After dinner, Rogue went to the computer lab for a little while, had some homework to knock out before lights out. Wolverine figured he’d see if he would be allowed back in the woodshop. “Meet me on the roof at 1,” Rogue whispered in his ear before she sauntered away, her hips shifting from side to side in a way that drew his eyes right to them.
Hot damn, weekends rule. All thoughts of going to the woodshop vanished; he wouldn’t be able to concentrate after that inviting whisper. So he headed to the gym to work off the tension she’d stoked in him with that sassy command and was pleased to find Piotr and Lanche there. They took turns working the heavy bags and Piotr introduced Logan to the crazy bag, suspended by two cables from the floor and ceiling that made it jump about maniacally each time he hit it. The huge kid demonstrated how the crazy taught you how to duck and weave.
“Yeh, if you knew how to do that Rogue might not have K.O.ed you,” Lanche taunted, which earned him a swift punch in the shoulder that left his arm numb. Despite probable nerve damage he couldn’t give up hassling Wolverine for chasing his cousin. “You be careful, you hurt her and you’re gonna get eviscerated.”
Wolverine cocked an eyebrow at his buddy. “Ooooh, big word. You couldn’t lay a glove on me.” And to demonstrate, he danced around the ground shaker and slapped him on the back of the head a few times as the lanky boy flailed uselessly at him. Lanche finally managed to put his hand over Wolverine’s face and knock him to the mat.
“I ain’t talking about me, short-stack,” he jeered. “Rogue will kick your ass.”
Wolverine smirked from his prone position then kicked out one leg and swept Lanche’s out from underneath him. Piotr laughed heartily, reached down, and picked up both boys by the scruff of their necks then deposited them on their feet.
“I don’t think Rogue’s plans for my ass involve any kicking,” the dark haired boy leered at his friend.
“Ugh, too much info, man! That’s my cousin!” Lanche winced in disgust.
“You started it,” Piotr reminded the taller teen.
Wolverine and the Russian spent some time sparring, but no knock-down-drag-outs this time, and mostly worked on techniques Wolverine needed a lot of practice with. His out-an-out brawling style had its drawbacks, as the Russian was happy to point out.
“No, you cannot come to me like dat!” Piotr shouted and knocked the other teen’s arm away easily. “You come straight every time, this is why you lose!” Again, he easily dodged another swing. “You must learn to be sneaky, come from de side, da, da, very goot,” he encouraged as Wolverine feinted to one side, then swung from the other and connected with the solid block of muscle that passed for Colossus’ abdomen.
Despite Piotr’s massive size and strength he wasn’t built for longevity and had to take a break after a little while, but Wolverine was still raring to go. Lanche stepped up and he and Wolverine traded target drills until both were soaked with sweat and their concentration wavered. When Lanche accidentally, or maybe on purpose, missed the target glove and drilled Wolverine right in the face they called it quits. Wolverine considered for a moment returning the hit with some extra flavor on it but figured Lanche was allowed an occasional freebie simply for putting up with Wolverine catting after his cousin. And if her boyfriend knocked her cousin’s block off Rogue might not be thrilled.
It was almost 11pm by the time he got back to his room and, tired as he was, Wolverine was simultaneously energized at the thought of some alone time with Rogue on the roof. He took his time in the shower and allowed himself the pleasure of a quick wank to take the edge off. Wouldn’t do to embarrass himself and come like a kid in his pants, which had been a distinct possibility in Rogue’s bed earlier that day. She’d twisted her legs around his and it had been damn difficult to think of England when he felt her perky little ass snugged against his crotch.
He doodled with his hair for a long time in the mirror. Sometimes it took effort to get it to fall in that “I didn’t do a thing to it” look, but he was damned if he’d let anyone know it. No shaving, he was her hairy Wolf-man, grrrrowl. He caught the silly grin on his face in the mirror and quickly replaced it with a scowl. Better. Now the eyebrow, not too much, lower, lower, perfect. He winked at himself in the mirror, finally satisfied with his appearance and spent another few minutes dithering over what shirt to wear. Metallica, Black Sabbath, The Ramones. Decisions, decisions. He looked at the clock and realized he’d just spent more time picking out a shirt tonight than he’d spent considering his wardrobe in his entire life.
Shit, he was turning into a metro. He closed his eyes, rammed a fist into the drawer and blindly pulled over his head the first thing his fingers closed on. Simple black, good choice. Refusing to spend waste any more brain power on clothing he jumped into a pair of jean lying on the floor, only pausing to make sure they passed the sniff test and stomped on his combat boots. He looked at the clock again. Shit, 30 minutes. Nothing to do either. His magazines held no interest and he had nothing else to entertain himself with in the Spartan room, so he tossed open the window and smoked a few cigarettes before he remembered he had some hooch Zerker had slipped him the other day that he hadn’t cracked open yet.
Oh yeh, a little liquid courage. Not that he needed courage, no sir. He was the motherfucking Wolverine. He took a quick slug, which steadied his nerves amazingly, not that they needed steadying. No way. He just was bored waiting to meet Rogue, waiting to see what she’d be wearing and where she’d let him touch her this time.
Wait, touch! Heh heh. He rifled through his drawers again and almost cheered when he found his old leather biking gloves. Worn in and beaten to almost butter softness, he figured these would come in handy. He experimented with their texture on his own cheek, then his neck. Ohh, yeh. Fun times, these weekends. He’d have to think about getting some other gloves, Rogue might be into leather and some kinky shit, he was pretty sure she probably was, but it wouldn’t hurt to get something thinner so he could feel more of her than the leather afforded. His mind took off in a fanciful direction as he contemplated various fabrics and textures that could prove verrrry interesting. He lay down on the bed and indulged in a few creative mental shenanigans while drawing circles on his chest with his gloved hands, remembering the feel of Rogue own fingers tracing that same path earlier.
When he looked at the clock again he was late. Shit! He grabbed the booze, crammed his smokes in his back pocket and launched himself out the window, easily grabbing the gutter with his free hand and swinging himself up to land in a crouch. Ta-da, perfect dismount. He straightened up with a grin, eyes falling immediately on his hot-ass girl looking good enough to eat in a variety of ways with a ripped up red t-shirt that showed her bra in a few places and tight as hell jeans.
His face then fell immediately upon spying Lanche, Zerker, Silver, and Pyro. So much for an evening of touchy-feely. Unless she was THAT freaky. No way. He shook his head. The Wolverine did not share.
“You’re late, thought you’d stood me up,” Rogue chided smartly even as she stood up and walked over to give him a hug that pressed here hips to his in a delightful way.
“Didn’t know we’d have company,” he grumbled sourly before he nipped her shoulder lightly through her t-shirt.
“Don’t pout.” The Wolverine does not fucking pout! “I have an idea and I figured the rest of the guys would want in on it.” Her smile wasn’t sensual when she looked at the other boys but evilly mischievous and definitely hinted at something that would surely be on the Xavier naughty list.
“Hey, refreshments! Classy little shindig you got here,” Silver said as he tipped the bottle to his mouth. It was only then Wolverine realized the speedster had taken it when he wasn’t paying attention. He growled menacingly at the white haired freak who merely smirked at him before tossing the bottle to Zerker, who had the sense to take a nip before giving it back to his surly friend. After they’d all settled in comfortably on the roof, cigarettes lit and the magical appearance of another bottle, this one of Jagermeister, made its rounds, Rogue filled them in on her idea. Even Avalanche’s initial misgivings were swept away when visions of the full-blown enterprise danced in his head. Even though he’d had his fill of KP duty and detention as a result of his cousin’s idea of fun, he was sold in short order. By the time they’d finished both bottles and were all relatively hammered, they’d set down the ground rules and the brief list of things they needed.
“Pyro, you and Silver got more freedom at BH than we do around here,” Rouge noted, her voice slurring slightly. “You guys find the right place, ok?” They nodded as they slid over the roof’s edge to shimmy down the drainpipe that had been used since the opening of the Institute to get rule-breakers off the ground and away from prying eyes of the security cameras.
“Everyone else, bring at least 3 people with you. Mutants, normals, don’t matter as long as they keep their mouth fucking shut,” Wolverine reminded them as the other guys left. Keeping a tight lid on this shit was key to making it all work, and if it did they’d have a fuckload of fun and possibly make some serious bank in the process. It was closer to dawn than midnight and Rogue was sloshed, a little too much for anything more than a few caresses before she accidentally zapped him, then fell on top of him giggling when his knees when to jelly .
“Alright Livewire, bedtime,” Wolverine swung off the drain gutter into her bedroom window and caught her legs to pull her in before she dashed her brains against the back patio. Rogue complied easily with his ministrations as he guided her drunk, but cute ass, to the bed where she sprawled across it messily and waved her arms lazily in his general direction.
“C’mere,” she drawled and fuck if Wolverine was going to ignore a hot as hell chick gesturing him to get into bed with her. “You gotta leave before breakfast, go back to you roooooo” Rogue voice trailed off as she snuggled her face into his chest and carelessly threw a leg over his hips.
Wolverine almost groaned at the feel of her firm thigh pressed against him, but checked it and instead settled for wrapping one arm around her and cupping to her to his side, pleased to discover her butt fit his hand perfectly.
“You’re gonna get my assed kicked out of here, y’know,” he murmured into her hair, “Warren catches me in your room or Xavier finds out what we’re planning and I’m outta here.” He didn’t like the idea of leaving Xavier’s, fucking place had grown on him and it had only half to do with the girl running her gloved fingers along his arm in just the right way to make goosebump rise up.
“Nah, they’ll just ground you until you die,” she whispered, her voice falling off.
“Not sure I can die,” Wolverine teased. “Think they’ll have be writing lines when I’m so old I’m wearing diapers.”
Rogue shrugged lazily and burrowed further into his embrace. “If they kick you out I’ll just go with you.”
Wolverine liked the idea of hopping on her bike and taking off, but two teenagers with no high school diplomas, fucked up mutations, and no money wouldn’t get far in even the best scenario. But it was pretty fucking cool she’d said it anyway. “Ya mean that?” His was only answered with a soft snore.
He craned his neck, yup she was out like a light. Shit, she was even cute when she drooled, which she was doing right now on his shirt. Wolverine grinned up at the ceiling and settled himself more comfortably on her bed, thinking about their big plans.
Fuck it, go big or go home.
If they played it just right for even just a month or so they might have enough money to make a go of it if they got booted out of Xavier’s. Wolverine spent the remainder of the few hours left to the night fine-tuning Rogue’s proposal to them that evening, coming up with a few ideas himself he thought would perfect it and make it an almost irresistible proposition for anyone lucky enough to score an invite.
About an hour before breakfast, Rogue stirred and they started the morning in a way Wolverine wouldn’t mind doing every day for the rest of his life. Especially when Rogue straddled him with a sleepy smile, looking like untasted sin, that long black and silver hair floating down in disarray and her shirt all rucked up. He cured her hangover with a quick kiss to the small swath of skin that showed between her belt and shirt, then as he lay back to let the dizziness pass he teased her into fuller wakefulness with light sweeps of his gloved fingers as he memorized every inch of her stomach and sides.
“Mmmm, I could get used to that,” she sighed, leaning forward to shroud them both in the silky drape of her hair.
“Yeh?” He slid his hands around to trace the bumps and slope of her spin, slipping his hands under her shirt. “What about this?” He encountered her bra strap and, despite the gloves, managed to undo it with one hand, a little trick every horny teenage boy should know.
Rogue breathed into his hair at his temple and shit, was that her tongue? In his ear? Ohhhhhhh yehhhhhh.
“Like that too, sugar,” she whispered quietly, the feel of her breath and the nearness of her snapping at his nerve endings like a whip. Goddamn, she was something else, and she was making all sorts of little mutters in his ear that urged his blood south, then skyward to bring to life the mother of all morning wood. Wolverine slipped one hand from her back and traced it under her shirt to her front, grazing the side of one now uncovered breast. He growled, pleased by the little shudder Rogue gave at his touch.
Knock knock. “Rogue? You seen Wolverine?”
Warren.
FUCK YOU FUCKING FUCK!
Rogue cut her eyes at the window sharply and rolled off the Wolverine. “Whaaaaaat?” she called out in a crabby and passably sleepy voice, though definitely much heavier on the crabby.
“He’s not in his room,” came the irritated voice from the other side of the door.
She stalked over to the door, griping for Angel to hear, “I’m trying to sleep, Warren!”
No waiting for jack shit Wolverine jumped right out the window and braced himself for the fall. With any luck he’d only break a few bones and be able to crawl out of sight before Warren decided to poke his head out the window. No such luck, he landed right in the bushes. This would have been a good thing except they were holly bushes, so it was a very bad thing. He just managed to keep to himself the blood-curdling scream evoked by ten thousand needle sharp barbs burrowing into his flesh and settled for crawling under the bushes he’d just crashed through.
Hiding wasn’t his favorite way to handle confrontation, con-fucking-frontation was, but if it meant he avoided getting lectured by Warren, shit-canned by Xavier, or stuck on KP well then he’d be a fucking stealth master. The invisible man. He’d be a goddamn ninja if it kept Warren from catching him.
Besides it gave his body time to heal the scratches, the fractured wrist, and push out the needles that had managed to break off and embed in his skin. All three hundred and seventy eight of them. Wolverine learned it took precisely 17 minutes and 44 seconds. Educational night.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Sorry it took me so long to update. My house was broken into last week while I slept and they stole my frigging brand new 40 inch lcd tv I'd spent most of this past year saving up for. Thank god they didn't take my precious laptop. Anywho, with all that, plus the Thanksgiving holiday and invasion of the relatives I'm sure you understand.