Since most of these lists weren't in existence last Christmas [or I wasn't on 'em, anyway], and since I haven't written a new Christmas fic, I figured I'd repost this little Christmas fic from last year.
Happy Holidays, y'all!
Title: Christmas Wrapping
Author: Victoria P. [victoria_p@...
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters contained herein. They belong to Marvel and/or Fox, and no infringement on any copyrights is intended.
Summary: Logan and Rogue exchange Christmas gifts
Archive: Sure, just let me know.
Feedback: Please? Consider it a Christmas present.
Notes: Happy Holidays. Here's some foofy Christmas fun. Thanks to Jen & Dot especially, who turned this around so quickly. And to Meg and Pete as always.
He watched her.
He found himself doing that more and more lately. Oh, he'd always known she was a beautiful girl, from the moment he'd set eyes on her in that dive in Laughlin City -- her beauty and innocence shone in that seedy place like a wild rose growing in a garbage dump.
But it had never been his preferred sort of beauty. Yeah, it was great to look at, like one of the old paintings Chuck had installed in the gallery, but it had never made his fingers itch to touch and his mouth go dry, and his groin tighten while images of laying her down on the
Bed and stripping her clothes off played through his brain.
He'd returned from another fruitless journey north, another foray into the cold dead ends of his forgotten past, and she'd been kneeling in the garden, her back to him, weeding or something. She must have heard him approach, because she'd stood and turned, and all the breath left his
body. And then she'd smiled at him, a brilliant smile that lit up her whole face and everything around her, and the world shifted on its axis.
Maybe this time he'd actually been gone long enough to notice that she'd changed when he returned. He didn't know. All he knew was that suddenly Marie was a grown woman, and a damned attractive one. And she was still untouchable. And still, another voice that sounded annoyingly like Cyclops' whispered in his head, too young. Twenty to his God-only-knows-but-probably-older-than-Chuck.
So he did nothing but watch and wait. She wouldn't be twenty forever, and though the gap between them would always be there in years, she could make up for it in experience. Though he hated the idea of her getting that experience with anyone other than himself.
And now she sat on the floor in his bedroom, energetically wrapping Christmas presents for more people than he would have thought possible, her tongue pressed to her upper lip in concentration and her hair falling over her shoulders like a silken veil.
He shook his head. When had he gotten all poetic? Goddammit, he needed to pound on something, fast, and maybe get laid afterward, so he could erase all these damn tender feelings and thoughts that overtook him in her presence.
But he knew he wasn't going anywhere, despite his fear of losing his reputation as the big, bad Wolverine. That's how much hold she exerted on him, with just a smile and the lightest touch of her gloved hand.
"What's wrong, Logan?" she asked, turning and paying him some attention for the first time in what seemed like *hours*.
He shrugged. "Nothin'." <I want to tell you I love you and I don't know how.>
She knew that look. It was his, "I'm bored and I want action" look. "I'll be out of your hair soon," she promised with a grin. "It's just that I can't get anything done in my room, with Kitty and Jubes in and out all the time. After bein' alone for the past few months, I'd forgotten
what havin' roommates was like."
She thought she was a bother. That he didn't want her around. <Dammit.> When had he ever given her that impression? Oh, yeah, whenever he called her "kid" and made eyes at Jeannie while she sat silent and watching.
<Shit. How did things get so fucked up?>
He shrugged again and grunted.
She wondered if now was a good time. He seemed annoyed. But he always seemed annoyed lately. Especially around her. She tried not to let it hurt; she'd known that he'd get tired of her clinging to him someday. The fact that he'd let her hold on for four years still surprised her. The fact that he still came back to the mansion, called it home, and came looking for her first thing every time he returned had to mean something, she told herself. What, she was never quite sure, since the hot looks he directed at Jean never came her way, and the flirtatious banter he kept running with Ororo never crossed his lips when she was alone with him.
She was his kid sister, as everyone from the Professor on down to the cook had tried convincing her over the years, as her crush deepened and transformed into a love that radiated from every pore every time she was around him -- evident to everyone except him, it seemed. Or else he knew and he was embarrassed.
But she was determined to take the plunge. She'd worked so hard for this and he was the one she wanted to share it with. Finishing her wrapping, she stood, holding a small box in one ungloved hand. He didn't mind when she went ungloved. It was one of the small things he did for her that made her feel loved and safe with him, even if he loved her like a sister. <Stop thinking,> she told herself, <just do it.>
Holding the box out to him, she said, "I got this for you."
His eyes widened and his nostrils flared. He could smell fear underneath the usual Marie-scent that pervaded the room. Why was she scared of giving him a gift?
He stood up, feeling awkward. "Aw, kid, you didn't haveta."
"I know," she said, shoving it at him. "Open it." He took it and put it down on the bed.
"Wait. I got yours here somewhere," he muttered, hating the whole Christmas thing. He'd gone shopping for little gifts for everyone, as he did every year, muttering curses that kept even the most hardened shoppers away from him as he stalked through the mall. This year, he'd been uncharacteristically hesitant about Marie's gift. He wanted to get her something that showed how much he cared, but he was afraid to get anything that might reveal his feelings. A paradoxical conundrum, as Hank might have said.
He handed the gift to her brusquely, still unhappy with his choice, and that's when he felt it.
Her skin -- her bare skin -- brushing against his. She didn't flinch, as she normally did, on the rare occasions when he was careless. She stood looking at him, eyes bright, the smell of fear coming off her more strongly now.
"Do ya trust me, Logan?" she asked, her voice thick.
He nodded, unable to speak, trying not to get his hopes up.
She raised a bare hand to his face, stroked his cheek. He grabbed it and pressed his lips to it, the sweet, salty taste of Marie almost enough to overwhelm him.
"How? When?" He couldn't get out much more than that, wouldn't release her hand.
She swallowed. "A couple of weeks ago. Professor Xavier and I were working on some meditation techniques, and we found the switch. If I concentrate, I can touch without hurting." She blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears from spilling over. "I wanted you to be the first to know," she whispered. One crystalline tear slid down her ivory cheek, and he dropped her gift on the bed so he could wipe it away with his thumb.
He heard the hitch in her breath as he touched her, and could smell the change in her - arousal replacing fear. "That's, that's great kid," he mumbled, thinking, <Now that she can touch anyone, you're going to lose her, you dumbass. You should have told her how you felt before. Now she's going to think you only want her because you can touch her.>
"I was kinda hoping," she continued, dropping her eyes, "that you might, you know, give me a kiss under the mistletoe. If you want, that is," she added hurriedly, slipping her free hand into her pocket and producing some mistletoe. She still wouldn't look at him. "Don't, you know, don't think you have to or anything." She didn't see how his nostrils flared and his eyes darkened with desire.
He pulled her roughly against him and growled before pressing his lips hungrily to hers.
He slipped his tongue along her lips, teasing them into opening, and then gently tasted her mouth. She dropped the mistletoe and slipped her hand into his hair, running it down the side of his face, touching him skin-to-skin and reveling in it.
He broke the kiss, wanting to tell her how he felt before things got out of hand. And he had a feeling they would, quickly.
"Wow," she said, looking adorably dazed. "I never knew..." Which meant he had to kiss her again, to show her that it could be even better. She learned quickly and thrust her tongue deep into his mouth, making him desperate for more of her.
He sat down abruptly on the bed and pulled her onto his lap. He dropped a hot trail of kisses along her jaw, up to her ear. "I love you, Marie," he whispered, "I have for a long time."
She gasped again, and took his face between her hands and kissed him fiercely. "I love you, too, Logan, but I never thought, I never hoped--"
"I know. I was stupid," he murmured between kisses, laying her back on the bed and unbuttoning her shirt.
"I was just a kid," she replied. "You're not stupid."
And then the time for meaningful conversation was past, as he slid her bra off her breasts, stopping to admire their rosy perfection before licking and sucking at one nipple, then the other. Her moans and movements drove him on, and he pressed kisses down her stomach. He dipped his tongue into her belly button and she said, "Oh, Logan." He grinned. She put a hand on his shoulder periodically and squeezed, murmuring, "Hold on. Wait a second." And he knew she was trying to hold onto her concentration.
"You ain't seen nothing yet," he rumbled, undoing her jeans and sliding them down her long legs. Next, he removed her socks and pressed kisses to her instep. He ran his hands up her legs slowly, stopping to drop kisses behind her knees and then on the sensitive flesh on the inside of her thighs. <Focus,> she reminded herself again.
His hand slid under the waistband of her panties and she raised her hips so he could remove them as well. He stroked her gently, then moved his hand over her clit more purposefully, in a circular motion that was making her crazy. His lips replaced his hand, then, and he sucked and bit gently, using his tongue to drive her over the edge.
White spots started to appear before her eyes and she thought she was going to die. She was going to die if he stopped. "Don't stop," she moaned. "Please, Logan, don't ever stop." And her body shuddered as her muscles contracted and she climaxed. He moved up and kissed her, swallowing her scream, and she could taste herself on his tongue. Even then, a small part of her mind remembered to concentrate on not hurting him.
"Wait," she whispered, "I need to--" she broke off, but he understood and gave her a few moments to regain control. Then her hands fumbled at the buttons of his shirt, because she wanted to feel him against her and inside of her, all of him. She whispered that as she undid his jeans, and the growl she got in response made her shiver with pleasure. She was still feeling the aftereffects of the orgasm when he rolled the condom onto his hard length and positioned himself at her entrance. "Are you sure?" he whispered. "We don't have to do this now."
"Please, Logan. I need to feel you inside me. Consider it my Christmas present."
"Okay, darlin', but it's gonna hurt a little bit. I'll be careful, though." He shifted her hips and slowly pushed into her. He felt the barrier of her virginity give way, and something primal welled up within him. She winced slightly before adjusting to the feel of him inside her.
The pain helped her focus. He trembled, trying to keep control, go slow. She whispered words of encouragement, and the pained grimace disappeared from her face.
"It's okay, Logan. It doesn't hurt," she whispered, hooking one leg around him and rubbing her foot along his calf.
He moved slowly in and out of her, but her words and moans and kisses and touches made it hard, so very hard to keep control. When her hips bucked up to meet his, he lost it. Feeling her tightness constrict around him, he came, driving into her hard as the lights exploded behind his eyes. He had enough presence of mind not to collapse his considerable weight on top of her; he lowered himself gently, resting his head on her breasts.
"I love you," she said again.
"I love you, too, darlin'. Merry Christmas."
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