Someone wanted foof, and someone else wanted smut...Here's both... LOL
Title: Hot Legs (1/1)
Category: Logan/Rogue smut
Series: Fantasy Sounds Like This
Summary: Classic rock and a black leotard start the fantasy ball rolling
for Logan one sunny spring day.
Disclaimer: Do I look like I own these characters?? Or the songs, for
that matter? Nope.
Dedication: To Rod Stewart and Trent Reznor. LOL And to Nacey and Gowdie
and Shana, who assured me that Logan would want it this way. <snerk>
Author's Note: This is the first fic in a series of smutty little foofy
songfic pieces. Smut + foof = Thank you, GOD, I'm not writing ANGST!
the crowds cheered. ;) No, really. Let me know if I should continue with
this line of fics, or if I should cease and desist
The afternoon was beautiful, a testament to the glory of spring. A light
breeze played through his hair, and Logan inhaled deeply, appreciating the
calm and peace surrounding him.
But that deep breath brought with it the realization that he was not alone,
and his good mood was in imminent danger of being squashed like a bug.
Sure enough, seconds later, the voice came, effectively spoiling Logan's
rare moment of serenity.
"Logan, what do you think you're doing?"
Logan cringed slightly in irritated reaction, then turned his face skyward,
squinting against the bright afternoon sunlight. "Working on my bike,
The younger man snorted, surveying the scene before him, and Logan didn't
need to see his eyes to see his disgust. He knew exactly what Summers saw
- the ratty old bike, half-gutted, parts strewn about on the dirty drop
cloth that was Logan's only concession to cleanliness and order
there was Logan himself, no doubt looking just as disrespectable, if not
A grin spread across Logan's face as he wiped greasy hands across his
chest, further marring the already smudged cotton tee shirt he wore. He
knew the mess would piss Summers off like nothing else.
Good. Maybe the little squirt would finally cowboy up, throw a punch or
two. He'd been spoiling for a good fight.
With that in mind, he turned and cranked up the radio he'd brought outside
with him, then sighed and wiped his hands across his shirt again for good
Summers had to raise his voice to be heard over the Steve Miller Band. "I
can see that you're working on that thing you call a bike, Logan. I meant
*that*," he elaborated, pointing at a spot near the radio.
"It's called a beer, Scooter." With those words, Logan reached for the
bottle and took a huge gulp.
Summers clenched his jaw. "What the hell are you doing with it out here?
You know the rules."
Logan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, no drinking in front of the kids." He
paused and looked around, taking in the lush lawn and well-tended trees.
"Do you see any around here?"
"As a matter of fact
" His voice trailed off as he nodded past Logan.
Following his gaze, Logan turned to see Marie and two of her friends
stretching on a patch of grass in the distance. Judging by their clothing,
they were about to go for a jog. "Just get rid of the beer, okay, Logan?"
"Hang on, Summers." He raised a hand and yelled, "Hey, kid!" He grinned a
little as Marie's head snapped up. "Come 'ere, Marie!" She exchanged a
few glances with her little friends, then rose and half-jogged in his
direction, her long ponytail swinging from side to side as she moved.
"Bring your friends with you," he added, smirking at the man standing next
The two other girls looked a little hesitant, but they followed Marie.
When they reached him, Marie twisted a hand in the end of her ponytail and
ventured, "What's up?"
He eyed her for a second, then asked, "Who am I?"
Her brown eyes widened, and her mouth opened a little, then closed again.
What do you mean?"
"Are you having some kinda
identity thing here, dude?" the girl named
Jubilee interjected suddenly. "'Cause you're
"You're Logan," Marie finished with a shrug. "I mean, is that what you
"Yeah, thanks." He ignored the blatant looks of confusion he was receiving
from the girls. "And what do I do?"
" This time, it was the girl named Kitty who spoke. "Scare people?"
"Smell bad?" Jubilee offered.
"Run around, actin' like a bad ass?" Rogue murmured her contribution with
a small smile, and Logan winked at her. She continued. "You also growl,
glare, smoke cigars, and drink beer like there's no tomorrow."
"Beer?" Logan feigned shock. "You all know I drink beer?"
"Duh." Jubilee snorted. "If it weren't for your healing factor, your liver
would be the size of LA County."
Logan nodded thoughtfully, then grinned. "Thanks. That's all I wanted to
The three girls stood there for a moment, then turned to go, casting
several glances back at him. As they ambled off, he heard them whispering
about his odd behavior. Shrugging, he turned back to Summers. "There goes
your theory about me corrupting the school's youth."
He merely heaved an exasperated sigh and stalked away.
Logan grinned again and turned his attention back to the bike. A new song
rolled into play on the radio, and his grin widened as he recognized the
opening guitar riff of an old Rod Stewart song.
"Hot Legs." He chuckled. How appropriate. His eyes strayed to where
Marie stood, bent over at the waist, stretching her hamstrings. He averted
his gaze quickly. The last thing he needed was to linger too long on the
sight of her legs encased in that black leotard she wore under her purple
Who's that knocking on my door?
It's gotta be a quarter to four
Is it you again coming 'round for more?
Okay, maybe the last thing he needed was to listen to that song. It made
him think about Marie knocking on his door in the middle of the night,
practically begging him to touch her. Gritting his teeth, he shoved away
the images that immediately popped to mind. Marie wasn't the kind of girl
you fantasized about, not just for kicks, anyway.
Hot legs, wearing me out
Hot legs, you can scream and shout
Hot legs, are you still in school?
I love you, honey
He shifted slightly, trying to relieve the tension that was already
building in him. Thankfully, Marie and her friends had finished their
stretching exercises and had started to jog around the corner of the building.
Gotta most persuasive tongue
You promise all kinds of fun
<Aww, shit. Stop it, Logan. Just stop it right there
> He grimaced and
picked up a wrench, trying to distract himself from the lyrics screaming
out of his radio.
Hot legs, you're an alley cat
Hot legs, you scratch my back
Marie's fingernails digging into his back. Holy shit. It was getting hard
for Logan to breathe, much less concentrate on the dismantled engine in
front of him. He tried to suppress the colorful scenes floating through
You got legs right up to your neck
You're making me a physical wreck
I'm talking to you,
Hot legs, in your satin shoes
Hot legs, are you still in school?
Hot legs, you're making me a fool
I love you, honey
Logan cursed aloud. He should *not* be having dirty thoughts about Marie,
he should *not* be
picturing her dressed to kill - literally - and using
her body to tease and tantalize him like a practiced seductress. It was
wrong, and it was
It was a temptation he couldn't escape, a desire he couldn't quell. To see
Marie as she could be in his mind, knowing and willing and
Logan sighed and closed his eyes, letting the fantasy overwhelm him.
The club was everything he hated - loud, crowded, and trendy. Logan always
preferred dive bars to newer club scenes. All he wanted was whiskey and a
place to sit for a while, and you couldn't walk into one of these new dance
places without a kid who looked like she should be at home in footie
pajamas hitting on you every time you turned around.
If it were up to him, he'd leave. But it wasn't up to him, because *she*
was still there, and he wasn't leaving until she did.
He eyed her from his spot in the corner. She *owned* the fucking dance
floor. Several feet separated the other writhing bodies from hers as she
twirled and dipped to the throbbing beat of whatever god-awful song the
deejay was spinning. He was glad she was dancing alone, for several reasons.
The first was simple; he didn't want to have to slice and dice any stupid
little boys just because they were drunk enough to try something with
Marie. She might look like a good time, but he'd kill any dickhead who
tried to touch her.
The second reason was not quite as simple, though intimately tied to the
first. Her solo dancing made it easier for him to imagine that she was
moving her body for him, and him alone. That her show of feminine
sensuality and power was staged for his benefit.
And goddamn, what a benefit it was. She swung her head and hips in
counterpoint, her hair falling over her face and
Jesus Christ. She was
wearing a shirt that hugged her body, covering most of her skin, save for
the plunging neckline that exposed breathtaking curves and hollows. Those
rolling hips were clad in the tiniest silver skirt he'd ever seen, and it
was made of some shiny material that glimmered like a rainbow in the
colored light flashing across the dance floor.
He licked his lips.
Her dancing went beyond sexy and straight the hell into sinful, and it was
filling him with a need he hadn't anticipated. He watched, spellbound, as
she shifted without really moving, booted heels remaining in place. She
threw her head back, hair cascading wildly around her shoulders, and he saw
that her eyes were closed. She bit her lip in concentration, feeling only
the music. One of her hands ran down over her shoulder, and the other
swallowed convulsively as she lifted the already high hem of her skirt
higher on one leg, flipping her hips easily from side to side.
Holy fucking hell.
With his stomach in his throat, Logan stared as she continued to move, her
body traveling closer and closer to the floor until her ass nearly touched
it. Then she shimmied back upright, kicking out one leg and turning before
repeating the step.
It wasn't fair. He'd seen dozens of bona fide professionals do the same
dance with far less clothing and far more interest in him, but it had never
made him want to do the things that were occurring to him at that moment.
And it was *Marie*, goddammit
He was still berating himself when sweet, innocent little Marie turned
away, looked directly at him over her shoulder, and winked saucily.
Then she stopped dancing and headed for the back door.
She'd known he was there the whole time. The knowledge hit him like a body
blow, and it was a full five seconds before Logan's legs obeyed his brain's
command to follow her. He stalked toward the exit, intent on finding out
what her game was
and what she planned on doing about it.
He slammed the door open and charged outside into a light drizzling rain.
His eyes scanned the alley for several seconds. Sickly yellow light flowed
from a single sodium-arc lamp, but it didn't illuminate much.
"Lose somethin', Logan?" The soft voice lilted out of the shadows, and she
stepped forward, the odd light casting a glow over her smirking features.
"Or do you just make a habit out of followin' me?"
He wanted to do about a dozen conflicting things at that moment - he wanted
to laugh and he wanted to cry, wanted to beat her senseless and kiss her
breathless. He contented himself with glaring at her. "Wanna tell me what
that little show in there was all about?"
"Don't change the subject, Logan," she murmured knowingly, then shrugged.
"You didn't like it? Watchin' me?"
"Did you want me to?" His voice was rough, and the question was harsher
than he'd meant it to be.
But the woman in front of him just tilted her head coquettishly to one side
and narrowed her kohl-rimmed eyes. "If I hadn't wanted you to like it,
Logan, then I'd be talkin' to someone besides you right now, wouldn't I?"
Then she smiled slowly. "Think about that."
Emotion rose in him again. There was irritation at her smirking confidence
and desire at the low, smoky sound of her voice, but mostly there was just
anger. Anger at himself for
For something he hadn't done, but wanted to.
"This ain't exactly a little kid's game you're playing here, Marie," he
growled, stepping closer to her. He expected his sudden nearness to shock
her, maybe even scare her a little. She'd run, and his problem would be
solved. Then, even if he wanted to touch her, make her his, he couldn't,
because she'd be putting as much distance between them as she could.
He couldn't have been farther off the mark.
Instead of backing skittishly away from him, she leaned in closer, standing
on her tiptoes. "You're right. This sure as hell ain't Candyland, Logan.
And the next move's yours." Then she spun around and walked down the alley
toward the street.
Logan growled softly and stood there for a moment, listening to the click
of her heels on the cracked asphalt, the soft splash as she passed through
puddles of gathered water.
His fists clenched and unclenched, and he watched the silver sway of her
ass, the mile-long legs beneath it.
He couldn't let her leave.
He was behind her in a flash, grabbing her arm and yanking her around to
"What are you doin'?" she demanded, glancing to his strong fingers wrapped
around her upper arm, then up to his face.
Speech left him. And rightly so, because when it came right down to it,
there wasn't much to say. Not with words, anyway. So he kissed her.
Her lips parted immediately, and his tongue slid between them, breaching
the cavern of her mouth. She moaned, and he tasted blood as her teeth
closed on his flesh, and he realized dimly that he'd backed her against a
wall, thumping her head roughly against the brick.
But he didn't care because she didn't seem to. She merely clung to his
shoulders with both hands, pressing her body against his. He lifted his
head, groaning aloud at the sight of her flushed cheeks and wild eyes.
"Let's get outta here, Marie," he rasped, grinding his hips into her.
"No," she refused, shaking her head. "Here." Her hands twisted in the
fabric of his shirt, yanking it from his jeans. "No more waiting."
With another groan, he slid his hands to her ass and lifted her body up,
closing his eyes as her booted feet scrambled for purchase and her legs
locked around his hips. The tiny silver swath of fabric that she called a
skirt rucked up, and he inhaled sharply as the scent of her arousal hit him.
" she breathed, pulling at the buttons of his shirt. His mouth
descended on hers again and their tongues tangled, wet heat mingling with
need. He felt her fingernails score his flesh, and he hissed in another
He was seconds away from exploding, and he'd barely touched her. He had to
touch her, had to know what her naked skin tasted like. He wanted to feel
her reaction to him, the warmth rising from the body he touched.
Bracing one arm against the brick, he reached around the front of her body
with the other, dragging the edge of her skintight blouse down, freeing her
breast. There was no time for finesse, no room for practiced technique as
he latched a hungry mouth to her nipple.
Her back went rigid, and he heard the scrape of her hair against the wall
as she threw her head back. Above the soft sound of hair against mortar
was the roughness of her breath, panting in and out of her lungs, and the
soft needy sounds slipping between her clenched teeth.
"Look at me," he choked against the supple swell of her breast. "Marie."
Her legs tightened around him with nearly bruising force as she raised her
head, revealing unfocused eyes to him. "I want
Oh God, Logan, *please*
She braced her hands on his shoulders, giving him leverage enough to rip
away the silk of her underwear. The torn fabric fluttered from his hand,
unheeded, to the cracked pavement, and she buried her face in his neck as
he opened his own jeans. The muscles in his hips twitched and flexed as he
rested his cock against the wetness of her sex.
"You want it now?" he whispered roughly, wrapping his now-free arm around
her waist. "Tell me."
There was a slight movement, and her mouth was on his ear instead of his
throat. "Take me, Logan," she murmured, then slipped her tongue into the
shell of his ear.
With a low growl, he arched against her, pushing until the full length of
his erection was buried inside her. Untried muscles clenched around him,
and blood roared in his ears as he fought the instinctive urge to thrust.
He pulled back and looked at her face, trying to ground himself in reality
instead of the ecstasy of her tight body around his. Her eyes were
half-closed in concentration, and she bit her lower lip as he began to move
"Don't, Logan. Don't hold back," she whispered, her breath brushing his
cheek, his lips. "Give me all of you, everything. Hard, fast, and hot as
The sound that escaped him was part whine and part growl
and all desperate
need. With jerky, barely-controlled movements, he moved in and out of
Marie's body. The sensation of finally being inside her threatened to
destroy his last shred of sanity, but he held on, watching her for signs of
hesitation or discomfort.
All he found etched on the curves of her beautiful face was pleasure, a
pleasure that rumbled out of her in low moans and pleas. "God, Logan
" Her brows were drawn together, and she panted heavily. "Ahhhh
Her soft voice crying out for him inflamed Logan's senses, and he rode her
harder, each stroke carrying him closer to something he'd only glimpsed
Her body shivered, and she bit down on her lip, eyes slamming closed. "No,
open your eyes," he rasped, his arm around her waist tightening, He
stopped thrusting and she moaned in protest, her hands sliding down to
clutch at his hips. "I want to see it, Marie
." With that, he rocked her
against the wall, changing the angle of his hips, pushing her higher
against the cold, wet brick.
Her eyelids lifted and she cried out, "Logan!"
He was shaking, his body screaming in protest at having to hold back, but
he needed to see the look in her eyes when she came around him. So he
drove harder, gritting his teeth. "Come on, Marie
Her moans melted into tiny muffled shrieks, and she trembled in his arms.
Her legs clasped him desperately, silently begging him not to stop, not to
Close, she was so close, he could feel it
"Just a little more," he
rumbled through his clenched teeth. She began to thrash a little, and he
almost lost it, his rhythm faltering. "God, Marie, come on
"That's positively disgusting!"
The laughing shriek yanked Logan from his pornographic reverie and back
into reality. Reality happened to, at the moment, be three teenaged girls
standing around, eyeing him suspiciously.
He looked for the source of the annoying yell. It was Jubilee. She stood
on the other side of his bike, arms crossed, foot tapping. She looked
"What the hell are you yammering about?" he demanded angrily, irritated and
guilty and horny as all hell on fire.
"That!" she yelled in reply, pointing at the radio. "That guy just said
the word 'pussy-whipped'. I heard it." Yes, she definitely looked amused.
"Don't you think that's a little inappropriate?"
"Goddammit." She didn't know it, but the kid was pushing the limits of his
temper. In a different situation, Logan might have blown up, but Marie was
standing at the edge of the patio, chewing her bottom lip anxiously. So
Logan sighed and shifted uncomfortably, then grumbled, "I didn't write the
damn song, okay?"
The gratitude in Marie's deep brown eyes was almost tangible, and Logan was
immediately glad that he'd reigned in his rage.
Jubilee shrugged, unaware of the fact that she'd almost received a heavy
dose of Logan's wrath. "Whatever. You know, I should tell Mr. Summers
that you're listening to--"
"Jubes." Marie's voice eclipsed Logan's warning growl. "Come on. We've
gotta finish our run before class."
Jubilee looked disappointed at having her fun cut short, but she nodded.
"Sure. Let's go. Catch you later, Logan," she called out airily as she
and Kitty jogged away.
Marie lingered longer, casting him an apologetic look as she backed away.
Logan watched them round the side of the house, then climbed rather
painfully to his feet. Thanks to his fucking imagination (no pun intended,
ha ha), his body still throbbed with unsated desire. Oh well. It probably
served him right for entertaining X-rated fantasies starring Marie.
Logan ran his hands through his hair and sighed, then headed for his room.
He needed a shower anyway, so he might as well take a cold one. And if
that didn't work, well
At least his shower was one place where his fantasies wouldn't be interrupted.
~~ The End
For Now ~~
"It's easy to moon over a lost love - to fantasize over what might have
been, secure in the knowledge that it'll never happen. It makes a great
excuse for not facin' the risks and demands of reality."
--Logan, "The Uncanny X-Men" (#183)