The weekend was finally there. Christ, he couldn’t believe what all had happened in just one week, one that had started of fucking awful and ended on such a stellar high note. He slept in late as hell, a rare treat, then checked out the woodshop class he’d signed up for. Lots of saws, dangerous power tools, buzzing and screaming. Fuck yeh, nothing like some grinding and sawdust to kick the old testosterone up a few notches. He had some ripsaw fun tearing through some 4x4s for the new boathouse the Institute was building. After he got bored with that he checked out the other side of the shop, away from the other guys, and found what looked like some old-fashioned hand tools. He didn’t know what they were for, so he picked up some scrap wood and started experimenting.
There was something satisfying about shaving away soft pine in lazy curls with the various planes. Almost soothing, very relaxing the way different textures and shapes appeared under his hands with the carving tools. He didn’t have any particular plans to make anything special; it was nice just to play around and goof with the tools and learn their uses. Maybe he’d see if he could come in here later in the week, not wait until next Saturday. Something to do at night besides sneak out for a smoke or sit around and think about Rogue.
That girl. Hmm. She occupied a lot of his waking thoughts, but that was alright. Whenever she crossed his mind he felt a funny shiver go through his body, a pleasurable little flutter against his chest. A girl had never made him feeling anything other than hard, and make no mistake. They’d just been girls. Cute too look at, fun to touch, difficult to get rid off once the fun was done. Rogue fired him up pretty damn easy, but she was also a lot of fun to talk to and chill out with. Almost like goofing off with one of the guys, but a lot more enjoyable than shooting the shit with Lanche of Zerker. And she was really soft in some places and hard as nails in other ways. A new, but addictive, mixture, one he planned on getting a fix of on a regular basis.
After killing part of the afternoon in the woodshop, during which he formulated an idea bout building a table for his room, something better than that standard issue desk, he headed back to his room. From 6-10pm was open room hours, and he planned to pop into Rogue’s room and see what they could get up to with a little privacy. Open doors be damned, not many kids lived up on the fifth floor, and he’d already figured if her room was similar to his, the bed was easily hidden behind the door when open. As he showered and scrubbed his face, the image of her wound around him on her bed danced in front of his eyes. He hadn’t had a chance to go to town and get anything he’d need to get down and dirty with her, no condoms or other safety precautions. But he was totally cool with just kissing her carefully for a few hours and having her lay her head in that spot in the hollow of his shoulder she’d staked out as one of her favorite places.
Wolverine looked in the mirror and briefly considered shaving, but Rogue had said she liked his stubble against her cheek. And he thought it made him look older, and that was good. Especially since he’d found out Rogue was 17, a year older than him. “Cougar” he’d called her, to which she laughed good naturedly and called him her boy toy. Being called a boy would’ve normally wound him up something fierce, but being called her anything was something nice, like he belonged somewhere and to someone. Never had that before, kinda felt pretty good. Unfamiliar, but right.
He ruffled up his hair until it fell into the casually disordered look he prefered, whipped a clean t-shirt of out his drawer and took a moment to check his nerves. As he reached the door, he turned around and rifled through his drawers until he found his leather gloves and slipped them on before he went down the hall to see her. He knocked on her partially open door, “Rogue?” He stuck his head in but didn’t see her.
“You must be the new loverboy,” a low voice growled to his left. Shoving the door open, Wolverine saw Blondie sitting on Rogue’s bed. He better get the fuck off of it if he wanted to keep body parts.
Wolverine snarled, “You’re Victor.” He made the other boy’s name sound like the worst fucking curse. Blondie shook her head, long blonde hair falling messily over his shoulders and back, and laughed.
“So Rouge told you about us,” he laughed darkly.
The hair stood up on the back of Wolverine’s neck. He did not like the way this asshole lingered over Rogue’s name or that goddamned “us”, like something he savored. He immediately disliked this guy, especially when he lifted himself from Rogue’s bed and walked across the room, flopped himself into the chair as casual as he belonged there, had been there many times before, and flung his big booted feet up on her desk. Victor probably around 18, but built like a fucking Mack truck. Six and a half feet tall, heavily muscled, sharp cheekbones and hawk nose. He had a nasty look on his face that matched Wolverine’s own scowl, but with a serious touch of malevolence. All in all, he looked like a fuckload of trouble.
Wolverine’s proprietary sense went to Defcon 4 “She told you to hit the bricks, bub,” he sneered. “I suggest you get to walking.” This guy was bad news, didn’t need to be a genius to figure that out. Despite a trace of anxiety at facing down with a guy this size, Wolverine stalked over to Rogue’s desk and roughly knocked Victor’s feet off it. “Get out.”
He expected the other guy to jump on him right then and there. Wolverine could smell the spike in the other boy’s testosterone and raw waves of aggression pouring out of him, filling the space. Instead, Victor simply smiled at Wolverine and flashed a disturbing glint of sharpened canine.
Feral mutant.
Wolverine’s hackles raised and he slid his claws out with a sickening slash. Victor merely cocked one eyebrow at the weapons now coming from the little runt’s hands. “Interesting,” he drawled. He moved as though to push long hair from his face then unfurled his hand and displayed his own set of razor sharp claws at the ends of each fingertip.
“Looks like we’re a good match,” he drawled.
“I ain’t had a fucking match since Superman died,” Wolverine growled. He tensed, any second that big motherfucker was going to swing on him and it would be on in a majorly bad way. For one brief second, Wolverine felt a little sad at the idea of being kicked out of the Institute for wrecking the place, then pushed it aside. The guy was in need of a no-joke-ass-whipping, and Wolverine was determined to make it hurt.
“Victor!” A voice sounded from the doorway. Logan turned his head briefly, still keeping Victor in his sightline, until he saw Rogue standing the doorway, her mouth open in a perfect O. Her surprised expression quickly morphed into fury and her mouth twisted. “I told you we're done! Get the fuck out!” Wolverine stamped down an overpowering desire to howl in triumph.
He settled for a smirk at the bigger kid then jerked his head at the door. “You heard the lady.” He moved his claws in a manner that clearly said Victor could walk through that door on his feet or be dragged out on 54 inches of agony. His choice. For another long moment, the tension between the two boys crackled then the blonde smoothed his expression and stood again.
Despite his massive size and the way he seemed to relish towering over the smaller teen, Wolverine didn’t back down and stayed at red alert. He had a feeling he’d be seeing old Vicky around, then they’d see who the bigger animal was. The taller boy lazed his way across the room like he had all the time in the world and didn’t have two seriously pissed off and dangerous mutants in front of him. He reached out one hand and drew a long nail down Rogue’s cheek as he passed. “I’ll see you soon, frail.”
Rogue gasped as if he’d slapped her and jerked her knee up lightning fast, nailing Victor right in the nuts. Before he had a chance to collapse she grabbed his jacket collar, dragged his head down, and threw him off balance. She levered him up and over her hip, and the boy landed flat on his back in the hallway, groaning and clutching at himself. Rogue stared down at him for a moment with a satisfied expression then turned and slammed the door behind and threw the lock.
Wolverine took in the furious look on her face and the way her breath heaved and waited for her to simmer down before he grinned at her. “Guess you don’t need me to fight your battles.” Although he’d never dealt with a chick as strong and tough as Rogue, it didn’t bother his male pride. In fact, he felt the exact opposite: impressed, turned-on, and proud. She was seriously hot shit from stem to stern and she was his.
She took a few more deep breaths, calming herself, before she said, “Thanks. I needed to deliver that message personally.” She seemed, suddenly, to turn self-conscious and ducked her head so she only looked at Wolverine through her silver streaks. “He wasn’t always like that.” It almost sounded like an apology, but he didn’t know if it was meant for him or herself. “I don’t know what he’s been doing for the last year, but it can’t have been anything good. I think he’s kind of gone off the deep end.”
Wolverine nodded, yup that guy definitely smelled a fishy, literally and otherwise. “Yeh, he doesn’t seem at all like the bad boy type you go for.”
She grinned at him truth, her embarrassment fading to be replaced with something else. “I don’t want to talk about Victor anymore. You came to see me?” There was that scent he’d become addicted to, the one that said Rogue wanted him to come a closer.
Wolverine smirked. Yeh, no more interest in talking about whatshisname. None. He crossed the room and stretched across her bed, tossing one arm open his side and crooking his fingers at her. “Just thought I’d see if you wanted to hang out with during open hours. Didn’t know there was a line.”
“Oh shut up,” she said as she crawled onto the bed next to him. Whatever else he was going to say was silenced by her artfully placed lips. She could make him dizzy any day, powers or no. They spent a good hour like that, just curled around each other, alternating between letting their hands wander in various directions, protected by their gloves, and carefully kissing. Nothing more than second base stuff, but Wolverine was in no hurry at all. He was learning a girl’s shape and curves in a way he’d never bothered to take the time before. He felt like Rogue was the only girl he’d ever touched and in a lot of ways she was.
He discovered nifty little secret spots on her body he didn’t even think existed. There was an area just behind and below her ear where a little vein pulsed and if he breathed on it just right she made a little jump. Apparently he had a soft spot for his forearms because when she kneaded them with her butter-soft lambskin gloves his nerves zinged like electricity. She had a sensitive stripe up the back of her neck that responded gorgeously when he stroked it. She took her time exploring his collarbone with her lips, taking time only to reapply her lipstick if they felt her sting. The ripple of her ribs under her shirt that lead up to the soft underside of her breast might be his favorite place on earth, especially when she sighed his name.
Definitely the best Saturday he could remember. At least until Warren knocked on the door and yelled through it, “You got 5 seconds to get decent people! Doors open, you know that!”
Wolverine didn’t need 5, all clothes had been in place the whole time which was obvious to Angel when the boy flung open the door a split second later. The boy gave him a look that, had it been possible, would have damned the winged man to the depths of hell. Warren resisted the urge to take a step back in the face of the ferocious kid, then remember he was the adult damnit! He looked over Wolverine’s head to see Rogue standing a little too casually by the window. Yeh right. He pushed the door open all the way. Ah ha. The bed was rumpled. He wasn’t stupid, all the kids used open hours to their advantage. But he wasn’t keen on the new kid with the piss poor attitude messing around with Rogue, the untouchable girl who couldn’t have much experience what with the deadly skin and all.
Like most adults, Warren was totally clueless. “Keep the door open,” he said gravely to both of them.
Rogue smiled brightly at him, “No problem. We were done anyways.” She laughed as Warren’s face fell. Wolverine resisted the urge to join in her amusement at Angel’s devastated expression and simply held out his hand to her. She took it and they headed down the hallway, grinning like mandmen.
After all, Xavier’s grounds were plenty big to get lost in. They stayed in a secluded corner of one of the gardens, talking about the other kids and bashing Warren. Wolverine sat with his back to a fruit tree and Rogue settled between his legs with her back pressed to his chest. They sat just like that, Wolverine with his face pressed to the back of her head taking in the silky feel of her hair and the clean scent laced with sandlewood that was all her. They spent time playing in turn with each other’s fingers, tracing glove seams and fiddling with the skin of each others' wrists peeking out from the leather until the dinner bell rang.
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