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Fic: Truth Will Out: RR#53: 1/1: Rogue, Hank - R

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  • victoria p.
    Title: Truth Will Out Author: Victoria P. [victoria_p@att.net] Summary: You know how much I loathe seeing you get hurt, Marie, but I feel there s something
    Message 1 of 1 , Nov 15, 2001
      Title: Truth Will Out
      Author: Victoria P. [victoria_p@...]
      Summary: "You know how much I loathe seeing you get hurt, Marie, but I
      feel there's something you need to know."
      Series: Unspoken RR #53 [or 54]
      Timeline: Concurrent with Traumas, after Unexpected, just before Dear
      Marie and Five Minutes
      Rating: R – sexual situations, language
      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, Jenn's Indulgence.
      Feedback: You know you wanna.
      Notes: Thanks to Jen, Pete, Dot, and Meg. Big gushy thanks to Laura,
      with whom I figured this all out on AIM the other night.


      Truth Will Out

      She felt like she couldn't breathe. Logan's lips were everywhere,
      leaving her gasping in pleasure. His hands cupped her breasts, thumbing
      her nipples, as his tongue thrust into her mouth, giving her a preview
      of how his body would soon meld with hers.

      She ran her hands through his hair, over his heavily-muscled shoulders
      and chest, reveling in the feel of his thick hair against her palms. Her
      legs fell open naturally, cradling him against her body, and she rocked
      up against him, trying to get closer.

      Skin. So much bare, warm, wonderful skin, sliding against her body,
      driving her wild with desire. She didn't know where their clothes had
      gone, but she wasn't going to question it now.

      When he released her lips to suckle at her breast, she murmured,
      "Logan," feeling pleasure arc from her nipple to her groin.

      "Marie," he growled, moving to her other breast and sucking greedily, as
      if he couldn't get enough of her.

      She wrapped her legs around his hips and after a slow, rapturous slide
      into her warmth, he was pistoning into her, their grunts and groans a
      rhythmic counterpoint to the banging of the headboard against the wall.

      A sound that seemed get louder, the closer she came to release.

      "Marie! Marie, you in there?"

      Though the haze of desire, she heard Hank calling her name.

      Why the *hell* was he interrupting this devoutly wished-for
      consummation? She was going to kill him if she didn't come because he
      was distracting her..

      "Marie, open up. It is I, Hank. I would like to discuss this broken
      betrothal, if you please."

      Rogue's eyes snapped open.

      She looked around wildly, but she was alone. <Dammit, that dream was
      probably the closest I'm ever going to get to sex with Logan.>

      She was still clutching his dogtags in one hand.

      "Hang on a minute, Hank, will ya?" she yelled. "I fell asleep."

      Pulling on the discarded sweats she'd worn before her ill-fated attempt
      to seduce Logan, she opened the door. "This had better be good, Blue,"
      she snapped. "Because I was having the *best* dream--"

      "I've just spoken with Scott," he replied.

      She sighed and stepped out of the way to let him enter the room. "I
      guess you better come in, then."

      She settled back on the bed as he sat down at the desk and looked at her
      over the rim of his glasses.

      "Are you all right?"

      She licked her lips. "I'm fine, Hank. I was just having a--"

      "Dream. Yes. Did it concern, how shall I put this delicately? That man?"
      His nose wrinkled in a moue of distaste on the last words.

      She felt herself blush and cursed her skin, for once not because of her
      mutation, but because of the porcelain complexion she was usually so
      proud of. She always had to wear her embarrassments in plain sight
      because of it. "That's none of your business, Hank! And, and, his name
      is Logan."

      Hank nodded. "I see. This is worse than I thought. You are quite smitten
      with him."

      "He's very attractive," she allowed.

      Hank rose and began pacing. "Scott mentioned that he feels a connection
      with this woman, Jean. Do you feel the same about that man?"

      She had to stifle a smile at the way Hank made the words "that man"
      sound like a vile epithet. "I think there might be something between
      us," she said slowly. "I know he wants me. I got that from when we
      touched on the lake." She turned away, still blushing. "I -- I want him
      too," she whispered. Hank was one of her closest friends, but he was
      like a big brother. She'd never been comfortable discussing sex with
      him, and now, with his dislike of Logan so evident, she felt really

      "I think so," she said, trying the words on. "Yes. I'm quite smitten
      with him," she affirmed.

      "And this is why your troth did not plight?"

      "No need to get Faulknerian, Hank," she chided, but with a smile. "Scott
      and I made a mutual decision to end our engagement." He looked at her,
      the question obvious in his eyes.

      "That is the tale you wish to tell?"


      "And *that man* -- he had nothing to do with it?"

      "Only in the sense of his bringing *that woman* here." Two could play
      that game, and it was kind of fun, actually, to allow her
      still-simmering resentment toward Jean an outlet.

      She could practically see the wheels turning in Hank's head. He was
      brilliant, but he wasn't necessarily sly, especially when concerned
      about her. He tended to charge ahead like a bull in a china shop
      whenever she was in trouble, demanding answers and generally making a
      nuisance of himself to whomever he perceived to be her persecutors.

      "I know you don't like him, Hank," she said, "but he's a good man. He
      meant well. And oh, he has hidden depths. You wouldn't believe me if I
      told you."

      It was as if a light bulb went off over Hank's head. "Hidden depths,
      yes," he muttered. "That's it." He sat down on the bed next to her and
      took her hand. "You know how much I loathe seeing you get hurt, Marie,
      but I feel there's something you need to know."

      She felt a slight chill of foreboding as she said, "Yes?"

      He took a deep breath. "Some of the children have started a wager. On
      whether you and Scott will get back together, or if, instead, each of
      you will choose a new -- ahem -- bed partner within the next three

      She nodded, unsurprised. "Jubes and Johnny, right?"

      "You knew?"

      "Nah, but it figures. If I weren't involved, I'm sure I'd have money in
      it. Jubilee has a future as a bookie. I have family in Mississippi who'd
      love her. What are my odds and who am I supposed to end up with?"

      He gently squeezed the hand he was still holding. "That's the crux of
      the matter, I fear, my dear. You see, even though he is involved in it,
      Logan has rather confidently wagered a large sum that he will have
      debauched you at the end of the time period specified."

      She sucked in a breath, feeling the anger she'd recently thought
      dissipated welling up again. "Really?" she asked in a tone that could
      cut glass.

      "Yes. Unfortunately, that is not all."

      She pulled her hand from his grasp and stood, wrapping her arms around
      herself. "There's more." It was not a question.

      "Well, Scott has indicated that he believes he will be successful in
      inveigling the doctor into his bed. His very words were, 'if I were you,
      I'd put money down on me and Jean,'"

      "That weaselly motherfucker," she said, her voice remarkably level
      considering how angry she was now.

      "Which one?" Hank inquired delicately.

      "Does it matter? God, how could I be so stupid?" Her voice rose
      steadily. "I send Scott off to 'find his destiny' and fling myself at
      Logan and the two of them are betting money on who can get into whose
      pants first?" She picked up a crystal picture frame holding a photo of
      Scott, a candid shot that caught his cocky grin perfectly. "Fuck that,
      Hank. I'm done with this, this *bullshit*" These last words were
      punctuated with the sound of the frame hitting the wall and shattering
      into a million shards, much like her heart -- no, her pride -- was
      doing. She refused to believe her heart was at all involved. She was
      just like the men. It was all a game, and she would be the ultimate

      "Marie," Hank said, edging out of her way as she looked for more
      breakables to throw.

      "I'm the one who's stunod," she ranted. "I'm the idiot who believed
      that, that *gavonne* when he quoted poetry and drew me pictures. I'm the
      *idiot* who thought he could actually want more from me than a quick
      fuck." She nodded, her jaw clenched. "Thanks, Hank." It was clearly a
      dismissal, and he took it as such, casting her one last concerned look
      as he left her room.

      She went to the desk, then, and rummaged around, looking for her credit
      cards and extra cash. She wasn't sticking around if she could help it.
      She wasn't sure if she was angriest with Scott and Logan, for making a
      fool of her, or herself for believing them. She could hear them all over
      again, this time the mockery evident under the honeyed words.

      "I love you and want to be friends again," Scott had said.

      "You're beautiful and I want to touch you," Logan had said.

      Apparently, she was wearing a "Kick me" sign on her forehead, visible
      only to assholes looking to hurt her. But no more, she thought, even as
      a small voice inside her admitted she still wanted Logan, and would
      probably still sleep with him if he offered. God, she was pathetic.

      Her glove snagged on a pen, and she ripped her hand out of the drawer,
      flinging papers everywhere.

      Right on top, as if destiny were taking a hand, landed a letter she'd
      gotten the day before, postmarked Ossining. There was only one person
      who could be writing her from there, and she'd had no desire to read
      whatever poison Magneto was trying to spread.

      But now she was curious. What did the sly old devil have to say to her,
      that she didn't already know from absorbing him?

      Pulling her glove off with her teeth, she used her thumbnail to slit
      open the envelope. Unfolding the letter, she sat down and read.


      Notes: Ossining is about 25 miles south of Salem Center in Westchester;
      Sing Sing Prison is located there.

      "Stunod" is Southern Italian dialect for "stupid" or having one's head
      in the clouds and not paying attention, from the Italian "stonato" which
      means, "out of tune"

      "Gavonne" is Southern Italian dialect for "cafone" which literally means
      "country man" but idiomatically it's a nasty insult, calling someone a
      barbarian, a pig, a person of no redeeming social value.




      "Precedent, baby! The mother's milk of making your point and being
      right!" Donna Moss, _The West Wing_


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