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FIC: Alter-Eighteen: Chateau Blanc - 2/2 - NC-17 [L/R]

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  • victoria_p@att.net
    Sorry if this comes through twice - my email just freaked out... +++ Disclaimers etc. in Part 1 indicates thoughts *** Eighteen months later. . . Logan
    Message 1 of 1 , Jun 26, 2001
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      Sorry if this comes through twice - my email just
      freaked out...

      +++

      Disclaimers etc. in Part 1

      < > indicates thoughts

      ***

      Eighteen months later. . .

      Logan heard the shower running before he entered the
      room. Whenever her roommates came home from college,
      Marie ended up in his bathroom. He wondered idly when
      he'd stopped caring about the bottles of fruity gel and
      sweet-smelling shampoo cluttering up the windowsill next
      to his shower.

      "You better not shave your legs with my razor," he
      called, flopping onto the bed and trying not to think of
      miles of bare Marie-legs, just one room away.

      He flipped through the channels, impatiently waiting for
      some sporting event to come on. With the end of the
      Stanley Cup finals last week (and *damn* if Detroit
      didn't win again. He wondered if Scotty Bowman was some
      sort of hockey mutant -- the kind that attracted the
      Stanley Cup), he was left with baseball or soccer. "Like
      watching paint dry," he muttered.

      "What's that, sugar?" Rogue asked, opening the bathroom
      door in a haze of vanilla-scented steam.

      "Nothing," he answered, breathing deeply. "That's a new
      one."

      "Yeah. Tahitian Vanilla. You like it?" She was toweling
      her hair as she walked over to the bed.

      "Yeah."

      She sat in front of him, in nothing but a towel, and he
      pulled out the comb from his night table drawer. Another
      ritual he'd somehow gotten used to, actually missed when
      he was out on the road. Combing Marie's hair. Not that
      he'd ever let anyone know how much he liked doing it.

      Lately, he'd been doing it without gloves, and she had
      stopped protesting. He knew she wanted that simulation
      of touch as much as he wanted to give it to her.

      His time in Westchester had been interesting, to say the
      least. He taught the kids self-defense, did odd jobs
      around the grounds, and helped out saving the world
      every few weeks. In return, he got room and board, a
      chance to flirt with a couple of the most beautiful
      women he'd ever met, and the opportunity to spend time
      with Marie.

      He knew that, without Marie, he'd be gone in a
      heartbeat. Somehow, over belly-burners and claws, they'd
      bonded, and he wasn't about to let that go. It was the
      closest thing he'd had to home in the past eighteen
      years.

      She sighed in contentment as he ran the comb through her
      wet hair. He inhaled the scents of Marie and vanilla,
      mingling in the warm air of the room. He could tell she
      was aroused, which only made the scent sweeter, but he'd
      never done anything about it. He wasn't sure of her
      feelings toward him, and didn't want to screw things up
      by pushing her for something she wasn't prepared to give
      him.

      "So, when do the Kat and the Brat leave?" he asked,
      after a long silence.

      "Logan," she admonished him, but there was no heat in
      her voice. His nicknames for Kitty and Jubilee were
      apt. She didn't have to turn around to see his
      smirk. "That's just it," she continued, slumping
      slightly. "Since we've all graduated, we have to room
      together until Jean reassigns the rooms. With anti-
      mutant sentiment on the rise again, more students are
      coming back here to live, instead of going out on their
      own." Another sigh. "God only knows when Jean will get
      around to us. She thinks we're thrilled to be together
      again."

      "Ain't ya?" He put the comb down and pulled on a pair of
      gloves. Slowly and gently, so as not to startle her, he
      began kneading her shoulders.

      "Mmm," she purred, her eyes drifting closed, enjoying
      the sensations he was producing. She supposed she should
      be embarrassed or something, but since this was the
      closest she was probably ever going to get to sex with
      him, she didn't stop it. She lived for these impromptu
      massages and secretly hoped they meant something to him
      as well. "It's nice being with them sometimes, but I
      kinda got used to living alone, you know? I mean, even
      when they were here, you were gone a lot, so --" she
      broke off, realizing what that might sound like as his
      hands stilled on her shoulders. "Not that I don't love
      having you here, sugar. 'Cause I do."

      He knew she was telling the truth. The words were out of
      his mouth before he could regret them. "Move in here,
      then."

      She turned so fast she almost lost her towel, which
      would have been *damned* interesting, he thought.

      "Are you sure?" Her voice was soft, breathy, and damn,
      he got harder than he already was, just listening to
      her.

      He grinned, left eyebrow arched. "Would I ask if I
      wasn't sure, Marie?"

      "I'm a lot of work," she warned. "And, well, there's
      things you'd have to give up."

      "Like what?" he asked.

      "Putting your cigars out on the furniture. Sleeping
      naked. Bringing home random women." She figured if she
      got it out fast, maybe he'd agree without really
      thinking. She held her breath, waiting to see if she'd
      misunderstood him in some way.

      He shrugged. "I haven't slept naked since I started
      living here, Marie, and I haven't brought home a woman
      in months." She nodded. <Seven months, three weeks and
      four days, to be exact,> she thought. The time he'd come
      back from Canada and settled into the mansion for good.
      <And aren't you pathetic for knowing that, Rogue?> "You
      might have to deal with some burns on the desk, though.
      I always forget where you put the damn ashtray."

      She exhaled in relief, and smiled at him.

      He felt the world tilt on its axis, and a peculiar ache
      in his chest, somewhere in the region of his heart. If
      he didn't know it was impossible, he'd have thought he
      was having a heart attack.

      "That's a yes, I take it?"

      In answer, she flung her arms around him, forgetting for
      a moment her precarious state of undress. He was so
      happy to have an armful of nearly-naked Marie that all
      he could do at first was hold her close and breathe her
      in.

      He pressed kisses to her hair, gently at first and then
      with more urgency as her nearness inflamed him further.

      "My skin," she whispered, but he just flashed a cocky
      grin and pulled some sheer material from his night table.

      "I've been hoping for this day for a long time, Marie,"
      he answered. "Are you sure it's what you want?" He
      dropped his gaze to his hands. "I know I'm not much of a
      bargain, with the Swiss cheese memory and the metal
      skeleton--"

      "Don't say that, Logan," she said. "I love you. I think
      I have since that night at Chateau Blanc."

      "Chateau Blanc?" he snorted.

      "That's what Remy calls it."

      "That boy better stop sniffin' around my girl," he
      growled, rolling so he was on top of her.

      "Am I your girl?" she asked.

      "Yeah, darlin'. My one and only." He opened the towel
      then, and took his first look at her in all her naked
      glory. "You're so beautiful, Marie," he whispered,
      floating the sheer black square over her mouth so he
      could kiss her.

      Their lips met and though it was the first time they'd
      kissed, there was no awkwardness, just a feeling that
      this was right.

      There was so much of her he wanted to taste, he thought,
      as he moved his mouth along the curve of her jaw and
      then down her neck, paying close attention to the spots
      that made her moan or purr. He nipped at her clavicle
      and moved his hands down to cup her breasts, teasing her
      nipples until they pebbled against his palms.

      When he brushed his lips over the curve of her left
      breast, warming and dampening the material before taking
      the firm bud of her nipple into his mouth, she slid her
      hands into his hair, gripping his skull tightly. Her
      body arched, offering him full access when he finally
      did suckle and lick at her nipple. He smelled her
      arousal deepening as he did the same to her right
      breast.

      Then he moved lower, feathering kisses down her stomach,
      stopping to dip his tongue into her belly-button (which
      caused a gasp and an arch he wouldn't soon forget) and
      then brushing his lips over the tops of her thighs.

      "Logan," she moaned, grabbing the headboard so she
      wouldn't be tempted to touch him with her bare hands.

      "Yeah, baby, we're getting there," he said, pressing
      kisses through the nylon along the sensitive flesh
      inside her thighs before finally broaching her sex.

      He stroked her warm, wet folds with a gloved hand before
      carefully slipping a finger inside her tight passage.
      Again she moaned his name as her hips came off the
      bed. "Please." It was little more than a hiss of air as
      she tried to process the pleasure he was giving her.

      He laughed as his lips followed his fingers and the
      vibrations were almost enough to make her come. When he
      started circling her clit with his tongue, she lost it,
      knuckles white from gripping the headboard, head
      thrashing from side to side, she came, panting his name.

      As she floated down to earth, he took possession of her
      mouth again, his hands busily unzipping his jeans and
      finding the condoms he'd stashed away in hope that this
      day would arrive. She parted her legs to grant him
      access and tucked the ends of the fabric underneath her.
      He cut a small hole in the nylon, so he would be able to
      enter her without coming into contact with her skin.

      "This ain't exactly how I planned it," he murmured in
      her ear as he positioned himself at her entrance, "but I
      think it'll do, if you still want to."

      She nodded, her eyes wide and full of love for him. He
      wanted to keep that moment forever. It had been her
      eyes, more than anything, that had pulled him in that
      first night they'd met, and he hoped he could make her
      look like that for the rest of their lives.

      "Logan, please," she panted, bringing her hips up so her
      wet sex brushed against his hard cock.

      He grunted in response, slipping slowly into her tight,
      wet passage. He reveled in the feel of her. This was
      his, and no one else would ever do to her what he was
      doing now. She bucked her hips, impatient with his
      tenderness, and he was suddenly sheathed in her to the
      hilt. She gasped as her body became accustomed to the
      size and feel of him, and from the faint smell of blood,
      he realized that not only was she his now, she had never
      been anyone else's before. He growled again, and fought
      every instinct that urged him to move.

      "I'm okay," she said. They shifted and he felt some of
      the tenseness leave her, so he began moving in and out,
      slowly at first, but then faster and harder as she
      spurred him on. He slid a hand between them and rubbed
      at her clit as he drove into her. She gasped, "Oh, God,
      Logan!" and her muscles rippled and tightened around
      him, pulling him over the edge into the abyss with her.
      They fell together, bright whiteness burning along all
      their nerve endings, until they slowly drifted back to
      earth.

      He rolled so she could lie on top of him, resting her
      head against his t-shirt-clad chest.

      "Is it always like that?" she asked finally.

      "No," he replied honestly. "Sometimes it's even better."

      ***

      Needless to say, there were some at the mansion who were
      not too happy with Logan and Rogue's new living
      arrangements. Chief among those was Jean.

      "He's just using you, Rogue," was the redhead's constant
      refrain. "As soon as he sees someone he likes better --
      someone he can touch -- he'll drop you like an old shoe."

      Finally, after a month of this, Rogue reached a breaking
      point.

      "Logan, are you gonna leave me for the next sexy
      waitress that crosses your path?" she asked on night as
      they got ready for bed.

      He looked at her like she'd grown a second head. "Why in
      hell would I do that, Marie?"

      She shrugged and bit her lip. "I don't know. It's just,
      everyone seems to think--"

      "You mean Jeannie keeps tellin' you that's what's gonna
      happen, right?" She nodded. "I'm taking care of this
      once and for all, Marie." He flung the door open and
      stalked down the hall to Jean and Scott's room.

      "Logan," Rogue called, running to keep up with
      him, "don't do this."

      He just kept walking.

      He pounded on their bedroom door and said, "I know
      you're in there, so open up."

      The door opened and Scott stood there in his green and
      blue plaid boxers, looking annoyed. "What?"

      "Where's Jeannie? I wanna straighten something out with
      her."

      Jean came to the doorway, pulling on a silk robe of
      seafoam green. "Yes?" she asked, just as Rogue
      said, "Logan, just forget it. It's not important."

      "Nah, kid. I don't like this shit." He turned to Jean
      again. "You keep tellin' Marie I'm gonna ditch her for
      the next pretty face." He grabbed her hand and brought
      it to the side of his head. "Why don't you take a look
      and see for yourself how I feel?"

      "Logan, that's not necessary," she began.

      "I think it is. Obviously, Chuck knows I would never
      hurt Rogue, but you don't seem to get that. Well, here's
      your chance to see firsthand," Logan continued, ignoring
      all interruptions. "Come on, Red. What's the matter?
      Afraid you might see something you don't like? Something
      to prove you wrong?"

      Jean took a deep breath as Scott and Rogue stood and
      watched. "I can tell that you're very worked up right
      now, Logan. And I can tell that you care very deeply for
      Rogue. But I have to wonder why. And for how long? You
      met under very stressful circumstances. It's been
      obvious since day one that Rogue's had a crush on you. I
      just don't want to see her hurt when you move on."

      Logan nodded. "Thanks, Red. Thanks for finally being
      honest after all this time, and telling me what you
      really think of me." He turned and headed back toward
      the room he shared with Rogue. "I'll be outta your hair
      first thing tomorrow."

      Rogue looked on helplessly as the man she loved strode
      away, radiating hurt and anger.

      "Nice going, Jean," she said, then turned and ran after
      him.

      He had his duffel bag out and was throwing his stuff
      into it when she walked in.

      "Logan, please," she began.

      He stopped and looked at her intently, pinning her in
      place with his relentless hazel stare. "You wanna come
      with?" he said finally.

      "I--" She licked her lips. "Of course. I love you,
      Logan."

      His eyes didn't waver. "I love you, too." The words,
      which he'd never before voiced, though she'd felt it in
      his every action since they'd moved in together, hung
      heavy between them.

      Finally, she said, "You're gonna need a bigger bag." And
      she walked to her side of the closet and began laying
      her stuff on the bed.

      ***

      Scott tried to talk Rogue into staying the next morning,
      as Logan packed the Cherokee.

      "I love him, Scott, and he loves me," she said
      softly. "I don't think you realize how much it bothers
      him that all y'all think he's taking advantage of me.
      I'm almost twenty-two years old, and I'm a college
      graduate. I'm not a kid. I haven't been since the Statue
      of Liberty. But I need him, and he needs me."

      "But--"

      "What did people tell you when you started dating Jean?"
      she asked, cutting him off.

      He blew out a gust of air, then nodded once. "Yeah,
      okay. I see."

      "And how did *you* feel? How did she feel?" Rogue
      pressed.

      "I said I get it, Rogue. Just, just be careful, okay."
      He pulled her into a tight hug and then released her.
      Logan stood waiting.

      "I always am," the big Canadian replied. Scott offered
      his hand, and this time, Logan took it.

      ***

      They'd driven for almost fifteen hours straight. Logan
      barely spoke. She knew he was hurt, even though he
      wouldn't discuss it.

      It was dark when they entered Detroit.

      "We can cross into Canada from here," he said, breaking
      the silence for the first time in what seemed like hours.

      Rogue stretched and yawned. "Can we eat first?" she
      asked. "And maybe use a bathroom?"

      He turned and smiled at her. "Whatever you want, Marie."

      "So where we going, other than, you know, Canada?"

      "I figured we could maybe see Alaska. Now's the time,
      while it's summer. Then," he looked over at her, and she
      could sense he was a little nervous, "I got a cabin up
      past Dawson's Creek--" she chuckled and he looked
      offended. "It's a real place, dammit! Not named after
      that stupid television show, either. Anyway, I was
      thinking, if you're not sick of me by then, maybe we
      could, you know, spend the winter there."

      He shot her another nervous look, chewing on his cigar,
      and she smiled. "It sounds great, Logan."

      "It ain't, it ain't like the mansion, Marie, but I'll
      take care of you."

      "Promise?"

      "I promise."

      They shared a loving glance, and then something caught
      his eye.

      "You wanted to eat, darlin'?" he asked, jerking his head
      to the left.

      A White Castle stood gleaming in the darkness, a beacon
      to all those who were hungry for bad, fatty food, and
      for two people who had found love in those greasy
      environs.

      "I'd love to, sugar."

      End
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