The last classes of the day were letting out, the halls full of kids buzzing from floor to floor, room to room, down to eat, out to play. Logan strutted through the mass of activity with his jacket thrown over one shoulder. As he headed toward the front door, Storm crossed his path with a smile.
“Logan, you look good. Going out?”
“Yeah - got a hot date cookin’. Don’t know when I’ll be back, but the cell’s charged if you need me. Call that number.”
“You’re still on leave, remember? But how are you feeling? How are the hands?” Storm’s chocolate eyes danced over him, showing a friend’s concern as well as a professionally detached assessment.
“Better every day, and slowly healing, thanks. Gotta go.” With a knowing wink as he passed her, he whispered, “Don’t wait up for me.” Storm laughed and waved him off as Logan made a very public exit of the building.
Circling toward the garage entrance, he took careful note of all activity in the area, stepped behind some bushes, bypassed a few stragglers heading toward the basketball courts, and dashed quickly up the fire escape steps. Across the roof, duck the hidden security camera’s field of view, pick the lock at the top of the stairs, down past Shelly Whatshername’s room. Shit! She was coming out and nearly saw him.
Slamming himself flat to the wall behind the corner, Logan waited and listened as her door closed and her heels clicked away down the hall. Slipping his back down the wall to peer around the corner at well below waist level, he noted the hall was clear now, and he sprinted unseen for his own door, cursing the loss of the heightened senses. Before the cure, he could have smelled and heard her before he even entered the hallway, but life now was much like living underwater: everything seemed muted, blanketed, dull and monotone. He realized how much clamor he had always relegated to the background, though, and in a way, that was less irritating.
But it was still a bite in the ass. He would have to relearn all his stalking skills, hone some new ones, and accept the fact that he would never be the same keen-edge hunter he had been before the cure. He would start on that re-worked re-training program tomorrow in the Danger Room, but tonight belonged to Marie, and he would make it the best night he could give her. You play the hand you’re dealt, and he’d never ran from that before.
Locking the door behind him, Logan surveyed the room: only slightly disastrous. He started stuffing odd pieces of clothes and one boot under the bed, changing to clean sheets, flipping from radio station to radio station, trying to find some kind of music that seemed sort of romantic without being gratuitous or smarmy, relaxing without being mush, sexy without being trashy, and ended up flipping the radio off in frustration. She could pick the music, if they even got as far as the radio before they crashed into the bed together.
Rummaging through a drawer, he pulled out the single taper candle he kept for blackouts and set it on the bedside table, putting his lighter beside it. Women liked candlelight, right? It set an atmosphere, right? Definitely better than a bare bulb overhead or a dark alley, both of which he was used to, but this night was something special. Marie deserved everything to be special.
*
In her own room, Rogue climbed out of the shower and studied herself in the mirror. With a shudder and a shake of the head, she grabbed her blow-dryer and made quick, simple work of her hair. Clean and natural would work for Logan and their plans for the night. Instinctively reaching for her make-up, she regarded one eyeshadow compact for a moment, then threw everything back in it’s bin. Pinching her cheeks and rubbing her lips to bring up the color, she studied herself in the mirror and pronounced it good enough to get laid. Legs freshly shaven: check. Calm demeanor: check (fake, but check). No perfume: check. Wait a minute.... his heightened senses were gone, so something subtle was good. She rattled through the cabinet and found a tiny bottle of musk oil she’d bought at a festival, and discretely dabbed a spot behind each knee, and then laced her fingers through her hair to distribute the scent. Perfume, deodorant, clean teeth: check. Clothes: oh god. She ran for the closet.
*
Stepping out of his shower, Logan scrubbed off dry and went through the routine: deodorant, teeth, scrape the chin bristles off: check. Hair: forget it. He shook his head like a dog and called it good enough. Clothes: check - one clean pair of tight jeans. He’d seen Marie staring at his legs once when he was wearing that pair of jeans, so she must have approved.
Fuck. He was nervous as a teenager. Bracing both hands against the sink edge, Logan closed his eyes and leaned forward, rested his forehead against the bathroom mirror, and breathed deeply to calm himself.
Drawing back a few inches, he met his own gaze in the mirror and was held, fascinated at the weird color of his own eyes. Not brown, not gold, not green, but all three that fluctuated with his moods. The voice he hadn’t heard inside his head since the cure suddenly whispered from that dark corner in the backside of his brain, and it rattled Logan to the core.
‘Once you take her, don’t give her back, ever.’
Staring deeply into the mirror, Logan rested a hand against the cool silvered surface and regarded the green eyes glittering back at him, “I thought you were dead from the cure.”
‘Not fuckin’ likely, bub. I was born with you, and I’m stayin’ to the bloody end. I was just waitin’ for you to get your shit together about standin’ up and claimin’ her, and now that’s lookin’ favorable.’
“You don’t own Marie, I don’t own Marie, nobody owns Marie!” He slapped his other hand to the mirror to punctuate that point.
‘That’s the point, nimrod. She chose you. She knows, I know, but apparently you don’t. She’s the one. Now listen - I understand that high n’ mighty sense of honor you been struttin’ around here has kept you off’a her while she was still jailbait, but those days are over. She chose you. She’s got both of us inside her head. She understands what we are, who we are, ‘how’ we are, and she still chose you!’
“Crawl back into your goddamned cave and leave me the fuck alone.”
‘You need me.’
Logan felt more than saw the Wolverine laugh to himself, low and seductive, cold as a straight razor, dangerous enough to raise the hairs on Logan’s nape, before the presence made itself gone. Shaking off the experience with a whole-body shudder, Logan grabbed a towel and mopped a thin bead of cold sweat off his face, then checked the clock. It was nearly ten-thirty.
Shit.
He lit the bedside candle, killed the lights, and began mindlessly pacing a path back and forth from his bed to the bathroom door.
*
Rogue studied herself naked in the mirror. Dressing up seemed silly. Dressing sexy seemed silly. Dressing casual seemed like the night wasn’t that important, when it was hugely important. Logan didn’t care about fancy, but he deserved some effort on her part, so she pulled out her best red lace bra. Perfect. Panties? Why bother? She pulled on clean jeans. If the rumors were true, they’d both be going commando. Black heels - yep: sexy but understated. Snug, low-cut black t-shirt for a healthy hint of man-riveting cleavage: a perfect ‘jump Logan’ choice. Rogue studied herself in the mirror again.
Clean, smelling nice, appropriately dressed, safe sex and birth control dealt with, good hot man lined up and waiting: it was time to lose the virginity beast. Rogue closed her eyes and tuned in to her body. She was feeling oddly cold, hands shaking, stomach a little fragile, crotch warmed and humming at the thought of what lay ahead, and it was almost ten-thirty.
He was waiting.
With one last look in the mirror, she bent over, threaded her fingers through her hair and gave it a good shaking out to give it that windblown look, and then checked the mirror again. Tugging the shirt down a little tighter to show more cleavage, she admitted to herself: she looked good, practically edible. Lights off, check the hall. No one around. Lock the door, around the corner, and here we go.
Stepping confidently to the door, Rogue raised her hand to knock, hesitated, freaked out, started back the hall, turned smartly and rapped on Logan’s door. Within five seconds, the door opened and he was standing there wearing jeans and a smile. Thank you, God.
“Hey.”
“Come in. God, darlin’, you look hot.”
“You, too, sugar. You’re giving me the vapors, whatever the hell that is.”
The door clicked closed behind her and Logan threw the lock.
Rogue scanned Logan’s darkened bedroom, the candle burning on the side table, no clothes scattered about, no messy bed - he’d gone to some trouble to make it nice for her. She felt a twist of emotion wring through her chest and turned to him with damp eyes, “You... did things... for me?”
“Hell yeah,” he breathed softly to her and kissed her gently. “You deserve more, but it’s short notice. Give me more warning next time. We’ll get out of here and get a nice private hotel room somewhere.”
“I think the surrendering of virginity is a one-shot deal. Next time will be different circumstances, and maybe I’ll host that night in my room, and be good to you.”
“I’m thinking you’re gonna be good to me tonight,” he pulled her closer and nibbled lazily over one ear, delighting in the delicate shiver that ran through her body. His fingers slid lightly beneath her shirttail and he slowly tugged at the fabric, pulling it higher and higher until she raised her arms and allowed him to slide it off over her head.
Logan nearly gasped in delight as the tumble of streaked chestnut hair drifted back down over her bare shoulders, revealing deep, pale cleavage framed within red lace cups. He fought down his baser instincts, to pick her up bodily and throw her onto his bed and climb directly on top of her. It was not the night to scare the girl. It was not the night to be body-slamming the female against the wall to get what he wanted. It was a night for keeping a slow pace; seducing instead of possessing; gentling instead of grabbing.
Logan felt the weight of responsibility descend on him. He had one night, only one precious night to give Marie an experience she would remember with a smile for a lifetime, one night to make or break their chances of having ‘something’ together. He wasn’t used to women who needed to be handled gently, who were virgins, for fuck’s sake; who would probably bleed and wince, and goddammit, maybe even cry in pain when he penetrated them; and he was not ready for this responsibility at all.
All those thoughts fled his mind when she slipped her soft arms around his ribs, then slid her soft hands down his low back. She wiggled her soft fingers into the waistband of his jeans as she wiggled herself into his embrace. Christ, but she was curvy and warm. The formerly untouchable girl was wrapping herself around him, and he wanted every inch of her.
“Teach me more about this, Logan. I want to know everything,” she whispered into his shoulder before she ran her tongue lightly over his collar bone. “Everything.”
His lips traced a curve around the front of her throat before he whispered into her ear, “Shoes.”
“What?”
“Shoes. Kick off your shoes.”
The black heels went flying toward the bathroom door.
Rogue confessed, “I’m so self-conscious that I’m shaking here. Forgive me. I don’t want to disappoint you, ‘cause I’m so...” Her trembling hands went to the button at the front of his jeans as he shushed her with a deep, lingering kiss. Before she could unbutton his jeans, he grasped her hands and pulled her arms back around his waist, deepening the kiss and holding her tightly. When she came up for air, he looked her straight in the eyes.
“Slow down, babe. Do you want to change your mind?”
“God, no, Logan.”
“Then don’t spend any time thinkin’ that you’re gonna disappoint me. That’s my job.”
“You think you’re gonna disappoint me? Why?!?” The idea amazed her.
“I’m not... exactly...” he hedged as he pressed his forehead against hers. Logan couldn’t bring himself to say the words, so he made up a story. The cure had changed everything, and he no longer trusted his own body not to betray him at some crucial point.
“Not exactly what?” she pursued.
“Good enough for you,” he dodged. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t what he actually feared. His hazel eyes finally met hers, and she saw just how unsure of himself he really was. It was not an emotion she’d ever seen in him before, and it surprised her. Logan: bad-ass, swaggering, self-confident, sarcastic Logan, was peeling back layers of himself for her appraisal. That simple realization gave her the shot of confidence she needed, affirming to her that this night for him was not simply a chance for convenient sex. He was opening up to her. He really wanted her, not just the use of her body or the bragging rights of taking her innocence. He wanted Marie. Her self-consciousness faded on the spot.
“I don’t want to hear words like that coming out of your mouth tonight. Logan, you are the finest man I’ve ever known, and I’m not feeding you a line. I’m the one feeling inadequate here because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. A little help, please? Tell me what to do, what you want.” The button finally popped opened beneath her questing fingers.
“So far, you’re doin’ fine. Trust your instincts.” Pressing himself tight against her, thighs to thighs, he started walking her backwards toward the bed. They fell in a tangle of denim and dark hair and bare skin and hunger.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Logan gets sneaky, gets nervous, gets focused, and finally gets what he wants.