“Logan, lemme have some of your beer.” She leans closer to him, her shoulder brushing his.

Logan’s lips curl into a sly smile. He lifts the bottle to her mouth. When her lips close over the bottle’s top, Logan’s smile disappears and his eyes narrow. Rogue closes her eyes and tilts her head back, and he watches her throat move as she swallows.

“Thanks.” She licks a drop that has spilled over the corner of her mouth.

The sight brings a low growl to Logan’s throat. He steps closer to her, brings one hand up, and touches his thumb to the skin where Rogue’s tongue has just been.

Rogue’s eyes begin to glaze over. Logan feels the pull that is like a burning in his thumb, but a burning that it is hard to pull away from. He knows that he must pull away, and he does so with an accompanying outrush of air from his lungs.

Rogue sways and blinks, and when she looks at him again he sees his lust in her eyes. ~She’s got lust of her own - plenty of it,~ he thinks. But he loves adding his, seeing it smolder in her and come back at him as something new and powerful and so dark. He’s used to the darkness within himself, but always surprised at how much it turns him on to see it in this young woman. His Rogue.

Magneto made light streaks in her hair. The Wolverine makes dark streaks in her soul.

This is a game he does not tire of. A game that ends with him coming in her gloved hand while he roars and drives his claws into the earth/wall/tree beside her head. Ends with her moaning and whimpering and grinding her warm crotch against his leg with her other, naked hand thrust down her pants.

And she begs him to play it. She craves what she gets from his touch – always has. Early on, when she began coming to his room or finding him in the woods and closing the distance between their bodies, he once said to her, “They’ll say that I shouldn’t have you. They’ll say that I made you this way.” And she had asked him, “Who are ‘they’, and since when have you cared what they say?”