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Fic: The Soiled Dove - 6/6 - [L/R, S/J] - R

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  • victoria p.
    Disclaimers etc. in part 1. Thanks again to Dot, Jen, Meg and Pete, who kept me going through this, and who made me realize I could do it when I thought I
    Message 1 of 1 , Jan 3, 2001
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      Disclaimers etc. in part 1.

      Thanks again to Dot, Jen, Meg and Pete, who kept me going through this, and
      who made me realize I could do it when I thought I couldn't. All errors are
      mine.

      ***

      The Soiled Dove
      Part 6


      ***

      When they got back to Logan's apartment, Marie broke down. “I killed him. He
      was right. I’m evil, I’m bad. I’m no good, Logan. I’ll only hurt you, too,”
      she cried hysterically, arms wrapped around herself, backing away from him.

      He grabbed her shoulders. “Marie, you did what you had to do. You said it
      yourself. He was the evil one. Now you’re safe and Claire’s safe. I’ll take
      care of you, Marie. I promised I would, and I always keep my promises.”

      She looked up at him, her brown eyes still haunted. “I knew you’d be there
      tonight. It was all that kept me from killing myself when I found out
      Lehnsherr was giving me back to -- him.”

      He walked her over to the couch and then went into the kitchen to make
      coffee. When it was ready, he put the mug into her hands. She gripped it
      like it was the only thing keeping her from flying apart. He began kneading
      her shoulders, the way he’d done the night before. He could feel the tension
      begin to leave her body. She put the coffee mug down and drew her legs up
      beneath her.

      He continued rubbing her back gently. He didn’t mean for things to change,
      to get out of hand, but after a few minutes, she turned and pressed her lips
      to his neck. He drew in a sharp breath at the feel of her lips on his skin.
      Rising up onto her knees, she took his face between her hands and kissed
      him. Her lips were warm and soft against his. She opened her mouth slightly,
      and he could feel her breathing into him as she traced his lips slowly with
      her tongue, her eyes open and holding his.

      He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled back. “Marie, we shouldn’t. I’m
      too old and you’re too--" he searched for the word, his brain scrambled by
      the kiss, “vulnerable. Too much has happened tonight.”

      She shrugged under the light pressure of his hands, her hair brushing
      against them. “We should,” she replied, “you’re not and I want to. For the
      first time ever,” she whispered, “I actually want someone -- and not just
      any someone, but *you*, Mr. I-only-have-one-name Logan -- to touch me.” And
      she deliberately moved so that she straddled him, her knees cradling his
      thighs and her warmth pressing against his groin. She kissed him again. He
      tried to gather the willpower to resist her, but he had thought about it too
      much during the past two days, and having the object of his fantasy -- white
      streaks and black gloves – warm and willing in his lap did not bode well for
      his self-control. She slid her tongue along the roof of his mouth and her
      fingers played in his hair and he was lost.

      His hands came up and cupped her breasts and she gasped into his mouth. He
      moved his thumbs over her sensitive flesh and then quickly unbuttoned her
      shirt. His tongue stroked against her right nipple and she gasped again.
      Then he licked and sucked and smiled at her response. He moved to her left
      breast, wanting to lavish attention on every beautiful part of her. Her
      hands ran through his hair, memorizing the shape of his skull, and then ran
      down his chest to tease at his nipples through his shirt. He looked up and
      it was her turn to grin.

      He moved his hands to her hips and applied the slightest pressure; she stood
      up and got rid of the rest of her clothing. His followed. He wanted to be
      gentle, to show her it didn’t have to be painful, but she was moving against
      him and he didn’t know how long he could hold on. He could smell her arousal
      and it was like an aphrodisiac.

      He slid a finger into her wet warmth and knew she was ready for him, so he
      once again pressed lightly on her hips and she eased down onto him, taking
      him fully into her. He paused, looking her in the eye as she adjusted to the
      stretch.

      “I’m sorry I’m not --" she whispered, her brown eyes sorrowful when they
      should be full of desire.

      He covered her mouth with a kiss. “I’m sorry he hurt you,” he murmured
      against her lips, “but that -- it’s okay. I never want to cause you pain
      when we make love.” And he touched her hips and she knew without him
      telling her what he wanted. She raised up until he was almost all the way
      out, and then she pressed down again. She did it twice before he took
      control and rolled them over so he was on top. She hooked her legs around
      his back and met his hips with her own. Soon, too soon for him -- he wanted
      it to last forever -- he could feel her convulse around him, and she cried
      out his name as she came. That drove him over the edge and he lost control,
      spilling himself into her as if he poured his whole heart, his whole soul,
      his very being into this one fragile girl.

      They lay together after, slick with sweat. She dropped light kisses along
      his neck and shoulders before murmuring, “Thank you, Logan.” Then she was
      asleep, curled up against him on the couch, naked except for those damn silk
      gloves.

      He carried her into the bedroom and put her in bed, slipping in beside her.
      They slept soundly.

      ***

      Logan wasn’t sure how long they’d been asleep when the phone rang, startling
      him awake.

      It was Ororo. “Have you seen today’s paper?” she asked.

      “No. Just woke up,” he grunted.

      “Yes. You had a busy night, it appears.” He filled her in on everything that
      happened, and she said, “You were lucky this time, Logan, that you did not
      get hurt. Next time, I wish you would tell me what is going on *before* the
      action. That way, I might be able to save you some trouble.”

      “Yes, ‘Ro. It won’t happen again, ‘Ro,” he mumbled, suitably chastened, as
      he always was when she lectured him.

      Her laugh lilted across the phone line. “Not until the next time. I will see
      you tomorrow, yes?”

      “Yes.” And with that, he broke the connection and padded to his front door
      to pick up the newspaper.

      In screaming bold headlines, the Daily News said, “Senator Kelly Shot in
      Quintuple Murder” and then, in slightly smaller print, “Law and Order Kelly
      caught in Drug Bust.”

      The article was by Alex Summers -- Shades's younger brother had come in
      awful handy. It read as follows:

      Senator Robert P. Kelly, R-MS, was gunned down in an apparent drug deal gone
      wrong last night in Central Park.

      The Senator, well-known for advocating stringent crackdowns on drug dealers
      and users, was shot four times in the back. It is believed that Erik
      Lehnsherr, head of the Lehnsherr crime family, is responsible for his death.
      The Senator’s chauffeur, Fred Boggs, was also shot and killed.

      Lehnsherr was shot once in the chest, as were his henchmen, Victor Creed and
      Mortimer Toynbee. The whereabouts of Raven Darkholme, Lehnsherr’s fiancée
      and second-in-command, are currently unknown.

      Police believe there was a falling out amongst thieves, stemming from the
      murder of Remy LeBeau, a dealer working for Lehnsherr, three days ago. When
      Kelly tried to walk away with almost a pound of pure heroin, Lehnsherr shot
      him, and then his own men turned on him. The police arrived and shot Creed
      and Toynbee before any civilians could get hurt.

      Detective Robert Drake was injured in the gunfight. He’s at St. Luke’s
      Hospital, listed in stable condition.

      Logan let out a howl of triumph. They’d done it. They’d actually done it.
      The bastards were all dead and Marie’s name had been kept out of it. So the
      facts weren’t actually factual -- it didn’t matter. They were free.

      Marie stumbled into the kitchen, wrapped in one of his shirts. “What’s goin’
      on, Logan?” she asked sleepily.

      He showed her the article. “You don’t have to worry about him ever again,
      baby,” he said, swinging her around and kissing her soundly. She kissed him
      back and it was a few minutes before either was interested in the newspaper
      again.

      Finally she said, “He’s dead. He’s really dead. Oh, Logan, I feel so much
      better. Cleaner.”

      “You were always clean, baby. Clean and pure. He was the filthy one. He’ll
      never hurt you or Claire again.”

      And with that, Marie stripped off her gloves and burned them in the sink.
      She didn’t need them anymore.

      End

      ***

      What'd you think? Was it worth the wait? Let me know. ;)

      victoria
      http://tripod.members.com/victoria_jp/home.htm

      --

      "Only god says jump, so I'm sick and tired / 'Cause if he ever saw it, it
      was through these eyes of mine / And if he ever suffered it was me who did
      his crying / Hey, hey, goodbye / Tomorrow, Wendy is going to die." -
      "Tomorrow Wendy" - Concrete Blonde
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