“Play games? Play games?” Marie didn’t know what the hell Logan was talking about; if anyone was playing games here, it was him. She seethed with anger, with hurt, with unfulfilled—unfulfillable—desire.
The sound of Logan’s laughter twisted like a knife in her gut. If there had been any hopeful part of her that still believed he truly desired her, it pretty much died with that sound. So, he thought it was funny, to tease the untouchable girl? Well, fuck’im, then. She’d put up with just such cruelty from the flirtatious Remy LeBeau for years. This was nothing new.
Marie wished she hadn’t repressed so much of Rogue’s mind. Her protector knew how to handle these kinds of things, how to rebuff Gambit, how to efficiently tell off the nameless men in the bar where she went only to have a few shots and hear the music. Rogue would have put Logan in his place, would have said something clever to hurt him just as much as he was hurting her—Oh, who was she kidding? Rogue was the one who got her into this mess in the first place.
Rogue had teased him, had led him on unfairly, and she reckoned the last two weeks were pretty frustrating for him, even if he wasn’t tempted enough to accept her advances.
But she hadn’t done it out of malice, like he was doing now. And as soon as she realized what she had done she apologized, apologized as sincerely as she could—and he threw it back in her face.
Marie pressed her lips together for a moment. There would be no more hiding behind her hands, no more shyness and feeling sorry for herself. She was embarrassed, sure, but she’d be damned if she couldn’t maintain some dignity through all of this. She summoned every ounce of Rogue’s fire and sass now ingrained within her: “Listen, asshole, I dunno where ya get off comin’ inta my room and talkin’ to me like that, but I’m tryin’ to do the right thing here.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off—
“Maybe ya really are mean-hearted, or maybe you’re jus’ thinkin’ with your dick, but either way lemme set ya straight: I led ya on even though I’m not capable of—a normal relationship, and I know that was wrong, and I’m already fuckin’ hurt and humiliated enough, so don’t feel like ya gotta get me back any more for what I done to ya. I said I was sorry. Accept it, and move the hell on.” There. That was strong. Mature. She didn’t need Rogue. She could handle these things on her own now, didn’t miss her quiet room inside the mansion, didn’t miss the safety and comfort her protector had given her since adolescence. No! Fuck. Shit. Those are not tears. Those are not tears risin’ up in the corners of my eyes. Marie looked up and blinked a few times, and the tears disappeared. So there.
Logan was stunned.
Marie straightened and held her chin as high as she could, ignoring the strange part of her brain that told her to drop her head down and whimper and go to Logan and rub her cheek against him, begging for forgiveness.
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Put her in her place, his instincts demanded. He felt the low growl rising up in his chest, saw her shrink a little at that sound. This was just the excuse he’d been looking for, to reassert his dominance. She couldn’t talk to him like that. Her words hardly registered—just that defiant tone, and she’d called him an asshole, and—wait, huh? Not capable? His growl broke off oddly with a grunt of surprise. “Whaddya mean, you’re not capable of a normal relationship? The hell's normal, anyway?”
Marie blushed, and that fire he’d seen in her eyes fizzled out. She suddenly looked very young. “I—oh—I didn’t mean a relationship. I just m-m-meant like, a physical, er . . .”
That was cute, that little stammer she had sometimes. Like she wasn’t quite used to speaking yet. Logan fought the urge to smile. “Physical . . . you mean sex.”
She blushed harder.
“Sex with me.” Aha, it all finally clicked. He felt somewhat guilty for goading her and laughing at her. She wasn’t sorry for the way she felt about him. She was sorry that she couldn’t act on her feelings. Right? Well, one way to find out: “You’re sorry for gettin’ me horny, ‘cause you don’t think you could follow through, is that it?”
Must be awfully warm in that skin of hers. She looked like she was baking. Her voice had become small, confused. “Uh, I can’t touch.”
Logan simply shrugged. Minor detail. He was confident he could figure a few ways around it. That bodysuit she was currently wearing, for one. “What’s your point, Rogue? Look, you want it. I want it. We could figure out other ways to do it ‘til ya learn to control your mutation.” He didn’t see any reason to deny himself what he—what they both obviously wanted.
Now it was her turn to look stunned. “I. You. Wha . . . and what if I never learn to control my mutation?”
Logan huffed. He didn’t want to consider that possibility, didn’t want her to consider it, either. He tried to brush it aside. “Let’s not worry about it. This whole time you been drivin' me outta my mind, woman, and it was all I could do not to take advantage. So now that you’re finally back to yourself, now that I can finally have you, I don’t give a fuck about your skin problem.” He winced. Maybe that was not exactly the best choice of words.
It was also not exactly true, given the Wolverine’s howl of rage at the thought of being unable to touch his mate’s skin, and worse, unable to get inside her without a layer of latex in between.
A little of that fire came back in her eyes. “You’re still thinkin’ with your dick.” Then she softened. “Really, Logan, I’m . . . flattered you would want me . . . in that way. That’s more than I ever expected from somebody who knew my mutation, an’ I . . . thanks for that. For givin’ me that.”
Logan kind of hurt for her, hearing those frank words. But it wasn’t enough to dampen his excitement. He took a couple of steps towards her. “Rogue . . . Marie . . . I’m sorry for bein’ a jerk earlier. I didn’t know your mutation was such a big deal to you.” He lowered his voice in that way that made her heart speed. “I’ll make this so good for you, baby. All you gotta do is tell me not to st—”
She held up a hand, her anger replaced with something that looked disconcertingly like pity. “No, hear me out, Logan. You’re bein’ awful sweet, an’ I dunno how I can get this through to you, but,” she spoke in slow tones as if to a child, “You. Are. Not. Thinkin'. Straight. I can’t even be kissed, can’t even touch without gloves on. If you . . . if we . . . it’d be frustratin’ and unsatisfyin’ for us both. An’ even if we made it work for a little while, how long would it last ‘til ya run off an’ find a woman you can really touch, one who can sleep in your bed without fear of killin’ ya? Or worse, if ya stick around, how long ‘til ya start resentin’ me for what I can’t give ya?” She shook her head. “No, hell no. I’m not puttin’ either one of us through that, sugar. Just let it go. Let’s go back to the school, back to our lives, an’ you can move on an’ . . . maybe find someone . . . better suited to ya.”
There it was again, that vacant stare. It must have worked well for her over the years. She had mastered it. If he couldn’t smell the hurt pouring off her, he would think she really didn’t care one way or the other. His eyes fell to the tags around her neck. He liked this better when she couldn’t talk, couldn’t point out all the flaws in his fantasy of her. His voice felt tight. “Find someone else, huh? And what about you?”
“I prefer to be alone.”
And that was the second time she’d flat-out lied to him.
Logan stayed planted in the center of Marie’s room, watching silently as she turned and continued packing up the rest of her clothes. She picked up the ripped dress from the floor, folded it neatly and placed it in the suitcase. Then she grabbed the last two items from the closet, a green turtleneck and black jeans, glanced at him a little tensely, and walked over to her bathroom.
He forced down his growl of anger when she closed the bathroom door. The second she left his sight, he was haunted with the fear that other males would smell her, find her, take her from him. It was stupid and irrational and almost impossible to suppress. An image flashed in his mind: Rogue writhing under another man, trying to get away—she was in heat, vulnerable right now, and it was his job to protect her, keep her, mark her as his. Mine. You touch her, you die. The image of the faceless male attacking her faded, but she was still writhing, now tied up, scraping her skin on the scratchy leaf litter in the clearing, dots of blood welling up from the scratches, oh God, she wasn’t invulnerable and the wolves were closing in on her and he couldn’t get there in time . . .
He wasn’t aware of moving across the room, but he must have, because his hand slid down the solid wood of the bathroom door, gripped the handle—he froze. Wolverine forced more images into his mind, graphic depictions of his fears, but Logan shoved them away, jerked his hand back from the door.
He had no right. No right to barge in on her like that. To treat her as his, when the very mention of her never gaining control of her skin was enough to give him second thoughts.
Truthfully, he didn’t know if he could handle it long-term, being with a woman he could never touch. He wanted to pretend he was a good man, the kind who would be understanding and never lose his patience over something she couldn’t control—but he wasn’t that man, and deep down, he knew it. It hurt to think about. His devotion to her went without question, and so did his lust for her, but he didn’t know if that could translate into a relationship. Didn’t know if he could be satisfied with look-but-don’t-touch. Even if he wanted to care for her and protect her, and she was fucking gorgeous and perfect for him in every way.
Especially if she was gorgeous and perfect for him in every way.
It would hurt them both even worse if they did get closer, if he came to love her even more and things didn’t work out. The animal in him was howling with rage now, threatening to tear free, claws straining under his skin. Mine. Mine. Keep her. Mine.
But the animal in him didn’t think rationally, any more than the animal in Marie did. Animals wanted what they wanted, with no regard for the consequences. They couldn’t even comprehend something as unnatural as being unable to bond with their mates, unable to move against and inside each other in the way their instincts demanded. Wolverine and Rogue didn’t understand. Logan and Marie did.
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Marie felt a bit uncomfortable with Logan still in her room, but she was emotionally drained. She chose for now to avoid rather than confront the issue, taking her clothes to the bathroom to change. She peeled off her unitard—great for workouts, not so much for road trips. And she smiled, a little sadly, at Rogue’s reasoning for putting it on. Comfort, practicality. So simple, so unconcerned with modesty. So unlike Marie.
Or maybe not. Maybe she wasn’t overly modest. She used the showers at the gym and didn’t have too much reservation about shedding her clothes for doctor’s visits, but before Logan, the last time a man had seen her naked was . . . at the compound, she supposed. When her mama’s latest boytoy ‘accidentally’ walked in on her in the shower.
He had stared at her chest for a few seconds, shrugged, muttered, “Oops, my bad,” and walked out. Both Rogue and Marie found the memory rather embarrassing. And unflattering. It almost would have been better if he’d made some lewd comment.
And that was about the extent of her sex life: Remy’s constant painful teasing, occasional unwanted come-ons from men at her favorite bar, one nameless man who stared at her in the shower with little more than detached interest, and sweet Cody who she nearly killed with her first and only kiss.
Until now. Until Logan.
Marie let her eyes travel over her reflection, wondering what Logan saw when he looked at her. She was . . . average. Kind of pretty in the face, in a simple way, but not as pretty as Jean or Ororo. Lean and well-toned, nice legs, but average hips, average waist, average breasts. She had the sort of body that wasn’t really sensual or beautiful, just functional, strong, a well-maintained weapon. And not just her skin. She was a fighter, even without her mutation and Carol’s powers. Protegee of the great Raven Darkholme, Brotherhood assassin, expert in hand-to-hand combat. From the practical joint locks of Krav Maga to the traditional Shaolin kung fu forms, Mystique had taught her well.
Marie stamped down that line of thought before it could dredge up any other, more dangerous, memories. Her headache had calmed considerably, the ebb and flow of Rogue’s emotions, her posture, her speech patterns, all of it slowly becoming more naturally entwined with Marie. She was confident that Charles could help her integrate the two personalities fully, find the proper, seamless balance between the two. She would probably always think of herself as Marie, but with the old Rogue’s thoughts and memories.
As for the new Rogue, a jumbled mess of feral thoughts and instincts . . . Marie wasn’t sure what to do about that.
She spared one more glance at her reflection. Her eyes caught the tags glinting against her bare skin. Her knees went weak and she gripped the counter.
"Whenever you see’em in the mirror, think about me. About how I’m makin’ you feel right now.”
Instantly, her body flooded with arousal, remembering Logan’s words, the heat in his eyes, the way she felt in that moment . . . So good. So wanted. So his.
”And whenever you feel that metal move against your skin, just imagine . . .”
Marie felt the brush of his fingertip over her skin, felt a whimper rise up in her throat, but this time she managed to catch the sound and suppress it. She tore her gaze from the mirror, tugged on her clothes, then tried to take off Logan’s tags—
Her feral side rose up with a vengeance, her hand disobeying her and settling the chain over her turtleneck. Marie’s mouth fell open. She tried once more to remove the tags, but a feeling of intense anxiety washed over her. She let the warm metal drop from her fingers, vaguely embarrassed.
“I don’t want you to take those off. Never, baby, never.”
She remembered Carol’s words: a dog collar.
And there was a part of her mind that wanted nothing more than to wear it for him. Logan had trained his pet well.
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Marie emerged from the bathroom, the tight jeans and stretchy shirt—no bra—clinging to her in all the right places, rich auburn hair a little bit curly and messy and begging to be touched. Logan folded his arms over his chest, held his breath, and narrowed his eyes in the hope that his appreciative stare wouldn’t be too obvious.
Then his gaze was drawn to the tags she had settled over her shirt. He couldn’t help the small spark of hope that flared in him at the sight.
It just felt . . . so right, her wearing those. It was better than the bruises and bites the animal wanted to leave on her, because she chose this, chose to accept his mark and display it. Even after their fight, even after she pretended not to want a relationship with him. Something inside her still believed the risk was worth it. She must feel it too: so right.
He drew a deep breath through his mouth, avoiding the hazy stupor that settled over him with every pull of her scent. Held it for a moment, then let it out in a rush.
Logan was conflicted.
Now that he finally believed in right and wrong, and had chosen to do right, he didn’t know how to go about it. He would never have thought that wanting to make the right choice was so easy; the hard part was knowing what the right choice was. All he knew was that he did not want to fuck this up, didn’t want to push for more with Marie only to lose her entirely. He had way too much of himself invested in this woman already, could never remember feeling anything so strongly before except rage and anger and hate. He recalled his plea to Xavier:
”She needs more time.”
She needed time. So did he. He needed to back the fuck off and stop trying to get in the pants of this recently traumatized, mentally scarred young woman. He knew she was strong, a veteran fighter even, but she looked so young sometimes, so small. Like she needed a friend, somebody to look out for her, protect her. She was right. He was thinking with his dick, and now a part of him was glad she had brought up the hard issues, had made things more difficult and complicated between them—hadn’t let him charge into something driven more by the current spike in her pheromones than his actual affection for her. His body’s protests to the contrary, he was relieved she hadn’t let him do something he would ultimately regret.
Under pain of torture Logan would never admit to it, but in some ways Scott had been right. Logan didn’t really know Rogue, this Rogue. He’d been on one mission with her, sat through a couple of meetings and trained with her in a few Danger Room sessions. He liked what he’d seen so far, definitely felt a connection, and it didn’t hurt that she had good taste in whiskey and looked fucking hot in that leather uniform. Even put Jean and Storm to shame, and they were two very fine female specimens, themselves.
”Go back to the X-men, teach some brats, go on missions together, pretend like there’s nothin’ between us . . .”
Maybe that really was what they needed. A fresh start. An opportunity to get to know each other not as ferals, but as regular people. Logan finally knew what the right choice was. He held out his hand.
Marie took it reluctantly, confusion apparent in her features.
Logan gave her his cocky grin, the one that made women’s hearts skip a beat. His voice came out a bit gruff and grunty, but the words were sincere: “Ya made some good points. I wanna start over. Clean slate.” He shook her hand twice, firm military grip. “Name’s Logan.”
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“Marie.” She folded her other hand over his, the gesture turning from formal to warm. “Thank you, Logan. For understanding.”
He shrugged. “Ya know what they say, what happens in Vermont sta—“ he was interrupted by a knock on the door.
Marie pulled her hand from his. “Oh, that’ll be the bellman. I called an’ got the car outta valet after I talked to Charles. I’ll go let’im in while ya pack your—“
Logan’s eyes flashed gold. The scent of his anger flooded her senses. Marie couldn’t suppress her whimper this time at the low growl that rumbled out of his throat. “You. Did. What?”
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Chapter End Notes:
Ew, that was a long break between updates. Sorry, I kinda got caught up writing some other things. I'll try to post the next chapter tomorrow to make up for it. We'll see just how successful Logan and Marie are with the whole 'Happens in Vermont, Stays in Vermont' proposition.