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Fic: Complications 2/3 [L/R] - NC-17

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  • victoria p.
    Disclaimers etc. in Part 1. *** indicates thoughts ~ ~ indicates telepathic conversation Complications Part 2 *** He was wrapped around her comfortably
    Message 1 of 1 , Jan 29, 2001
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      Disclaimers etc. in Part 1.

      ***

      < > indicates thoughts
      ~ ~ indicates telepathic conversation

      Complications
      Part 2

      ***

      He was wrapped around her comfortably when he heard the knock at the door.
      Nostrils flaring, he could tell it was Jean. Which meant she could tell he
      was in there. He sighed.

      Disentangling himself from the sleeping woman next to him, he pulled on a
      pair of sweats and opened the door. "She's sleeping, Red. What do you want?"

      Jean's eyes widened slightly and he knew she knew what they were up to.
      <Damn,> he thought, <you'd have to be three days in the grave not to
      notice.> The smell of sex hung heavy in the air.

      "We're supposed to go shopping for the Halloween party."

      "She had a long night," he replied. "I don't want to wake her."

      Jean grinned. <I'll bet she did.> "That’s sweet, Logan. I'm so happy for you
      two."

      "Whatever," he growled, his ears burning. 'Sweet' was not something he ever
      wanted anyone besides Marie to call him.

      "See you later." She walked away thinking, ~Scott, I have the best news.~

      He closed the door and walked back to the bed. He dropped a kiss on her hair
      and whispered, "Marie, I'm gonna take a shower."

      She stirred and smiled. "Okay, sugar. See ya later."

      ***

      Scott had been wearing that stupid grin all day. At breakfast he'd squeezed
      her shoulder. He was practically quivering with suppressed energy while he
      ran her through the scenarios in the Danger Room.

      She couldn't take it anymore.

      "What the hell are you grinnin' at?" she snapped when her workout was done.

      "I think it's great that you and Logan have finally gotten together."

      Anger chased shock across her face. How did he know? "Who told you that?"

      His grin faded and he wondered what he'd done wrong. "Jean. Logan answered
      your door this morning when she came to get you. She said you two were --"
      he trailed off. "Did I just put my foot in my mouth?"

      Rogue sighed. She couldn't be mad at him -- he was just being himself.
      Logan, on the other hand, was going to get his ears blistered the next time
      she saw him.

      "We're not together, Scott," she said softly, and was that a little regret
      in her tone, he wondered. "Occasionally we -- sleep together. It, it doesn't
      mean anything."

      His jaw tightened and his fists clenched. "That metal-skulled bastard. I
      ought to--"

      She laid a hand on his arm. "No, Scott. It's what we want. We're friends, no
      more. It's just that sometimes, things get -- physical."

      "It's what you want, Rogue?" He didn't sound convinced.

      "Yeah," she said. She didn't either.

      She walked away, trying not to think about it.

      ***

      Rogue found him in the garden. Ororo had taken over the attic and made it
      her home, and that extended onto the roof. She grew all sorts of flowers up
      there, both inside and out, but the roses were her pride and joy. She and
      Rogue had spent hours of backbreaking work planting and pruning and making
      sure they were well-cared for.

      Logan looked out of place amongst the delicate blossoms in the atrium, a
      bull in a china shop. He was meditating.

      Rogue was always surprised by this side of him -- the side that spoke
      Japanese and sat next to a spray of calla lilies, turning his thoughts
      inward.

      His eyes opened as he caught her scent, and he wondered what it would be
      like to make love to her among the flowers. And then he caught himself. He
      didn't make love. He had sex. He fucked. He got laid. Making love was for
      wussies like One-Eye or poets like Hank.

      Still, though, he imagined it would be a great ride, outside under the
      stars, Marie in nothing but her hair and some rose petals... He thought
      about asking her, just to see if she would go for it.

      "What the fuck were you thinking?"

      "Just now?" His gaze grew hot as he let his eyes roam slowly down her body.
      "About how good you'd look in nothin' but flowers."

      She gasped softly, but then remembered she was angry with him. <Don't let
      him distract you with sweet talk,> she told herself. "Nice try, bub, but no
      cigar."

      <Guess not. Maybe next time.> He filed the idea away for possible future
      use. He cocked his head and looked at her, mentally reviewing the day to see
      what could have pissed her off. "Care to let the old man in on what's
      buggin' you?"

      She cuffed him lightly on the shoulder. "Dammit, Logan, why'd you go and
      answer the door this morning? Now Scott's all googly-eyed over us bein'
      together and Jean keeps smirking at me."

      "How can you tell Slim's all googly-eyed behind those damn shades of his?"
      Okay, maybe it wasn't the smartest thing he'd ever said, but it was an image
      that made him want to laugh.

      "Logan! Pay attention. The whole point of us being together was that it was
      just us. Just another facet of our friendship. Not some great love affair
      that Scott should be swooning over. And once people find out, they're gonna
      ask lots of questions and give us all sorts of advice and that's exactly
      what you didn't want to happen! Once other people get involved, it's gonna
      get complicated. And you hate complicated."

      He noticed she hadn't said anything about what she wanted, and that gave him
      pause. He wondered what, besides sex, she was getting from their
      relationship. It bothered him that he couldn't think of anything. Then it
      bothered him that he was worrying about it, thinking about it as a
      "relationship." <Jesus, One-Eye's influence is insidious.> But dammit, he
      wanted her to know it was more than just sex, and that he cared about her.

      "Marie, if other people want to stick their noses into your business, you
      send them to me." He would protect her from gossip, like he tried to protect
      her from everything else. He always kept his promises.

      It was clearly a dismissal, and she took it as such, annoyed that he could
      be so cavalier. <Dammit. That's how he *is* and don't you forget it. Don't
      start expecting more. You'll only get hurt.>

      ***

      No one else said anything about it, and if Jean was sometimes overly
      solicitous of Rogue's well-being, or Scott was extra-sharp with Logan, they
      didn't comment on that either.

      ***

      Soon it was time for the annual Holiday Ball, the premier fundraising event
      on Xavier's social calendar. Five hundred people were invited, as the school
      threw open its doors to donors and potential donors alike.

      Logan hated these events. Usually he got out of going, but Rogue had
      convinced him, with a wicked grin and some very interesting work with her
      tongue. And then Traci, the woman he was currently seeing, mentioned how
      much she'd like to attend, as she'd read all about it in the papers, but
      never managed to snag an invitation, not being among the town's elite.

      He thought the time had come to end their liaison, and he had a feeling she
      wouldn't take it well. He figured taking her to the party could be sort of
      a last hurrah. He'd already been with her longer than any other woman he
      could remember, except for Marie.

      <Why can't more women be like Marie?> he wondered. She understood that he
      sometimes needed time alone; she did, too. She understood that sometimes
      silence is better than talking, and that actions often speak louder than
      words. Hell, she understood him like no one ever had before -- not even
      himself. She'd seen the whole of him and not run; in fact, she stayed close
      by and actually wanted to be with him for more than just sex. He could
      imagine spending the rest of his life with her -- and that brought him up
      short.

      He didn't think things like that. Ever. He was Wolverine, certified bad-ass
      and loner. He didn't need anyone. Except maybe Marie.

      <Dammit. It's this goddamn penguin suit,> he thought, running a finger under
      his collar, which suddenly seemed too damn tight.

      He heard her laughter mingled with a vaguely familiar masculine voice. He
      turned to look and exhaled all in a whoosh.

      She was wearing a little black dress that clung in all the right places,
      exposing miles of leg and highlighting her creamy shoulders and graceful
      neck. Long gloves and a sheer scarf completed the ensemble. He'd never seen
      her hair done like that before -- the silky chestnut mass was pulled back,
      leaving the white locks to brush enticingly against her jaw, framing her
      face. Diamonds glittered in her ears and hair.

      <She looks like seven kinds of sin,> he thought, <and all of ‘em deadly.>

      She was leaning on the arm of Scooter's younger brother Alex, attempting to
      fix the heel of her stocking. A low growl rumbled up from his gut and he
      started toward them, planning to pull her away and carry her upstairs where
      no one could get their grubby little hands on her, when he heard his name
      and felt a gentle touch on his arm.

      "Logan. Logan?" He looked down into sky blue eyes. Traci. "You okay?" He
      grunted, which she took for a yes. "You gonna introduce me to your friends?"

      That hadn't really been part of the plan, but he supposed it was the right
      thing to do. He stalked across the floor with her in tow and presented her
      to Chuck, Scott and Jean.

      ***

      Scott stood next to Logan as the guests were leaving. "Traci seems nice," he
      said.

      "Don't get your panties in a bunch, Cyke. She ain't spendin' the night."

      "Who you sleep with is your own business, Logan. But you better show Rogue
      some respect, or even your damn healing factor isn't going to save you," he
      replied sharply.

      Logan arched an eyebrow. "You wanna take it outside, One-Eye?"

      "Too public. Down in the gym. Ten minutes."

      Logan grinned fiercely. "You're on."

      While they were busy beating the shit out of each other, the others gathered
      in the den in front of the fireplace once all the guests were gone.

      Rogue went to the bar and said, "Anyone for a nightcap?"

      Kitty smiled. "I'll have a whiskey sour."

      "I ain't makin' no foofy drinks, Kitkat," Rogue drawled. "We got brandy,
      vodka, scotch or bourbon."

      "Brandy, please," Kitty said meekly.

      "I've got a better idea," Bobby said from his spot on the floor, pulling
      Kitty down into his lap. "Let's play a drinking game."

      Jean and Ororo wandered over and exchanged looks. The redhead shrugged.
      "It's going to be a while before Scott comes back --" Her eyes met Rogue's
      and she didn't need telepathy for the other woman to figure out where Scott
      and Logan were. It was typical of them to beat each other up every few
      months over the slightest pretense. It was as good a way as any for them to
      let off steam. They both enjoyed it and no one else let on that they knew
      the fights weren't really in earnest.

      Rogue brought over a bottle of vodka and some shot glasses. She looked over
      at Traci, who seemed a little lost without Logan. "You wanna join us?" she
      asked. It was only polite.

      The blonde smiled eagerly. "Sure."

      "Quarters?" Rogue asked, pouring out shots and handing them around.

      "No!" everyone except Traci said vehemently. Rogue was the mansion's
      champion quarters player.

      "How about the lyrics game?" Jubilee suggested idly, sliding off the sofa
      and onto the floor.

      Rogue laughed. "God, it's been years since we played that."

      "What is it?" Ororo asked.

      "Slumber party game," Rogue answered. "I sing some song lyrics -- say, 'Keep
      your eyes on the road and your hands upon the wheel' -- and one of you has
      to name the song and the singer. If you can't, y'all have to do a shot. If
      you can, I have to do a shot."

      "And Bobby can't play," Jubilee was adamant. "No obscure doowop or French
      pop songs. It's not fair."

      "Can I help it if my musical knowledge is greater than yours, Jubes?" he
      teased.

      "That's okay, honey. You can help me," Kitty said from her place in his lap,
      kissing him quickly.

      "And keep the vodka cold." This from Jubilee.

      "So, we have a quote. Anyone know who it is?" Rogue said.

      Traci smiled. "The Doors. 'Roadhouse Blues.' I always wished I'd been around
      in the sixties to see Jim Morrison. He was hot."

      Rogue smiled thinly and downed her shot. "Your turn, Traci."

      And so it went, with the participants getting drunker and sillier as time
      passed. Jean and Ororo dropped out, and Kitty was barely hanging on. Jubilee
      stared into the fire, log ago having lost interest in the game.

      Logan and Scott finished their workout and came upstairs, both wearing
      sweats without shirts. No one noticed. Traci was singing, "'You're the
      meaning in my life, you're the inspiration.'"

      "Chicago," Rogue said immediately. "Urgh."

      Traci frowned but ignored the commentary. Logan shifted uncomfortably in his
      seat in the back of the room. "Name the song," the blonde demanded.

      "'You're My Inspiration,'" Rogue said after a moment. "My turn. 'Kiss me,
      please kiss me. Kiss me out of desire, baby, not consolation. Oh, it makes
      me so angry, but I know that in time, I'll only make you cry. This is our
      last goodbye.'" She had a sweet voice, soft, but on-key.

      Scott glared at Logan as Kitty raised her head from Bobby's shoulder. "I
      love that song. So sad. Jeff Buckley. 'Last Goodbye.'" She closed her eyes.
      "I can't think anymore," she said. "Traci, you go."

      Traci pursed her lips, trying to think amid the haze of alcohol. Giggling,
      she sang, "'Feel like makin' love.'"

      Rogue snorted. "'Feel Like Makin' Love,' Bad Company." She closed her eyes
      and sang, ""Just a few minutes more, gonna get that old feeling when you
      walk through that door. 'Cause tonight is the night we'll be feeling all
      right. We'll be making love the whole night through --" She broke off
      abruptly and opened her eyes.

      Scott shot Logan another look. Logan almost squirmed.

      "Whitney! 'Saving All My Love For You,'" the blonde said triumphantly and
      Rogue downed another shot of bourbon. They'd long since finished the vodka
      and the scotch.

      "My turn again, little girl," Traci giggled. She was a giggly drunk. Rogue
      rolled her eyes. They were the only two left.

      Rogue knocked back another shot, no longer feeling the burn. "Go for it."

      "'Take me to heart and I'll always love you and nobody can make me do
      wrong --'"

      Rogue didn't let her finish. "'Do Right Woman, Do Right Man.' Aretha." She
      smirked as Traci grimaced at the bourbon. She wasn't going to let Logan's
      little piece get the best of her. "Boyfriend, boyfriend, yes, I had your
      boyfriend." Everyone's heads shot up as Rogue sang. "'If that's your
      boyfriend, if that's your boyfriend, if that's your boyfriend, he wasn't
      last night.'"

      Logan growled.

      ~Stop her from saying something incriminating,~ Scott thought at Jean.

      ~I think it's too late for that.~ "That's enough," Jean announced, standing
      up unsteadily.

      "What's wrong, Jeannie?" Rogue asked mockingly. "Thought you wanted to know
      all about--"

      "Let's go, Rogue," Scott was at her side, taking her arm and pulling her up
      off the floor. "I think you need some air." He looked back at Logan, who
      stood scowling in the doorway. "Logan, take Traci home."

      Rogue gasped. She hadn't noticed their presence. She wrenched herself out of
      Scott's hold. "Sorry," she murmured, rushing past Logan, unable to meet his
      eyes. She suddenly realized what she'd almost done. She stumbled up the
      stairs and flopped onto her bed, crying.

      She'd just ruined their friendship, everything, and all because she was
      jealous. <You're in love with him,> she told herself miserably. <You always
      have been.>

      She fell into a fitful sleep that left her feeling worse than before.
      Sobriety didn't put a better light on things.

      Logan was sitting on the end of her bed when she awoke. "Hey, kid."

      "Go 'way," she groaned, burying her head in the pillows.

      "Bad hangover, eh?" He reached a hand toward her. "Want me to make it
      better?"

      She thought about that for a moment. If she let him touch her, she'd know
      how he really felt about her. She wasn't sure she was ready for that, or for
      images of him making love to Traci, or fantasizing about Jean, or any of a
      number of other women he'd probably been with since the last time he touched
      her.

      She shook her head. "I don't think so, Logan." Then, "I'm sorry about last
      night."

      "Ah, we all do stupid shit when we drink," he said. "Don't worry about it."

      But she did.

      ***

      Two nights later, when he gave her the look, she sighed. She couldn't do it
      anymore. She couldn't sleep with him and not let him know how she felt. When
      he arrived at her door, she stopped him. "We need to talk."

      <Damn. Nothing good ever follows those words.> He sat and waited.

      "I don't think this is a good idea. You have a girlfriend and you're
      cheating on her. It was one thing when I didn’t know her, when she was just
      another faceless woman you had fucked. But I met her, got drunk with her. I
      can't do it."

      He blinked, the only evidence that he was surprised by her words. She was
      right. Except that he'd told Traci it was over the night of the ball.
      Somehow, he forgot that Marie didn't know that.

      He stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "I'm sorry. You're right."
      He hauled her into a tight hug and dropped a kiss on her hair. "I'm a dick.
      I should know better."

      She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him back. Pulling away, she
      said, "Yeah, you should. Now get outta here." She was afraid she'd change
      her mind if she stayed in his arms any longer.

      ***

      TBC in next post...

      --

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