Fic: Complications 3/3 [L/R] - NC-17
- Disclaimers in Part 1
< > indicates thoughts
~ ~ indicates telepathic conversation
Logan didn't really notice it at first; he just attributed it to her being
busy with the holidays.
Then it was Christmas, and she barely looked at him as they exchanged gifts;
she even managed to avoid being caught under the mistletoe. New Year's Eve
came and she chose to go dancing with Jubilee and Remy, rather than drinking
with him, which had been their tradition the past couple of years.
Marie was avoiding him, and he couldn't quite figure out why. He'd broken up
with Traci, hadn't even really looked at another woman since then. He was
sure she knew -- how could she not? But she spent more and more time with
Ororo or Scott or Kitty; she always managed to leave the room quickly when
he entered. He was starting to get a complex.
"She's in love with you, and you're being a big jerk," Scott informed him
one morning as Logan stood staring at her retreating figure. "She doesn't
know you love her back. That's why she's avoiding you." The younger man
seemed to derive sadistic pleasure from teasing Logan.
"Fuck off, Scooter," he growled, and then Scott's words sunk in. "She's in
love with me? How do you know? Are you sure?"
Scott grinned smugly. "Even a blind man could see it, Logan. Look closer."
He walked away.
"I'm not in love," Logan called after him. "I just miss her."
But they wouldn't leave him alone. And Marie wouldn't come near him.
He spent a lot of time fighting holographic-skinned simulacra in the Danger
Room, trying to get his head around what Scott told him. When he wasn't
there, he could be found up on the roof, under the stars, bottle of bourbon
perched next to him, staring moodily out into the night.
He smelled Storm before he saw her. "Love is often complicated," she said,
sitting next to him. He growled. She ignored it. "Sometimes you feel lust,
and also caring, but it is not the same as being in love with a person, is
"It's just friendship," he responded.
Ororo snorted delicately. "Are you and I friends?"
The question startled him, though it shouldn't have. Storm had a way of
cutting through the complications and getting to the heart of the matter.
"Yeah, I guess. Why?"
"Because you have never looked at me the way you look at Rogue," she said
matter-of-factly. "You have never looked at any of us, not even Jean, the
way you look at Rogue."
"She's my responsibility. She's my friend," he defended. "I take care of her
because I promised I would."
"Why did you make that promise?"
His mouth opened and snapped shut. He'd asked himself that question every
day for the year he was away from her, and fairly frequently after he'd
first come back. He still wasn't quite sure, except that she was Marie and
she needed him. She was Marie, and he needed her.
Ororo rose, smiling. "I am sure you will find some way of letting her know
how you feel."
"Could we," he hesitated, strangely unsure, "maybe use the atrium? Set up a
table and eat dinner or something?"
Her smiled widened. "That would be wonderful. I will make the arrangements
with the cook." She leaned over and kissed his cheek, a rare occurrence that
made him almost smile. "I will even sacrifice some of my roses, so you can
strew the petals all about." Now he was blushing.
"How did--" he stopped, not wanting to incriminate himself.
There was a knowing glint in her eyes as she walked away. He didn't finish
asking, and she didn't need to answer.
Ororo was as good as her word. The next morning, she told him that in three
nights, the cook would prepare a special dinner for two to be served in the
rooftop atrium. "Now you must get Rogue to agree to join you."
"Shit." There was a time when he could have crooked his little finger and
she'd come running, but now -- now, he wasn't sure how she'd react.
"And wear something other than flannel," she admonished. He fled before she
told him he had to shave.
Looking through his meager wardrobe, he had nothing suitable for a romantic
evening. Of course, before yesterday, he'd never planned on having anything
resembling a romantic evening. Ever. Even with Marie.
<Dammit.> Just the thought of going shopping made him queasy. But he figured
Storm was right. This had to be about more than sex. He supposed he could
rent a tux again, but that was going too damn far. He wasn't wearing one of
those again until he absolutely had to. Which would be exactly never.
Unless... a vision of Marie in flowing white satin floated across his mind's
eye, and he shook his head. <Jesus fucking Christ. Now I'm planning our
wedding? Better make sure she loves you first, bub. She hasn't spoken more
than two words to you in a month.>
He went up on the roof again, not even bothering with a glass for the
bourbon this time.
Three days later, Jubilee and Kitty were at his door. "You know, it's not
going to be much of a romantic dinner if you eat by yourself," Jubilee said.
He glared at her. He wondered how everyone knew, except the one person who
was actually supposed to be in on the secret. "It's complicated." And why
the *hell* was he justifying himself to the brat?
"No doubt," Kitty replied. "Well, we just wanted to lend our support." She
held out a shopping bag. "These should fit." He didn't reach for it, so she
dropped it at the end of the bed.
"And Rogue's in the gym, if you have something you need to tell her,"
Jubilee said over her shoulder as the two young women left.
He dragged himself off the bed. Zero hour. <Go big or go home,> he told
himself, not liking the fact that he was feeling fear for one of the few
times in his life. Fear! At asking a woman to dinner. It was ludicrous.
He wandered down to the gym and saw her. She was on the treadmill, running
hard. She wore only a sleeveless unitard, with a sweatshirt tied around her
She slowed down. "Hey yourself."
He shoved his hands in his pockets. "So, um, got any plans tonight?"
She cocked an eyebrow. "Not really, it being Monday and all."
"Wanna hang out?" God, he sounded like a dumb, pimply-faced teenager asking
for his first date.
She fought the grin that threatened to steal across her face and lost. "I
"I'll pick you up at eight. Wear something nice."
The eyebrow rose again. "Nice as in, we're going to a place that has
tablecloths, or nice as in we're attending the opera?"
He shrugged. "Whatever. How 'bout that red dress you wore New Year's Eve?"
Her eyes widened. He paid attention to her *clothes*? She figured that had
stopped once he'd stopped acting like her big brother. "Sure," she said,
still uncertain what was going on.
"Okay, then. See you at eight." He stood awkwardly, hating this whole thing.
He just wanted to take her back to her room and ravish her. <Ravish? Christ
on a bicycle, I've been spending too much time with Hank.>
She dressed nervously, slipping on the high heels that made the dress even
shorter than it actually was. She was showing a lot of leg, and she knew
this was a dangerous thing. Just being alone with him was dangerous. It was
all she could do sometimes not to knock on his door in the middle of the
night and beg him to make love -- <Scratch that. Wolverine doesn't make
love. He'd be horrified to hear me say that,> she thought wryly -- fuck her.
She sighed. She knew she'd get over it. She was just tired of seeing the
pitying looks, hearing the offers to talk. And the past few days had been
the worst. It felt like everyone was laughing at her. Laughing at poor
Rogue, who was in love with a man who probably had more notches on his
bedpost than Warren Beatty and Charlie Sheen combined.
Her hair was up, little diamond studs in her ears. Lipstick -- scarlet, to
match the dress. A faint hint of blusher across her cheeks, and dark kohl to
line her dark eyes. Let him see exactly what he was missing, she thought,
tossing her head defiantly at the mirror. She put a hand to his tags, the
bits of metal she wore constantly around her neck, except for rare formal
occasions. She was torn between leaving them on and taking them off. Then
she thought -- and it made her eyes well with hot, bitter tears she refused
to shed (she certainly didn't want to ruin her makeup) -- that she'd give
them back to him tonight. It was time to cut the cord completely and let him
She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and had to grin slightly at
her cleavage in the mirror. He'd certainly be getting an eyeful tonight, she
The knock at the door put an end to her musings. She opened it and inhaled
sharply. He was wearing black pants -- not jeans -- and a black shirt that
looked like it was made of silk. She reached out a tentative hand, which he
took and brought to his lips. She could feel their warmth through the thin
red satin of her gloves.
"Let's go," he said, pulling her arm through his.
"But, my scarf. My purse..."
"You won't need 'em where we're going," he replied, cocky now that he had
her where he wanted her.
He led her to the atrium, which was lit with what seemed like hundreds of
tiny candles flickering in the warm, humid darkness. There was a table
amongst the roses, draped in white linen, with two tall, creamy tapers
standing in the center. It was set with Xavier's finest china and crystal.
"Logan," she gasped. He grinned but said nothing.
Bobby, dressed like a high-class waiter, poured two glasses of champagne as
Logan led her to the table and pulled out her chair. Then he sat next to
Kitty and Jubilee appeared, also dressed in tuxedos, and began serving food
from a small set of chafing dishes set up along one side of the room. When
the plates in front of the couple were filled, the three melted into the
darkness and were not seen again.
"What? How? Why?" she managed, still slightly in shock.
"Do you like it?" he asked, feeling nervous again.
"Like it? Oh, Logan, it's absolutely fabulous. A fairyland. But why?"
<Damn, she's persistent.> "Why you been avoiding me?"
The abrupt change in subject threw her for a moment. She shook her head.
"You heard me."
"I just, I can't, I don't know," she said.
"You're lying." She opened her mouth to refute it, but he hadn't stopped
talking. "But that's okay. I understand. It's damn scary, ain't it? This
whole love thing?"
Once again, there was confusion on her face. "What?" She felt like an idiot,
repeating the same thing over and over.
"You. Me. Bein' in love. It's weird. I've never been in love before. I'd
remember it, I think."
"You're sayin' youre in love -- with me?"
"Ain't no one else here, Marie," he said, grinning at her confusion.
"Do you like it?"
"Depends. Do you--" he stopped and she could tell he wasn't as sure as he
seemed. Which gave her a wicked feeling of power that curled up in her
stomach like desire.
"Oh, yeah," she whispered, leaning in close and wishing for her scarf.
He pulled a gauzy wad of material from his pocket. "Always be prepared," he
murmured, floating it over her lips and kissing her tenderly.
"You sound like Scott."
"Why you bringin' him up while I'm kissin' you, Marie? Talk about a cold
She giggled. "I'll warm you up," she purred, running a hand down his chest
and coming to rest at his belt buckle.
He stopped her and she pouted. "I have a plan," he said, grinning wickedly.
"A clever plan," he repeated, taking her hand and leading her away from the
There was a white sheet spread out, strewn with rose petals.
"Logan! That's so -- romantic!"
He could feel his ears burning as she flung her arms around him. "Don't tell
anybody, okay?" Though, of course, they all knew already.
"It's our secret, sugar," she said, smiling as she sunk down to the ground,
pulling him with her.
He kissed her again through the scarf, more passionately this time, and she
responded eagerly, her tongue sliding over teeth and gums. His hands roamed
over her satin-clad body and settled at her breasts. He kneaded them,
feeling her nipples push against his palms. His mouth followed the path his
hands had taken, and then he got impatient. He stopped for a moment to pull
his gloves on, then slid the straps of the dress off her shoulders, exposing
her lacy black bra and the sheer body stocking it was attached to. He
Then he was laving her nipples with his tongue and she arched into him,
making little moaning sounds in the back of her throat, her hands anchored
in his hair.
She bent her knees and wrapped one leg around his hip, trying to move him
closer. He accepted her invitation and began rocking into her. He picked up
a rose petal from the sheet and ran it across her cheek, then her lips. He
kissed her through it and the heady taste of Marie and roses was better than
He could tell she was ready. She was unzipping his jeans with an eagerness
that made him want to howl. He cut a slit in the body stocking and pulled
out a condom and then he was inside her and it was so good he *did* howl.
She felt the laughter and love burble up inside her even as their joined
movement made all her nerve endings snap and frizzle and then the world
exploded and she came, calling his name.
She convulsed around him and he thrust harder, feeling his climax begin at
the base of his spine and then the lights went off behind his eyes and he
said, "Oh, God, Marie," as he spasmed and poured himself into her.
He opened his eyes and stared into hers, lowering himself on top of her
gently. "I love you," he said softly.
"I love you, too." She paused, then said, "See, not complicated at all." He
growled and pulled her close. He'd never let her go.
the mush fairy