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FIC: Queen of Hearts (Royal Flush 3/5) PG

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  • Diana
    TITLE: Queen of Hearts SERIES: Royal Flush - #3 AUTHOR: Diana EMAIL: dee@viscerate.com RATING: PG for abuse of soft furnishings. SUMMARY: If you want something
    Message 1 of 1 , Mar 22, 2001
      TITLE: Queen of Hearts
      SERIES: Royal Flush - #3
      AUTHOR: Diana
      EMAIL: dee@...
      RATING: PG for abuse of soft furnishings.
      SUMMARY: If you want something done right, do it yourself. Rogue takes
      matters - and Logan - into her own hands. But it doesn't quite work.
      DISCLAIMER: No ownership. No money. No nothing.
      DEDICATION: For the Angst Grrls, who led me down this path, but especially
      for Nacey, who loves them more than I ever could.
      NOTES: Poker glossary for the uninitiated:

      WORDCOUNT: 2800


      /Dear Diary,

      /Everywhere - literature, magazines, TV - it's stated that if you have sex
      while drunk, you regret it the next morning. Well, call me wicked and
      sinful, but I didn't. And I still don't, four days later.

      /Then again, neither of us were really that drunk. And we didn't do it with
      any illusions. It wasn't a one-night stand. We were friends - we still
      are - and it was warm and gentle, not just animal sex.

      /Trust me, I know all about animal sex. Whose memories have I had access

      /There were no illusions. No expectations. No regrets. And somehow,
      amazingly, no complications. I thought there would be, no matter what we
      said beforehand. But it hasn't got in the way. He still hugs me in exactly
      the same way, and there's no jealousy. Either way. He's been flirting a
      bit more seriously with Jubes now, and I think it's sweet.

      /It really comes down to the crunch now, though. Because Logan's back. I
      wasn't planning anything - I don't have some big master scheme - but as soon
      as he walked in.../

      Pause. Pen down, lean back in the chair, breathe out. Remember.

      They'd been sprawled across the rec room, playing Monopoly in a loud,
      raucous and generally teenage manner. Kitty had been caught stealing from
      the bank - almost the least of the cheating that had occurred already - and
      had taken the hotels off Bobby's property when he threatened to bar her from
      the game. The argument was broad-ranging and hilarious, and Jubilee had
      just hurled the little dog playing piece at St John when the door opened and
      Logan walked in.

      Rogue didn't sit up. She didn't jump to attention or rush over to greet
      him. She was lounging in an armchair, legs dangling over one of the arms.
      The noise subsided a bit at his entrance - apart from Jubilee's giggling
      fit - and she smiled at him. "Hey, sugar. You're back."

      He looked a little perplexed, because this wasn't right. Rogue always ran
      to greet him, and spent half an hour telling him what had happened while he
      was away but not asking questions because he didn't like to answer them
      anyway. "Hey. Yeah. Uh, I'll see you at dinner." And he turned and left,
      closing the door behind him.

      Rogue had relaxed then, her breathing slowly returning to normal. Because
      though she hadn't jumped, her pulse had. And she'd wanted to go to him and
      do the whole routine, but she hadn't. She wouldn't. Things were going to
      be different this time.

      /As soon as he walked in, I decided what I was going to do./

      She was going to seduce him. Just a little bit. She wasn't going to wait
      any more for him to come for her. So what if this wasn't the way it was
      supposed to be. He wasn't doing his part, he wasn't playing the romantic
      lead, so she'd have to give him a nudge. And he wouldn't fold on this hand;
      she wouldn't let him.

      They said she got her determination, her stubbornness, at least in part from
      Logan. Well, it was about to come back to haunt him. That was enough to
      make her snigger.

      Laughing to herself. That hadn't happened in a while.

      She put the diary away and started to get changed, planning as she dressed.
      Plotting a seduction seemed so... cold-blooded. Calculating. And fun as
      hell. Casual but flattering clothes, pants and shirt. A thin scarf, for a
      little protection. A light dust of make-up, and a hint of perfume. Oh
      yeah, and that practically sheer bodysuit she'd invested in after the
      adventure with Remy had suggested that one might be a good idea.

      First night after he got home. He'd be in the library, enjoying some quiet
      and a little of the Professor's best whiskey. Sometimes it amazed her how
      much a creature of habit Logan really was.

      She paused with her hand on the doorknob, taking a deep breath. Time to up
      the ante.

      The door barely made a sound as it opened, but it was enough to catch
      Logan's attention. He sat up a little straighter in the armchair he was
      sprawled in, looked over to the door. Smiled a touch at seeing her. "Hey,

      "Hey, Logan." Rogue closed the door behind her. Judging by the level in
      the whiskey bottle, this was his fifth, at least. A slightly tipsy Logan
      was a wildcard she hadn't expected to be dealt, and it could take her hand
      either way. She crossed the room, sat down in the armchair opposite him,
      letting a small smile onto her own face. Not a grin, not a wide, cheery
      smile. An enigmatic smile. "How was your holiday this time?"

      He shrugged, took another sip of the alcohol in his glass. "Fine," he
      grunted. "Why do you ask?"

      First raise, enough to get his attention, not enough to scare him off. "I
      just wanted to hear your voice." His eyes back on hers, a raised eyebrow.
      She returned his gaze steadily, and prayed that her heartbeat would keep
      quiet enough that he couldn't hear it. "I miss it when you go away."

      "Really." A statement, and he closed his eyes as he took a larger sip of
      the whiskey. Not opening his eyes, he tilted his head back against the


      "You're not going to humour me and talk?" A tinge of hope, a touch of the
      coquette and - damn - a waver of disappointment. You didn't expect it to be
      that easy, Rogue, surely?

      Lips curled in a tiny smirk, and dark eyes opened to look straight at her.
      "I want to hear your voice too, and if I talk, you can't." He'd seen her
      bid and raised again. They had a game.

      "I'm not going to recite the Gettysburg Address for you."

      "Just as well; I'd probably go to sleep."

      "How insulting. And I thought you wanted to hear my voice."

      A chuckle, from low in his throat. The sort of sound that sent tremours
      down her spine. "And 'four score and seven years ago' is what you want to
      hear me saying?"

      Rogue smiled, wider than before. Tipsy Logan was making things easier.
      "Now that you mention it, I'm sure I can think of some things I'd prefer."
      She gestured across at him. "Is it any good?"

      He raised an eyebrow, a touch perplexed. "Your voice?"

      "The whiskey." It was damn good whiskey, Rogue knew that. Irish, single
      malt, triple distilled.

      And Logan knew she knew that, that smirk back on his face. "Smooth as honey
      over silk." He raised the bottle. "Would you like some?"

      "Sure." Rogue stood, smoothing her hands down over her hips and came across
      to stand beside his chair. She'd expected him to pour her some, but he
      simply handed her his glass. She took it, letting her fingers brush lightly
      over his. A hitch of her breath she cursed, and was sure he'd heard. She
      closed her eyes and raised the glass to her lips, letting just a touch into
      her mouth. Holding it on her tongue, she lowered the glass. The feeling of
      the liquor spread across her tongue, through her teeth, up the back of her
      throat. She curled her tongue around it and, finally, swallowed. It
      burned, but it was mellow as well. Like he said, beautifully smooth. The
      Professor bought well.

      Logan's hand closed around the glass, around her fingers, and she opened her
      eyes to look down at him. "Nice to see someone lavish that sort of
      attention on whiskey," he said, sounding a little amused, and a little...
      something else.

      "I give everything the attention it deserves," she replied, and cleared her
      throat of the huskiness the whiskey had coated it with. Carefully
      extricating her fingers from around the glass, Rogue turned away from his
      chair, walking over to the window. There was a cord that parted the heavy
      blue drapes - there it was - and then she drew back the secondary curtain, a
      billowy white gauze just thick enough not to let direct sunlight through
      during the day. "It's a pleasant night," she noted, though she wasn't
      really seeing anything outside the window.

      "Is it?" A pause, the clink of glass on a table, and then soft steps
      crossing the carpet behind her. Logan stepped up to her shoulder, beside
      and slightly behind her, and looked out past her as she looked at him. He
      looked good in profile, as in everything else. "It's cold out there,

      There wasn't much room here. If she turned slightly, her shoulder would be
      pressed against his. She turned. "Then I guess it's just as well we're in
      here. Where it's warm."

      His eyes were so dark, almost black, and they held hers so tightly that even
      if she wanted to - and she didn't, oh no - she couldn't have looked away.
      Silence, no speech, just breathing, hers and his, for a moment. Then: "Why
      did you come looking for me tonight? You don't usually."

      "There's lots of things I don't usually do," Rogue answered, tilting her
      chin up a little.

      "Like answering the question?"

      She smiled, and turned around entirely to face him. The curtain, which had
      been held in place by her shoulder, fell between them, blurring his form but
      somehow not diminishing his eyes. Time for the final raise, and now she was
      sure she had the winning hand. "I told you," she said, stepped closer, the
      curtain slithering between them. "I missed you."

      His hands came up, running up her arms, the curtain whispering against the
      satin of her gloves. Then pushing up the loose sleeves of her shirt, until
      the only thing separating his bare hands and her bare arms was the gauzy

      "I missed you too," Logan rumbled, and she looked up into his eyes,
      breathing fast through slightly parted lips, and wondering how it could
      possibly be this easy, how she could not have done this before. He moved
      his hands in a rustle of fabric, and his fingers smoothed the curtain over
      her face, cupped her chin. "Marie," he breathed, and it was like an
      endearment, an inside joke, something only the two of them understood.

      Rogue's hands came up almost of their own volition, gripping his shoulders.
      "I've missed you for a long time," she whispered, and in the next instant
      his lips came down on hers.

      Her knees gave way when his tongue tangled with hers, but that was all right
      because he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her tight against him.
      The other hand cradled her head as their lips moved together. His teeth
      nipped at her upper lip, and he pressed kisses along her jawline to her ear.
      His breath was hot and damp in her ear, and her shiver sent goosebumps
      blossoming across her skin. She shifted against him, the curtain sliding
      sibilantly around her. It was an annoyance; she was too far from him. She
      wanted to be closer, to wrap herself around him. A faint moan - hers or
      his? - and his mouth recaptured hers.

      Heaven was here, wet fabric in her mouth, wrapped in white silk like she was
      in a giant cocoon. She emerged a beautiful butterfly, floating upstairs
      beside Logan. Her feet never touched the floor as they walked down the
      corridor, not touching, not talking; she couldn't, her head was spinning too

      "Good night," he said quietly, leaving her outside her door, and she drifted
      inside to fall into caterpillar dreams. Dreams where there was no curtain
      and she could get as close as she wanted. An impossibility, but so many
      dreams had come true tonight already, she could live with one that never

      Uncertainty lasted a total of thirty seconds upon waking, and she almost
      leapt out of bed. It had happened. It had finally happened. And she knew
      that because if it had just been another dream it certainly wouldn't have
      ended at her bedroom door, with her too dazed to even ask Logan in. Every
      time she looked in the mirror, getting dressed, there was a smile verging on
      a grin on her face, and she laughed out loud.

      The dining hall was full - everyone was there, even Logan, and he wasn't a
      morning person - when Rogue pushed open the door and walked in. Jubilee and
      Kitty were at the cereal buffet, and Rogue joined them there, leaning over
      to grab a bowl and almost dropping it as she was jabbed in the ribs.

      "Ouch. Watch it, Jubes."

      "You did it!" the girl hissed excitedly. "When? How??"

      "And how was it?" Kitty asked with a smile and less urgency.

      Rogue took a scoop of cereal. "Well, yeah, sorta. Um..." She suddenly
      glanced over to the teacher's table, and even though Logan was facing the
      other way, she was absolutely certain he could hear every word. "I'll -
      uh - tell you later."

      They took a table not far from the teachers', and Rogue spent her time
      trying *not* to look over at Logan. Somehow, in a room full of shouting
      mutant students, the events of last night seemed ethereal. Looking at him,
      though... it reinforced everything. That she knew what those lips could do.
      How his sideburns sounded brushing against white gauze.

      A snap of fingers in front of her face. "Earth to Rogue! Come on, we have

      They were clearing their plates when she looked up and saw him leaving the
      dining room. Just loping out, same as every morning, without so much as a
      backward glance at her. Certainly not coming over to say hello. Or have a
      nice day. Or anything.

      She drifted through science. She stared out the window in history. And
      worried. And fretted. He wasn't at lunch. And by afternoon maths, even
      Kitty was starting to get annoyed at her.

      Logan was at dinner, but Rogue made a point of sitting at a particularly
      noisy table with Bobby and St John and all. She hadn't been waiting all day
      for him to say something to her. She was having a great time. She hadn't
      even thought of him all day.

      She certainly wasn't going to wait in her room after dinner, half-reading a
      magazine, in the vain hope that he would come and visit her.

      At ten o'clock, finished the whole damn /Cosmo/ including those ridiculous
      letters to the doctor, she threw it across the room. "Dammit!"

      Rolling off the bed, she stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind
      her. Where was he? He'd better have a damn good excuse. Everyone she
      stopped gave her answers very quickly. Maybe it was the annoyed expression,
      or maybe the way she marched along the corridor, arms folded across her
      chest, with the gait of someone perfectly willing and able to walk straight
      over anyone who got in her way.

      He was in the garage, half under that stupid bike. Shirt off, oil-smeared
      chest... it took a moment to remind herself that she was angry with him. No
      reminder was necessary, though, after he glanced up at her, muttered: "Hey,
      kid," and went back to fiddling.

      Kid? Kid?? That was not an endearment that went with what she thought
      they'd done last night. Honey, yeah. Darlin', even, he bandied that one
      around enough. But kid? No way. Deep breath, Rogue. You are not going to
      go all ballistic, crying female on him. That would just be the ultimate

      "Hey yourself," she returned, ice-princess composure. There, that's better.
      "Cyke's going to flip out if he catches you mucking around with his bike,
      you know."

      Logan grunted. Pure eloquence. One miscellaneous tool down, another one
      picked up. Silence.

      "Yeah well, this is thrilling, but I'm tired." Two steps to the door, and
      she had it half-open before he could reply.


      She snorted, and shut the door behind her with perhaps more force than was
      strictly required. And then she broke into a run. A sprint. A mad dash
      through the hallways to her own room. The door yanked open, pulled shut,
      and she flung herself on the bed.

      The tears were hot, gasping, teeth-grinding, shed into a pillow first
      clutched hard, and then punched. Pummelled. Thrown across the room as she
      lay, breathing heavily, on her bed, hair sticking to her damp skin as she
      stared up at the ceiling. Damn him! Why couldn't he just do what he was
      supposed to do?

      Unofficial APS (Angst, Persecution, Suffering) Cheerleader
      "Gimme a P! Gimme an A! Gimme an I! Gimme an N!
      And whaddya get? PAIN! Go team, go!"
      ========== http://viscerate.com ==========
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