearning she'd never known
existed that made her reach for something that didn't come with a warranty
and a lifetime guarantee.  But then--she'd found out recently that she
didn't have a guarantee at anything.  Even the heart of the first man she'd
ever loved.

Lightly, she placed her bare hand on Logan's knee.

The muscles beneath her fingers tensed, and there was an endless moment
where she thought he'd ignore it, chalk it up to whatever he'd rationalized
Chicago into--but he simply turned his head, clear hazel eyes searching her
face, hiding nothing.  He didn't ask her a single question, but she felt
him slowly open his mind to her, and reached out, letting his thoughts
slide through hers, laced with trepidation and regret and hot, burning need
that would have scared her, could have scared her, should have scared her,
except she was jumping and dear God, she hoped he'd catch her.

No guarantees.

Bracing her hand, she leaned forward, until her mouth was inches from his,
studying his face carefully, mind open to hesitation, to uncertainty, to
any hint of rejection--and found nothing.  Licked her dry lips nervously,
feeling his eyes follow, before she slowly closed the space between them
and brushed a tentative kiss across his lips.

It changed everything.

A hand rested lightly on her shoulder, fingering the lengths of hair that
had escaped her twist, then up the side of her throat, pausing on the pulse
point before gently cupping her face, tilting her head slightly but making
no move to deepen the kiss.  She drew in a shaky breath, meeting the clear
hazel eyes, feeling the warmth in them, before he drew her close again and
kissed her--a brush harder, a tongue slipping out to trace the curve of her
lips before withdrawing and she wanted to follow it, taking in the taste of
him again.  Raising herself on awkwardly on her knees, she ran her fingers
across the thick sideburns, up into the dark hair, over his temples,
tracing the lines of his face when she kissed him again.

She'd never kissed another man in the years she was with Scott, had
forgotten so much.  It was the kiss, the taste, the touch that lit
everything up inside her--she wanted to memorize it, everything about it.
The heat of his skin under her mouth and fingers, the texture of his hair,
the musky, light scent of aftershave and cigar and whiskey, the clean smell
of soap, the warm touch of his thoughts winding through hers.  Pure Logan
in every conflicting part--the animal in the cage, the combat instructor in
the gym, the X-Man on a mission, the bodyguard who chased her through the
Chicago slums.  The man who pushed her against a filthy table and marked
her body with his hands and the man who stepped back and waited patiently
while she made a choice--

--no, while she accepted her choice.

His free hand curved around her back and pulled her across his lap, and
Jean settled her legs on either side of him when he laced his fingers
through her hair and his tongue slipped between her lips, tracing her
teeth.  She drew in another shaky breath and felt his tongue bump into
hers, startlingly electric, erotic in a way that defied clear description,
setting a low warmth burning in the pit of her stomach from nothing but his
hands on her face and his tongue in her mouth.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders, pressing her body to his, her body
aligning itself over his perfectly, rocking into him almost without thought
as a hand dropped to her shoulder, running gently over her throat, slowing
as he reached her breast, cupping it through her shirt and squeezing
softly, drawing out a gasp from her that he swallowed as he deepened the
kiss, tongue circling hers, wiping everything from her mind but the feel
and taste and scent of him all around her.

Then he pulled back, mouth against her temple, and the muscles under her
back were trembling while he brought himself back under control--thumbs
lightly rubbing soft circles into her cheeks until she opened her eyes.

The hazel eyes burned with something that wasn't lust, wasn't want--far
more than she'd expected, than she knew what to do with.  Knew only that
she liked it, wanted to see it more often, see that gentle half-smile that
she'd put there, she, Jean Grey.

She couldn't remember in her life anyone who looked at her like Logan did.
And she liked that too.

"Jean--"

If she'd been a betting woman, she never would have guessed Logan was the
type to want to talk about it.  Leaning back, she felt his hands drop to
her waist and covered them with hers, searching his face.

"Just say yes."

Another pause, before the dark head tilted.

"Jeanie."  A pause, then a sigh, and the hands tightened on her waist.
"It's--"

"It's not rebound.  I wouldn't do that to you or to myself."  At least in
this, she could be absolutely, unshakably certain.  One guarantee.

His shields jumped so suddenly she blinked, a little disoriented, but the
flares she sensed weren't so much hostile as--fear?  Maybe.  And telepath
she might be, but she could read people for shit and tended toward always
choosing exactly the wrong response.  She paused, trying to guess what he
needed to hear.

"Three weeks."  His voice was low.

Jean nodded.

"Three weeks, three months, three years.  It's not a matter of time, Logan.
I'm not--"  she wasn't the type to take out her trauma on other people.
Being a telepath, she couldn't afford it, couldn't escape it when she
screwed up.  Taking a breath, she frowned, wondering how to explain it, or
if she even could.

"You don't have to explain."

God, he was giving her a way out, and she let him draw her down to his
shoulder, resting against his solid warmth beneath her, as his hands rubbed
soothing lines up and down her back.

"I can't promise--"  she stopped, biting her lip.  "But--"  Damn, this was
harder than she'd thought and it was so hard without feeling his mind--it
was groping through the dark and she hated the feeling that she was missing
something important.

For the longest time, silence, and she lay perfectly still, listening to
the rhythm of his heart under her ear, letting her hand rest on his
shoulder, waiting for him to work this out to his own satisfaction, how
much he could trust her, how much he could trust himself.   Then--

"Dinner tomorrow?"

Jean blinked and lifted her head.  The playful smile almost blinded her,
and his eyebrow raised a little at her open-mouthed shock.

"You want a date?"

A shrug and his hand came up, knuckles brushing over the skin of her jaw
with aching tenderness, down her throat.  She tried to tune out the
pleasant sensations, concentrating on what he'd just proposed, which just
didn't seem very--er--Loganish.

"Food, whatever." Another shrug, the slightest hint of embarrassment
coloring his shields and she couldn't stop a grin.  She leaned forward, a
chaste kiss against his mouth that it took everything in her to pull away
from.

"All right," she answered, and lowered her head back to his shoulder,
closing her eyes.

The End.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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PETJ, EFB, WRB, FEF, WRM, AngstGrrl, General Diebin-fan

"...I deserve to be left alone with nothing but dirty movies and my hand to
pleasure me." -- Sabretooth to Toad, in Andariel's unnamed first draft

She was a *cow*?  As in, a black-and-white lactose-producing, cudd-chewing,
oh-so-tippable *bovine*? -- Caroline during an Angel discussion

(continued directly from part 3)

  Logan did his best to stifle a growl as Jean applied restraints to Marie's
wrists, ankles, and waist.  She'd been stripped down to her body stocking,
and a hospital gown was over her, but Jean was still cautious as she
tightened the cords.  To Logan, it looked far too much like the torture he'd
been put through for comfort.

  "Don't make them too tight," he told Jean with a snap.  "They'll hurt her."

  "She's likely to be invulnerable for quite some time," Jean assured him.
"Don't worry about it.  I couldn't even get a needle into her skin to take a
blood sample."

  "Yeah, well Scooter managed well enough," Logan rumbled.  There had been two
bloody marks on Marie's chest, both just beneath her right collarbone, and it
had angered him that Scott would do such a thing to his Marie.

  "She had to be sedated," she reminded him.  "Scott says she was violent, and
she could have hurt herself or someone else.  If she wasn't able to get
around Carol's thoughts, she might have run, and who knows where the hell she
would have wound up.  Just be thankful the invulnerability hadn't kicked in
fully at that point."

  "Yeah, right," Logan agreed, but he wasn't sure that he condoned Scott's
act.  Deciding not to dwell on what could not be changed, he focused his
attention on Marie.  Mentally repressed, she was an eerie calm, her eyes half
open but her body shut down.  It was a terrifying thing to see.  Marie was
always fire and energy to him, and seeing her this still was bothering him on
levels that he didn't know he had.  For all the attempts he made to block out
the animalistic side of his nature, all of that went to hell when it came
down to his mate.  That was how his body saw her, as his mate, and the need
to protect was overwhelming.

  Hank walked over and moved the hospital gown out of the way to apply EKG
leads to her chest.  Logan's eyes narrowed as the man touched her, but he
didn't say anything.  Hank was a doctor, and Logan knew that there was
nothing more going on.  It was no different than if Jeannie were doing the
same.  He knew that.  So why the hell did it get to him on that same level as
protecting his mate did?

  "Damn it," Hank muttered as he fiddled with the machine before him.

  "What?" Logan asked.

  "Even with the gel, we're not getting a sufficient signal through the
material.  I'm going to have to have bare skin.  Let me go get some gloves."

  As Hank went to do as he'd said, Logan eased out one claw and slit the front
of the stocking from neck to navel.  Marie was going to kill him, but if the
good doctor needed skin, Logan would see that it was available as quickly and
efficiently as possible.  He needed to know she was okay, and Hank was his
best chance at getting that reassurance.

  Hank made no comment as he returned and repositioned the leads on her chest.
  He watched the blips on the monitor, tapped a few buttons on the keyboard,
and waited for the printout.  While he examined it, he nodded absently and
turned to leave.  Logan still wondered what the hell was going on.

  Jean walked over a moment later with the professor at her side.  "Logan, we
need to discontinue the mental block," she told him.  "I need for you to stay
close in case the restraints don't hold."

  Logan just nodded, and didn't move.  If the restraints were to go, he'd be
stunned.  He and Hank had made them out of steel cable a couple of years
before, padded and wrapped, but steel just the same.  Even he couldn't bust
through them unless his claws were involved.

  The professor did his concentration thing once more, and Jean closed her
eyes so that she could get a feel for what was going on in Marie's head.
Logan could have told them that she'd go ballistic if she woke up in the
restraints, but he decided they'd figure it out for themselves soon enough.

  Jean screamed.

  The professor's head came up as though he'd been punched, and Jean put her
hands to her head and screamed again.  Logan caught her before she fell, and
looked to the professor in confusion.  Meanwhile, Marie began to tug at the
restraints, her eyes wide and her screams absolutely feral.

  Setting Jean down on the floor, Logan moved closer to Marie.  "Kid, it's
Logan.  Do you hear me?"

  She continued to thrash violently, and thankfully the restraints held.

  "Marie?"

  The professor moved towards Jean, checking on her, and then came closer to
Rogue.  "I sense none of Rogue," he said simply.  "Carol seems to have taken
over."

  "How long will it last?" Logan asked.  He knew she'd carried his traits for
a few days, although she'd retained some sense of herself at the same time.
This couldn't be much different.

  "I don't know," the professor admitted.  "She's never absorbed someone to
the point of death.  I don't know if she will recover from this."

  Logan turned to the professor and stared.  "What?"

  "Rogue killed Carol," he explained.  "She completely absorbed her energy, as
well as her memories.  I don't know how much of Rogue can be left after that."

  Logan watched Marie thrash for a moment more, and then faced the professor
again.  "What can you do?" he asked.  "You had her calm before."

  "I had her sedated," he corrected.  "I essentially blocked all but the
involuntary reflexes, such as breathing and heartbeat.  It's not something I
can maintain, even if it were an answer."

  Logan sighed, and nodded his understanding.  "So what do we do?" he asked.

  Jean was finally collecting herself enough to stand, and she faced Logan
herself.  "We wait," she said softly, still rubbing her temples where Carol's
strength had battered her mental control.  "We keep her from hurting herself,
and we wait.  There's really nothing else we can do."

  So, Logan waited.


  He had never waited so long and so impatiently for anything.  After two
days, Jean had finally kicked him out of the infirmary.  She said he'd been
making a pest of himself.  Honestly, he'd just been looking after Marie.
After two more days, he was nearly ready to battle his way back in.  Jean had
given him no news of her condition improving, and no hope for her recovery.

  He'd finally gone after Scott, thinking that as leader of the mission he
should have done something to prevent what had happened.  Unfortunately,
Scooter had agreed with him and hadn't put up the fight that Logan so
desperately wanted.

  Now, it had been a week.  They'd let him in to see her a few times, but he
couldn't stand to watch it.  They'd moved her to a holding room, so that she
could move around without escaping.  Actually, they'd thought that Logan's
concerns about the restraints were valid, given his memories of captivity.
Marie hadn't been still since.  She didn't sleep, wouldn't eat, and most
times hovered over the ground with a murderous look in her eyes.

  Marie had finally ripped off the body stocking, as well as the gown, and now
hovered naked in the confinement area.  Her hair was knotted and wild, her
expression angry and frightened, and she made it clear that Logan brooked no
special treatment from her.  She had no clue who he was, much less what they
had shared.

  Logan lowered his head to rest his forehead against the clear Lexan of the
viewing area.  She wasn't getting any better, and there wasn't a damn thing
he could do about it.  The only thing that could be reasonably said about her
was that she was weaker than she had been, and thus less likely to hurt
anyone.  It didn't make Logan feel any better.

  The professor had come in with him, and was now opening his eyes, focusing
on things around him rather than Marie's hectic mind.

  "Anything?" Logan asked, but there was little hope in his voice.

  "Only Carol," he said softly.  "She simply isn't strong enough to push her
aside."

  "How long can this last?" Logan asked.  "I was only in her mind for a few
days."

  "She didn't kill you," the professor explained.  "While she's retained some
of your traits, such as stubbornness and lack of trust, she didn't take in
all of you.  If she had, I'd imagine that we'd have had a similar situation.
Her mind simply wouldn't have been powerful enough to combat your stronger
personality."

  Logan thought about that for several moments.  "Would Carol be strong enough
to fight my personality?" he finally asked.

  Xavier looked at him, really looked at him, clearly judging his mental state
as he evaluated the idea.  "I don't know," he answered.

  "We've done it your way for a week," Logan explained.  "It's not helping
her."

  "I have no desire to put another of the team at risk," he answered, shaking
his head.  "It wouldn't be safe."

  "What if it was?" Logan asked, urgency coming into his voice.  "It isn't as
though we haven't done it before.  We could at least check with Hank and
Jeannie.  Maybe it would work."

  The professor shook his head once more.  "I don't approve," he told the
younger man.  "But we can ask."


  It had been that simple.  In retrospect, Logan had no clue why he hadn't
thought of it earlier.  Marie was battling Carol in her head, and it only
made sense to send him in to help her out.  Hank had balked a bit, but
Jeannie had been optimistic about the chance.  As for him, he was just glad
to be doing something, rather than sitting around with his thumb in his ear.

  Now, he found himself facing the hard part: getting a grip on a flying
Marie.  Even weakened by hunger, she was not only fast but strong.  He'd had
his hands on her once, but he hadn't been prepared for her strength.  Since
then, she had stayed as far out of his grip as possible, now huddling in the
upper corner of the room.  The professor and Jeannie were watching at the
observation window, and he wondered just how stupid he looked before deciding
that he didn't really care.

  He'd tried coaxing, and he'd tried begging.  Hell, he'd even tried threats.
The problem was, this Carol didn't know who the fuck he was, and she didn't
trust him at all.  Still, somewhere in there, enough of Marie had to be left
to come to him.  She just had to be.  He couldn't have lost her this way.

  He tried for another two hours before taking a break.  He had a bite to eat,
drank a beer, and then went back into the room for round two.  Thankfully,
when he went in she was dozing slightly, and was down at his level.  He crept
quietly towards her, poised in case she should awaken, and once he was near
enough he grabbed her from behind.

  He would have liked to have been gentle, but Carol didn't allow it.  He
hoped that the invulnerability Jeannie seemed so certain of was actually the
truth, otherwise he'd be explaining bruises to Chuck for the next month.

  Logan had grabbed her by the upper arm, and now he took the opportunity to
ease his hands town the screaming, squirming woman to her wrists.  Their skin
was meeting without a barrier, but she wasn't pulling anything from him.  To
reinforce his grip, and also to gain a little more leverage, he crossed her
arms over her body and sat down against the wall with his own arms wrapped
around her.  Then, he held her.

  And held her.

  Ten minutes later, he still hadn't felt any more than the most cursory pull
of her mutation on  his energy, and he wondered if he'd imagined that.
Swinging a leg up over hers, he kept her in his grip while he reached back
and tugged off his shirt.  Perhaps more skin exposed would help.  It couldn't
do any less.

  And he held her.

  It was the most frightening sensation, to have Marie in his arms and yet not
be holding her.  He wasn't sure what to do about it.  She was still tugging
against him, still grunting and grumbling without forming coherent words.
Regardless, he held her until he felt her mutation kick in.

  It hit quickly, but it wasn't too fast for him.  He eased her away with one
hand, feeling the drain for a few moments.  It was the same painful sensation
he'd experienced the first time, but it wasn't as intense, wasn't as
overwhelming.  He could maintain his composure while the drain took place,
and he could feel when it became too much.

  Just as he began to feel dizzy, he pushed her away and slid the discarded
shirt between them.  She had stopped struggling, so he released her arms and
continued to restrain her with only his leg thrown over hers while he caught
his breath.  He heard the professor in his head, and sent back a thought that
he was okay, and that everything was under control.  He hoped he was right.

  As he tried to regain his strength, he looked down at the woman leaning
against him.  Her head flashed back and forth, hitting him in the chest
repeatedly, but the struggle was within her rather than against him.  The
professor sent him another thought, that she was fighting now, and he said a
silent prayer in thanks.

  It took a while for him to regain his strength.  While she hadn't taken
enough to cause unconsciousness, it had been a near thing.  He waited while
she struggled in his arms, while she moaned and thrashed, and then waited
more while she finally relaxed into sleep.  For some reason, he felt he'd won
a battle.

  It was several hours more before he knew he'd have to go through it all
again.  She awoke in his arms, screeching and tugging away, and he did the
only thing he could.  Clutching her arms once more, the shirt tossed aside,
he held onto her for dear life.  He sent a mental yell to the professor,
letting him know that Carol was back in control and that he might need some
backup, and then he settled in to wait.

  It was a long wait.  Nearly an hour later the pull began, although far
weaker than it had been the previous time.  While he was used to it taking
longer each time he touched her, a fact they'd noted after the third time
they'd touched, he wasn't used to the lessening of the intensity.  Not like
this.  Still, after quite a long time, he began to feel dizzy once more and
he reached for the shirt to protect himself.

  As he moved the shirt into place, he shifted Marie between cramped legs and
held her once more with a leg.  She turned to him, gazed up into his eyes,
and for the first time in over a week he saw the woman he loved.

  "Logan?" she asked.

  "I'm here," he told her.  "I'm not going anywhere."



  (concluded in part 4)

(continued directly from part 3)


  It wasn't over, though.  Before he'd regained his strength from the drain,
she was thrashing again.  Still, the glimpse he'd had of Marie inside all
that confusion had been enough to let him know he was on the right track.
With renewed determination, he set about giving as much of himself to her as
he possibly could.

  Three more times he allowed her to drain what energy she could from him.
The last time, he'd gotten frustrated with the wait for her mutation to
recognize another body, and had stripped off his pants to allow more
skin-to-skin contact.  He didn't know if it had helped or not, but eventually
the pull started for the last time.  He felt it start, never felt it really
intensify, and finally felt it ebb.  He hadn't released her, but her mutation
had released him.

  They'd always wondered if he could develop an immunity to her mutation.  Now
they knew.

  In any case, he had done all he could.  He bunched his shirt up to use as a
pillow, and tugged Marie into his arms as he leaned over to rest. They had
been at it for over twelve hours, and he was beyond tired. He held her in
that position - her back against his, her bottom in his lap, and his legs
wrapped around hers - until they both drifted into an uneasy sleep.  She
didn't fight him now, but neither did she turn and show any recognition.

  When he awoke hours later, he found a blanket over the two of them and a
real pillow under his head.  He eased Marie more snugly into his warmth,
tightened his protective hold on her, and then let himself drift back to
sleep.


  Marie opened her eyes slowly, the dim light in the room almost more than her
senses could take.  She remembered the feeling - senses far to strong to
ignore - and she remembered where it came from.  Logan was in her again, as
well as stretched out behind her.

  She didn't have to roll over to know whose warmth was radiating through her.
  Her head hurt, sounds seemed to be all around her, and yet she could make
out nothing.  Her eyes were gradually adjusting to the light, and her mind
was trying to piece together what had happened.

  What she remembered reminded her of the images from Logan's mind.
Scattered, fragmented, and incoherent.  Still, with effort, she was able to
piece together what had happened before the void began.

  She'd been trying to talk to Carol Danvers.  She'd been so proud that Jean
had let her do it herself, and she'd been so desperate to succeed.  When
Carol had become agitated, she'd put her hands out in a gesture of
friendship.  Carol had panicked, and had grabbed her at the wrist.

  Her wrists.  The one vulnerable place between her uniform and her gloves.
Carol's hands had gripped, and Rogue had tried to pull away, but the fear and
stubbornness had spread from Carol's mind and into hers, and she'd been
helpless.

  After that, she had scattered pieces of memory.  Mostly she remembered the
fear.  It was as though she had been locked up within her own mind, and Carol
had held the key.  She hadn't been able to escape on her own.  Then, as if in
a dream, Logan had been there.  He'd helped her beat back Carol, and he'd
gotten her out.

  It didn't make any sense at all.

  What made less sense was the man wrapped around her.  Granted, she was
grateful for the warmth, but that didn't help her understand.  She could feel
the soft bristle of chest hair on her back, the smoothness of his inner arms
on her belly, and even the press of his arousal at her bottom.  It was
something she had experienced in dreams, but this felt much more real than
that.

  She turned herself in his arms - not an easy task given the grip he had on
her - and tried to look at him.  Restless in sleep, he resisted her movement
and tried to tug her back into his body even as she moved away.  Remembering
that startling him was not the safest way to wake him, she called his name
softly.

  "Logan?"

  No response.  She shifted away from him slightly, made sure his knuckles
were facing away from both of them, and tried again.

  This time he cracked one eye, grunted, and closed it back.  She had to smile
at that.  Before she could make another attempt to gain his attention, both
of his eyes flew open and he met her gaze evenly.  "Hey."

  "Hey, yourself," she responded.  She watched his brow furrow, his eyes close
and open, and then he was shifting away from her.

  "How you feeling?" he asked.  His voice was gravelly from sleep, deeper than
it usually was.

  "Okay, I guess," she answered.  Her face creased as she tried to remember
what had happened since Carol had grabbed her, but as before it was blurred
in confusion.  "I'm going to have to ask what we're doing here."

  Logan reached up and traced a finger along her cheek.  "Carol got in your
head," he explained.  "I gave you a little help getting her out."

  Marie nodded, then slipped her arms around Logan and snuggled into her
favorite position with her head on his chest.  He didn't respond at first,
but finally he wrapped his arms around her and rolled onto his back, pulling
her with him so that he could hold her.  They lay that way for a long time
before Marie spoke again.

  "I'm hungry," she murmured.  "And dizzy."

  "We'll have Jeannie check you out," he offered.  "You haven't eaten in a
while."

  She nodded against his chest, and he didn't continue.  "How long?"

  "A week," was the response.  Her head jerked up at that, so he continued.
"You wouldn't eat, flew all over the room, and beat the crap out of anyone
with the nerve to catch you.  I'd say Carol wasn't a terribly nice person."

  Marie grinned at first, visualizing herself flying around the room, then her
expression turned grim.  "Was?" she asked in a small voice.

  "I'm sorry, baby," he said softly.  "They couldn't get her hands off you
until it was too late.  Hank thinks that's why you couldn't shake her on your
own."

  "I killed her," she said softly, her voice near breaking.  "But I'm not
affecting you at all.  Did they turn it off?"  She ran her hands around to
his chest, enjoying the textures of hair and skin without the barrier of
gloves.  It was something he had never allowed her to do.  Not for any length
of time.

  "Not exactly," he told her.  "I let you take what you needed, trying to get
me into your head so you could push her back, and after a while you just
didn't take anymore."

  "So, I can touch you now?"

  He ran his hands up her back, tangling them in her hair.  "Looks like."

  Marie did her best to control the roller coaster of emotions that was
tearing her apart, but she finally just laid her head down on Logan's chest
and cried.  Her fondest dream and her worst nightmare had occurred almost
simultaneously, and she couldn't seem to wrap her mind around it.  Logan
didn't bother to try to explain.  He just held her tighter, and he let her
cry.


  Marie stood in the doorway of the bathroom wearing only her towel.  Logan
smiled at the uncertainty in her eyes, and even the genuine fear that was
tensing her body.  She had no clue what to do, and he found it endearing.

  She'd spent the last three days in the med-lab.  Dehydrated and
malnourished, it had taken that long for her to get her strength back.  Her
mental state was fairly stable given all that had happened, but Logan still
had his concerns about her.  She'd been through quite a lot in a very short
time, and he wasn't sure what she would do about it.

  After watching her stand there for more than a full minute, he held out his
hand to her.  Cautiously, she walked towards him and took his hand.  He
grinned then, and let her off the hook.

  "Just put your pajamas on," he told her with a smile.

  "You won't mind?" she asked, her voice small and soft.

  "It's been a busy week.  Just because we can touch each other doesn't mean
that we have to.  Right now you need sleep more than you need to wrestle in
bed."

  She nodded, and he released her hand to watch her walk to her dresser.  He
didn't have it in him to watch the towel drop, so he turned away and made a
careful job out of lowering the light on her side of the bed.  She was still
complaining about loud sounds and bright lights, so he thought it couldn't
hurt.  That was the down side of being in her head.  Still, it was the last
time he would be there, and he was beginning to regret that.

  Jeannie and Hank had both reassured him about her safety.  While Carol's
thoughts had been effectively banished, her mutant abilities had not.  That
was part of what had taken so long in the med-lab.  Jeannie couldn't put in
an IV, so hydration had to happen the old fashioned way.  Her skin was
essentially invulnerable, she was a good deal stronger than even he was, and
she was able to fly.

  Correction.  She was able to bang herself into walls.  While she had the
ability, she didn't have the skill just yet, so it had been a less than
graceful attempt.  The mutant gifts were apparently hers now, along with her
deadly skin.

  Except to him.  After checking to see that Marie had indeed retained her own
gift, an experience that Beast would be a long time forgetting, they had
decided that Logan was simply immune to her mutation.  Whether it was his
immunity or the fact that she'd touched him so much that her body recognized
him, they might never know.  The bottom line was that he could touch her, and
for more than glancing contact.

  It had made for an interesting dilemma.  He'd let her move in against his
better judgment, afraid at the time that he'd hurt her in his sleep.  After a
month of sleeping in the same bed, he'd gotten over that fear.  Now it seemed
he had another fear to get over.  How could he convince himself that she
wasn't with him just because he was the only person that could touch her?

  Okay, it was insecure, but he could live with that.

  He lifted his eyes to look at her when the bed shifted.  She was wearing a
cute little tank top and a pair of tiny shorts, both of a silky material that
glowed in a light blue.  She was gorgeous.  "It was one of my favorites," she
explained.  "You wouldn't let me wear it before…"

  He stopped her words with a finger to her lips, and then a soft kiss.  "It
looks comfortable," he admitted. "Soft, too."

  "So, what's your usual sleeping wardrobe?" she asked, sliding down under the
single sheet.  They'd always slept with two sheets in the past, him beneath
one and her beneath another.  It was safer that way.  He couldn't help but be
grateful that it was no longer necessary.

  "Me?" he asked innocently.

  "There's no one else in the bed," she remarked as she turned to face him.

  "I'm wearing what I wore to bed before this gorgeous lady started showing up
in my bed."

  She raised her eyebrows at that, clearly intrigued.  With a grin, she lifted
the sheet slightly and peeked beneath.  He smacked her hand and tugged her
body over towards him as she giggled in protest.  "Hey, can't I look?"

  "Not if I want to get some sleep," he argued, wrestling her over to his side
and flipping her over onto her stomach.  He slid a hand up her back, beneath
the tank top, and rested it on soft, warm skin.  "Jeannie said you need
sleep," he informed her.  "So, sleep."

  She turned and faced him, and he was pleased to see that the earlier
uncertainty had been evaporated by their game.  He was the same Logan that
had tried to kick her out of his truck on a cold Canadian road, and she was
still the same brown-eyed kid that had trusted him when no one else had.  The
details might have changed, but they were still two souls that belonged
together.

  "Logan, do you ever think that maybe the reason I can touch just you is
because I'm supposed to touch you?" she asked softly.

  "Don't know," he replied.  "I guess that makes as much sense as anything.  I
can touch you, and you're strong enough now that you shouldn't need any help
with healing, so it seems like it's all sliding into place."

  "Like it was meant to be?" she asked, her head coming to rest on his fuzzy
chest, her hand making its way across his waist to grasp a bare hip.

  "Maybe so," he admitted.  "After all the shit we've been through, it's about
time something worked out right."

  "Yeah.  I think we deserve to live happily ever after, don't you?"

  "You've earned it, kid," he agreed softly.

  Marie cuddled into his chest, and in moments he heard her breathing deepen
and slow to the easy rhythms of sleep.  He wrapped his arms around her,
keeping her close, and decided it was time to take what life had given him
without questions or arguments.

  Maybe they would live happily ever after, after all.

  (the end)

  Author's Note:  Okay... I lied.  This story didn't really go "R" after all.
These things happen when the characters are left on their own for a while.
My apologies to those who are disappointed... you can always use your
imagination to fill in the blanks ;)

  Feedback craved: JCWimmer@...

Hey there...

Just wanted to make a quick site announcement.  The last couple of stories I
did (the Logan/Marie stories) are up on the site, and I did my best to clean
it up so it's more easily navigated.  I've also added Gowdie's stories on the
Tribute page, and a couple of links to my favorite fanfic authors.  Feel free
to drop by and check it out.

More Jean/Scott fic is to come... I promise :)

-Crys-
Come visit my site at:
www.geocities.com/cryswimmer/CrysMain.html

     Scott turned to [Jean], and was struck once more by how beautiful she
was.  As long as he lived, he didin't think he would ever tire of simply
looking at her.  So good and kind, intelligent and noble, and so
intimidatingly gorgeous that in another age, songs would have been written
about her...
     "Scott," she said in a hushed voice, her face reddening, "you're
embarrassing me."
     "Oh, come on, honey," Scott laughed.  "Can't a man gush over his lady
once in a while?  Besides, they were just thoughts."...
     "Still," she said in a girlish way...
                                                     Christopher Golden
                                                     Sanctuary
                                                     Volume 2 of Mutant Empire

[Brought to you by Milton Bradley Games.
White plastic balls not for consumption.]

http://www.wolverineandrogue.com/cheeto/strips.html

Nacey,
The Comical Avenger.
(Proud of her effort in this comic strip.)
--
Lifelong member of PETS:
People for the Ethical Treatment of Scott [Summers]
--------------------
"If Logan & Rogue were supposed to be sibling-like,
  then Hugh and Anna didn't get the friggin' memo..."
--------------------
"There are moments in life when I wish there was an undo button."

It occurred to me that while there has been a decent
amount of fanfic written which features the students
at Xavier's mansion, most of it tends to involve the
same small group: Rogue (of course), Kitty, Jubilee,
Bobby, St. John (and sometimes Gambit and Nightcrawler
as an introduced character who was not in the film).

Yet in the film, we saw several other recognizable
from comic canon students.  Of those, I think I've
seen only Peter and/or Ilyana Rasputin appear, and
that in only a few stories.

So, my challenge is this: write a story of any type
which features prominently at least one of the OTHER
known students whom we saw in the film.  Any of the
known favorites can be present, and the story can be a
romance, vignette, action-adventure....whatever, but
the other character(s) should be major players.  Below
is a list of some of the ones I recognized (and the
scene where they appear):

--Neal Sharra (Thunderbird III): talking to Bobby in
the hallway about Rogue
--Dani Moonstar (Mirage): professor's office, physics
lesson, possibly in the garage as well for the
motorbike lesson
--Peter Rasputin (Colossus): VERY brief spot, kid
drawing by the fountain, maybe in the motorbike
lesson?
--Fred Dukes (Blob): obviously overweight kid standing
in the door when Rogue interrupts Logan's nightmare,
possibly elsewhere
--Pietro Maximoff ? (Quicksilver): fast kid on the
ballcourt, kid in the window watching the Blackbird
take off
--John (or Jimmy) Proudstar (original Thunderbird, or
if Jimmy, Warpath): Indian boy standing behind
Maximoff, watching the Blackbird take off

Those are the ones I spotted.  Yes, like St. John,
both Dukes and Maximoff were "bad guys" at least for a
while in the comics.  And yes, Maximoff is Magneto's
son.  (THAT'S fodder for a story!)  Also, if Peter
Rasputin is around, his sister Ilyana (Magick) might
be, too, and if Pietro M. is around, so is his sister,
Wanda (Scarlet Witch).

For information about any or all of these characters
from the comic, you can find it here:
http://www.marvel.com/comics/bios/bios_family_xmen.html

Happy storytelling! :-)

--Min

__________________________________________________
Do You Yahoo!?
Get personalized email addresses from Yahoo! Mail
http://personal.mail.yahoo.com/

Hi, ummm... after consulting with my betas, we decided that to put the
title of the fic in the subject line might get it dumped by people's
filters, so the title isn't An AU!Fic, it's XXX Mansion.  You see the
problem, don't you? <g>


Parts 1-6 make up the first act, parts 7-11 the second.

Title:  XXX Mansion
Author: Beth
Email: eshanley@...

Rating: NC-17 sex, language, sex, violence, and a whole lotta sex
Category: AU! Humor Porno Romance
Disclaimer:  I do not own them, we all know this.  I am borrowing their
likeness and playing with it, promising to return them exhausted, but
unharmed.  Using some of the movie in here, just a warning, I don't own
that at all. <g>
Pairings: Mainly L/R, with mentions of S/J, X/O, R/J, B/St J and a l/o
Feedback:  Oh, yes please.  Nothing would make me happier.
Archive: my site, WRFA and XMMFF.  All others, ask.
Summary: XXX Mansion.  'nuff said.

Author's Notes:
On the old WR list someone mentioned ideas for fics and suggested Logan and
Marie as movie stars.  So I was on AIM talking to Donna and we just
couldn't see it... unless it was snuff films... Rogue, the earnest fluffer
working with Wolverine, the star of the studio.  The ideas kept on piling
up, and they weaved together to create this.

General warnings:  This is a porno romance, I have little doubt that the
real world is this clean and cheery.  Also, there are NO children (aside
from Scott and Jean's newborn) at the Mansion, it does not exist as a
school.  So please don't come yelling at me that I'm implying kiddie porn.

Dedicated:  To the people who have taken the time to give me feedback in
the past, I appreciate it greatly.  Thank you.  I was going to list ya'll
out, but I'm not sure if you'll appreciate it, so I won't. <g>

Special thanks to Ann for beta and reassurance that I'm not a freak.  Jenn
for beta and the constant demands for more smut.  Did I get the record?

And last, but never least, to Andariel, who got the joke.

Wolvie or Rogue Clones to you all.

Beth
July, 2001




Elisabeth A Shanley
<eshanley@...>

"Instant Gratification Takes Too Long"
      @(*|*)@  Carrie Fisher  @(*|*)@



[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

XXX Mansion 1/11
See part 0 for disclaimers, etc.

~x~X~x~


The young woman known only as Rogue was in a reflective mood as she sat at
the massive oak table in the comfortable kitchen of Charles Xavier's
mansion.  Looking at some Vancouver travel guides, she pulled her long
chestnut hair back and up into a knot at the top of her head, then grabbed
a green plastic clip and secured it tightly.  Hair out of her way, she
turned her attention back to her guide books, finding yet another
interesting Bed & Breakfast, this one just outside of Vancouver.  She wrote
down the name and the phone number and a few notes on the pros and cons of
staying there.

Putting down her pen she reached for her glass of iced tea, taking a long
sip of the sweet beverage.  Things inside this part of the mansion were
quiet - most of the activity was down at the pool, setting up for tonight's
event.  Rogue looked out the large bay window that framed a view of the
mansion's extensive gardens and pondered the roundabout path a girl from
Podunk, Mississippi took to end up in a mansion in Westchester County, New
York.

Her name hadn't been Rogue when she left Mississippi and her family at
sixteen, running from an identity that seemed to begin and end with her
mutation.  Her family hadn't forced her out; it had been more of a pushing
her away until she couldn't stay there any longer.  Even then, Rogue had
realized she couldn't handle the fear that never left her parents' eyes, or
worse, the loathing she knew they didn't even realize was there.  So six
months to the day after she had put her almost boyfriend in a coma with a
kiss, she left home, becoming the mysterious Rogue, woman of the
road.  Hitching rides up to Alaska, she finally reached Ketchikan just as
her money ran out.

A teary phone call home that first night when she reached Ketchikan, and a
call to Mississippi each year on Mother's Day was her total contact with
her family.  Mama had wired a thousand dollars to help her out after that
first call.  Rogue had refused to accept anything more from them since
then.  She had accepted that money as a gift only after her attempts at
repayment had been mailed back to her.  Using her mother's money she had
bought some forged identification that listed her age as nineteen.  Most
places wouldn't have looked too carefully at her anyway, but she was being
cautious.  Finding a job at a salmon hatchery, she moved into an efficiency
apartment within walking distance.  The hatchery job had lasted four
months, the constant smell of fish getting old fast.  A few months after
finding an entry-level job at the city tourism board working the
switchboard, she accepted a better position as a guide coordinator.

Leaving the tourism board a few months later, Rogue found her longest
lasting job.  She spent the next two years as a day trip guide for the many
cruise ships that sailed the Alaskan coast.  It was a position that allowed
Rogue to interact with people while to still maintaining the distance her
mutation had forced upon her lifestyle.  She boarded the ships in
Ketchikan, then guided the day tours when they arrived in places like
Juneau and Glacier Bay National Park.   Alaska had been a good place for
her; the ingrained respect for privacy allowed her body covering attire to
go unquestioned, even in the warmth of summer.  On the personal front, her
constantly on-the-move lifestyle managed to keep the questions about her
lack of a social life to a minimum.  Overall, the tour guide gig had been a
good one; the continually changing groups of tourists didn't have a lot of
time to notice or question her attire and personal quirks.

Rogue's life had changed significantly when five years ago she met Charlie
and Ororo Xavier.  Passengers on the cruise ship The North Star, the
wheelchair bound Xavier and his lovely wife had needed a personal guide who
could make sure their destinations were wheelchair accessible.  The head
tour director of the North Star had assigned them to Rogue, knowing she
wouldn't mind a small group.   The Xaviers hadn't questioned her about the
gloves or thin windbreaker she always wore, even in the heat of the
day.  It was obvious to her that both had noticed the care she took not to
touch anyone else skin to skin, but at no point during the first twelve
days of their two-week cruise did the Xaviers mention it.

It was the second to the last day of the Xaviers' cruise when Rogue found
the couple in their cabin, waiting to have a word with her. And what a
discussion it had been.  Rogue had wondered if they were mutants
themselves, so she wasn't surprised to find her suspicions
confirmed.  Charlie was a telepath/telekinetic and Ororo had the ability to
manipulate the weather.  While that explained the feeling of kinship Rogue
had felt for them, it was the second thing that caught her attention.

Charlie and Ororo owned Big Bald Head Productions, a new film studio back
in New York.  The studio's specialty was skinflicks with mutants in
them.   The couple surprised Rogue with a job offer to come and work in
their all-mutant studio.  Upon discovering that she was only nineteen, two
years too young to work at BBHP, they proposed another arrangement.  In a
move that completely astonished Rogue; they offered to pay for her to
attend college.  The extravagant offer seemed like a scam, but for some
reason, Rogue felt she could trust them.  Charlie made it clear that once
she finished school she was under no obligation to work for BBHP, she
wasn't selling herself, and if she agreed, she was only taking something
freely offered.

Leaving Alaska, Rogue returned to the lower forty-eight with the Xaviers on
their private jet, the Blackbird, agreeing to spend a week at their
mansion-studio.  She met the others who worked there, mutants who didn't
run from the young woman with the life force absorbing skin.  People who
didn't flinch when she wore short sleeves, even knowing what her skin could
do if touched.  Truly comfortable for the first time in years, the next
week Rogue started taking her equivalency tests for high school graduation,
determined to start college in the fall.

And she did.

Heading to Mendel College, Rogue joined some of the others the Xaviers were
sending to the school.  Kitty, Jubilee, and Remy were seniors the year
Rogue moved into the townhouse the Xaviers maintained on campus, while St.
John and Bobby were juniors.  After graduation, Kitty chose not to work at
BBHP; instead she started working at an accounting firm in the city.  Like
most of the mutants the Xaviers took into their lives but who chose not to
work with them, Kitty came to visit them when she could.  The mansion
wasn't just a work place, it was home to a varied group of
mutants.  Jubilee and Remy had jumped into making BBHP flicks right away,
their carefree natures in harmony with the spirit of the mansion.  St. John
and Bobby had followed in their footsteps a year later.

A year ago, degree in hand, Rogue made her decision to work at BBHP.  She
and the other students had spent their summers there, meeting the people,
learning how the business worked.  BBHP had come a long way since it
started eight years ago.  These days, if a person rented high quality Mutie
Porn, they were most likely renting a BBHP flick.  Xavier and Company
didn't make as many movies as the other studios, the small group of stars
and crew they had would have made that unfeasible, but they did try to make
flicks that weren't horrifically bad.  They also tried to make flicks that
would appeal to both mutant and non-mutant porn aficionados alike.

Rogue had started in the most entry of entry level of positions,
fluffer.  Granted, her job wasn't the most glamorous, but she was working
hard at it, she really was.  She was determined to be the best fluffer BBHP
ever had, which she hoped, would one day allow her to land a starring
role.  While she knew that some of her college classmates would think it an
odd, if not distasteful ambition, she really wanted the chance.  Rogue
thought she had the looks; she was short, admittedly, but she was built and
had firm breasts and nicely rounded bottom.  But for now, her job was to
excite the actors or keep them primed in between takes.

For the most part it was a week to week job, a fluffer only being needed
when a scene required the stars to be away from their partners with whom
they generally made their movies.  It was an unglamorous job, but then
Rogue had found a lot of movie making unglamorous.  It was odd how
non-arousing it could be.  She knew that many people would think blow and
handjobs would create some kind of arousal, but so far it had been like
playing doctor with her cousin.  Some situations had been surreal, like the
night a shoot had been interrupted by rain; Rogue had spent a half an hour
sitting on the sofa between St. John and Bobby, a penis in each hand.  She
gave them both a handjob while all three watched Star Trek re-runs, the two
guys eating popcorn as her hands stroked them until the shoot could start
again.   Johnny and Bobby's 'Fire and Ice' series of movies were considered
the best that Gay Mutie Porn had to offer.

Another reason she wanted to try her hand at acting was that in the five
years since she met Charlie and 'Ro back in Alaska, she was finally gaining
control over her mutation.  Working with Charlie, who had doctorates in
physics and biology, she had acquired the ability to stop her body from
instinctively activating the mutation.  With every session Rogue and
Charlie had, she was able to fine-tune her control over the trigger.  She
still used the gloves when giving handjobs and condoms when giving head,
she didn't want to tempt fate, but she knew the day when she could touch
someone skin to skin, and make love to someone, his skin touching hers, was
not far off.

It was late afternoon on a beautiful Indian summer day and Rogue was still
sitting in the kitchen, Fodor's having replaced Frommer's, her list of
possible attractions and accommodations growing with each page.  She was
munching on a pizza she had reheated in the microwave.  It tasted like
cardboard with sauce, but she was hungry and not in the mood to cook.  She
looked up curiously as Jubilee came into the kitchen, yellow robe
fluttering her in her wake like a bright tail feather.

"Roguey!  What, or should I say, who, up?"

"Nada and nothin' right now, Jubes.  I thought you were shooting tonight?"

"Yeah, we have the big scene left to do tonight for  'I'd Druid For
You'.  I gotta get down to body makeup in a few…"

Both women looked up as they heard a door slam and yelling coming from the
living room.

"You son of a bitch… There is no way…  Do you really think it's so much
fun…" Another door opened. Then, "… fuck you Wolverine!"  Which was
followed by a final, very loud slam.

"Sounded like the front door," Jubilee said placidly, not one to be excited
by such things.

"Sounded like Christy just quit," Rogue replied.

"Crap.  Wolvie is the lead in the Druid climax."  The young woman
sighed.  "Come on, let's go see how he is."

The original stars for Druid had backed out, so Jubilee and Remy had taken
over the roles.  Scott and Jean Summers, or as they were professionally
known, Cyclops and Phoenix, were taking a temporary break from the
business.  At eight months along with their first child, Jean was no longer
in the mood to make movies.   The couple was a huge draw, their last film,
'Red Shades and Mindbending Lust', an epic involving Cyclops, Phoenix, and
in a special ménage à trois, the Wolverine, was the best selling title in
BBHP's history to date.

The Wolverine was the biggest name right now at BBHP, and had been since he
started working with them six years ago.   Wolverine was the biggest thing
at BBHP, period. Jean said that she wouldn't do another film until after
the baby was born, especially not with Wolverine.  Rogue overheard the
redhead telling Ororo that she was sure the kid knew in utero that
Wolverine was circumcised.

It obvious to all that Wolverine on film was like recording money onto a
videocassette.  He was well muscled, well endowed, quiet - even sulky - and
he had claws.  Big, long claws of metal.  The first shoot that Rogue had
seen them at she had been shocked, but then she found it kind of…
sexy.  Which, amazingly enough, wasn't a novel opinion of them. While he
mingled with the rest of the mansion's inhabitants, when he had time
between shoots he left in his old pickup and camper, usually heading up
north.  Rogue's interactions with Wolverine had been limited, their
schedules during her college years being at odds with his.  She had never
fluffed Wolverine; he had - or maybe she should say had had - his own
personal fluffer, a mid-level telepath/telekinetic named Christy.

Following Jubilee down the hall, Rogue wondered for a minute why she was
going with, but as was usual with the group that had gone to school with
the energetic woman, Rogue followed her as she led the way to the living
room.  Jubilee had always had that effect on them.

Knocking softly on the door Jubilee inquired, "Wolvie?"  Jubilee had
nicknames for everyone, whether they appreciated them or not.

"Yeah?"

Jubilee took the question as an invitation, and pulling Rogue by a gloved
hand, entered the library.  Wolverine, in a black silk robe, was sitting on
the library sofa looking incredibly calm, even bored as he read the newspaper.

"You okay, dude?"

"I'm fine Jubilee."  His voice was cool, anyone else would have taken the
hint and retreated. But Jubilee was not one to take hints when she didn't
want to, and Rogue was interested in watching this play out.

"Was that Christy?"

"Yeah.  She decided that she could get a better gig someplace else."

"You okay with that, Wolverine?" Jubilee asked.

He lowered the paper, and looked at the young woman, the dog tags he always
wore shining dully in the light of the reading lamp.  "Jubilee, she was an
employee, not my fuckin' prom date."

"Okay.  You gonna be ready for tonight?"

"Always get the job done, Jubilee.  You know that."

"Okay, babe.  I'm heading down to make up.  See ya later."

With that she left, leaving Rogue staring at Wolverine.  Brown eyes met
hazel.   "You sure you're okay, Wolverine?"

His eyebrow raised at her concern.  "Just peachy, darlin'."

With a nod Rogue turned around and left the room, heading back to her cold
pizza, feeling his eyes still on her as she closed the door.

~x~X~x~


An hour later, Rogue was ignoring the blaring commercials on the TV set in
the kitchen, still working on finding the best route and places to stay
during her vacation.  Hearing a faint whirring sound, she turned and
watched as Charlie wheeled into the kitchen and parked at a spot next to
where she sat at the large oak table.  His smooth head reflecting the rays
from the track lighting, he gave her a kind smile and asked if he could
speak with her for a minute.  She had an idea of what he would want.

"Rogue, I was rather hoping you could help us out tonight, I'm afraid that
we could use someone to help out with - "

"Wolverine?"  Rogue finished for him, giving him a knowing smile.  There
were somethings you didn't have to be a psychic to figure out.

"Errr… yes.  He is the consummate professional, of course, but I think it
would be good for him to have some… stimulation for the final scene.  It
would be a great favor if you could help out tonight."   Charlie gave her a
look of relief, and she could have sworn there was a bit of merriment
lurking in his blue eyes.

A number of good reasons to volunteer to fluff the star went through her
mind, as well as the memory of Wolverine's physique in that black silk
robe.  "Sure, Charlie.  I can do that," she told him, turning her attention
from her recollection of muscles beneath silk back to the conversation at hand.

Charlie rested a hand on her shoulder, giving her arm a light squeeze.  "If
you would, my dear.  Then come down to the set if you would?  We might need
an extra hand with the cum shots.  Hank wants the scene to be a big finale."

Rogue knew that this could be the start of something good; a shiver ran
down her spine as she remembered those eyes.  Getting up, she put her empty
glass in the sink.  "I'll go down to his dressing room now, then.  When do
we need to be on the set?"

"In about half an hour, I should think.  We have all the scenes shot up to
the finale." Charlie said.  "Thank you, my dear.  It is very kind of you to
help out."

"No problem, Charlie."

   She watched him wheel out the door, his wheelchair headed toward the
outdoor pool where the finale for 'I'd Druid For You' was to be
shot.  Rogue started thinking of what she would need to bring with her
before she headed down to the cabanas that served as dressing rooms when
they were doing a shoot down by the gardens or the pool.

As she climbed the stairs to her room, her mind was already poolside,
trying to think of the best way to fluff the biggest star BBHP had.

~x~X~x~

Ten minutes and one quick stop later, she was at Wolverine's dressing
room.  The door was open and she could see him sitting on the sofa, just
like he had been in the library.  He was still in the black robe, but it
was hanging open and he was reading a book.  His dog tags were absent, no
doubt having been removed before the blonde wig went on, covering his short
dark hair.   She glanced at the cover; slightly amused it was the same
Jonathan Kellerman mystery she was currently reading.

"Heya, Wolverine."

"Rogue.  Charlie said you'd be comin'."  He looked thoughtful as stood up
and tossed the book onto a nearby chair.

"Well, I don't think I'm the one he wants to come," she cracked, glad to
see the faint smile that touched his lips.

"Yeah," he started to run his hand through his hair, or more precisely, the
blonde wig he was currently sporting for the role of Thor, Druid Priest,
then stopped.  "Been to hair already, but Charlie asked if you could do the
oil up…" he trailed off.

Rogue looked at the muscly chest.  "I think I can handle that."  This time
she got a full-fledged grin, his white teeth bright in the relative shadows
of the room.  "Wolverine, you ummm… know about my mutation?"

"Absorption by skin, right?"

"Yeah.  Charlie and I are working to control it, but it's still a bit hit
and miss sometimes.  I'll use the gloves, but I have this if you want to
start out more full-body," Rogue said as she pulled a sheet sized piece of
thin cotton mesh from her bag.  "But either way, you should wear
these."  She handed him a pair of latex gloves.

"Why don't we start out full body?" he answered, pulling out the futon sofa
to make a flat bed.  He tugged on the gloves, looking at her expectantly.

"All right.  Why don't you lay down then?  Take off your robe."  His answer
had taken her somewhat by surprise; usually it was just your basic blow or
handjob.   Then again, with the coupley situation here at BBHP, there
wasn't much call for a fluffer to handle the stars before shooting
began.  Generally, the fluffers came in when there was a long period of
time before the next scene could be shot, when the star would become…
disengaged.  Rogue had fluffed Bobby a week ago when 'Fire and Ice: Flames
of Ice' was shot, and as always it was just a handjob.  Scott preferred
blowjobs while Remy liked both, depending on his mood, and what he and
Jubilee had done to each other beforehand.

When Wolverine was stretched out on the bed, Rogue considered him for a
moment, looking at the thoroughly appealing chest, the manhood impressive
even as it hung mostly lax between his legs. Without looking at his face
she knew that he was watching her closely, and a warm feeling started low
in her belly.  She removed the sweatshirt she was wearing, then her sweat
pants.  Underneath she wore a sheer body suit made of the same cotton mesh
as the sheet; she'd found the body suits easier to wash than sweats when it
came to the body oil.

With a practiced flick of her wrists, she covered him with the sheet, from
neck to toes, then followed him onto the bed; her knees on either side of
his hips, her warm body in contact with his at all times.  She started by
brushing her breasts against his chest while her pelvis perched on his. She
let the friction prod his body to attention, letting the pressure tease as
many nerve endings as possible to sit up and dance.   He was solid under
her, his body a mass warm of muscles and metal.

Moving down his body she rubbed her breasts into his crotch, feeling his
penis getting harder as the blood surged and engorged the sensitive
flesh.  Her sex resting on his upper thighs, Rogue stretched back along his
body, making sure to stroke herself against him she bit his nipples gently
through the fabric.  She was startled when he grabbed her head and pulled
her back with a single command.

"Harder."

Feeling his cock twitch beneath her, she was happy to oblige.  She bit
harder, then soothed him with warm and wet strokes of her tongue.  Her hand
slid down his body, playing with that thick flesh surging under the thin
cotton veil.  Giving him a smile, which to her surprise he returned, she
continued to fondle his swelling length, his hips twisting upwards when her
warm hands encircled and stroked him.  Making sure the areas of sheet
covering his nipples were wet, she blew softly, smiling when he rewarded
her with a shiver.  Her tongue once again soothed him, a pleasantly
arousing hum running through both of them.

It had never felt this personal before, she thought as her mouth skimmed
his brawny shoulders.  Nor had a fluffee ever been so focused on her.  She
felt a shock when she realized she becoming aroused.   Arousing Wolverine
wasn't anything like playing with her cousin.  It felt good.

When he started to growl, a low, sexy, sound, Rogue's shocked brown eyes
flew back to look into his intense hazel ones.  The vibrations came from
deep in his chest, causing her to tremble.  As their bodies shook at the
intimate contact, Rogue delighted in the feeling of power.  Shaking off the
arousal that continued to surge unbidden, she slid down, making certain her
breasts pressed into every sinewy furrow in his chest and stomach.

Rogue settled herself at his feet, and pulling the fabric, gave herself
enough to form a pouch.  Slowly, she took him into her mouth, her hands
never stopping their caresses; stroking from the sensitive skin of his
inner thighs to his balls.  She was strangely disappointed when he tried to
thrust deeper into her mouth, his arousal peaking, the wet spot on the
sheet coming from both sides.   She felt the pulse inside that sensitive
length of flesh as it throbbed strongly against her fabric protected lips.

Unfortunately, that clear signal of total arousal meant she had to cut this
short; her job was to excite him, get him hard for the scene, not to suck
him off.  While her mind was telling her that she had to stop, the rest of
her body obeyed much more slowly.  It seemed like forever until she eased
back, his hardness falling from her lips.

"Wolverine?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"We need to get you oiled, then I can do a little more before we go down to
the set."

"Fuck."  He sat up and looked at her, her nipples hard under the thin
cotton, and she had a feeling he could smell her arousal.  He looked down
at his straining manhood.  "Fuck. Sometimes this job ain't worth it."  He
watched as she got off the bed, then followed, using the sheet to wipe the
droplet of pre-cum off the tip of his blood-swollen manhood.

Trying to conceal her own unsteadiness, Rogue went to the table and picked
up the tube of peppermint flavored massage oil.  She told him to stand on
the mat next to the table, and with a shadowed glance at her, he did as she
asked.  She poured some of the oil into her gloved hands, breathing on it
to warm it up.  With a precision learned from watching the Phoenix and
Cyclops series, "Mindbending Massage", she smoothed the oil on his
shoulders.  She worked it in, leaving his skin with a shiny luster.  She
motioned him to lean down so she could get the grooves of his
neck.  Consenting, he bent at the waist and Rogue was shocked by the
sensation of his warm breath on her breasts as she molded herself to him in
order to work the oil into the firm muscles.   His breathing was slow, and
her body gave tiny shivers every time his breath whispered onto her rigid
nipples.  A shock ran through her when his tongue slipped out, licking one
of the hard peaks.

That wasn't something that usually happened to a fluffer. Continuing to
massage the oil into his neck, she felt him flex, heard the cracking sound
as he did.  Running her fingers around to his throat, she gently rubbed the
oil in.  Her hands strayed down over his shoulders to his biceps, and for
some reason she never asked him to move.  When his lips closed over a
hardened nipple, she felt a shock, but no real surprise.  Letting the
humming pleasure of the caress run through her, she didn't comment when his
large hands encircled her waist, and lifted her up slightly so he no longer
had to bend down to let his mouth work the tight nubbin.

She continued to knead his muscles, even as he moved to the other
breast.  Her gloved hands moved to his other bicep, the oil long since
absorbed by his skin.  They were both lost in a world of sensation, the
real purpose of this touching and stroking forgotten until a crash from
outside the cabana interrupted their concentration.

"Wolverine?" she asked, regretting it when his lips abandoned her nipple,
leaving the cotton covering wet and molded to her aching flesh.

"Yeah?"

"I need more oil."

He said nothing, only nodded and lowered her, releasing his grip on her
hips, his eyes never leaving hers as she leaned down for the bottle of
oil.  Pouring some more into her palm, she started again, this time
standing to his side, her body still close to his, her warm center pressed
close to his thigh.  Wolverine smiled, his nostrils flaring, inhaling the
scent of her arousal, but he didn't move.  He just stood still as she
finished oiling the densely muscled arm.

She had him turn around and ran her hands over his back, this time moving
farther down, moving to his waist then up. Rogue rubbed hard on the small
of his back, where she was rewarded with another ragged growl, followed by
a thrust of his hips.  Every ridge and valley of his lower back was oiled
and massaged; her hands alternately pressing firm and deep, then softly,
just a feather light stroke.  Moving lower, she worked his buttocks, giving
the glutes the same firm then light strokes, her reward a growl that turned
into a deep purring sound.

She massaged the oil into the leg muscles from the back, her hands making
the tight muscles loose, while at the same time her touch caused his whole
body to tense.  Finishing the backs of his thighs, she told him to turn
around, and on her knees was presented with his straining and engorged cock
protruding from the shock of springy dark hairs.  She thought offhandedly
that he must have an amazing cardiovascular system to pump the blood so
strongly.

Rogue continued with more oil as she moved up his calves then his thighs
again.  She took special care on the sensitive inner skin of his thighs.  A
quick oiling of his cock and balls, but she couldn't let him find release;
regrettably this was fluffing, not satisfaction time.  That left only his
chest, where she made sure she rubbed his flat and hard nipples until he
growled at her.  She found the low sound addictive, shaking slightly as she
felt his manhood twitching, trapped between their bodies as she massaged
him.  One look back into his eyes and she knew they could be back on that
bed in a minute, both moving toward satisfaction.

"Wolverine?"  The knock and call came from outside the door, and a second
later Hank came into the room.  Rogue stepped away from Wolverine, knowing
that the blue, furry director noticed, but glad he wouldn't say anything
about how close the she had been to his star and the still drying circles
of cotton that highlighted her nipples.   "Ahhh… I see you have been well
prepared for the final scene.  Rogue, Wolverine, if you will, we will go
forth and finish this masterpiece."

Their glazed eyes met, and almost in a daze, Rogue put her sweats back on
and Wolverine shrugged on his black robe.   He tied it loosely; his well
oiled chest shimmering, his erect penis swaying in front of him, poking out
from the robe.

They followed Hank down to the field of grass by the large outdoor pool
where Jubilee and the rest of the cast and crew were waiting, ready to wrap
up the final act of the cinematic masterpiece, 'I'd Druid For You'.

~x~X~x~

XXX Mansion 2/11
See part 0 for disclaimers, etc.

~x~X~x~

The set itself was simple.  While many of BBHP's movies were what could be
considered romances, or sensual instructional vids like the Cyclops and
Phoenix 'Mind Bending' series; sometimes they also did whimsical cheese
like this particular gem.  Most of the movies incorporated the stars'
mutations and talents, but the main point was to get the audience
off.  Though admittedly, sometimes there was a tongue firmly wedged in
BBHP's collective cheek.

For 'I'd Druid for You', there was a  'sacrificial altar' set up on a dais
just in front of the pool, which had been transformed into a dark and murky
cistern.  Large stone gargoyle statuary stood here and there, and to the
side, a large stone carving of the sun and moon.

Jubilee smiled as they approached, but didn't move, 'chained' as she was to
the sacrificial altar.  "Dudes!  Hey, good to see you, Roguey.  You too,
Wolvie.  And big little Wolvie.  Never seen him quite that excited.  This
should be a good scene," she bubbled.

"Jubilee, please, we need to get this scene finished while we still have
some faint light."  Hank looked at Jubilee over the bridge of his glasses,
his attention half on his stars, half on the crew person talking to him.

"You bet, Hank. One vestal virgin awaits," Jubilee snickered.

Hank motioned to Remy, Jubilee's paramour and current co-star, and he
removed the sheet spread over Jubes to keep her warm in the cool night
air.  Watching Wolverine out of the corner of one eye, Rogue observed the
hubbub of the final preparation.  She knew that the orgy scene had been
filmed two nights ago, but rain had delayed the filming of this, the final
sacrifice scene.  One of the crew gave Rogue a flexible plastic squeeze
bottle, the kind restaurants used for ketchup and mustard.  The first time
she had been handed one she hadn't had a clue what to do with it.  She
quickly discovered they contained liquid soap to mimic ejaculate during
group cum shots.   Messy, but as Jubilee had once said, the soap made
cleaning up after these kinds of shoots quicker.

Charlie and 'Ro were looking over the script, checking to make sure the
scene looked enough like the last time they had shot down here, two nights
ago.   As much as they could, Charlie and Hank liked to get the scenes to
mesh; it seemed to make the process of making the videos seem a little less
slapdash.

Wolverine, looking dark, blonde, and fearsome, as befitted the head of a
pseudo-Druidic cult, was draped in a black cloak.  It was conveniently
opened in front to show off his impressive manhood, and, Rogue thought to
herself, her hard work.  At the call of 'Action!' from Hank, Wolverine
strode to the dais above the altar upon which Jubilee was 'chained' naked
and spread eagle.

"Oh Druin, we beg you with this sacrifice.  Bless our harvest.  Make our
loins strong with young, so that we may continue in our sacred worship of you."

Rogue had to admit the Wolverine was good.  He'd actually managed to spit
out that dialogue without laughing.  With that incantation, a whole group
of black clad mutant men holding and stroking their erect penises of
varying size came forward and surrounded Jubilee, who was furiously trying
to free herself from her 'chains'.  The mutants started to ejaculate onto
her writhing body as Wolverine intoned,  "With the sacrifice of our strong
and virile seed, we beg for your favor."

At that Rogue and a few others crawled up so while hidden by the
masturbating supplicant's robes, they could shower the sacrifice with the
dish soap ejaculate.  Rogue was so focused on staying out of the shot that
she never noticed the hazel eyes watching her as strong hands began to
stroke toward release.

"Druin, we give all we are to you! Glory to you forever!"

And with that, Wolverine came, the camera following the stream of sperm as
it arced.   It was in that moment that Jubilee broke free of her chains and
started showering the mutants with her 'sparklies'.  As the 'wounded'
mutant men fell, Jubilee, with a furious yank, pulled free of the altar and
ran down the steps, pushing the high Druidic Wolverine off the dais into
the 'cistern' behind him.

Once in the water, Wolverine waited on the side of the pool, just out of
sight of the camera, hidden behind the dark plastic foliage.  Some of the
crew threw dry ice into the pool, causing a mist to form.

The cameras focused on Jubilee as she ran up the hill to embrace Remy, who
had been fighting his way to the dais through another group of Druidic
Mutant Men.   Turning, Jubilee sprayed the druids with more charged
plasma.  The black clad men turned and ran for the trees.  Remy, having
grabbed a few sticks, charged and threw them at the retreating Druids, who
continued their break for freedom.  Taking his long coat off, Remy wrapped
it around Jubilee, the camera having shot enough scenes of the nude
sacrifice's triumph over the evil druids.

On Hank's signal, Wolverine ducked under the water.  Rogue turned her
attention back to the 'cistern'.   The second camera panned along the dark
and misty deck, and then took a long shot, returning to move in close to
the pool.  The dry ice mist was blowing off, and then - *snikt* - three
metal claws shot up from the water.   The set was silent for the count of
five, needing the shot to last long enough to set up the planned sequel.

"Cut!" Hank yelled and looked over to Charlie and 'Ro, who nodded
enthusiastically from the storyboard.  "Now that's good film.  I believe we
have indeed succeeded tonight.  Congratulations, everyone." A wet
Wolverine, the black cloak wet and clinging, climbed up the steps, out of
the pool.

The shoot finished, the crew began to clean up, hosing the altar down and
moving the equipment back to the storage buildings.  The actors pulled on
clothes and start to drift in the direction of the house once their
assigned jobs were finished.  Rogue watched as Sylvia, the hair and make up
lady, brought Wolverine a towel and his robe.  With a nod he took the
towel, pushing the blonde wig and wet cloak at her.   Finished drying
himself off, he threw the towel on a table and shrugged into the robe.

"Roguey!  You comin' back up to the house for a late supper?"  Jubilee,
back in her bright yellow robe, Remy in tow, bounced up, covered in drying
ejaculate and liquid soap, looking the worse for wear.

"Might as well; that cold pizza wasn't that filling."

"Cool.  You comin', Wolvie?" Jubilee added, looking over Rogue's shoulder.

Turning, Rogue saw Wolverine grimace as he usually did at the nickname,
"Why not. What're we ordering?"

" 'Ro went up to order from Kam Fong.  Should be here by the time
everything's put away."

Wolverine grunted.  " 'Kay.  Gonna go get cleaned up and changed then.  Be
there in a few."

Remy turned to Jubilee, "Gonna go up too, chere. Need to help Hank with the
cameras."   He grabbed a camera and a few other bits and pieces from the
last pile of equipment and headed up the path.

"Okay Wolvie, bye babe", Jubilee grinned as Wolverine shook his head in
resignation at the nickname and started up the path to the house.   As soon
as the tall, dark Wolverine was out of sight she turned to Rogue and
grinned cheerfully. "He likes you, chica." Jubilee sing-songed, ignoring
Rogue's blush.

Rogue shook her head. "Jubes, I was his fluffer, and just this
once.  That's not exactly the road to romance you know."

"Oh whatever, babe.  The road is what you make of it.  Remy and I didn't
start getting serious until we started in all this, you know."  Threading
her vividly yellow clad arm through Rogue's, Jubilee pulled her toward the
brightly-lit mansion.

"You were his fluffer?"

"Hell no, babe."  The grin grew even wider.  "He was mine."

Laughing, they entered the house.


~x~X~x~

Two Months Later.

Sitting on a wooden bench in the mansion's extensive greenhouse, Rogue
watched Ororo work on some plantings she had gotten from a local
nursery.    They often spent time here together after Rogue's mutation
control sessions with Charlie.  The calming greens soothed her nerves, and
she had found 'Ro a good companion, since the older woman never forced her
to talk if she wasn't in the mood.  Most of the time they just had a
leisurely afternoon; 'Ro gardening, Rogue concentrating on fine-tuning her
control.

"Rogue, how was your session today?  Do you feel more confident?"

"Yes."  She thought for a moment, picking at a leaf that had fallen onto
the bench.  Looking back at 'Ro, who was transplanting a bright yellow
Stella D'Oro lily to a large pot, she added, "I never thought I would ever
be able to control it, you know?  Every time we get to a place where I can,
when I can make the control last longer, it's … it's an odd feeling."

'Ro's smile was serene.  "Charles says that you have come far in the time
you have been with us."  Ororo was the only one who called her husband by
his given name.  "Speaking of which, Charles was asking if you would be
willing to work this weekend.  We will be shooting the Druid sequel when he
and Jean return."  The white haired woman paused, her smile growing a bit
wider.  "I believe Wolverine could use your help."

Rogue nodded, feeling a touch of warmth spreading over her cheeks.  "I can
do it.  I don't leave until Monday morning.  How long did they think they
would be in Washington?"

"They should be back tonight, they were planning on leaving as soon as
their meeting with that horrid Senator Kelly and his committee was
over.  Jean needs to return to Adam anyway; he's too young for his mother
to be gone for too long."  'Ro frowned slightly.  "Charles believes that
Senator Kelly's objections to our product lies less in the subject matter
and more in our mutations.  "

Rogue grimaced at the mention of the Senator who seemed to be fanning the
flames of hatred against mutants.

'Ro gave her a faint smile.  "Enough of such depressing subjects.  Where
did you finally decide to go for your vacation?"

"I'm going to drive across Canada.  Spend some time in Vancouver.  Then
drive back, a little farther north.  I'll be gone a little over a month."

"You will be sure to take your cell phone, yes?"

Rogue smiled at the beautiful woman giving her a motherly frown. "Yes,
Charlie already made sure I would be in a coverage area at all times.  Just
after he had Scott steal my car to have it checked over."

"Good." 'Ro nodded her approval of both Rogue's plans and her husband's
actions.   "If you need anything at all, we are only a call away, do not
forget that."

Rogue smiled.  Getting up she hugged Ororo, the dark skinned beauty hugging
her back, exhibiting no concern at the lack of long sleeves or gloves.

~x~X~x~


The second movie in the Druid series would be shot on location, which meant
that the RVs were being used as dressing rooms.  It was just after four on
Sunday afternoon when the cast and crew started down the lane to the
shooting locale.  The crew was minimal, the other scenes finished and in
the can.   Only Storm and Wolverine were starring in the final scene of
'Druid Two: The Goddess Comes'.

Rogue sat across from Wolverine in the back of his RV, watching as Sylvia
applied his light make up and fitted the blonde wig.  Sylvia finished just
as Hank pulled the RV into the clearing just feet from where the final
scene would be staged.

"Wolverine, I shall go and prepare the set.  You and Rogue have about a
half an hour I believe."

Rogue nodded while Wolverine said from his position seated behind Sylvia,
"Works for me".

Sylvia gave one more tug on the blonde locks and smiled at them
both.  "That'll do ya, Wolverine.  Don't mess it up."  And with that she
left the RV, heading to Storm's, leaving Rogue and Wolverine to look at
each other.

"Sylvia takes hair seriously," Rogue said, in lieu of anything else to
say.

He nodded in agreement.  "She can be mean with her combs if you screw up
her wigs."

Standing up, Rogue started to pull off her sweater.  Wolverine stared at
her, an odd expression in his eyes.  When the sweater was gone, leaving her
in a thin-strapped tank top, he had already opened the belt of his black robe.

Leaving her thin leather gloves on, Rogue took the two steps to his
side.  "I have better control now, but I'll leave the gloves on."

"Yeah, I think someone mentioned your control was much better now."  Rogue
was surprised.  Not that someone had mentioned it - her sessions with
Charlie were by no means a secret, but surprise that he would have bothered
to pay attention to the comments at all.  His eyes narrowed as he took one
leather-covered hand in his. "Let's see how it works."  And with that he
pulled her to him, one of her bare arms automatically going around his
neck, the other pressed to his chest as he held her gloved hand in his.

In that position, it was inevitable that he would lean down and she would
stand up on her toes, inevitable that warm lips would meet.  It was only
seconds until his tongue demanded entrance and only a second after that for
her wholehearted acquiescence.    Her mutation remained dormant as he
brought her body closer to his, letting go of her hand, which automatically
joined the other around his neck, pulling her closer to the wide expanse of
his muscled chest.  His arms stole around her, reaching down to cup her
curvy bottom, lifting her to hold her closer.

Rogue felt his erection stirring between them, the firming flesh beginning
to press insistently against her.  Breaking off the kiss, he looked down
into her dark brown eyes.  Fingers encased in body heat warmed leather
moved down his body, and squeezed in between their bodies to wrap around
his manhood.   She let him get used to the warmth of her hand, then stroked
up and down the shaft, pulling him to her, her other arm still around him,
pulling him back down for another fiery kiss as the stroking grew more
frantic.

Breaking the embrace she leaned against the makeup counter, breathing
heavily.  Remembering she had a job to do, she grabbed the oil from the
counter and refusing to meet his gaze, she returned to his side.  Rogue
pushed the black robe off his shoulders, letting the dark silk pool at his
feet.  "Sit down on the stool, please."

He did as she asked, saying nothing.  He watched carefully as she removed
the leather gloves, his hazel eyes noticing only a momentary
hesitation.  His entire body was throbbing as she started to massage the
oil in, leaving a slick sheen on his skin.  Her warm hands floated over his
body, the oil making her touch fluid and soft.  The muscles under his skin
were firm, the metal enhanced skeleton hard beneath her hands.  His broad
shoulders were first, then down his back, then moving around to his throat
and down his chest.  Her hands played with his nipples, then down the
thickly muscled washboard of his stomach.  Back up to the width of his
shoulders she calmed him with her touch, petting him.

Telling him to stand, she took care of the backs of his legs, her strong
hands applying the oil in long fluid strokes.  The muscles in his butt
clenched when she touched him there, his hips thrusting forward slightly
with every caress.

"Sit back down," she whispered.

Entranced, he did as she commanded, sitting back on the stool.  He watched
as she put a folded towel on the floor in front of him and knelt.   Pushing
his legs apart she gave him a flirt's sexy grin then lowered her lips to
him.  Looking down on her dark head he felt a shudder go through him as her
lips touched his bare flesh, the blood flowing to his cock so fast he felt
lightheaded, grateful to be sitting down.  She braced on hand on his thigh
to keep her steady, the other moved to tickle the warm sac sitting on the
cool leather.  While her hands tormented him, her tongue never stopped its
intimate assault.

Letting him fall from her lips, Rogue leaned back to put more oil on her
hands, warming it before massaging it into the tensed muscles of his
thighs.  Running her hands up his legs she smoothed the oil over his pelvis
and abdomen.  Coming back down, she altered the path, this time grazing his
penis, then his balls.   His eyes were closed when her mouth returned to
his manhood, which stood proudly from his body, the hard and blood engorged
length throbbing as her wet mouth pulled him deep.

When Wolverine tried to thrust deeper into her mouth, Rogue pulled back,
knowing he was ready.  His eyes flew open, missing the warm heat of her
mouth, and she looked into them, regretting having to let him go.  She
placed one hand on each of his powerfully muscled thighs and pushed herself
up, standing between his legs.  She had started to turn away when he spoke.

"No."

Rogue turned back at the sound of his voice, only half surprised when he
stood and pulled her into his arms.  Lifting her onto the make up counter,
Wolverine placed his hands on either side of her face, a fierce smile on
his own, a second before his lips descended onto hers.  Her legs opened at
the powerful kiss, and he moved between them, getting as close to her as he
could.  Her mutation rigidly controlled, Rogue moved to the edge of the
counter, her legs curling around his until they locked behind his
knees.   Her arms curled around his neck, pulling him closer.  The
connection of their lips, the added sensation when his tongue forced its
way into her mouth, the pressure of their bodies against one another had
combined into a tangible expression of desire.

They were so focused on each other that they never heard the first few
knocks on the door.  They broke apart as Hank's voice finally penetrated
their passion-induced haze.  Breathing heavily, Rogue's legs unlocked their
grip on the back of his knees and with a quick kiss on her forehead,
Wolverine left the trailer, grabbing his costume, another black cloak, on
the way.

Still sitting on the make up counter, Rogue pondered what had just
happened.  Sliding off, she went into the tiny bathroom, washing the oil
off her hands.  Splashing her face with cool water she gathered
herself.  Feeling only slightly more in control than she did a few minutes
before, she headed out to the set, grabbing Wolverine's robe on her way out
the door.

Leaving the RV, she saw that the altar from the first Druid movie had been
set up in a clearing near a copse of trees.  The cameras were already
filming when Rogue got there, getting some shots of Wolverine as he knelt
naked in front of the altar.  His heavy black priestly robe was hanging
over a convenient gargoyle.  The muscles of his back flexed as he spoke his
incantation, and Rogue felt her cheeks warming as she remembered how that
solid expanse of skin and muscle felt under her hands.

Sylvia broke into Rogue's contemplative reverie, coming up behind her and
tapping her on the shoulder.   In a voice soft enough not to be picked up
by the microphones, Sylvia directed her to move up behind the altar.  Rogue
was handed a condom and told that she was on protection duty for this
shoot.  Protection duty meant that she would have to put the condom on
Wolverine before the penetration scene.  The guidelines were clear at
BBHP.  If you weren't going home with the person that you were penetrating,
a condom was used.  Throwing Wolverine's robe over a convenient chair,
Rogue followed Sylvia closer to the set.

The camera was focused on the copse of trees as a loud clap of thunder
sounded and a bolt of lightning struck just in front of the trees.  While
the cameras focused on this, Rogue and Storm ran over to the altar.  Storm
climbing on top while Rogue hid behind it.   When the camera shifted back
to the altar, a nude Storm was lying on top of it.  She was the
personification of the goddess, a wig of long black hair covering her white
hair.  When she turned to face Wolverine and the camera over his shoulder,
her eyes were a milky white.

"Come to me, oh priest."

  From her position, Rogue could see Wolverine as he climbed onto the altar,
magnificently erect - a glorious vision of strength and virility ready to
worship his goddess.  Mounting Storm, he paused, letting the camera pan
over his body.  Hank knew just how to wring every bit of appeal from the
taut muscles and impressive cock as Wolverine sat astride the beautiful
weather goddess.  The next bolt of lightning was Rogue's cue; she scrambled
to her feet and rolled the condom onto him, not looking him in the
eye.  Protection duty done, she moved back down, laying on her back, out of
sight of the camera.

Rogue looked to the side to see Sylvia give her a thumbs up.  When she
heard the noises that anyone working at BBHP knew to be an indicator of a
climax shot, she looked up, startled to see Wolverine looking down at her
as he thrust powerfully into Storm.  Climaxing, he broke his gaze and fell
on his side, his back to Rogue.

The set was quiet; then the sound of a thunderstorm was heard once again.

The next bolt of lightning struck the trees again and Wolverine rolled to
his back.  Rogue stood and pulled the condom off him, then once again moved
out of sight.  The winds picked up and Rogue saw Wolverine rise and start
to move away from the altar.  Once she was sure the camera was following
him, Rogue rolled out from behind the altar and moved back behind the
scenes.  She threw the used rubber in a trash bag and stood with the rest
of the crew to watch the final scene.

Storm rose from the altar, her eyes still milky white, a clear sign she was
calling the weather to obey her commands.  "You have served your purpose,
priest.  Now you must pay your respects!"

Wolverine backed away until he was near the trees, and with a loud growl,
he extended the claws.  "No, Druin, you will not do this to me!"

Storm laughed and raised her arms up high.  The last bolt of lightning for
the night struck the ground just in front of Wolverine.  He fell to the
ground as if he had been hit, shaking and convulsing.

"Your goddess thanks you for your service, priest.  And your strong seed."

The final shot was Storm walking away toward the copse of trees.  The long
black hair of the wig flowed behind her naked body like a dark veil.  In
the foreground, Wolverine's claws were slowly drawn back into his body.

"Cut!" Hank yelled.

Grabbing Wolverine's robe, Rogue ambled over to where he was already
getting up, brushing the dirt off.  She handed him his robe and he shrugged
it on.  Walking back to his RV, they saw the crew had finished putting the
materials back into the equipment truck, Charlie having levitated the
larger and heavier objects.  Once in the RV they waited only a few minutes
until Sylvia and Hank joined them.    Hank slid into the driver's seat and
started the engine, but was distracted by a call on his cell phone.  Sylvia
started to remove the blonde wig and make up from Wolverine, turning the
chair toward the mirror.  Spying her gloves on the table Rogue pulled them
on, out of habit more than anything else.

Rogue sat in silence, her eyes locked with Wolverine's in the makeup
mirror, neither saying a word.  Once the makeup was removed, Wolverine rose
and headed to the tiny bathroom to clean up.  Sylvia occupied herself with
putting her gear back into the travel cases, only half paying attention to
the other occupants of the RV.

Emerging a few minutes later, Wolverine went over to the make up
counter.  Shedding the robe, he grabbed his clothes and started to
dress.  When he was finished, he grabbed a beer from the cooler and sat
next to Rogue.  She watched as he rubbed his hands, massaging the spaces
between his knuckles, the spots where the blades came out.

Finishing his call, Hank pulled the RV out of the clearing, heading back
toward the mansion.    Looking out the back window Rogue was surprised to
see 'Ro's RV still in the clearing, the interior lights shining brightly.

Wolverine followed her gaze, and grinning wryly, said, "She didn't get
off.  She and Charlie'll be along later."

"Oh."  Rogue smiled, trying and failing, to control her blush.  She looked
away from him, her hair hiding her face.

Hank drove the short trip back to the mansion quickly, pulling into the
garage in just a few minutes.  Once the RV was parked in the garage, Hank
and Sylvia carried their gear out, leaving Rogue and Wolverine still seated
at the banquette.  Wolverine slid out first, then extended a hand to help
Rogue up.  Letting him pull her up and out of the booth, Rogue continued to
move toward him as he pulled her close.  Moving until she was held in his
arms, she ran her leather clad fingers through his short hair.  Looping her
arms around his neck she pulled him down to her, his mouth swooping in to
find hers.  The kiss was slow to begin, their lips playing until his tongue
stole out to trace her lips.  Encouraged by her moan, it slid inside her
mouth, ever so slowly, a low growl coming from him.

Breaking apart for a breath, she took his hands in hers.  "When they come
out, does it hurt?" Rogue asked.

"Every time," Wolverine responded tightly.

She nodded, then brought his hands to her lips, kissing the palms, then the
space over the knuckles where the blades came out.  She let his hands go
when his head dipped down to hers, capturing her lips with impatient
enthusiasm.    They remained like that until the sound of the garage door
opening and a RV pulling in caused them to move apart.  Remembering what
her job was, and why she was here tonight, Rogue wondered what he thought
of this.  Not willing to ask, she moved around him, heading to the door of
the RV.  Stepping out, she met 'Ro and Charlie as they exited the other RV,
both looking relaxed and happy.

Feeling the heat of Wolverine's body behind her, Rogue smiled at the
Xaviers, her eyes silently pleading with 'Ro not to ask.   Thankfully,
neither Charlie nor 'Ro mentioned her flustered appearance.  The four of
them moved to the house to raid the kitchen, chatting about inconsequential
things.

   It was a normal night at BBHP, filmed orgasms at five, supper at
seven.  As was usual in the mansion, the call of food was soon heard and
answered by most of the residents.  Everyone who was home soon joined them,
massive amounts of food prepared and consumed.  The chatter ran the gamut
from the just finished shoot, Bobby and Johnny's Internet project, to Adam,
Jean and Scott's newborn son.  It was much later, long after the impromptu
party moved from the kitchen to the TV room, that the late evening finally
drew to a close, everyone heading in the direction of their rooms.   With a
parting glance at Wolverine, sitting alone on the sofa, apparently
memorizing NHL scores and looking contemplative, Rogue turned and headed up
to her room, alone.

~x~X~x~

Marvel recently "redesigned" and they keep changing
URLs on me.  Here is the one with the larger list of
characters:
http://www.marvel.com/comics/bios/bios_family_a_z.html

It does not have Mirage, nor, alas, either
Thunderbirds, or Warpath.  Go figure.  If anyone wants
information about those characters, run a Yahoo search
and/or email me and I'll tell you. <g>

--Min

__________________________________________________
Do You Yahoo!?
Get personalized email addresses from Yahoo! Mail
http://personal.mail.yahoo.com/

XXX Mansion 3/11
See part 0 for disclaimers, etc.

~x~X~x~

One Month Later

After almost skidding through another intersection, Rogue decided driving
east across northern Canada wasn't as easy as driving west across southern
Canada had been, just over a month ago.  The seasonable late autumn of her
trip west had turned into winter, the snow falling early this year.  Rogue
kept driving, sure that Sven, her boxy ten year old Volvo, would make
it.  A thousand plus miles were still ahead of her, but Rogue was taking
her time, the journey as important as the destination.

Her trip west had been well planned out, good hotels and Bed and Breakfasts
with reservations, confirmation numbers, and arrival dates.  The trip home
was more spur of the moment, an adventure.  The middle part of her
vacation, two weeks, had been spent in a B & B just outside of Vancouver,
relaxing and doing the tourist thing.  She had been staying just a few
hundred miles south of her old home in Alaska, but the weather had been far
more temperate.  Rogue hadn't even encountered snow until she had crossed
over the Rockies, but now winter was all around her.

Thus far her plan to just travel for the sake of traveling had worked out
well, finding rooms in a four star hotel in Banff, then a mediocre Holiday
Inn in Whitecourt.  The snow had become deeper, but Rogue had planned for
the weather.  'Ro and Jubilee had made sure she was properly outfitted for
her journey; Charlie and Scott had made sure Sven was up to the
trip.  Wearing a long green wool coat, leather gloves worn for warmth
instead of protection, and Sven's heater working to its fullest, she was
comfortable.

It was about ten at night when, ready for a break, she pulled into the
parking lot of the local attraction recommended to her by the young man at
the gas station ten miles back.  The snow-covered lot was full, mostly
pickup trucks and semis.  The bar itself was a huge, corrugated barn-like
building looming in the dark.   Looking at the uninspiring façade of the
bar, Rogue wondered for the second time if this wasn't a bad idea, but the
guy at the gas station had said that this was the place to go for a fun
night in this burg.

Rogue decided that wasn't saying a hell of a lot for Laughlin City, Alberta.

Parking Sven in the poorly lit lot, Rogue made her way past the assembled
vehicles, walking quickly to avoid the retching sounds coming from the
other side of a green Peterbilt cab.  Reminding herself of her quest for
interesting sights, she put aside the thought she should have kept driving
the last fifty miles to Maysburg and the motel where she had planned to
spend the night; instead of stopping here for some entertainment.

Reaching the door, Rogue moved quickly out of the way as some obviously
inebriated patrons stumbled out.  Slipping in the closing door, she found
the noise inside deafening.  The rowdy crowd screaming, yelling and
cursing.  Her other senses were assaulted as she moved farther inside.  The
lighting was murky at best, the heat mainly provided by fires burning in
large barrels.  She was almost overpowered by the stench of alcohol,
cigarette smoke, and unwashed bodies barely covered by cheap perfumes and
colognes.  Walking farther into the dark and smoky interior she saw a large
fenced in … well, cage described it pretty good, she decided, in the middle
of the room.  It looked like two men were fighting inside, a tall bald man
kicking another man Rogue couldn't see through the crowd milling around the
cage, yelling insults and encouragement.

Steeling herself, Rogue made her way through the mass of people.  Finally
pushing her way to the bar, she ordered a beer from the very tall, very
unfriendly-looking bartender.  Taking a sip from the dark bottle, she
turned back to watch the cage fight, which held the unruly crowd's rapt
attention.  The bald man was about to punch the man on the ground when the
unfriendly bartender interrupted her observations, pushing her change at
her.  Turning back to accept her change, Rogue didn't notice when the bald
man was routed, his below the belt kicks repaid with interest.  Her change
safely back in her wallet, Rogue returned her attention to the cage,
watching as two men carried out the now unconscious bald man.

A pudgy ringmaster of sorts entered the ring and proclaimed into a
microphone, "The winner, and still King of the Cage, The Wolverine!"

Shocked, her eyes searched the cage, finally finding the other
occupant.  His back was to her, but she knew that back.  In a split second
her mind recalled every thickly muscled ridge and groove.  She remembered
if she pressed hard enough on that special spot on his lower back she could
make his growl turn into a purr.  And when he purred he got harder, and his
hips started thrusting, looking for relief.

Thrown off center by the images that flooded her mind, Rogue panicked
slightly, not wanting to see him until she was over her surprise at finding
him up here in the middle of nowhere good. Looking for an escape, she saw
her salvation in the dark hallway on the other side of the bar; her mind
filling in the blanks in the broken neon sign that read 'Re tro
ms'.  Leaving her beer on the bar, she walked quickly toward her temporary
reprieve.  While the ladies' room was exactly as she had thought it might
be, smelly and dirty, the few minutes spent in it allowed her to calm
herself.  At least the conditions of the barely usable and rank-smelling
restroom gave her something to think about; something other than that last
unexpected kiss she had shared with Wolverine a month ago.

When she felt she was as collected as she could get, Rogue left the ladies
room, noticing that the bar had emptied swiftly.  Apparently most of the
clientele didn't think there was much point in sticking around once the
bloodshed was over.  The remaining people appeared to be either employees
who were cleaning up, collecting beer bottles from every surface; or
patrons too drunk to move.  Well, almost too drunk to move, she corrected
herself silently, watching a rotund man roll off the bench of the booth he
had been snoring on.  Rogue returned to the bar and ordered a cup of
coffee, her barely touched beer long since stolen and swilled or cleared
away.

"I'll have a beer."

Rogue went rigid as his voice floated over her shoulder.  In the next
second his body was flush against her back, causing a shiver to run through
her.  The bartender didn't even blink at this bit of forward behavior, the
works of Miss Emily Post evidently not making it this far north.  Without
expression the surly man opened a bottle and placed it on the bar in front
of her.

Wolverine stepped even closer to her as he reached around her to grab the
bottle.  Leaving one hand on Rogue's hip, he took a long pull.  Placing the
bottle back on the bar, his newly freed hand curled around her other
hip.  He was close enough for her to feel the heat pouring off him, smell
the cheap, antiseptic-smelling restroom soap he must have used to clean up
with after the fight.  Finally turning her head to look at him, Rogue was
astonished at the change in his appearance.

Instead of being clean-shaven, he had a muttonchops beard.  His hair was
longer than she remembered it; it seemed to point up on the sides like ears
on an animal. Remembering her brief glance at his chest when he was still
in the cage, she idly realized how often he must have to shave.  Barely
managing to restrain herself from reaching up to touch the hair on his
face, she turned back to her cup, taking a sip of the thick, acidic sludge
this dump called coffee.

"What're you doing here, Rogue?"  His voice was soft, deceptively calm, his
breath rustling her hair.

"Driving back home. The guy at the gas station said this was the hot spot
for entertainment in these parts. Which if that's true," there was an edge
of humor in her voice, "is saying something."

Relaxing slightly, he snorted softly. "Yeah, nothing good."  Moving away,
he took a seat at the bar, kitty corner from her.  Raising an eyebrow, he
searched his jacket pockets, pulling out a cigar.  Lighting it, his
features were quickly hidden in a cloud of foul smelling yellow smoke.

The shifty ringmaster sat at the other end of the bar, counting and sorting
money into piles of Canadian and American bills.  A hard looking bleach
blonde was helping him, a cigarette dangling from her lips, bouncing as she
counted aloud.  Taking a sheaf of bills from the bar, the ringmaster gave
them to the bartender, who all but threw them down on the bar in front of
Wolverine.  Putting his beer down again, Wolverine leaned back on the stool
to put the bills in the pocket of the denim jacket he wore underneath a
leather jacket.  Rogue tried to ignore it all, focusing on the television
behind the bar, which for some baffling reason was wrapped some kind of
animal pelt.  A minute later her attention shifted as she saw the dim
lights reflecting off a bald head just behind and to the right of Wolverine.

Finishing off his beer, Wolverine looked up to see Rogue's eyes focusing on
something behind him, narrowing with concern.  But he already knew who was
behind him.  Stu, the now well tenderized, bald headed ball breaker would
be tonight's choice for dumbass of the evening.  He had smelled like a
dumbass in the ring and the added stench of blood and alcohol hadn't
changed Wolverine's first impression of him.

"You owe me some money."

At Wolverine's lack of interest in his demand, Stu pressed the point.  "No
man takes a beating like that without a mark to show for it."

Putting his cigar down in the ashtray Wolverine responded turning only in
Stu's direction, not bothering to face him directly. "You lost your
money.  You don't stop, you'll lose something else."

Stu was either too stupid or too punch drunk to realize he hadn't scared
Wolverine. Ignoring his friend, who tried to pull him away, telling him
this wasn't worth it, he leaned down to whisper in Wolverine's ear.  "I
know what you are."

Looking up into Rogue's eyes, Wolverine could tell she was worried.  He was
about to smile a reassurance when she screamed.

''Look out!"

Wolverine's reaction was automatic.   He swung around, disarming Stu,
pushing him with the same motion into a post, the adamantium claws
extending to prick the skin of Stu's thick neck.  With his focus on Stu,
who was quickly losing control of his bodily functions, it took a second
for Wolverine to realize that Rogue was still frightened.  It took him
another second past that to figure out of what.  The shotgun cocking as it
was pressed to his ear made her expression of terror much more understandable.

"Get out of my bar, freak," the bartender ground out, the barrel of the gun
shaking but not leaving the vicinity of Wolverine's head.

Wolverine grumbled to himself.  The delicious irony that was his life had
reared its ugly head again.  This prick pointing a shotgun at his head had
probably made more money in the two nights that he had been fighting here
than the bastard probably had in the whole month before.  But apparently
his presence was no longer needed.  It never failed.  He decided to leave
them all with something to remember him by.

Leaving the one set of claws at Stu's neck, it took only a flex of back and
arm to bring the other set to slice through the barrel of the
shotgun.   The smell of urine grew stronger, offering him a slight hint of
retribution, watching the bartender piss himself.   Looking back at Rogue,
Wolverine acknowledged the worry still in her eyes as he growled at Stu and
the bartender.  Collecting himself, he retracted the claws, then shrugged
his shoulders to adjust his jackets. Stepping back up to the bar to
retrieve his cigar, still smoldering in the cheap aluminum ashtray, he was
careful to avoid the two yellow puddles, the Rivers Stu and Bartender,
flowing together to create the Lake of Terrified Incontinence on the
sawdust covered floor.  Grabbing the cigar, he headed toward the door,
Rogue grabbing her purse and following his signal to move out in front of
him.  The apprehensive stares of the barflies followed them as they walked
out the door.

Out in the parking lot only a few cars remained.  Wolverine's old Ford
truck with the camper on the bed was parked just six or seven spaces down
from Sven.  They had only made it half way to Rogue's car when Wolverine
stopped.  His body tensed and his eyes searched the parking lot, a familiar
stench causing all his senses to go to full alert.  His nose twitched as he
recognized the familiar scent, and the claws shot out.  Rogue turned to
stare at him, starting at the sound of a voice coming from just ahead of them.

"Heya, runt."  A large man with long, shaggy blonde hair, wearing an
interesting assortment of animal hides slunk out of the shadow of a nearby
pickup truck.  Wolverine's eyes were unreadable as he carefully watched the
blonde giant come to a halt only a few steps away.

"Vic."

Rogue stared at Wolverine, the tangible hatred in his voice surprising
her.  Stepping in front of her, Wolverine made sure that the newcomer's
view of her was blocked.

"You really should think about Erik's offer, runt.  You made a good flick
with us."

His eyes icy, Wolverine growled.  "That why you're here?  Tryin' to get me
to come back to your nice little brotherhood?  It ain't gonna happen, bub."

The mysterious Vic backed up a step, returning Wolverine's
growl.  "Whatever, runt.  Be seenin' ya… and yer tasty little
friend."  With that he lumbered, with a peculiar grace, back into the shadows.

"Wolverine, who *was* that?" Rogue asked as Wolverine pulled the claws back
in and taking her arm, all but dragged her to her car.

"Vic the Prick.  You don't want to know. We need to get out of here.   I
want you to follow me out, we'll get a good ways away from here before we
stop again."

"The Brotherhood?  You mean Ironhard Brothers Studios? Don't they make
those snuff flicks?"  She didn't even bother to respond to the fact that he
just assumed she was going to follow him.  After seeing that guy, following
Wolverine didn't seem like such a bad idea. Besides, who knew if the cast
of Deliverance back in the bar might find their balls and come after them;
and Wolverine was rushing, and Wolverine *never* rushed.  There was
definitely a reason to avoid this Vic guy.

Besides, it had felt nice to have him rubbing up against her back there in
the bar.

Damn nice.

"Yeah."  Wolverine damned the fact that she was so quick, but this was no
time to make long explanations.   He took her keys, opened her door, pushed
her into the driver's seat, and all but belted her in.  "Come on, Rogue.
We're leaving."

She watched in bemusement as he walked back to his truck, obviously
watching everything around him, not letting his guard down at all.  He got
into his truck and gunned the engine.  Driving to the exit he waited for
her to follow.  Starting her car, she followed him back out on to the two
lane highway, back out into the Canadian hinterlands.   As she drove behind
his old truck she pondered Wolverine and snuff flicks - and if she was
insane to follow him out of what could only loosely be called civilization.


~x~X~x~


Looking at the clock in the dash of her car, Rogue noted they had been on
the road for almost two hours and she was getting tired.  Tired of driving,
tired of following Wolverine's rickety old truck down the snow covered
roads of wherever the hell they were.  She had been driving for seven hours
before she stopped in Laughlin City, and the road was beginning to look
disconcertingly endless in front of her.   Seeing lights ahead, Rogue knew
they were coming up to another town, and upon seeing the sign that read
'Maysburg', she made her decision.

Instead of following his truck straight through the intersection with the
single blinking yellow light, Rogue turned right, onto the frontage
road.  Driving about half a block, she pulled into the parking lot of the
Kleen 'n' Komfy Motel.  She had just taken the keys out when she heard
Wolverine's truck lay down rubber on the road, the brakes
screeching.   Tiredly, she watched as the camper on the bed lurched
forward, then settled back into place, still shaking; he really needed to
tighten the clamps.  He wouldn't be happy about stopping.  After all, in
the years she had barely known him, a happy Wolverine was something she had
rarely seen.  Amused and quietly thoughtful -  yes.  Happy - no.  But
enough was enough - she needed a bed for the night.

The gears screeched as he made a U-turn in the middle of the deserted
highway and swung around, pulling onto the frontage road, then into the lot
and the spot next to Sven.  He was out of the driver's seat scant seconds
after putting it in park, the camper continuing to shake with the force he
used when he hit the brakes.

Getting out of her car she winced the sound of his door slamming.  Oh yeah,
he was pissed off.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"Stopping.  Ceasing the forward motion of my motor vehicle.  Entering this
motel, getting a room, and getting some sleep.  What semi-normal people do
after being on the road for hours."

"Fuck.  We should keep going."

"You can certainly keep going, Wolvie. I'm getting a room and getting some
sleep."

"We can go a little longer, hole up in the camper," he ground out, pointing
to it.

"Wolverine, I'm sure it's lovely, but there is not a chance in hell.  You
can stay here, keep on going, or you can sleep in there.  I am getting a
room and a shower."

"Fuck."

"Yes, you've said that already."

He glowered at her, pulling a wad of bills off the sheaf the weasel at the
bar had given him.  "Get a double."

Rogue took the cash, not even bothering to protest.  She just was not in
the mood to stand in the snow in a dark parking lot for another hour while
he lectured her on motel checking-in etiquette.  "All right," she said,
handing him her keys.  "Bring in the blue and red cases, would you?"  And
with that she walked toward the lobby, feeling she had at least won part of
the battle.

It took only ten minutes to check in.  The Kleen 'n' Komfy chain wasn't
exactly the Ritz, and apparently Maysburg wasn't a hot destination
midweek.  Leaving the lobby, she found Wolverine smoking a cigar at one of
the wrought-iron tables on the patio outside by the drained pool.  He had
swept the snow off the table and chairs, her two bags and another
unfamiliar duffel were sitting on the chair next to the one he was
occupying.  He finished his contemplation of the gaudy pink building with
the bright blue doors and turned to face her, an eyebrow lifting expectantly.

"Room 211.  Come on, sunshine."  Rogue smiled faintly, looking pointedly at
the smelly cigar. "It's non smoking."

He swore under his breath but stubbed out it out on the table, putting the
stub back in his jacket pocket.  She reached for the blue case, but with a
frown he grabbed all three bags and motioned her with his head to proceed
him.  Leading the way to room 211, Rogue wondered if there was any
possibility of him getting any grumpier.  Hearing him behind her swearing
under his breath, she decided that was unlikely.

Entering the room, she turned on the lights, throwing her purse onto the
double bed closest to the door.  Following close behind her, Wolverine
looked around, and throwing his duffel on the first bed, picked up her
purse and threw it onto the second bed, the one closer to the bathroom,
away from the door and window.

"Yours."

It was way too late, and she was way too tired to argue with him.  Throwing
her gloves and coat on top of her purse, she headed to the
bathroom.  "Okay, Tarzan.  Just put the cases down on the table, would
you?  I'll just be a minute."

Closing the door behind her, Rogue leaned against the counter and closed
her eyes.  She had had a few interesting thoughts about Wolverine, but none
of them had been remotely like *this*.  After using the toilet, she gave
herself a good lecture about how to deal with this situation as she washed
her hands.  Leaving the bathroom, she realized couldn't remember one thing
she had just finished lecturing herself about.

Wolverine was sprawled on the bed closest to the door, or more precisely,
the bed between her bed and the door, first in the line of anyone getting
in.  He had taken off his boots and jackets, but was still wearing the rest
of his clothes.  The TV was on; ESPN was airing a hockey game that seemed
to have him transfixed.  He was drinking from a bottle of beer she assumed
had come from a stash in his camper.

   "Wolverine?  Do you need to use the bathroom?  I want to take a shower."

The responding grunt seemed negative, so Rogue pulled off her boots,
stowing them under the coat rack alongside the desk, hanging her long coat
up on one of those motel hangers that don't actually come off the
rack.  She took her toiletries bag and a nightgown out of the blue case and
went to wash away the dust from the road and the stale smell of cigarettes
from her hair.

Wolverine watched the door close, a frown spreading over his
features.  They really shouldn't have stopped, but he knew that locking her
in the camper until they were back in New York wouldn't work very
well.  Not that he would object to being locked in the camper with her.  He
didn't think she would object either, but with Pricky skulking around out
there, it wasn't the best idea in the world.  Tuning the game out, he
thought about his new roommate.  She might fluff mutie porn stars, but that
in no way prepared her for dealing with Pricky.

Vic the Prick was legend in the darker side of everything.  He liked snuff
flicks, liked everything about them.  Wolverine frowned as he remembered
Pricky coming all over some poor girl, the monster's hands stained with her
blood.  He was sure that one had never gone home again.  The frown grew as
he thought about the one movie he had made with Vic. Years ago, before he
had a choice, before he had gone to work at Charlie's, where the porn was
silly, kinda stupid, but never cruel or bloody.

Wolverine knew that Rogue was able to take care of herself from the stories
he had heard about her at the mansion, how she had left home young and
lived on her own in Alaska of all places.  And just that she had chosen to
go into the films impressed him; she had to have a strong sense of self to
do that.  But surviving with normal people and normal mutants was a hell of
a lot different from dealing with a monster like Vic.  He tried to return
his attention to the game, but was distracted again by another thought.

She was a damn fine fluffer.  After that last time… he wished he had fired
Christy earlier.   With Christy it had been work.  With Rogue it had felt
like something… more.

Tilting his head, he heard the shower turn off, then a hair dryer
running.  When the whine of the dryer stopped he could hear Rogue singing
softly as she finished up in the bathroom.  He found himself ridiculously
soothed by the sound of her voice massacring the lyrics to 'The Mountie
Song'.  He idly wondered if she had been an Arrogant Worms fan before she
started to drive across Canada.

He turned his attention back to the game just before she walked out, the
artificial scents of her shampoo and soaps accentuating her natural scent,
all of which drifted into the room on the steam from the shower.   Her long
brown hair curled naturally as it fell in waves around her face.  She was
wearing a long pink nightgown that hugged her body in all the right
places.  He couldn't help but remember the feel of her body held tight to
his, her lips opening under his, the excitement that had coursed through
his blood as their tongues mated.

Fuck.  Don't think like that, now is not the time, he rebuked himself.

Putting her dirty clothes into a plastic bag, Rogue moved her cases to the
luggage rack at the end of the bed.  Smiling faintly she pulled back the
motel standard thin sheets and comforter and crawled into her bed.

"Goodnight, Wolverine, " she said, offering him a cautious smile.

"Logan."  He didn't even know why he said it.

"What?"

"My name is Logan."

"Oh.  Goodnight, Logan."

"Goodnight, Rogue."

"Marie."

"Goodnight, Marie."

Their eyes exchanged tentative smiles, Logan and Marie meeting for the
first time.  She pulled the bedding around her and snuggled into the
pillow.  Fatigue took over and she fell asleep almost immediately.

He listened as her breathing evened, her body relaxing in sleep.  Mentally
slapping himself again he tried to focus his attention back on the TV and
the hockey game.  Finally giving into the exhaustion he rose from the bed
and headed to the bathroom, grabbing a little bag out of his duffel.  A few
minutes later, nightly ablutions finished, Logan stalked over to the door,
making sure it was locked.  Drawing the curtains back slightly he looked
out, and seeing nothing obvious to worry about, headed to bed.  Stopping
only to strip, throwing his clothes over the chair at the little table,
setting his dog tags on top in a little heap, he climbed, nude, between the
thin sheets.  Turning the voice down low on the TV, he saw only a few more
seconds of the hockey game before he too was fast asleep.

Marie woke up a few hours later, still tired.  She looked around the
strange room in confusion, trying to orient herself.  Finally remembering
where she was, she realized the voices she heard were coming from the TV,
babbling softly across from her bed.  A second later she heard the noise
that had woken her. Wolverine - no - Logan, was having a nightmare.

He was fighting the sheets around him, muttering angrily.  She could see he
had stripped down before getting under the covers; the sheet had worked
down to his waist, leaving his bare chest exposed.

"Logan?"  He didn't answer, so she got up and moved over to him, flicking
on the bedside lamp on the table between their two beds.  "Logan?"  Still
no response.  Making sure her control was in place, she bent over him,
touching him quickly on the shoulder.

"Logan.  Come on, sugar, wake up…"

With a fluid surge and an anguished cry, Logan bolted upright, his fist
hitting her center in the breastbone.  In the same instant she heard that
that snikt sound, as still asleep and locked in his nightmare, he extended
the claws.

Logan woke with the claws, the momentary burst of excruciating pain waking
him rudely from his nightmare.  Expecting to see Vic the Prick standing
over him, he instead saw Rogue - Marie.  His claws were buried in her
chest.  Her brown eyes stared at him with a painfully shocked
expression.  He flexed and the claws withdrew, but he knew the damage was
already done.

Oh God.

Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod…

"Marie?  Marie!"

She fell heavily onto his bed and he pulled her into his lap.  Her eyes
never strayed from his as she reached down, and with a bare hand, touched
his face.  Her fingers felt light and soft against his face, then her palm
molded itself to his cheek and he felt it… a feeling like being pulled
under the tide, like having the air slowly replaced by warm water in his lungs.

Just before he passed out he saw the holes his claws had torn in her
nightgown, saw the gashes beneath heal.  In that second, he knew what she
had done. What she had taken from him.  She collapsed on him, but she was
still breathing, and he could hear her heart beating.  He knew by instinct
that the pull had stopped, that her control was back in place.

He was tired, he realized.  His energy was gone, and it was more than just
being tired, it was like having all his muscles disconnected from his
body.  As his mind followed his body into a deep healing sleep, as he
spiraled down toward oblivion, all he could feel was relief.


~x~X~x~

XXX Mansion 4/11
See part 0 for Disclaimers, etc

~x~X~x~

It was almost two hours later when Logan finally came around, waking in a
rush, immediately feeling the dead weight of Marie on his chest.  But she
was alive, her breath was soft and warm on his chest, he could hear the
sleepy murmurs when she rubbed her cheek again his skin, her hair the only
thing separating them.

"Marie?"

She woke the same way he had, bolting upright in a sudden rush of
consciousness, remembering what had happened.  What he had done.  What she
had done.  "Logan?  Are you all right? I'm so sorry… It was the only thing
I could think of to do, it was just instinct…"

"Marie."

"I should have been more careful I should have never tried I'm so sorry I
haven't done that in…"

"Marie.  Marie!"

She finally looked at him as he raised his voice, her eyes finally meeting
his, a shadowed look of guilt reflected in their brown depths.

"I'm fine, you did right."  He shrugged. "Mutation's kinda pointless if it
can't save you after I fuck up."

"I shouldn't have…"

"Saved yourself?  Don't be stupid."  His words were harsher than he meant,
and she tensed.  He could see the wheels turning, she was going to make
this a bad thing and her fault no matter what.

"Logan, I could have killed you."

He snorted.  "Marie, I'm not that easy to kill.  We're alive.  Christ, I
stabbed you.  You did right."  She shook her head, head ducked low to avoid
his eyes.  He took her chin between his fingers and lifted it so she had to
look him in the eye.  "We're both still breathing.  Period. Final.  End of
the damned story."  Logan raised an eyebrow as she opened her
mouth.  "Baby, you tell me I should have let you die on me, I'll spank you."

Now that was a fuckin' righteous thought.

Her eyes were saucers in her pale face.   Her pupils dilated and he knew
she was remembering that she was in his bed, on top of him.  He felt a
stirring, the feeling of his blood getting sluggish in his veins.

Desire.

She had almost killed him and it didn't matter.  He had almost certainly
all but killed her with his claws, so fuck it - it was a fair exchange.

A life for a death.

And god, he had lives to spare.

His resolve not to start anything while they were on the road faded.  She
was looking down at him with wanting.  When her tongue licked her lips he
almost groaned in pain. His hands were clutching her hips, and
instinctively, yes, it was instinctive at this point, he pulled her down,
her body, aligned by whatever gods existed, so perfectly with his.  Where
he was hard, she was soft, and he could hear her breath catch and her heart
pound, and he smelled that delicate sweet musk of the beginnings of desire.

"Marie?"

She didn't answer, just leaned back and with a wiggle of her hips and a
slight lift of her knees pulled the ruined nightgown over her head.  Nude,
she sat astride him, the thin sheet down around his waist the only thing
separating them.

Serious brown eyes met hazel.  "I can control it."

"Never had a doubt, darlin'."

He took a moment to look at her.  She was shorter than he was, almost by a
foot, but sitting astride him, unselfconscious in her nudity and definitely
aroused, her body was perfectly proportioned.  Her curves were all woman,
lush and soft.  Her breasts were full and proud, the aroused nipples
calling to him.  The rest of her was perfection, and he knew her softness
would be the perfect mate to his hardness.  Large hands moved up her thighs
to her hips, lingering on the silky skin of her belly, then up to her
breasts, cupping them, his strong fingers playing and touching.

Her big doe eyes glinted with humor as her mouth twisted into a grin.  He
knew they were both remembering the same thing, the last time she had sat
astride his body.  When it was business.  But this was different.  This was
pleasure.

Her hands moved to cover his, stroking his large, strong hands as they
moved on her body, paying special attention to her breasts.  Marie's head
fell back as his hands, still covered by hers, began to stroke a line from
the valley between her breasts to the dark soft curls resting on the
sheet.  His fingers tangled with hers, he reached inside those curls,
stroking gently, grinning hungrily at her as their fingers moved inside her
hidden warmth.

His other hand returned to stroke her face, running through her hair, her
hand running up and down his arm, needing to touch him constantly.  He
continued to stroke inside her and once his fingers were wet, he slid their
fingers up inside the folds until he found the swollen bundle of
nerves.  Letting his fingers stroke the sensitive bud, he alternated
pressure until he could see sweat bead on her upper lip, felt her body
shake as she strove to control the sensations.

Feeling the pressure she bought to bear as she undulated her hips down onto
his sheet covered cock, Logan groaned.  The pressure was divine, and had
the bonus of moving their hands deeper inside her, causing her to echo his
moans.  Taking her free hand in his, he brought it to a breast.  She
followed his unspoken instructions, her hand massaging the nipple, as his
hand moved to do the same to her other breast.  Watching her body sway atop
his, feeling her thighs squeezing him he knew she was close.

Taking her other hand, the one entwined with his inside her, he directed
her fingers to her clit.  He encouraged her fingers to stroke up and down
the erect bundle of nerves, then to tease the head with a swirling
motion.  Soon she was swaying to her own rhythm and he grinned wolfishly,
watching their hands combined on breasts and deep inside her to excite
her.  Moving his fingers from hers on her clit he moved deeper, moved
inside her.  One finger entered her, then another.  Matching her rhythm,
Logan started a thrusting motion with his fingers, then stopped to stroke
the sensitive top of the channel, just inside.  He knew she was there when
he heard her keening cry as she found satisfaction.  The orgasm swept
through her, inner muscles pulling his fingers deeper, thighs squeezing him
tighter.

He felt a powerful surge of male satisfaction as he watched her body tense
as his fingers were massaged deep inside her.  Her face was flushed and
damp and her breasts shook with the shudders that stormed through her
body.  He manfully ignored his own need, his screaming urge to flip her
over and thrust deep inside.  Instead he waited as she fell on him, her
warm body pliant with satiation, his fingers falling free of her.

When she moved again it was a small motion, lifting her head up to smile at
him, bringing her lips to his, and he couldn't help but begin to rock his
hips against hers.  She rubbed her smooth cheek against his hairy one,
giggling softly at the sensation of the soft hairs scratching her face.
Rolling off him, she lay on her side, her head resting on her hand, her
other hand moving over his chest.  He inhaled deeply as the fingers that
had been inside her spread her scent over his skin.  She pulled the sheet
off, revealing his straining length.  Her hand stroked him, surrounding him
and moving up and down the shaft.  Inching over she started to kiss his
chest, lips seeking the flat male nipples.  Looking down at him she raised
an eyebrow, then climbed over him, her leg dragging against his arousal,
causing Logan to grit his teeth as she left him, lying unfulfilled on the
bed, his body aching for her.

"Fuck." Logan gasped.

"Soon, sugar, soon."

Opening her case she grabbed a string of condoms and crossed back to the
bed, looking down at him.  She smiled, her eyes running over his aroused
body.  She pulled a condom off the string and threw the rest onto the
bedside table. Climbing back onto the bed, she sat near his feet and ran
her hands up his legs, separating them.  Her nails scored thin red lines on
the insides of his thighs, his head tossing on the pillow as her tongue
licked up the already disappearing scratches.  Her long hair swept along
the length of his erection, causing him to call out her name.  Leaving one
hand on his belly, another on the bed next to his hip, Marie lowered her
head and her lips opened wide.

At the first touch of her warm lips, his hips pistoned up.  The first touch
of her tongue forced a pained groan as she moved with him, opening her
mouth wider, letting him thrust in, suppressing the gag reflex as best she
could.  Bringing her hands to his hips she pushed them down, her lips
suckling on him as he fell out of her warm mouth.

"Oh, baby, that felt so good," he moaned.

Going down on him again, her lips surrounded him, closing just under the
head.  Changing position again her tongue stroked the head, then with a
hand massaging his balls, she licked her way down the shaft, the pulse
beating strongly.  When he began to thrust up again she grabbed the condom
and rolled it on, smiling at the sigh of relief that fell from his lips.

Logan couldn't remember feeling such relief at being encased in latex
before. That relief was nothing compared to the next moment as Marie
straddled him and in one quick motion took his hard and aching length
completely into her moist heat.  Raising herself she let all but the head
fall free.  With a graceful downward thrust she took him deep, those strong
inner muscles clasping and pulling.  Again and again, with his large hands
supporting her, she repeated the movement, his hips following her, trying
to stay as deeply within her as possible.  He captured her breasts as she
rolled her hips, their bodies locked together.

"Marie. Come on, Marie. Now, baby, now."

Feeling his balls pull tight, Logan knew it wasn't going to be much
longer.  Knowing he needed her with him, he pulled her tighter to him and
felt relief when her head rolled back and she cried out.

"Logan!"

Feeling that internal pressure again, he knew she had found her breaking
point.  He made one last thrust, his body going as taut as hers had a
breath before, following her into the abyss.

Waking with Marie on top of him, her weight keeping him locked in place was
a very good thing Logan decided.  He ran his hands over her smooth back,
delighted at the way, even in sleep, she cuddled closer to him when he
touched her. Enjoying the mellow feelings of the afterglow, his reverie was
pleasurably interrupted when he felt her lips on his chest.

Lifting her head she smiled down at him, her eyes dreamy.  "Hi."  Her lips
returned to his damp skin.

"Hey."

Marie blushed prettily, but said nothing, returning to her kissing and
licking.   He closed his eyes and arched his back as she started to nibble
on a flat nipple. Logan felt her stretch as she moved up until her lips
were descending on his, the warm taste of Marie sending his blood pounding
again.  Rolling her onto her back, he smiled down at her, her long dark
hair swirling on the mattress.  With one last kiss he moved away from her,
levering himself up off the bed, heading to the bathroom for a bit of
post-coital maintenance.

When Logan emerged from the bathroom, Marie was still sitting on the bed,
back against the headboard; the wrinkled sheet pulled up to her breasts.

"How do you feel?"

"Good.  My control is still good."

"Wasn't what I asked you,  darlin'."  When she looked up, his eyes were
amused, but concerned.

Marie reached up to touch his face as he sat next to her on the bed,
pulling him to her until their lips met and her tongue swept into his mouth
to play with his.  His furry cheeks delighted her even as they scratched
her sensitive skin. The sheet dropped as she leaned forward to wrap her
arms around his neck and he moved to encircle her in his arms.  When they
finally surfaced for breath, she leaned against him, her head resting on
his shoulder.

"Tired?"  He hoped she would say no.

"No. Restless… I feel like I have a lot of energy."

Spying her ruined nightgown lying on the floor, he had a thought, and hoped
she would be willing.  "Ever see 'Fit to be Tied'?"

She turned her head to stare at him, a sensually devious look in her eyes,
her lips turning up in a grin.  He was so absorbed in her that he knew she
was getting excited again.  He looked at her seriously for a second.  "You
have any worries, or you get nervous, you just say..." he wracked his brain
thinking of a safe word, but looking at her, her eyes huge with delight,
her body exuding desire, sex, lust, he could barely think past three
words:  In. Marie. Now.

Shaking off his haze of desire he tried again.  "You just say..."

"Poodles."

"Poodles?" he blinked, pondering that one.

"Yeah, can't think of any reason to say Poodles, can you?"

He thought about that for a minute.  With a shrug he said, "Well Marie,
amazingly enough, I never thought of poodles while we were making love just
then.  Poodles it is."

Gently pushing her onto her back, he got off the bed and picked the
nightgown up from the floor.  It took only a few powerful rips to make four
usable strips.   Throwing the rest of the destroyed nightgown on the other
bed, he turned back to Marie, who was watching him closely, waiting for
him.  Kissing her palm, he took her right wrist and tied the nightgown
strip around it, then to the rung of the headboard.  Doing the same with
the left, he moved down her body, stopping to give her a long and heady
kiss before moving down, kissing every bit of skin he could before reaching
her ankles.  Kissing the right ankle, he tied the pink fabric around it,
then tied the other end to the leg of the bed, causing her legs to part
even wider.  Smiling down at her with a fierce tenderness, he did the same
on the other side, leaving her spread eagle on the bed, the spicy scent of
her desire all around him.  He could see her shivering in anticipation and
felt his cock quiver.

Settling in at the bottom of the bed, he stepped up the game by running his
hands up her legs, leaning in to kiss the soft skin of her inner thighs,
her soft skin reacting to his touch, the burn from his beard already
forming on her skin.  Moving from one side to the other he stopped and blew
a warm breeze into the brown curls, then returned to her legs, watching the
muscles twitch as he kissed and licked his way to her knees and up again.

"You're so fucking beautiful, Marie.  So soft.  So ready."

She moaned in response, his name turning into an unrecognizable syllable.

Shifting his position, he knelt in the space between her legs and leaned up
and kissed her, his hands at her sides, feeling her pull against the
'ropes' as he lifted his head and broke the kiss.  Moving down he returned
again to her, hearing her moan as he laved and licked.  The taste of her
was intoxicating he thought, which led to another idea.

Leaving her tied to the bed, he paid no heed to her whimper as he abandoned
teasing her warm skin.  He went over to his bag and pulled out a bottle of
beer, still cold from the cooler in the camper. Using the opener on his
keychain he opened the bottle, watching her eyes open wide.

"Trust me, darlin'?"

She didn't even hesitate, just looked him straight in the eye.  "I trust
you, sugar."

With a satisfied smirk he returned to the bed, sitting to the side of her
hip.  Tilting the bottle slightly he poured a trickle of the cold, dark
beer onto the soft skin of her belly.  His tongue followed, lapping the
beer up, his tongue dipping into her navel to get every last drop.  Looking
up at her flushed face as she struggled against the bonds he waited, giving
her time to say the safe word, but she didn't, so he continued.  Taking
another mouthful of the cold beer, he took a nipple into his mouth, letting
the cold liquid encompass it, then swallowing, he used his tongue to warm
the nipple back up, feeling it grow, the skin getting tighter.  When he
heard her calling his name as he repeated the same procedure on the other
breast, licking down the soft peaks to the valley between them where a
small river of beer had collected.  Finished with his cleaning up, he
settled again between her legs.

Marie was breathing heavily, her eyes still closed when he took a sip of
the beer, and moving quickly so it wouldn't have time to warm, brought his
mouth to her warm and fragrant folds.  Using his fingers to open her so he
could have better access, he fastened his lips around the straining bud,
gently sucking it while letting the cold beer flow around it.

Her response was immediate, "Logan!" she yelped as she pulled against the
pink ropes and thrust upward, her already aroused body finding another
orgasm in seconds as the sensations of cold beer, warm tongue, and soft
lips combined in a torrent of pleasurable provocation. She cried out,
calling his name, her body shaking as the tremors moving through her at
lightening speed.  She called his name over and over again as he kissed her
belly, letting his tongue draw patterns in the damp skin.  Feeling her body
go limp, he let her settle, watching her chest heave as she tried to
breathe, her muscles shaking with strain.

"Logan," she breathed.

Leaning down to kiss her neck he whispered assurances and compliments while
his hands continued to stroke her.  "You did perfect, baby.  You're
amazing, so lovely and hot," he said.  He looked down at her and smiled,
she looked so beautiful, so passionate beneath him, so * right *.

When Marie could think coherently again she heard him moving to the end of
the bed.  Seconds later she felt him doing something with the strips that
held her legs open.  Then the tension went slack and her legs collapsed
together.  Logan took one leg and flexed it, then the other and she felt
the muscles begin to warm and flex again.    Freeing her wrists he massaged
her arms, getting the blood to flow back into the tight muscles, kissing
her here and there.   A deep kiss on her lips, the taste of beer and Marie
leaving them both panting, bodies aching for more.

"Flip over?"  Logan asked, one eyebrow cocked, a wry grin curling his lips.

It was a request, not a demand, a promise, not a threat.

So she did.

When she was on her belly he told her to lift up, and when she was raised
on her arms, he put a pillow lengthwise under her head and breasts.   He
took another pillow and used it to raise her hips.  He brushed her hair to
one side and kissed the nape of her neck as he tied her wrists, making sure
the bonds weren't too tight on her delicate skin.  Licking and kissing his
way down her back, he stopped to nip at her soft cheeks, then lower to tie
the ropes, leaving her beautifully open to his gaze.  He left her for a
second to grab the beer bottle from where he had put it the floor.  Pouring
a trickle onto her lower back, he let the dark brew, now lukewarm, pool in
the small of her back.   Diving in, he lapped it up, tasting the bitter of
the beer and the salt of her skin, the intoxicating combination going to
both his heads.

Logan was so aroused it took some focus to set the bottle back on the
floor.  Ripping another foil packet from the string on the bedside table he
fumbled with it, finally getting it open.  Rolling on the latex sheath, he
moved back to the bed, getting into position.  Kissing her shoulders, he
kept going until he nipped and soothed the skin above her racing pulse.

Whispering words of comfort in her ear, telling her how much he wanted her,
how much he needed her, Logan slid down until his hips were in
position.  Breathing hard, he started to slide into her, her previous
orgasms and current arousal making his way slick and warm.   At Marie's low
cry of pleasure he slid deeper, then withdrew.  Pressing forward he started
his rhythm, fluid thrusts deep to her core, sliding back until he had
enough room to thrust again.

Her body did its best to keep him inside, her channel warm and snug around
him the tremors of her body shaking him.  He kept his hands on the bed to
maintain his balance, his mouth moving on her back, neck, and around to her
cheeks to kiss whatever skin he could reach.  The conflicting textures of
his beard and lips were driving her mad.  The burn deep inside his body
flared as she pushed her rear up, pulling him deeper.

"More Logan, more," Marie entreated as he continued to move inside her,
kissing the soft, warm skin between her shoulder blades.  He was all around
her, inside her.  There was no place that wasn't connected.  She whimpered
as he pulled out and moaned as he thrust back inside, sliding deep, his
lips never leaving her skin.

His hips lunging as he strained to hold himself above her, Logan focused on
the friction of her body under his, his body in hers.  The feel of her
bottom pressing against him, her silky warm skin against his sac, pushing
him toward climax, made him lose his rhythm and he started thrusting toward
fulfillment.  The next time she reared up, pressing against him, wiggling
her hips, panting his name, he wrapped an arm around her, his fingers
starting to slowly torment her clit.  Their bodies fastened together, he
continued to stroke the erect nubbin until he felt her start to tremble,
starting in the warm channel that was holding him tight.  The endorphins
flowing into his blood, he made one final thrust and came, her body still
pulsing around him.

Neither could breathe easily, the aftershocks making muscles shake and
breathing hard.  Finally, feeling just strong enough to move, Logan reached
up and extending a claw, and sliced the pink ropes that held her
wrists.  Pulling free of her tight heat reluctantly he got off the bed,
cutting the bonds around her ankles, then flexed, pulling the claw back
into his forearm.

Logan turned her over, gently rolling her off the pillows, laying her on
her back.  Leaning down he kissed her, slipping her only a bit of tongue
before letting her go, retreating to the bathroom.  He returned in a moment
with a towel he had soaked in warm water.  As brown eyes watched him
wearily, he cleansed gently between her thighs, letting the moist, soothing
heat of the towel relax her.

Noticing the bruises starting to form on her thighs and hips he said
nothing, just leaned down and kissed her, relieved when her arms went
around his neck, her mouth opening beneath his.  Breaking the kiss to
struggle to pull in a breath, Logan removed the now cool towel, throwing it
in the direction of the bathroom.

Picking up her boneless form he pulled the sheet and blanket back.  Placing
her in the center he crawled in behind her, spooning her.  He made certain
Marie was shielded from the door and windows of the room by his larger
frame, then curled around her.  She was almost asleep when a soft giggle
shook the breast under his hand.

"Logan?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"It was Poodles that gave you the idea for that last one, wasn't it?"

Kissing her shoulder, he smiled at the powerfully arousing memory.  "It was
all you and your Poodles, darlin'," Logan whispered.

Chuckling tiredly, she yawned and cuddled backwards, bringing her body
closer to his.

His arms holding her tightly, their breathing evened out and they fell
asleep, bodies entwined, skin to skin.


~x~X~x~

XXX Mansion 5/11
See part 0 for disclaimers, etc.

~x~X~x~

Logan's eyes snapped open when she started to pull out of his embrace.  He
had always been the one to creep out as dawn approached, and he didn't like
the thought of Marie leaving him like that.  Then again, this was the first
time he could remember sleeping wrapped around another person all
night.  The unfamiliar feelings of panic, worry, and a slight bit of
performance anxiety that lasted all of three seconds, stole over
him.  Thinking about it a second longer, he assured himself that there was
no way she hadn't been satisfied last night.  He could feel her in every
pore of his being, could remember every cry of satisfaction.

"Where you goin'?"

She looked thoroughly debauched, her skin showing numerous love bites and
bruises in the shape of his fingertips.  Her hair was a mass of crazed
tendrils around her shoulders.  "Shower.  It's ten forty five, we need to
be out of here at noon and I need to clean up."

Good. She wasn't leaving him.

Logan considered the implications of that realization for only a moment,
deciding to keep that for later reference.  His second realization came
that there was no way he could join her in the shower if they needed to
leave so soon.  Sighing, he rolled back over onto his back, deciding to try
to get a bit more sleep. "'Kay,"  he grunted, not seeing her amused grin as
she watched him fall asleep again.

Marie stood in the shower, letting the warm water flow over her, massaging
muscles unused to such frenetic activity.  Washing herself with her soapy
body sponge she saw the marks his loving had left on her skin.  She felt a
sense of bone deep satisfaction, a warmth deep inside that had nothing to
do with the surprisingly strong hot water pressure at the Kleen 'n' Komfy
flowing over her.  Logan had been tender and rough at the same time, his
passionate loving as much a dichotomy as everything else about him
was.  Threading the conditioner through her hair she wondered if the next
time would be as good, not questioning her instinct that said there would
be a next time.

Marie emerged from the bathroom a half an hour later, feeling clean and
wrapped in a towel, the cheap motel weave scratchy and uncomfortable
against her skin.  Looking longingly at Logan snoring softly on the wrecked
bed, she regretted they had to leave the Kleen 'n' Komfy so soon.

"Logan.  Logan!" Marie called softly first, then a bit more loudly.

He bolted upright, looking at her with a barely contained annoyance. "What?!"

"Get up, sugar.  We have to be out of here in a half hour."

Running his hands over his face, he shook off the remnants of
sleep.  Giving her a dark look, he rolled off the bed, and gloriously
naked, padded to the bathroom, cursing creatively.

She watched his tight butt as he stalked across the room, losing sight of
him only when he entered the shower, since he didn't bother to close the
door.  Dressing quickly, Marie put on a pair of slate blue tights that
matched a blue leather skirt, not quite mini, but close enough to count,
and deep maroon sweater.  A small smile on her full lips, she put the
panties and bra back into the case and pulled on a pair of heeled leather
boots, barely respectable for winter use.  Looking around the room, she
started to gather the rest of her things, untying the remains of her pink
nightgown from the bed, blushing as she remembered.  Putting the pieces in
a plastic bag, she packed it back in the case, wondering if he'd be
disappointed to find that her other nightgown was a small piece of forest
green silk.  Shaking off that particularly interesting vision, she pulled
out a slate blue scarf and tied it around her neck, tying it so the
purpling hickies were covered.  She was opening her make-up case to do a
quick touch up when he came out of the bathroom, hot steam pouring out
behind him.

Logan had always been an attractive man. With only a towel around his hips,
he looked amazing, factoring in that he was wet he looked better.  Striding
over to the table, he dug in his duffel bag, pulling out jeans and a
baffling assortment of shirts.  Still staring at him in the mirror, Marie's
heart skipped a beat when he pulled the towel off and rubbed it over his
body, then let it drop onto the bed.   The thought that ran through her
mind surprised her only a little - "Mine."

Finished pulling on his jeans and shirts, as if he could read her thoughts,
his eyes met hers in the mirror.

"What?"  It seemed to be his favorite word in the morning.

"No underwear?"

"No."

She smiled and started to put on some lipstick, looking up in shock when he
appeared in the mirror right behind her.

His hands moved over her bottom, then under the skirt, across the cheeks,
around her hips, and between her thighs.  One large hand cupping her, he
pulled her back to him, both watching each other in the mirror, ignoring
the tube of Berry Surprise as it rolled out of her hand and onto the desk,
then rolling, unnoticed to the floor.

His warm fingers stroked up and down her outer folds, making her even more
aware she wore no panties beneath the tights.  He nipped her neck, then
soothed with his warm tongue.

"You were saying?"

"Nothing wrong with you free ballin', Logan."  She moved back of her own
volition this time, stroking his front with her rear. "Nothin' at all, sugar."

Finally removing his hand, he turned her around.  She needed no prompting
to press closer, to mold herself to him as he leaned down to take her
mouth.  The heeled boots giving her just a bit more height, she leaned up
higher, forcing the kiss deeper, thrusting her tongue into his mouth,
reminding them both of the delights of last night.

When he finally broke it off he shook his head. "Fuck."

"Okay."

His grin was wry.  "No, 'Fuck', as in we have to get on the road."

"Fuck."

"You got it," he said, his lips returning to hers for one last, quick kiss.

Letting her go, he went back into the bathroom to grab his toiletry
bag.  Dressed for the outdoors, once the fallen tube of Berry Surprise was
recovered, then discarded.  Marie not wanting anything that had spent time
on the Kleen 'n' Komfy's carpet to touch her lips, they headed out the door
of Room 211.

Leaving Logan to put their bags in the cars, Marie walked over to the
office to turn in the key, assuring the clerk on duty that she had indeed
spent a pleasant night.  The clerk pointed her in the direction of the
remains of the Continental Breakfast, and she grabbed the box of four
Danishes and two huge styrofoam cups of coffee gratefully on her way out
the door.

Catching up with Logan in the parking lot , Marie asked him to open her
front passenger door, then handed him one of the cups of coffee.  She put
the other coffee in Sven's cupholder.  She took one raspberry and one
cherry danish out of the box and wrapping them in a napkin, set them next
to her purse on the passenger seat.  Giving the box to Logan, she smiled at
his nonplused expression.

"It'll keep us until we can find a place to stop," she told him.

He nodded.  "I know a place… a couple of hours from here.   Good food, lots
of it."

"Sounds perfect."

Turning back to face him, she watched him put his cup on the floor of his
truck, the box on the driver's seat.  Of one mind they moved closer
together, arms going around each other, lips meeting.   His lips left hers
and moved down her throat, the soft hairs of his beard leaving red
pinpricks on her face and neck.  He nipped her neck, then back up, their
lips reuniting for one last kiss before they broke the embrace.

"Follow me." Logan commanded gruffly, getting into his truck.

Nodding, Marie closed Sven's passenger door and walked around to the
driver's side.  Getting in, she took a bite of the Danish, grimacing at the
fake butter taste, but swallowed anyway, washing it down with the only half
bad coffee.  Starting her car, she followed Logan back onto the highway,
heading east once again.

~x~X~x~

They had been driving for two hours when Logan turned at a sign that read
'Sparky's Home Cookin' Ahead'.  Marie followed him down the short drive to
a diner with a huge parking lot; plenty of room for the semi-trucks that
drove this route through northern Canada. The diner itself was a squat
concrete and glass box, but looked to be in good repair, the windows
sparkling clean.  Parking Sven next to Logan's truck Marie shut off the
engine and unbelted herself, watching Logan as he got out of his truck, a
cloud of cigar smoke following him.

She grabbed her purse and got out of the car, meeting him at her
trunk.  "You should really wear your seat belt."

"Look, kid, I don't need advice on auto safety from you," Logan responded,
shaking his cigar stub at her before putting it in his jacket pocket.  He
couldn't have been too mad at her though, she decided, since his arm went
around her shoulders and stayed there.

"Fine.  Don't blame me when you go sailing through your windshield one of
these days," she told him as they entered the diner.  Her attention was
immediately distracted by the smell of cooking food and the sight of French
Silk Pies in a revolving refrigerated case.

A tall, lanky woman met them at the front counter, smiling at
Logan.  "Wolverine, good to see ya, hun."  She looked at Marie, and then at
Logan's arm around Marie, and her eyes widened.

"Irma, this is Rogue.  Rogue, this is Sparky's wife, Irma."

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am."

Irma smiled at the polite response and gave Marie an approving
look.  "Ya'll look hungry.  Come on, I have a booth in the corner that you
can stay for awhile and load up at."

Reaching their booth, Logan removed his jackets, and taking Marie's wool
coat, hung them on the hooks attached to the booth.  Irma left them to read
their menus, telling them she would be back in a few minutes with some coffee.

"They're nice folks.  Food's good too," Logan assured her.

Marie smiled, looking over the menu. "She certainly remembers you."

"Sparky used to own another fight bar years ago.  When I started I didn't
have much in the way of money so they'd float me until I got enough to pay
for food."

"That was nice of them."

He nodded and gave Irma one of his rare friendly and sincere smiles when
she returned with the coffee.

"Did ya'll have enough time? What can I get ya?"

At Marie's nod, Logan started ordering.  "I'll have the steak platter."

Irma grinned.  "The Wolverine usual, steak - still dripping, fries, no
salad, no veg on the plate."  He nodded his approval and Irma turned to
Marie.  "And for you, honey?"

"I'll have the sausage and eggs, with pancakes.  And I'll take his salad
and veg."

Irma nodded approvingly.  "It'll just be a minute or two, huns."  She made
a motion around the mostly empty dining area. "Not many folks here at the
moment.  I'll leave ya be for now."  Grinning cheerfully she ambled away.

Marie was getting an uncomfortable feeling.  "Is it that obvious what we
spent last night doing?" she asked him.

Logan grinned at her, male satisfaction all but oozing out onto the
table.  "I think it's the hickies on your neck that're giving it away."

"Logan!"  Giving him an exasperated glare she grabbed her purse and slid
out of the booth, walking past him to head down the back hall to restrooms.

While she was gone Irma reappeared with the salad, placing it on the table
with a few little plastic cups of different dressings.  "Forgot to ask what
kind of dressing she wanted.  Brought a few."  She stared at him
calmly.  "Told her about the hickies, huh?"

"Yeah."  His responding smile bared his teeth.

"Men.  Well, tell her I'm sorry about the dressing thing." Her eyes lit
up.  "Not that you want her dressing, I'm sure."

"Bad pun.  Irma, bad pun."

"I know, but I couldn't resist."  She looked up when the chef's hat bobbed
behind the counter and a bell rang.  "Food's up."  She headed back to the
prep shelf, and stopping for a bottle of ketchup and a trio of syrups,
brought their plates and put them down on the table.  Setting Marie's food
next to the salad and its little stable of dressings.

Marie returned to the booth just as Irma was putting down the last of her
plates, her scarf wrapped a little higher on her neck.  "Oh, good.  I'm
starving."  She said idly, blushing faintly when Irma turned amused eyes in
her direction.

"Little thing like you needs all the energy she can get.  Eat up,
child.  We have pie, too."

Marie nodded and slid back into the booth.

Logan was already hacking away at his huge plate of deceased cow when he
noticed Marie was staring at her hands as she picked up her fork.

"Darlin'?  Somethin' wrong?"

   "I forgot to put gloves on this morning." She frowned, grabbing her purse
and starting to pull out the spare pair of thin gloves she kept in there.

"Don't bother.  Besides, you seemed to have control last night."  Logan
shrugged as he upended the bottle of ketchup onto his plate, pouring most
of it into a huge red puddle.

"I know, I just still worry about it sometimes, Logan."

"Baby, there ain't no reason for you to wear the damn gloves while you're
eatin'."  Taking a mouthful of steak so rare that if she thought about it
would have probably been sick to her stomach, he nodded.  "Don't worry
about it."

She frowned, but resisted the urge to pull the gloves on.  He was right,
she had control, and unless Irma pulled her into a tango around the lunch
counter, she really had no reason to wear the gloves while she ate
anyway.   Nodding, she poured a little bit of the French, Italian, and
Thousand Island on to the salad and started in.

The salad didn't last long and she moved onto the pancakes, delighting in
the smooth buttermilk taste.  She looked up to see Logan staring at her.

"What?" she said, stealing his word of the day.

"Do that again."

"Do what again?"

"The licking thing, where you licked the syrup off the fork."

"You need help."

"Yeah, everyone says that."

"Everyone is right, Logan.  Eat your cow. Before it decides it doesn't like
you and walks off the plate."

His answer was a snort while he stuffed another huge mouthful of
uncomfortably red meat into his mouth.

She pondered his request for a second, a devilish thought came to mind when
she saw the sausage links on her plate.  Giving into the urge, she took one
of the links in her bare fingers.  After rolling the hapless sausage in a
puddle of maple syrup, in a bit of over the top, but to the point
theatrics, she licked the syrup off.

Logan looked up from cutting a chunk of almost raw cow just in time to see
her tongue swirl around the end of the sausage.

His fork clattered to the plate.

"Damn."

"No cursing at the dinner table."  She blushed as the reminder popped out,
sixteen years of her mama's lessons on manners coming out
automatically.  Giving him a leering smirk that said it all, she licked
down the other side of the sausage link then bit off one end, and chewing
happily, she leaned back and thrust out her chest a bit, knowing she had
his full attention.

"That is good meat."

Logan was still staring at her; his eyes round and glazed, nostrils flaring.

Polishing the sausage off with gusto, she leaned back against the booth.

"It was sticky though.  My fingers are all sweet and sticky."  Checking out
his reaction from beneath her eyelashes, she took her index finger into her
mouth, and daintily sucked off the syrup.  Then her middle finger...
letting it remain in a suggestive position for a second before she moved on
to her ring finger, then her pinky, finally her thumb.

"Tasted like more."  She grabbed the next sausage and rolled it around in
the syrup again, this time making sure the syrup was oozing down the
sausage before she leaned forward to lick it off.  Once the syrup had been
removed, she again leaned back.

But this time, she raised her foot between his legs and moved it up until
it the high heel of her boot was wedged between his crotch and the bench of
the booth.  And slowly she pressed her foot into his crotch, tapping gently
to a rhythm she set in her head.

Watching his pupils dilate, she smiled and continued to eat her lunch. His
eyes were dark by the time she finished licking off her fingers
again.  Pressing her foot long and hard against his noticeably harder
crotch, she removed her foot and straightened up.  Taking up her fork again
she moved the little bowl of broccoli and carrots onto her plate.

"Yum.  Veggies."  She looked over at Logan, who was staring at her with
narrowed eyes.

"Marie...."

"Your meat's gettin' cold, sugar.  Better eat up now."

He growled at her and shifted on the seat, then recovered his fork from the
table and speared a piece of steak.  He bared teeth as he bit into the
meat, tearing it off the fork.  She returned his scowl with an innocent
look.  They ate steadily and soon all the plates were empty.  Irma came and
cleared them away, bringing a carafe of coffee and a promise of pie in a
little bit.

Looking at him relaxing over his coffee, Marie decided to ask him a
question she had been pondering.  "Logan, why porn movies?"

He blinked at her, pulling out his cigar and chewing on it.   She could see
he was weighing his answer carefully.  "I was good at two things, killin'
and fuckin'.  Fuckin' was easier."

"Oh."  Marie stared at his hands, knowing the claws had something to do
with his reasoning.

He sighed and leaned back against the booth, aware she was looking at his
hands, at the claws just beneath the skin.   "You… felt what happened last
night.  The claws, the nightmares."  She nodded encouragingly.  "I don't
know where the claws came from, wherever it was is the same place the
nightmares came from.  Doing this," he motioned with the cigar, and she
took it to mean the movies, "has never given me nightmares."  He paused,
looking at the cigar in his hand. "And it's a no pressure gig, can leave
for a few weeks, come back, work a few weeks, leave again." He
shrugged.  "It just seemed to work out."  He looked at her shrewdly.  "Why
did you get into this?"

She gave him a self-mocking twist of her lips.  Refusing to meet his eyes
she focused on her bare fingers as they played with her spoon.  "You know
about my mutation… when it manifested, I was kissing my… boyfriend.  I put
him into a coma for three weeks; I could feel him in my mind for a year
afterward, until he finally faded."

"Ouch."  He stared at her.  "Am I in there now?"

"Sort of.  I feel… strong from you, energized.  But not you you."  She
looked apologetic.  "It's hard to explain."

"That's okay, darlin'."

"Yeah.  My family, they tried to be supportive, but it was too hard.  I
could see they were having problems with it all, so I left."  She finally
looked him in the eye, a sad look in hers.  "I was planning on being alone
for a long time, then I met Charlie and 'Ro, came to the mansion.  And when
Charlie and I started working on control, I just knew I had to."

"Why?"

She abandoned the spoon and picked up her coffee cup, taking a sip.  "To
prove I was touchable.  Because I could * be * touchable again.  To prove
that I could control it, instead of it controlling me.  It took five years
to get to this point, to be able to touch skin to skin." She wiggled her
eyebrows. "Besides, the whole thing looks like fun."

He snorted.  "It can be.  It's usually more work than fun."

"Logan?"

"Hmmm?"

"What about that man at the bar?  Vic?"

"You don't want to know about that."

"If we're running because of him, I think I do."

Damn it.   She was right.  Weighing it all, he capitulated.  "Vic works for
Erik Lehnsherr at Ironhard Brothers Studios.   Fifteen years ago…  I woke
up in the middle of nowhere.  Didn't know who I was; didn't have any money,
any clothes, any idea of anything.  I wandered around, finally got some
clothes, money, but I was just drifting.  Eight years ago I drifted into
Erik.  Vic works as his muscle.  Erik was just starting in films, and got
into trouble when Vic - Sabretooth - did some damage to his 'co-star'."

The expression on Logan's face was mocking as he said the last, making it
clear to Marie that the co-star probably hadn't been a willing
one.  "Anyway, I ended up having to pay off Erik for helping me."  He
frowned, his hazel eyes turning dark and stormy.  "It was supposed to be
just your standard suck and fuck.  But Erik can control metal; he used me
as the weapon, to stab the girl in the film.  She barely survived."  He
gazed at her with haunted eyes.  "I left that night and never looked
back.  Met up with Charlie the next year.  Been with BBHP since."

Taking his hand in hers, Marie ran her fingers over the knuckles, bringing
his hand to her lips, kissing first the palm, then the space between the
knuckles where the claws came out.   "It wasn't your fault, Logan."

Whatever she was going to say next was interrupted by Irma, bringing their
two slices of French Silk to the table.  Marie let go of his hand, leaning
back so Irma could put the plates down on the table.  With an apologetic
glance, she left them alone again.

Logan started to say something, but the bell over the door rang and he
turned to look at the new customer.  Irma gave the twenty something man a
glance, picking up a menu and led him to a booth diagonal from the one they
were sitting in.  He was unremarkable, and Marie, aside from looking up
didn't pay him much heed.

As Irma led him by their table, Logan noticed a familiar scent.  His eyes
searched the features of the young man, trying to place him, but couldn't;
then it dawned on him.  The man looked up from his menu and gave Logan a
blank look, then returned his attention to the lunch entrees, a slight
smile on his face.  Logan couldn't help the sharp snarl as he realized
exactly who the stranger was.

"Logan?  Is anything wrong?"  Marie inquired, noticing his distraction.

"Everything's fine, Marie.  Eat up, we should try to get back on the road."

Marie was confused, his behavior had made a one eighty in a matter of
minutes.   She wondered if he regretted taking her into his
confidence.  "Logan?  I'm sorry... I didn't mean to..."

   He returned his attention as her voice faltered.  "We need to get back on
the road.  Need to get back to the mansion, where you'll be safe," he
nodded to himself, giving her a reassuring smile.

"Where I'll be safe?" she echoed. "Logan, what is up with you?"

He got up from the booth.  "I said don't worry about it, darlin'.  I'll be
back in a few, okay?"

Still feeling uncertain, she looked up at him, unhappiness reflected in her
eyes.  "Okay."

With a nod he kept walking to the hallway in the back that led to the
restrooms.

Her back was to the hallway and her mind was focusing on Logan's strange
behavior, so she never noticed the young man as he gave Irma his
order.  Nor did she notice once he had ordered, and Irma had left for the
kitchen, he rose and headed down the same back hallway Logan had just gone
down.

Logan was washing his hands when the man entered the bathroom and opened
his fly.

Logan stared at him in the mirror as he moved up to the urinal.  "Does it
really work?" he asked the other man.

The guy turned his head and grinned at him.  "Oh yeah.  Can pee and fuck
with it.  Pretty spiffy things you guys keep between your legs."

"Well, why don't you go play with it yourself and not bother following me
around anymore?"

Moving to the door, Logan pushed the heavy steel trashcan in front of it
and spun around, grabbing the young man.  One powerful arm wrapped around
the man's throat, the claws out and ready to slice with one stroke.  He
wrapped his other hand around the penis sticking awkwardly out of the khaki
pants as the man flailed his arms, unable to break Logan's strong grip.

Logan leaned down and whispered the young man's ear.  "You and Pricky - you
stay away from me.  You got that, bitch?"

The young man's body started to change, the fair white skin of the arms
sticking out from the short sleeved sweater turning a mottled blue, scales
growing here and there.  Breasts started to grow and fill out the
sweater.  The penis lost all detail and turned blue, pulling up into the
body, disappearing into the fly of the khaki pants, which hung awkwardly
off the changed body.

Logan pulled back, letting the claws nick the blue skin at her throat.  "I
ain't kidding, Raven.  I'm not interested in working with you sick
fucks.  Not now, not ever."

"But Logan, Erik is willing to offer you a very lucrative role in our new
enterprise."

"I'm *not fucking interested *."  He pushed her roughly from him,
retracting the claws at the last second before they would have sliced into
the blue flesh.  "Not at all fucking interested.  I see you again - I gut
you like a deer.  If, and I do mean if, they ever find your body, they'll
think you're the fucking goddamned Fiji Mermaid."

The yellow eyes were flinty and cold. "What about your little friend, the
fluffer?" she sneered.

"Don't even think it, Raven."

The yellow eyes glared at him hatefully.  "She looks to be quite
tasty.  You know at the brotherhood we do like young and tasty," she said
as a pink tongue obscenely licked blue lips.

"Stay the fuck away from her, from me, and you'll live.  You show up in the
same zip code as either of us, I will rip your cold heart out."  Not
waiting for an answer, Logan pushed the trash can aside and stormed out the
door.  Taking a second to calm his fury, he paced the hallway; not wanting
to alarm Marie any more than she already was.

When he got back to the booth Marie smiled at him cautiously.   Logan was
frustrated, none of this was her fault, but he had to get them out of here,
back on the road to New York.  Once she was at the mansion she would be
safe.  Charlie, Scott and Hank knew about Erik, and what he was capable
of.  They would help him keep her safe.  But he didn't want her to get
anxious, or for that matter, ask questions he really didn't want to answer.

Marie examined him as he sat and fidgeted, knowing something was up.  She
just wasn't sure what; though she had a feeling it had to do with the
blonde giant from last night.  The young man returned from the restroom,
turning to give her a smile, which she returned distractedly.  Logan
growled at the young man then, but the guy just kept walking back to his
table, where his lunch was waiting for him.

Irma returned to their table, bringing two boxes for their untouched pieces
of pie; she put the pie into the boxes, packaging them with a couple of
plastic forks in a white bag.   Logan asked for a large coffee to go, while
Marie ordered a large coke.  Nodding, Irma went to fill their drinks, and
Logan and Marie slipped into their jackets.  Meeting at the front counter
Logan paid for the food, adding a generous tip.

Telling them to stop by again, Irma watched as the couple left the diner,
Logan putting the bag with the pie into the camper, while Marie put her
coke in her car.  Turning back to her other customer, Irma noticed that the
young man was watching them also.  Grabbing the coffeepot, she headed over
to refill the young man's cup.

Out in the parking lot Logan rubbed Marie's cheek.  "Let's try to make some
good time.  Okay, darlin'?"

She nodded and he leaned down, relieved when she returned his kiss.

~x~X~x~

[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

XXX Mansion 6/11
See part 0 for disclaimers, etc

~x~X~x~


They had been on the road for hours, making good time and mileage.  Logan
expected that they would be crossing over into Saskatchewan soon.  They had
stopped twice for gas and bathrooms, grabbing more caffeinated beverages at
each stop.  Logan hoped to make Vanson, just over the provincial line, in a
few hours.  He knew an out of the way motel; it wasn't the Ritz, but the
owners kept it clean and it was off the main roads so it should be safe for
a night.  He looked at the clock; they had been traveling for two hours
since their last stop, and it was dark out.  He knew they should stop for a
few minutes and move around; maybe eat that pie they hadn't had time for
back at Sparky's.

Marie was curious when Logan pulled over onto a road that proclaimed it the
way to a 'Historic Marker', but followed him down the rough road about a
quarter of a mile.  Parking her car alongside the truck, she got out,
thankful for the opportunity to move around again.

"Why are we stopping, Logan?"

"Thought maybe the American girl would like to see the place General Green
rallied the troops back in 1873."

"Ummm… okay."  Marie tilted her head, a finger twisting in her hair, her
expression curious.

"You can see it better from inside the camper."

Her eyes flew to his, a smile curving her full lips, her brown eyes giving
him a look he couldn't help his body's response to.  He felt his jeans get
tighter.  "Oh, really?"

He nodded.  "Rallying is always better when seen inside a camper."  His
brain gave him a swift slap upside the head.  He had only been thinking
about the pie, but the glimmer in her eyes was causing him to do some major
rethinking.

"Well, you are the native tour guide, so I'll have to take your word for
that."

He unlocked and opened the door, lifting her inside.  Climbing in after
her, he turned on the battery-powered lamp, locking the door behind him.

"This looks cozy, sugar.  So, how many troops did General Whatshisface rally?"

"Who?"

"You know, the rallying General?"

"Oh, him.  Lots.  Lots of general rallying."

The look she gave him was lascivious as she pulled off her coat and perched
on the edge of the table.  Logan moved in between her thighs, taking her
gloved hands in his when she started to pull the thin leather off.

"Leave them on."

"Logan?"

"Leave them on."

"Why?"

He started to untie the scarf from around her neck, revealing the hickies
he had given her last night.  Kissing her thought the scarf, he encouraged
her to open her mouth, sliding inside to war playfully. When they broke
apart, breathing heavily to force the air into straining lungs; he
whispered into the hair that covered he ear. "Anything worth having is
worth the effort."

Her gloved hands framed his face and she pulled him to her, the veil of the
scarf coming between them again as she nipped his lips, then soothed them
with licks and little kisses.  He shifted even closer and she could feel
the solid pressure of his hardness pressing against her.

"Marie?  Darlin?"

Not trusting her voice to answer the unasked question, she let her actions
speak for her.  She fought with zippers and buttons until his jackets were
gone, then pulled him even closer by the collar of his flannel shirt,
smiling as wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.  His lips pulled
on the lobe of her ear, her hair between them and she moaned.  Her hands
moved to his solidly muscled rear, stroking, then pulled up his shirts, her
hand wiggling between his shirts and his skin, applying pressure to the
spot on his lower back.  He rewarded her by thrusting into her, calling her
name.

"Damn it, Logan, why do you have to wear so many clothes?" Marie pushed him
back and let her hands move between them.  Finally discovering the way the
clasp opened on the huge belt buckle, she got the belt open.  Struggling
with the button and the zipper of his jeans, she breathed a sigh of relief
as she freed him, giggling as his penis fell unceremoniously out of his
jeans.  Looking up at him under lowered lids, she gave him a siren's smile
as a gloved hand moved up and down the long shaft, her thumb stroking the head.

The touch of her hands on him caused his pulse to accelerate.  He reached
over her shoulder to a cabinet; pulling out a box of condoms, he put it
next to her then stepped back, jeans hampering his movements, bunched at
his feet.  Grabbing both her knees he pressed them apart gently, opening
her wide to him, then one large hand moved in between her thighs and
pressed tightly to her warm center, the tights between them already
moist.  He held his hand there, completely still as his other hand stroked
her leg.  She stared at him, wondering what he was doing as the warmth of
his palm seeped into her skin.

"Hold it up."  He gave her the thin silk scarf and she obeyed; his lips
returning to hers, taking her mouth as his hand continued to warm her
through the tights.  Then his hand started to move.

Ever so slightly, he started to press.  Then a slow grind, increasing the
pressure.  Next his fingers started to move, down at the bottom of her
body, curling upwards so they were curled around her, the middle finger
pressing into her cleft as much as it could through the barrier of the
tights.  Then the hand moved, so the palm was higher on her abdomen, and
his fingers started to dig into the tights, trying to wiggle into the folds
of skin that protected her clit.

His mouth was still on hers, and even through the silk barrier the
combination of too many cigars and too much coffee, mixed with that unique
taste that was all Logan, made her whimper.  Her knees pressed together so
he was locked to her, his hand held in place, his fingers still gently
moving in that little furrow.

He broke the kiss then, leaning back slightly, making sure she could see
his face.  "You trust me baby?"

"Yes."

His expression was fierce, primal.  She exhibited no hesitation at
all.   "Open your legs again, and hold still."

She did as he asked, and when the inch of claw popped, she showed no
surprise.  Leaning back and bracing herself on her arms, she imagined she
could hear the sound of passion soaked fabric being sliced.  He pushed her
knees wider and she felt the gentlest of breezes as the cool air touched
her.  Then by a finger wrapped in an undershirt he had grabbed from the
clean laundry hanging on a rope. The fabric covered digit moved down,
inside the lips, then pushed inside and stayed there as her hips bucked,
her hands returning to caress him.

He saw the scarf fall between them, and using his free hand, draped it over
her head like a veil, still able to see her chocolate eyes. He pulled her
forward and kissed his way down her neck to her sweater; then back up the
other side, his finger inside her never stopping, hitting the top of her
channel, searching until the tensing of her limbs told him he had found her
g-spot.

Pulling away from her neck, he removed his hand and turned his attention to
grabbing a condom.  She let him go and watched closely as he got the
wrapper open, taking out the condom and rolling it on.  She was ready,
moist and fragrant in the close quarters of the camper.  Pulling her
forward, he slid home on the first thrust, her legs going around his hips
and locking, her arms going around him, pulling him tighter.

Logan moaned as their bodies moved together, feeling lightheaded.  Dear
god, it was good.  Pulling out, he found he couldn't retreat far, her legs
holding him close, so he thrust deep again; his balls scratching against
the tights, his cock so deep he knew he was at the mouth of her womb.  He
didn't realize she still had the scarf between them until he felt her,
nibbling at his neck.  The primal act excited him further, and he began to
move again, listening to her sweet voice as she murmured encouragement
while she nibbled his neck and ears.

Picking her up off the table, he walked backwards, mincing, shuffling steps
due to the jeans still around his feet.  Using all the strength and
stability that came with a metal reinforced skeleton, he held her, and as
she anchored herself to him at the neck, pushed her hips back, then he
pulled her forward, smiling when she moaned.

Turning until he had her back flush against the full-length cabinet next to
the door, he pushed until she was braced against the veneer.  Holding her
hips, her hands around his neck, he thrust again, hard.  Their hips
slamming together he kissed her again; lips opening, their tongues
mimicking the movements below through thin silk.

"Deeper, sugar.  Deeper."

Hearing her words he continued to move deep and strong. "Whatever you want,
baby.  Whatever you want."

He nibbled at her earlobes, lunging deep again when she screamed his name.
He knew she hadn't come, and he could feel her heart pounding; heard the
blood coursing in her veins, her breathing like his, unsteady and
ragged.   It was a full minute until she moved again.

Grabbing his hair in her gloved hands, she pulled his face until he was lip
to lip and eye to eye with her; the silk wet against her flesh, molding to
her features. "Do. That. Again. Now," she panted.

Grinning wildly, lips diving for hers, he thrust deep again, the cabinet
door slamming in time with every stroke.  She was tight and hot; and he was
telling her so, his voice guttural as he alternated kissing her with
talking low and dirty in her ear.  The next time she screamed his name she
was coming, her muscles holding him tighter than anything he'd ever
felt.  He knew they were both on that edge of pain... and then he fell over
the edge, and the pain became white hot, and he didn't think anymore.

When Logan came back down from the high, he realized that her head was
lolling against his shoulder.  He pulled the scarf away, revealing her
flushed face.

"Marie? Baby?"

"No, Marie, adult."

"You okay, baby?"

"Do we have to move anytime in the next hundred years?"

"Might be a good idea if we could move. You must have the wood pattern on
your back from the door."

"I always wanted a tattoo," she dismissed.

He snorted and she smiled at him, still curled around him.  "You're so
beautiful," he told her.

"So are you, Logan, so are you." Marie's lips were moving again, back on
his throat, this time he felt her soft lips without any barrier between
them.   Then he felt her teeth.  "Not fair. It just heals up," she said
sulkily.

He sighed deeply, happy, happier still when she bit him again. "You'll just
have to bite me on a regular basis."

She nodded agreeably against his neck.

"Gonna move now." His large hands under her bottom to support her, he
shuffled back, slowly, as not to trip over the jeans still around his feet.
"Can your legs let go?"

"Don't wanna."

Hazel eyes met chocolate brown. "You're gonna be difficult about this,
aren't you?"

Her leather covered fingers were playing with that sensitive skin under his
hair, at the nape of his neck. Her smile was carnivorous. "Yes."

Standing entwined in the middle of his camper, they made an interesting
sight. Logan, tall, his hair in disarray from her fingers, his strong arms
supporting Marie's shapely rear, keeping her held tight to him, her skirt
creased between them. Her long brown hair was a mess as the sweat-dampened
locks slowly started to dry.  Her face was expressive in its satisfaction,
eyes languorous, lips swollen. Logan was still within her, her legs holding
him tightly, keeping him inside.

Abandoning his bid to have her let go he once again took little steps and
tried to move so he could put her back on the table.  He was trying to keep
his balance, concentrating on that one thing when she clasped her inner
muscles on his manhood, and shifted so that she bore down as much as she
could in her position.

"Again?"

She nodded, lips moving back to his, her arms tightening around him. It was
a few minutes before they broke for breath. "You're so good, sugar. You
deserve a standing ovation."

"Ahhh... you're my adoring pubic?"

She snorted at the pun, then clenched him tighter again, her head falling
back as he grew and lengthened inside of her, the warm, solid flesh filling
her.

Completing the turn, he moved so that she was once again on the table.  He
pulled her hips toward him, and making sure she wouldn't bump her head,
pushed her until she was lying on her back, her pelvis raised and connected
to him still, but the rest of her torso stretched slightly out.

Following her down, he took a nipple into his mouth through the sweater,
his teeth gently worrying it, leaving a wet spot in the fabric. His ears
ringing with her moans, he grinned then moved to the other nipple.  While
he was suckling, he wondered how it would look were someone to come upon
them.  Marie in a wrinkled skirt and sweater with two chewed and wet spots,
he reached over to the box of condoms, and with a regretful sigh, pulled free.

"Logan?"

"New rubber, baby."

Her mutters weren't anything approaching language, so he ignored them and
worked quickly, off with the old and on with the new.   Coming back to her,
dressed in his new latex suit, he looked at her, taking in her thoroughly
debauched appearance.  Standing at the V of her thighs again he growled
fiercely as her legs went back around his knees and she sat up, pulling him
forward.  Her lips wandered over his face, kissing his bearded cheeks on
her way to his lips.  The need for air overwhelming them again, he leaned
back, feeling teeth at his nipples, through the layers of shirts he wore.

"Impatient, are we?"

"I feel empty."  The passion glazed brown eyes gave him a hangdog look.

"Can't have that, baby."

She was humming... her body vibrating on its own, the muscles dancing in
reaction.   He wasn't going to last long; all he wanted was to be inside of
her.  Holding her hips tightly he pushed into her, ever so slowly.  Then he
pulled back a bit, repeating the movements, until on the last thrust he was
in her to the hilt, bodies flush.  Lips locked together, she braced her
lower back and moved upwards, his hands once again under her, pulling her
up, her legs locked behind him.  It was fast and sweet, their mutual prize
obtained quickly, Marie first, Logan taking one more stroke to go over.

Marie fell backward, onto the table, bringing him with her.  He laid his
head at her breasts, listening to her heart beating strongly, her breath
catching; every cell in her body calling his name.

When he could move again, he left her, removing the rubber, pulling up his
jeans.  Grabbing the white bag, he returned to the table; setting the bag
down on the bench. He pulled her up off the table, and hugging her to him,
sat down on the bench, settling Marie in his lap.

Opening the bag and taking out the triangle shaped styrofoam boxes, Logan
grabbed a plastic fork and took a huge bite of pie, looking down to see one
brown eye open and watching him.  The next forkful of pie was more modest,
and Marie opened her mouth to receive it.   While she chewed, he took
another bite, then fed her more of the creamy chocolate pie.

When he opened the second box she took the fork from his fingers and put it
down on the table.  She gave him a sweet smile, her eyes shining merrily
and he knew she was up to something.  Drawing a finger through the whipped
cream and chocolate, she brought her finger to his lips and spread the
creamy chocolate over them.  At his raised eyebrow she presented her
finger, and he pulled it into his mouth, sucking it clean.  Freeing her
finger, Marie bent down and started cleaning the pie from his lips, her
tongue lapping carefully.  She ignored the invitation when he parted his
lips, letting her tongue bathe him, removing the sweet glaze.  Turning back
to the pie she took another dollop of cream and chocolate and started the
procedure again, smiling at the low growling purr that came from deep in
his chest.

Trying for thirds, Marie sighed unhappily when he shifted her in his lap,
but quickly changed her mind when his finger collected a cluster of the
smooth cream.   With a wry smile he started drawing it over her kiss
bruised lips.  When she pulled his finger into her mouth, sucking on it,
swirling her tongue around it, then licking the length from his knuckles to
the tip, he moaned.  Remembering his resolve to not go at it again until
they were in Vanson; Logan started to lick the sweet chocolate off her
lips, kissing the corners of her mouth when the sweet creaminess was gone.

"You taste so sweet, darlin'."  Logan said softly, nuzzling her ear.

She blushed, and his response was to take the last of pie filling and one
last time, make her lips even sweeter.  This time, when her lips parted he
accepted the invitation, thrusting inside, the taste of chocolate and cream
mixing with the essences of Logan and Marie, creating a flavor that made
them light headed.  Neither moved, letting the embrace mellow until lips
broke apart.  Pulling her even closer, Logan rested his furry cheek on her
forehead.

"So, do you always do that?"  Marie questioned, stroking her hand over his
chest, sliding up his neck to pet the soft hairs on his cheeks, feeling
relaxed and happy.

"Always do what?"

"The purring thing."

"What purring thing?"

"You, you're purring."

Looking thoughtful, he didn't talk, just listened and heard the low
rumble.  "Don't remember ever doing it before."

"It sounds like a happy purr," she said, still stroking his furry cheek.

"No doubts, baby.  No doubts."  Logan said, feeling a deep satisfaction as
she curled into him.

They remained like that for a little while, until Marie yawned and Logan
remembered his plans.

"Marie?"

"I'm not moving."

"Gotta this time, baby."

"Why?"

"We're in the middle of nowhere."

"So?"

"We move, you can have a bath," he tempted.  Not that that was his most
favorite idea; after all, she smelled like him and an incredibly erotic
them.  That suited him fine; but as good as this was, she had to be feeling
sore.  He thought about that for a minute.  She should definitely be
feeling sore.

"Marie, baby... don't you feel sore?"

"No." She looked thoughtful. "I should though, shouldn't I?"

"Yeah."

She smirked at him.

"What?"

"It's you."

"Well, thank you, darlin', it's been amazing, but still..."

"No, you rampagingly lecherous egomaniac."  She softened her words by
moving so he could kiss her softly. "Your mutation, when you healed me. It
must have some lingering effects. By all rights I should be lying in a coma
unable to walk."

"So if I touch you..."

"We both get your libido and stamina."  She kissed him again, her eyes
laughing.  "Or else we're really mink mutants."

Nodding, he pondered this, but a look out at the dark sky made him
reprioritize.  "We gotta go.  We can make it to Vanson in an hour, check in
and relax.  But we need to get back on the road."

She climbed from his lap, knowing he shared her regret.  He kissed her one
last time, pulling away when she tried to put her arms around his
neck.  Looking down at herself, she frowned and wrinkled her nose at the
creased skirt and the chewed and still wet sweater.  "Sugar, this time you
go in and get the room."

~x~X~x~

They had been back on the road for half an hour and Logan cursed the snow
that had started to fall as they entered a canyon full of twisting
roads.  He watched Marie's headlights carefully in his side mirror.  He
hoped she wasn't too tired to make the drive, but he knew they couldn't
stop just yet.  Approaching a nasty bit of road, a few kilometers of sharp
turns, he looked back again, while still trying to keep one eye on the road
ahead.

His heart leapt into his throat when he saw the Volvo swerve, the
headlights moving to the side; not straightening up to shine on his
truck.  He breathed a sigh of relief as she righted the car, pulling in
line behind him once again.  His relief didn't last long as he turned his
attention to the road in front of him.  Logan cursed as he tried to swerve,
but he was too late to avoid the fallen tree in the middle of the road.

Logan felt the glass of his windshield as his body flew through it, then a
thudding pain as his head hit the snow covered pavement; his body skidding
through the snow.  The only thing he could think of in those seconds of
flying and sliding was Marie.  And the fact she was going to hold it over
him forever that she told him to wear his seat belt.

Marie almost slammed the truck's rear bumper; it was a surreal moment,
watching the camper lurch violently forward, then fling back again.  The
crashing noise was deafening as it echoed around the stone
cliffs.  Slamming down hard on the brakes, she threw Sven into park and got
out of her car, grabbing her cell phone.  She struggled to gain a foothold
in the snow as she made her way to the cab of his truck.  Her heeled boots
were not really meant for winter, and she slid as she reached the truck,
staring in panic at the hole in the windshield.  She only half noticed the
flames inside the camper; her eyes were desperately searching for Logan,
finally sighting a dark lump about fifty feet away.

"Logan!"   When she reached his side, she fell to her knees in the snow,
ignoring the wet and the cold as it penetrated the thin tights.  Rolling
him onto his back, she ran her hands over him.  Relieved, she watched as
the cuts on his forehead began to heal up, her heart relaxing slightly as
he moaned a curse.  She started the auto dial of her phone, thinking to
call the mansion to see if someone could fetch them in the Blackbird.

Focused as she was, she didn't notice when the young man from the diner
came up behind her.  She breathed a sigh of relief as she recognized Jean's
voice. "Hello?"

"Jean, it's Rogue, I …"  She flailed as a chemical covered cloth was placed
over her nose and mouth.  She noticed, in the last second of consciousness,
the flesh-pink colored arm just above the glove-covered hand turned blue.

She never felt the phone fall from her hands, heard Jean calling her name,
or saw the huge foot crush it into the snow with a firm stomp.

~x~X~x~


End of Section One