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FIC: Learning to Accept: 1/1: NC-17 [Logan/Rogue]

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  • victoria p.
    Title: Learning to Accept Author: Victoria P. [victoria_p@att.net] Summary: It s not the most romantic love, or the biggest epic romance, but we re going to
    Message 1 of 1 , Aug 31, 2001
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      Title: Learning to Accept
      Author: Victoria P. [victoria_p@...]
      Summary: "It's not the most romantic love, or the biggest epic romance,
      but we're going to do the best we can with what we've got."
      Rating: NC-17 - sex, language. But mostly sex.
      Disclaimer: All X-Men characters belong to Marvel and Fox; this piece of
      fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights.
      Archive: Lists, Muse's Fool; if you've already got my stuff, sure. If
      not, please ask. I'll say yes.
      Feedback: Feed me, Seymour!
      Notes: Thanks to Jen, Pete, Dot, and Meg. Especially Jen, who insisted
      this wasn't too weird to post. Oh, and Eil, you probably won't read
      this, but I even sort of worked in your cumshot...
      Date: September 1, 2001

      Couple of things:

      One, the idea for this came out of listening to the song "Let Me Touch
      You for a While" on Alison Krauss and Union Station's new album, "New
      Favorite."

      Two: This is my first ever attempt at first-person smut, and let me tell
      you, it's not easy. Oh, no. Especially not when you're squeezed in
      between two random people on the A-Train, fiercely hoping they can't
      read your handwriting so they don't think you're some kind of pervert.
      So please let me know what you think.

      ~*~

      Learning to Accept

      He disappears soon after the vows are exchanged, the sound of the bike
      tearing off into the distance echoes through the yard. I'm surprised he
      even stayed that long. I -- and everyone else, I think -- held my breath
      when the minister asked if there were any objections to this union, but
      he said nothing. Just a low growl.

      Most of the wedding guests had no idea what it meant, but it damn near
      broke my heart all over again.

      I sit out the first dance, watching Remy whisper in Ororo's ear,
      marveling at my own capacity for self-torture.

      I'm happy for Remy. Really, I am. ‘Ro is so much better for him than I
      could *ever* be, offering peace and security, as well as passion, in one
      beautiful package. He and I had had passion, but our relationship was a
      never-ending emotional roller-coaster, two lost souls trying to forge a
      connection and failing over and over again, hamstrung by our own trust
      issues.

      I sigh and straighten the emerald green satin gloves that go with my
      bridesmaid's gown. All of us are wearing them. Jean hadn't wanted me to
      feel like I stuck out. I appreciated the gesture. She's a thoughtful
      woman, always trying to make everyone as comfortable as possible. She'll
      make a great mom.

      It's just too bad that what she needed to be comfortable and what Logan
      needed were at opposite ends of the spectrum. She might have been
      attracted to him, but she loved Scott more than life itself. I don't
      think I've ever seen a more radiant bride.

      The party is in full swing, and I decide no one will miss me. I slip
      into the house, changing quickly into jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt,
      pulling on a pair of short leather gloves and throwing a sheer scarf
      around my neck to complete the outfit.

      I linger momentarily in the garage, trying to decide which car to take
      before settling on the Volvo. It won't stand out too much where I'm
      headed, unlike the more expensive cars.

      For such an unpredictable man, Logan has an unbreakable routine for
      certain things. Tuesday is laundry day, and Thursday is, without fail,
      movie night with me. In the five years since he's been at the mansion, I
      don't think he's missed a Thursday movie night more than a handful of
      times -- usually due to X-Men business -- even when we were both
      involved with other people.

      And wallowing in Jean-misery always means a trip to Artie's Grill.

      It's a dive, but a slightly nicer one than the others he frequents.
      There are no strippers or cage fights or bikers, just men from the
      working class part of Throgs Neck, down in the Bronx. I think he began
      going there as a way to watch out for me, since I followed him around a
      lot in his first days back at the mansion, even into places most
      seventeen-year-old girls wouldn't venture. At Artie's he could easily
      watch out for me without being distracted by other things.

      I'm lucky -- I find a parking spot right in front of the bar. I fluff my
      hair and fix my lipstick; then I catch myself.

      My crush for Logan had died a long time ago, snuffed out by his evident
      devotion to Jean. He only dated redheads, apparently subscribing to the
      theory that said if you can't get what you want, find a reasonable
      facsimile and then make yourself miserable when it doesn't measure up to
      the original.

      The final nail in the coffin of my infatuation with Logan was Remy.

      When Remy arrived in Salem Center three years ago, I fell, and fell
      hard. Possibly, I was testing out that same theory.

      Even though he's with Ororo now, and has been for the past six months, I
      still wonder if there was something I could have done differently,
      something that would have kept him by my side.

      Anyhow, I'm long past the stage of primping for Logan, who's seen me
      puking at three o'clock in the morning in ratty, old flannel pajamas and
      never flinched, but I find myself doing it anyway. You never know who
      you might meet, right?

      I open the door and saunter over to the bar, scanning for Logan.

      Ken, the bartender, smiles when he sees me. "The usual?" He's been
      serving me since I was seventeen. One of the things I love about New
      York City -- some of the bars would serve a five-year-old without
      blinking, so fake ID was never a problem. Especially once they learned I
      was with Logan.

      He had been far more uptight about me drinking than I'd thought he'd be,
      feeling he'd done enough to corrupt me, but I won him over by behaving
      responsibly the first few times and saving the binge drinking for nights
      out with Jubilee and Johnny, who drank like fish. Ah, college.

      I nod and am soon holding an ice-cold bottle of Molson Golden.

      I find Logan playing pool by himself in the back room.

      I knew Jean's wedding would require something stronger than beer to help
      him wallow, and I'm not mistaken. After each vicious shot with the pool
      cue -- and the fact that he's missing more shots than he's sinking is
      evidence that he's *really* upset -- he takes a long drink from a bottle
      of whiskey that sits on the edge of the table.

      He doesn't look up at my entrance, so I just sit on a stool and wait for
      his fury to abate.

      I crave a cigarette, but that's a habit I've given up. It reminds me too
      much of Remy.

      He continues with his game and no one else comes into the room -- word
      must have gotten out that he was here and he was pissed, and no one who
      was born the day before yesterday wants to be around him in this mood.

      Except me.

      His moods don't frighten me, mainly because I've lived them. I already
      had a bit of a temper when I met him, and getting him in my head just
      makes it easier for me to kick it when I get angry.

      Finally, his eyes meet mine in the mirror on the far wall. I raise an
      eyebrow and he scowls.

      "I'm not in the mood, Marie," he warns.

      "How do you know what I've got in mind?" I ask.

      "I don't, but if it's anymore of that Cosmo bullshit about exorcising
      your ex or whatever, I ain't interested."

      I fail to hide my grin. Yes, I had followed the ritual of broken-hearted
      women everywhere and burned all my pictures of me and Remy, given away
      all the stuffed animals he'd gotten me over the years, and lit candles
      in a novena to the goddess of love.

      I recommended the same course of action to Logan about a week before the
      wedding.

      Of course, it didn't work. Neither of us got over our feelings for the
      people we couldn't have. But just the thought of Logan reading Cosmo is
      enough to make even him smile, and I can tell he isn't quite as upset as
      he'd been when I arrived.

      He jerks his head toward the pool table and I join him.

      We play in silence for a while. After my third beer, and a swig of his
      whiskey, I'm very aware of his body beside mine, smelling of whiskey and
      smoke and leather.

      I lean into him, and he looks down at me, surprised.

      "What is it, kid?"

      I don't say anything, just turn and wrap my arms around his neck. I
      stare up into his hazel eyes, running my fingers through the hair hung
      over his collar. His pupils dilate and his nostrils flare. When he
      doesn't move away, I say, "I can make you forget her, even if it's only
      for tonight."

      He moves his legs, bringing his hips into contact with mine. "Marie--"

      "Rogue," I whisper. "Marie was a scared little girl you picked up on the
      side of the road. Tonight, I'm the Rogue, and I can make you smile. I
      miss your smile."

      He's tempted, I can tell -- I can feel the bulge in his jeans pressing
      against my leg. But he says, "You're drunk, Marie."

      "Rogue," I insist. "And you can clear that right up." I bring one of his
      hands, which are hanging loosely at his sides, to my cheek, waiting for
      his permission to lean into it.

      We've done it many, many times. He heals my bruises after training and
      my broken bones after missions. He even helped me out with a bad case of
      bronchitis once. We didn't tell anyone. Jean would have been upset and
      Scott horrified, I'm sure. Remy never asked about my lack of bruises,
      and I never said anything. It was a secret. We'd learned how long he
      could hold on without passing out, and he never minded sharing his
      healing with me. My senses are now permanently heightened, though not to
      his level, and I'd begun over the past year to heal more quickly even
      without his touch, but he continued to heal me. The thought of me in
      pain bothers him more than he'd ever admit.

      He cups my cheek gently, and I feel the connection open. He's in me for
      a moment, in a more profound way than the physical comfort I'd just
      offered him. I pull away as soon as my head is clear.

      He leans against me, pressing me into the pool table, slightly weakened
      even by that limited contact. I bury my head against his chest,
      listening to his heartbeat and inhaling his scent.

      I kiss him through his t-shirt and he doesn't pull away. "I can make you
      forget her, Logan. Let me touch you for a while," I murmur, lifting
      myself up onto the edge of the table so I can wrap my legs around him.

      He groans and rubs against me, his hips rocking into mine, and I know
      I've won.

      "Let's get out of here," he says hoarsely.

      We leave the Volvo and take the bike back to the house. The party was
      still going on out back, so I don't think anyone noticed our return.
      Even if they had, there was nothing odd in the fact that I'd gone after
      him and brought him back. It was expected.

      We slip into his room, and his hands are all over me, kneading my
      breasts through my shirt and bra. He swings me up into his arms and
      drops me onto the bed.

      He reaches into his nightstand for a pair of gloves and then lies down
      next to me, his hands already underneath my shirt, unhooking my bra,
      which he tosses over his shoulder when he finally gets it off me. I
      close my eyes and lift one leg over both of his, grinding my hips
      against him.

      He matches my rhythm and drops his lips to my breasts, his tongue
      continuing what his hands had started.

      "Are you in the mood now, sugar?" I tease between gasps.

      He stops. "Are you thinking of Remy?"

      I blink in surprise. "No. But, but it's okay if you think of Jean. I
      understand." And I do.

      "Fuck, Marie," he says, blowing out a gust of air.

      "That's the idea, Logan. And it's *Rogue*."

      "You deserve better."

      "So do you, but sometimes you have to settle."

      He backs off the bed and stands, breathing heavily, and not from lust.

      "Jesus, kid, the things you say."

      "I'm not a kid. And *what*? It's the truth, Logan. I don't want to do
      this under false pretenses."

      "So it's all right to fuck me, as long as you don't lie about it."

      I push myself up on my elbows. "I'm trying to be a good friend, Logan. I
      love you, even if it's not, you know, exactly what you want." I scoot
      down the bed and rub one foot against his leg, trying for seductive.

      He grabs my foot and sits heavily on the bed. He carefully removes my
      shoe and runs his thumb along my instep, sending shivers through me.

      I'm amazed at how much I'm *not* thinking of Remy, how much I *want*
      Logan, and in a way that has nothing to do with the excuse I'd offered.

      I close my eyes and lose myself in the sensations he's causing. He
      starts talking again, but I can barely focus on his words. "...what I
      want."

      I blink rapidly, trying to think of a way to fake it, but finally give
      up. "I'm sorry, I'm kind of distracted. Could you repeat that?"

      He looks down at his hand, still stroking my foot, and then drops it
      like a hot potato. "I said," and he sounds pissed again, "that you have
      *no* *idea* what I want, Marie."

      I have to laugh at that. "Please, sugar. You want Jean. Everyone knows
      that. It's okay. Really." I sit all the way up and reach over the side
      of the bed for my bra. "I'm just trying to offer a little comfort, you
      know. A way to forget her for a while.

      "I mean, why *shouldn't* we be together? Give me one good reason. We're
      both single, we're good friends." I press myself against his back. "It'd
      be *really* good, Logan. Believe me." And I nip at his earlobe, careful
      that only my teeth make contact. That wins me a growl, and not from
      annoyance. Thinking that maybe he's done arguing, I slide my hands over
      his shoulders and down his chest, finding his nipples and twisting
      gently.

      Another growl, but this time, he jumps off the bed, shaking his head.
      "And if I'm looking for more than that?"

      "I--" I don't know what to say.

      "Can you give me more than that? More than a one-night stand?"

      "Okay, who are you and what have you done with Logan?"

      He doesn't laugh. In fact, he grimaces and says, "That ain't fuckin'
      funny, Marie."

      I walk over and put a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry. What are you asking
      me for? A commitment? You got it. I will only have sex with you, if you
      will only have sex with me. And give up your subscription to the
      ‘Redhead of the Month' club."

      He runs a hand through the white streak in my hair -- it's always
      fascinated him -- and then buries his face in my neck, protected by my
      scarf. I feel his lips through the sheer silk and I let my head fall
      back, my hand tightening on his arm. I'm afraid if I let go, I'll fall
      over. I can't believe he found the spot on my neck -- Jesus, it took
      Remy two *months* to find that spot, the one that makes me feel like I'm
      going to come just from him kissing and sucking on it.

      "Yeah," he whispers.

      I don't hear him as much as feel his lips move, and I smile and say,
      "Yeah."

      I take his other hand and lead him back to the bed. This time, he lies
      down first, and I straddle him. I want this now, more than I've wanted
      anything in a really long time, and I pray he's not going to keep it
      from me.

      He still hasn't answered me, but I'm not worried about that. I lean
      forward, pressing my breasts against his chest and nuzzling at his neck,
      using the scarf. You'd be amazed at how handy a silk scarf can be when
      you've got deadly skin.

      "Marie," he says, and I don't have the heart to correct him. He's the
      only one who calls me that -- the only one of the X-Men who ever knew
      Marie. I wonder vaguely, in the back of my mind, if he's so tenacious
      about it because he doesn't know his own "real" name, and doesn't want
      me to forget mine. It's an idea that's going to require more attention
      than I can pay it at the moment, though, because his hands have become
      active again, sliding up my arms and over my breasts.

      "Marie," he repeats, "I want to be with you -- if we do this, I want it
      to be *me* you're thinking of, *me* you're responding to." And he
      unsheathes an inch of adamantium and cuts my shirt off from the inside
      out. He leans up and takes my bare nipple into his mouth. I pull away
      and he says, "I want you to know that I'm thinking of *you*, not her."

      "I believe you," I whisper, touched. "And you've got my full attention,
      Logan. One hundred percent." I grind down on his erection and he hisses
      with pleasure.

      I move before he can touch me again, sliding down his body so I can
      unbutton his jeans. He raises his hips so I can slide them down and then
      gasps as I begin stroking his penis. I cup his balls with my other hand,
      squeezing a little, and his hips buck. I kneel over him on all fours,
      watching his face as best I can.

      "Harder," he says, so I move my right hand a little faster. I know the
      friction from the leather has to feel good.

      While he's distracted by that -- he's making these sexy little grunting
      noises -- I waft the scarf over him and lick the head. Another jerk of
      his hips, accompanied by my name. A girl could get used to hearing her
      name in that tone of voice.

      I lick him again, this time from root to tip, and then take him into my
      mouth. I hum softly, my fingers back to playing with his balls, as I bob
      my head up and down. I'm using my lips, teeth, and tongue to make him
      growl my name.

      His hands twine in my hair and I can tell by the tension in his thighs
      that he's holding himself back. I lift my head up and he groans -- in
      frustration, I think.

      "Let go, Logan. Just let go." I smile and feel a little dirty when I
      say, "I want you to come in my mouth." Then I lower my head again and
      take as much of him as I can into my mouth. I've always had a strong gag
      reflex, but I'm determined not to mess this up. I want it to be good for
      him.

      I'm feeling all sorts of warm and tingly feelings between my legs, and
      as I scrape my teeth lightly along his shaft, my left hand unzips my
      jeans and slides beneath the waistband of my panties.

      I can't believe how wet I am, just from doing this. I find my clit
      easily enough -- we're old friends, you know -- and I almost lose focus
      on what I'm doing to Logan. But he reminds me quickly enough when he
      lets out this roar and his hips thrust off the bed, forcing him deeper
      into my throat.

      I can feel myself beginning to gag, despite my best efforts. He must
      notice, somehow, even while he's coming, because he pulls my head up,
      leaving me with a mouthful of scarf, and spurts all over my breasts.

      Normally not my kind of thing, but I'm willing to go with the flow here.
      And I'm thinking, hey, that's a good idea. I grab the scarf and wrap his
      dick back up -- up being the operative word here. He's hard again
      *already*. Or maybe still. I'm not sure how the healing factor works
      there. Anyway, I start rubbing it between my breasts, my other hand
      still circling my clit.

      I know I'm close and I hear this voice say, "God, Logan." It must be me,
      but I sound really strange -- high-pitched, thin and needy.

      He rolls away from me then, but I'm so preoccupied with myself that I
      don't protest. I'm at the edge, and then his hand joins mine and I go
      over, feeling every muscle in my body clench and release in this rush of
      pleasure. I feel curiously empty, though, as if there's something
      missing.

      I collapse against him, careful to keep the scarf between my bare torso
      and his bare legs.

      "Marie," he says in this *tone* -- it's full of something I can't quite
      identify, since I'm still coming down from my orgasm.

      I realize what's missing and I say, "I need you inside me, Logan." Again
      with the high and needy voice.

      But it seems to be fine with him because he growls low in his belly -- I
      can feel it and it sends shivers of pleasure through me. He says, "Yeah,
      darlin'."

      I know I said I wanted it to be all about him, but I think this will be
      good, too. That's about the extent of my thinking capabilities at the
      moment, so it's a good thing Logan's here. He zips my pants back up and
      cuts a small slit in the crotch of my jeans and panties.

      "Good thinking," I murmur, and he grins this adorable grin I've never
      seen before but I wouldn't mind seeing again. A lot.

      He's already got the condom out and he helps me roll it on. He moves to
      turn us over, but I push his shoulders back down on the bed and say,
      "Let me do this for you, Logan."

      I straddle him, brushing my wet sex over his hard cock, making both of
      us shiver. Then I lower myself down onto it oh-so-slowly. He's growling
      again, a low rumble that sends shock waves to my core as I feel the
      vibrations.

      "Yeah, baby," he says, his hands resting gently on my hips. He's letting
      me drive, and I feel heady with power.

      Finally, after several excruciatingly long moments, I've got him all the
      way inside me and *God* it feels so good. I press my knees into the
      mattress, trying to get him deeper, and lean forward, looking for the
      right angle to keep my clit happy. I roll my hips experimentally,
      earning a groan that could have been him, could have been me. Not really
      sure.

      Yeah, this is good.

      I begin moving, slowly at first, tightening my inner muscles. He picks
      up my rhythm and we move in time for a while, just enjoying each other's
      body and the close connection we're sharing. Then it becomes more urgent
      as we're trying to reach that place again, the one where your whole body
      flies apart because it feels so good and nothing else matters.

      My hands are on his shoulders and I'm riding him hard, when I feel it
      beginning again.

      "Logan," I draw his name out and he growls as my fingers automatically
      grab his t-shirt and I can feel myself clenching around him. His hands
      dig into my hips and I know I'll have bruises -- well, I might,
      depending on if my limited healing ability is working -- but I don't
      care. He bucks up against me and plunges deep, yelling my name.

      With his last thrust, he kisses me, no material between us, and I feel
      his awe and tenderness and love for me.

      Me.

      That's who he's thinking of.

      We collapse in a sweaty, exhausted heap and I try to figure out what
      just happened.

      I stroke his chest lightly, and he growls playfully. "That tickles."

      I grin delightedly. "I knew I could make you smile."

      He laughs. "And then some."

      I can't look at his face when I ask, "So, you never answered my
      question."

      He puts a finger beneath my chin and raises my face to his. "Yeah, I
      did."

      "I don't think so."

      "What do you think this was?" He gestures to encompass the messy bed,
      with us in it.

      "Sex. Really, really good sex."

      He sighs. "Marie. I'll help you forget Gumbo if you help me forget
      Jean."

      "I wasn't thinking of him," I protest. "And I know you weren't thinking
      of her."

      "No, but--" he breaks off, and I can tell he's trying to figure out what
      he wants to say. "I think we both need to learn to want what we've got,
      Marie."

      "And what is that?"

      "Each other."

      Oh. "Oh!" I feel myself blushing and I bury my face against his chest.
      "I could do that,"

      "It's not settling," he insists. "It's accepting."

      "Yeah," I say, knowing he's right.

      It's not the most romantic love, or some big epic romance, but we're
      going to do the best we can with what we've got.

      End

      ~*~

      victoria

      --

      "I got nothing to say I ain't said before / I bled all I can, / don't
      wanna bleed no more / I don't need no one to understand / Why the blood
      runs bold / The hired hand / On heart / Hand of God / Floodland and
      Driven Apart / Run cold / Turn / Cold /Burn / Like a healing hand"-
      "This Corrosion" - Sisters of Mercy

      --

      The Muse's Fool: http://www.unfitforsociety.net/musesfool
      Unfit for Society: http://www.unfitforsociety.net
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