FIC: Are We Having Fun Yet? (L/R, implied L/J) ***NC17***
- TITLE: Are We Having Fun Yet?
DISCLAIMER: All the characters in this piece of fan
fiction belong to Marvel, Fox, etc. The lyrics belong
to the fellas of Nickelback.
DISTRIBUTION: If you would like permission to archive
this story, please email: wxfonline@....
OFFICIAL WEBSITE ADDRESS: http://www.wxfonline.com
RATING: Rated NC17.
CONTENT: L/R, L/J implied
SUMMARY: Movieverse. Sometimes reality isn't all
it's cracked up to be.
Never made it as a wise man
I couldn't cut it was a poor man stealin'
Tired of livin' like a blind man
I'm sick of sight without a sense of feeling
This is how you remind me
This is how you remind me of what I really am
He comes to me at the oddest times, liking the
perversity of making me squirm in public places. He's
been in my lecture halls and at the supermarket. So
far he's been lucky and we've never been caught. I
can see the Professor's face now, horrified by what
innocent Marie has done.
His favorite spot is the public library. He likes to
catch me there, unaware, trying to prove that I'm not
paying attention. I suppose that's why he does it.
This is, of course, why I never actually tried to
become a member of the X-Men. He knows this. So,
maybe that isn't his goal after all; maybe he just
wants a quick fuck, something to ease the burn.
I walk into the stacks and he makes himself known. I
guess, not certain of how I'll react, he doesn't want
to take the risk of going wholly public with our
encounter. The woody, whiskey scent of cigar smoke
fills my nose, and though I haven't smelled that
particular brand in years, six to be exact, I'll
always know who it belongs to.
The odor surrounds me, leaving me dancing in a veil of
perfume. As it grows stronger, I begin to sense the
undertones of sweat and musk and sex. That's what he
smells like, sex. I don't mean that he's just rolled
out of bed with someone else to come to me. No, it's
pure, unadulterated Parfum d' Logan and I want to
drown myself in it.
I don't know why he waited so long to come to me. I
had been there forever, longing for a little
something, anything to remind me of what it felt like
to be whole, to be a woman, just like the rest of
I find myself clutching at the bookcase in front of me
as the pressure of his body melts into mine from
behind. My eyes drift closed as the steel of his arms
wrap around my waist, teasing the bare flesh at my
midriff. His fingers flick lightly at the tiny bell
pierced to my navel. The heat of his breath caresses
my neck. As warm and gentle as the trade winds, it
dances across my skin, raising goose bumps in its
wake. I can feel his amusement at those little bumps
That amusement surprises him. I suppose, it's because
in the past he's only allowed himself to feel the fire
of animal passion. His discomfort fades quickly
though and is soon surpassed by a swell of cocky male
Personally, I don't pay that much attention to the
whims of his psyche. He's there, flesh pressing
intimately against mine and that's all that really
His hands slide upward, slowly mapping the terrain of
my torso. I feel my body move of its own volition, my
breasts thrusting forward and my ass pressing backward
toward the firm length of flesh that would soon become
one with my body. How many times have I fantasized
about the things I can do to him?
No other woman will ever know him the way I do. I
have a catalog of every sexual encounter he's ever had
in my head. I know about the woman who liked to suck
him off while he drove down the interstate at a
hundred miles an hour. I know about the cage groupies
who would do anything to feel the length of his
erection thrusting up inside of them. I know he'd let
them service him because he couldn't return the favor.
He didn�t want to remember their scent, their taste.
He didn't want to feel the emptiness of those random
I move to reach behind me to touch him and am
surprised to feel a firm pressure on my wrist. It
isn't going to be the old way this time. In his own
way, a way without words, he is letting me know that
this is different. Together, we're different.
I keep my eyes clamped shut, hoping desperately that
he won't simply disappear as easily as he emerged. My
fingers adjust their grasp on the metal of the
bookshelf as I feel the warm, wet length of his tongue
wrap itself around my earlobe. The contact sends
waves of energy skittering through my body. I try to
contain the moan that wells up in my throat, but who
knows if I manage. I find myself quickly slipping
into sensation and I don't much care what anyone else
Finally, his hand closes against the mound of my
breast. He gently eases the lace of my bra aside,
exposing my nipple to the unnaturally cool
air-conditioned atmosphere of the stacks. He runs a
finger 'round my areola as it tightens in response.
My breath catches in my throat as he flicks his
thumbnail slowly back and forth against my plum pink
His free hand begins it's trek southward, mercilessly
teasing my skin as he goes. He slowly massages my
hips, my stomach... where my clothes go, I'm never
sure. All I know is that he is here with me. And, as
his fingers play against the intimate areas of my
body, I find myself clasped in a strong, protective
embrace. We stay like that for a time. He wants to
make sure I understand that he isn't going anywhere.
He is home, here to stay.
As his fingers brush against the raven curls at the
juncture of my thighs, I feel the tears that have
filled my eyes begin to fall. Unspoken, I feel the
loving tenderness in the gesture. Though he will
never say the words, I know that he loves me.
Jean's telepathic call brings it all to a stop. When
I open my eyes, he's gone, as silently as he came.
The fragrant smell of smoke in my nose is the only
thing left to tell me he was really there.
Our time together is damned to be brief. Those stolen
moments, our oasis from reality, is all we will ever
have. But, my lips curl involuntarily as I remember
the sandy silk of his body next to mine.
*Rogue, we have a fitting in twenty minutes*
She's marrying Logan, you know. The tent, the brass
band, he's giving her the whole bag of tricks. He
loves her, always has. I suspect he always will.
I suppose it should hurt, seeing them together, but it
doesn't. She'll never know her Logan the way I know
mine. The Logan in my head, he let's me see things
she'll never know exist.
As I pick up my bag, I feel the soft bristles of the
hair on his face, the warmth of his lips on my neck.
"Let's roll. I have a bridesmaid's dress to try on."
This is how he reminds me who I really am.
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