Fic: Night Visits: Detachment (2/6) [L/R] R/NC-17
- Disclaimers etc. in Part 1.
This part is a hard R or even NC-17, depending, for sex and some
< > indicates thoughts
// // indicates dreams
~ ~ indicates telepathic conversation
He went back to Canada, looking for his old life, and he found it. He
sought solace in the arms of strange women -- always redheads to
remind him of the one he couldn't have.
He sometimes considered going home and laughed bitterly to himself,
wondering how he could make his home in the place where the woman he
loved was married to another man. But unbidden, Marie's face would
come to mind whenever he thought of home. He wanted to give the kid a
call, but he wasn't quite ready to admit the truth of her words.
One night, he thought he saw her in the mob that was cheering for his
opponent -- a young girl, thin, dark-haired, scared. At the end of
the evening, he sat with his beer, looking at the last lonely remains
of what had been a large, rowdy crowd.
She was sitting at the end of the bar by herself. He knew it wasn't
Marie, but from a distance the similarity was eerie. A man strode in,
obviously looking for someone. He came over to the girl and grabbed
"There you are, you little bitch!" he shouted. "Who do you think you
are, runnin' out on me like that?"
The girl tried to pull away. "Leave me alone, Rollie." But Rollie
Logan unfolded himself from his barstool. "You heard the lady," he
said, the potential for violence implicit in his stance.
Rollie recognized him, eyes widening. "The Wolverine."
"Yeah, and the girl's with me now." Rollie backed away. At the door,
he spat, "I don't know what you want with trash like her. And she's a
lousy fuck, to boot." Logan growled and Rollie hurried out.
He turned to the girl. "You okay, kid?"
She smiled slightly. "Yeah. And I'm not a kid."
"Whatever." Up close, the resemblance was less striking. She didn't
have Marie's porcelain fineness or her innocence. He turned to walk
Her hand on his arm stopped him. "Thanks. I owe you. Is there
anything I can do for you?" The words were innocuous, but the intent
was clear. He shuddered inwardly, thanking whatever gods there might
be that he'd met and rescued Marie before she'd been reduced to
selling herself to strangers in backwoods bars like this one.
"I'm not into kids," he said gruffly.
"I'm not a kid," she insisted. "I'm eighteen. My name is Sue."
"Nice meetin' ya, Sue," he said. "You oughta be careful of who you
take up with."
"I'm just trying to get to Vancouver. Rollie said he'd take me, but
we ended up here, and just stayed."
He looked at her, imagining Marie in her situation. "I'll take you to
She grabbed her backpack and followed him into the night.
His motel room had only one bed, but there was a chair she'd be able
to sleep in, he figured, not expecting her to put the moves on him
again when they arrived. But she did, her hands reaching for his
zipper almost as soon as she'd taken her coat off.
He pushed her away roughly. "You don't have to do that, kid."
"I need to thank you for everything."
"Then say 'thank you,'" he snapped. "I ain't doin' it for --" he
stopped. He almost said, "you." He was doing it for Marie. But
instead he said, "Sex." He threw a pillow and blanket on the chair.
"You sleep there. I'm warnin' you now -- I'm a light sleeper and I
don't wake friendly, so stay off the bed."
He felt sick at the memory of impaling Marie on his claws when she'd
tried to wake him. It had become another of his recurring nightmares,
except in his dream, she never managed to save herself and he was
left with her bloody, breathless body in his bed. He knew this girl
had no mutant power. She'd be dead if the same thing happened to her,
and he didn't need any more deaths on his conscience.
She nodded, wide-eyed, went into the bathroom and washed, and then
curled up on the chair to sleep.
He kicked his boots off and lay on the bed, wondering what Marie was
up to in New York. It had surprised him that, when he thought of the
school, his mind turned immediately to her, rather than Jean.
<Maybe she's right. Life does go on, even if the one you love doesn't
love you back.> He wondered how she'd gotten so wise at such a young
// Moonlight filtered in through sheer white curtains that fluttered
lightly in the breeze. He stood in the doorway, watching. The woman
on the bed raised herself up, arms outstretched, welcoming him. With
low growl, he moved into them, pressing her down onto the mattress
with his weight. They made short work of the clothes that separated
them from each other. He dropped kisses all along her silky skin,
luminous in the moonlight, as she gasped his name over and over, her
hands exploring every inch of him.
She drew her legs up, placing her feet flat on the bed, and he drank
in the deep, rich scent of her arousal as she offered herself to him.
"Logan, please," she cried, voice filled with need.
He grinned fiercely at her response to him, positioning himself
between her legs. "We got all night, baby," he murmured as he
sheathed himself deep in her tight, wet heat. Her hands clutched
convulsively at his shoulders, and her hips rose to meet his, locked
in a rhythm older than time. She wrapped her legs around him, drawing
him in even deeper. They moved together and he kissed her as she
moaned her release. Then he let himself come. Shuddering, he cried
out, "Marie," and sank down on top of her, satisfied. //
He bolted upright, panting, eyes darting around the motel room.
Sue was still in the chair, looking at him with wide eyes. "Who's
Marie?" He didn't answer. "You all right?"
"I was havin' a nightmare," he lied, getting his breathing under
control, still shocked.
"Didn't sound like it," she replied. "You should call her, whoever
is. Sounds like you miss her." She smirked.
"Go back to sleep." She shrugged and turned over.
He lay awake the rest of the night, disturbed. He wanted to call her,
but didn't trust himself to be rational with the image of so much of
her silky skin so clear in his mind. <Skin. Dammit.> He could never
have Marie like that, even if he wanted to -- which he *didn't*, he
told himself forcefully -- because that beautiful skin was deadly to
the touch. Just like he couldn't have Jean because she had tied
herself to Scott.
Was he destined to only want the things he couldn't -- or, in Marie's
case, shouldn't -- have? Deciding not to dwell on it, he chalked the
dream up to Sue's sexualized nature and her resemblance to Marie. But
the images stayed with him for days, keeping him warm during the cold