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FIC: Rogue's Clever Plan: 1/1: NC-17: L/R

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  • victoria p.
    Title: Rogue s Clever Plan Author: Victoria P. [victoria_p@att.net] Summary: I have a plan. A plan? Yeah, a clever plan. Rating: NC-17 - it s a PWP,
    Message 1 of 1 , Feb 7, 2002
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      Title: Rogue's Clever Plan
      Author: Victoria P. [victoria_p@...]
      Summary: "I have a plan." "A plan?" "Yeah, a clever plan."
      Rating: NC-17 - it's a PWP, people! Sex. 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. You want? Ask.
      Feedback: That's the plan, Stan.
      Notes: Thanks to Jen, Pete, Dot, and Meg. And thanks to Beth, who makes
      me laugh. This cantaloupe's for you. Spot the Frankentim reference if
      you can. *g*

      ***

      Rogue's Clever Plan

      "I have a plan."

      "A plan?"

      "Yeah, a clever plan."

      Logan stared at Rogue across the pool table. "Tell me, genius, what's
      the plan?"

      As he bent to take his shot, she said, "We go away for the weekend and
      we have sex."

      The eight ball flew off the table and slammed into the wall, as the cue
      ball ended up in the right corner pocket. She bent and picked up the
      eight ball as he stood and stared.

      Finally, he said, "Not funny, Rogue."

      "I'm not kidding."

      He leaned against the table, absently stroking the pool cue. She
      shivered, imagining those hands on her body.

      "You and me go away for a weekend and have sex. And this does what
      exactly for us?"

      "It solves our problem. I won't follow you around anymore like a wounded
      puppy. You won't growl at every guy I bring home and drive them all away
      so you can have me to yourself."

      "You've been reading 'Cosmo' again, haven't you," he said in
      resignation.

      "Come on, Logan! The sexual tension between us is so thick you could cut
      it with a knife. I swear, sometimes just the way you look at me almost
      makes me come." He swallowed, her words making him hard. "Like that!"
      she continued, her voice triumphant. "Right now, you're picturing me
      naked, aren't you?"

      "Marie--" It came out more as a whine than a growl.

      She nodded in satisfaction, filing away the use of her real name, which
      indicated deep emotion of some sort from him. "I thought so." She
      cocked a hip and looked at him, lower lip pushed out in a pout that had
      been labeled adorable by more than one admirer. He returned her stare
      with a heated gaze of his own. "So, what do you say?"

      "Why do we have to go away? Why can't we do it right here?"

      "Because then everyone will know."

      "You're ashamed to be with me? Is that what you're saying?"

      She exhaled, exasperation clear in her expression and the way she stood,
      hands on hips. "God, no! But think about it. If you and I get together
      here, someone is bound to find out about it. What happens when people
      find out about it? They start asking questions. They think we're in a
      'relationship.'" She made sarcastic air quotes. "I know how much you
      hate that. This way, we do it, get it out of our systems, and no one
      ever has to know."

      The curl of his lips told her how skeptical he was, but she was certain
      this plan would work. She'd tried everything else to get over him over
      the past five years, up to and including almost getting engaged to Remy
      and trying to cultivate a crush on Cable, of all people. That had lasted
      until she'd met Domino. Rogue was tough, but she wasn't stupid.

      He nodded once. "All right. Let's go."

      She blinked.

      "Now?"

      "You got something better to do?"

      She fought down the waves of excitement and nervousness that flooded
      through her. She tried to sound nonchalant when she said, "Guess not,"
      but she couldn't keep her voice quite steady. "Let me go get a bag."

      "You're not going to need much," he warned. "I don't plan on letting you
      out of bed for too long."

      She gave him a dark look. "My skin--"

      "Oh, your skin, your skin!" he mocked, rolling his eyes.

      She knew he was teasing, he wore his ‘I know you can’t resist me’ grin,
      but she still worried. He might not take her mutation seriously, but she
      had to.

      "Logan--"

      "Believe me, your skin is no problem. And if none of those guys you
      dated knew how to get around it, then they were even stupider than I
      thought."

      She smiled, her expression softening from anger to tenderness. "I think
      that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

      He grunted and shrugged one shoulder. "Go get your stuff. I'll be in the
      garage."

      ***

      Rogue spent the ride up to Xavier's cabin in the Adirondacks fighting
      off the jitters. She never noticed the autumnal glory of the trees
      lining the highway. Logan glanced over at her a few times, cigar
      clenched between his teeth, and she was reminded of their first ride
      together, the day they'd met. He'd had that same speculative yet wary
      look on his face, and she'd had the same excited dread gnawing on her
      stomach.

      Of course, that day, she hadn't expected she'd get to sleep with him,
      ever. In fact, up until a few months ago, she'd never expected it, had
      worked hard to get herself to give up on that fantasy, because he'd only
      ever treated her like a kid. She was, as Bobby had put it once, when
      she'd refused yet again to go out with him, Gilligan to Logan's
      Skipper -- always the little buddy, never the love interest. She
      neglected to mention the Gilligan/Skipper slash fiction she'd found on
      the Internet, and walked away with a smile that left Bobby baffled.

      She shook her head. Thinking about Gilligan and the Skipper was putting
      the brakes on her arousal, and she didn't want that. She knew her scent
      was driving Logan crazy, and that thrilled her in ways she didn't even
      have words to describe.

      She didn't know what had effected the change in his attitude. Maybe he'd
      finally been away long enough to notice that she'd grown up when he got
      back. Maybe seeing Jean pregnant with Scott's baby made him realize he'd
      never had a shot there.

      All she knew was that suddenly, the air between them seemed to crackle
      and every conversation took on a double meaning. The hot, hungry stare
      that used to follow Jean now caressed Rogue, making her limbs heavy with
      a sensuality she'd never felt before, and causing her to remain in a
      constant state of arousal. She knew Logan was in the same condition, and
      the jeans he wore didn't allow him much room for denial.

      Her eyes drifted down to check out the way his erection was straining at
      the tight denim as they sat in the slow-moving Friday afternoon traffic
      on the Thruway.

      With mischief in mind, her hand landed on his thigh, her fingers slowly
      climbing toward his groin.

      He growled in response, and she took that as permission to continue her
      exploration, until she reached her goal. He let out a hiss when she
      stroked him. The jeep swerved violently when she unzipped his jeans and
      slipped her hand into his boxers.

      Through the thin silk of her glove, she could feel his heat as she
      gripped the shaft and gently stroked him from base to tip.

      He rumbled again, low in his chest, encouraging her to continue as his
      grasp on the steering wheel tightened. She closed her eyes for a moment,
      calling up faded images, memories of how he liked this done. She jacked
      him harder, her eyes locked on his face, trying to read him. He
      continued to grunt, and began to thrust into her grip.

      And then suddenly, he grabbed her hand and growled, "Stop."

      "Logan?"

      "It's not safe."

      She blinked.

      "*You're* lecturing *me* on auto safety?" she squeaked.

      "Ironic, ain't it?"

      Remembering once again their first meeting, she said, "Just don't hit
      any trees."

      He snorted. "Okay."

      She was silent for a few moments, looking out the window as he fixed
      himself up, keeping one hand on the wheel.

      "Is it me?" she said finally. "It's me, isn't it? I did something wrong.
      Because you *like* the danger. You love the risk." She recalled his
      memories of riding down the Pacific Coast Highway in a convertible as a
      redhead sucked him off. Every man's American dream. "So it had to be
      me."

      He shot her a concerned look. "No, kid. It's not you at all." He paused,
      then, "Well, no, maybe it is you, but not in the way you mean," he
      continued quickly as she gasped and stiffened. "I mean, I never cared
      before, if something happened. If we got into a crash -- I knew I would
      heal and, well, I didn't really care about any of those women. I mean, I
      didn't want them to get hurt, or anything, but I never even thought
      about it.

      "With you -- I worry. I don't want you to get hurt, and if I get too
      excited and drive us off the road into a ditch, you could get hurt. And
      if I get knocked out or something, I can't help you. So, it's just safer
      to wait." She had a warm fuzzy feeling in her belly at his words. Which
      wasn't quite what she expected, and she had a vague hint of doubt that
      this idea wasn't going to work the way she planned. She thought he was
      done and opened her mouth to speak when he said, "And we still have an
      hour to go. I didn't want to make a mess."

      She giggled. "Of course not."

      ***

      They arrived at the cabin about an hour and a half later, having stopped
      off at the local supermarket to pick up some food for the weekend.

      After she unpacked her own bag, she opened his.

      She stared into it and fought to keep the laughter bubbling up inside
      from escaping, because he'd hear it and he probably wouldn't appreciate
      it.

      Underneath the pair of jeans, white tee shirt, hunter green corduroy
      button-down and four pairs of white socks, there were two pairs of long
      johns, three unopened packages of Hanes Sheer Elegance black tights, two
      sheer scarves (green and white) and four -- no, five boxes of condoms.
      Twenty condoms each.

      One hundred condoms.

      “Dear God!” She collapsed on the bed, unable to help herself, laughing
      hysterically.

      He opened the door to the bedroom.

      "What?"

      She stood and dumped his bag out on the bed.

      "Going a little overboard, don't you think?" she asked, indicating the
      abundance of condoms.

      He grinned wolfishly, which made her melt. "Told you we wouldn't be
      leaving the bed." A thoughtful expression crossed his face. "Well, maybe
      for the bathtub. And that couch looks sturdy..."

      "*I* don't have a healing factor," she reminded him.

      "I'm willing to share," he replied, and, still grinning, he pulled her
      against him, molding himself to her back, his hands running urgently
      over her hips.

      She shook her head. "Don't even joke like that, Logan. I don't want to
      hurt you. This is -- we have to be careful here."

      He sobered immediately. "You're right," he whispered, brushing his lips
      down the white streak in her hair. She shivered, relaxing into him as he
      stroked his hands soothingly over her. "I've got it all figured out.
      Tights for you or long johns for me. Whatever you want. We'll be fine."

      He kissed her neck through her hair, and she moaned, pressing herself to
      his body. She ran one gloved hand over his cheek and then up through his
      hair, resting her head in the hollow between his neck and shoulder and
      grinding her ass against his erection.

      He continued his exploration of her body, gloved hands slipping up
      beneath her sweater to cup her full breasts. She wasn't wearing a bra.
      When his thumbs brushed over her already-hard nipples, she moaned and
      arched into his hands.

      He kept up a steady stream of encouragement, whispering in her ear how
      hot she was and how much he wanted her, as his hands moved from her
      breasts to her waist, unzipping her jeans and skimming down the slight
      curve of her abdomen.

      "Great minds think alike," he smirked, slipping his hand into the
      elastic of the tights she wore beneath the jeans.

      "Mmm, Logan," she moaned, barely able to catch her breath as he found
      the tangle of curls between her legs and ran a finger along her wet
      folds. After a few soft strokes, he found her clit and circled it with
      his thumb; his left hand continued to tease her nipples, first one, then
      the other.

      It was like nothing she'd ever felt before. His hands, his lips, the
      brush of his whiskers against her skin -- it was better than she'd ever
      imagined it could be, because it was Logan. Her fantasies hadn't begun
      to match the reality of sex with other men, and sex with other men would
      never measure up to this for her. Later, she would worry about that; for
      now, she simply reveled in the sensations he produced.

      He played her body like a violin, gently but with a firm hand. She tried
      to get enough leverage to thrust against his fingers, rubbing herself
      along the length of his body as they stood before the bed. Her whole
      body tightened like a bow string, and he whispered, "Come on, Marie,
      come for me." His mouth latched onto her neck through her hair, and he
      sucked, hard. She bucked against him as her muscles rippled, sending her
      spinning through the exquisite force of orgasm.

      "Inside me, Logan. Need you inside me," she gasped, slumping against
      him.

      "I thought you'd never ask," he said, laying her on the bed and brushing
      his lips against hers too quickly for her skin to react.

      He grabbed a condom, then pushed the contents of his knapsack onto the
      floor, snagging the white scarf as it floated in the air.

      He wafted it across Rogue's face, and leaned in for a kiss.

      She eagerly met his lips with hers, and when she gasped at the current
      arcing between them, he slipped his tongue into her mouth.

      Kissing Logan was almost as overwhelming as being fucked by him, she
      noted in some distant, still functioning part of her mind. The same part
      of her mind that was sending up warning signals about how *not* clever
      this plan was.

      As usual where Logan was concerned, she ignored the logical part and
      gave into the physical. The feeling of his tongue sliding along hers
      through the wet silk sent a warm liquid feeling through her body,
      centering on her sex and radiating out.

      They broke apart long enough for her to whip the sweater over her head
      and toss it to the floor. He already had the scarf wrapped around her
      torso so he could nibble and suck at her breasts. She fumbled with his
      zipper; when she got it open, she shoved his jeans and boxers down in
      one swift motion, pushing at them with her feet when her hands couldn't
      reach. He did the same with her jeans, then carefully cut a small slit
      in the crotch of her tights.

      "You okay?" he whispered.

      "Yeah," she said, stroking his already-slick cock, enjoying the feel of
      his hard, hot flesh under her hands, even through the silk of her
      gloves.

      Before rolling the condom on him, she ran her thumb over the slit in the
      head, then sucked on her finger. It wasn't as good as being able to
      taste him directly, but it was something. And it obviously pleased him,
      because he groaned, "God, Rogue."

      He hooked his hands behind her knees so he could wrap her legs around
      his hips, and then he slid into her wet heat.

      She locked her ankles and bucked up against him when he stopped moving.
      "You all right, kid?"

      "Better than," she said, raising her face to take his mouth in another
      searing kiss.

      He was so gentle, so – loving -- that she could forget this was about
      sex and nothing more. Even though she knew he had to be frantic -- the
      tension in his arms and the sheen of sweat covering his face told her
      that -- he moved slowly, in long, deep strokes that were driving her
      crazy.

      Again, she thrust her hips to meet his. "I'm not going to break," she
      assured him with a smile when he hesitated.

      "You sure?" he asked, pushing the sweaty hair off her face with
      something akin to tenderness.

      "Oh, yeah."

      So he sped up, making her thrash wildly beneath him. She was never so
      grateful for his strength as she was now, since he was able to balance
      on one hand while with the other he again circled her clit. She felt the
      tension in her body spiral tighter and then she was on the edge of a
      precipice of feeling, a moment of clarity before plunging over into the
      abyss of pleasure waiting below, and she knew.

      "I love you, Logan," she blurted, just as she came, raking her nails
      down his back in her frenzy.

      So softly that later she figured she'd imagined it, he whispered, "Love
      you, too, Marie," as she felt him shudder and come.

      ***

      Post-orgasm, she'd always been one to fall into a deep sleep, and this
      time was no different. When she woke, it was dark, and he was gone. She
      felt a brief moment of panic, that she'd scared him off with her
      unguarded words.

      Then she remembered some advice he'd given her when she'd started
      dating: "Never believe a man who tells you he loves you right before he
      comes, while he's coming, or right after he comes."

      So he wouldn't have put any stock in her words; hadn't he even said it
      back, proving that it didn't really mean anything? Even though she'd
      meant it.

      She pulled her sweater back on and called, "Logan?"

      "In the kitchen." She walked the few steps to the kitchen, where he was
      unwrapping the steaks they'd bought earlier. "How's dinner sound?"

      "I could eat," she said with a smile.

      "Good." Another wolfish grin. "Gotta keep your strength up. It's a long
      weekend."

      "Mmm hmm." She gave him her best seductive smile and went back into the
      bedroom.

      She took something from the drawer in which she'd put her stuff, and
      went into the bathroom. He wasn't the only one who'd packed a few
      surprises, she thought, changing into a sheer black nylon bodystocking
      with a convenient opening at the crotch.

      It was new -- she and Remy had broken up before she'd had a chance to
      wear it, and her sex life had dried up in the fifteen months since then.

      Looking at herself in the mirror, she grinned wickedly. She had a
      feeling Logan would like it as well. Her gloves were the only thing
      missing. She had a pair of extra-long opera gloves in the same sheer
      fabric, since the bodystocking was sleeveless, but she couldn't wait to
      see his reaction, so she went out into the kitchen.

      "I'm ready," she said. He was slicing the cantaloupe they'd bought, so
      he didn't turn around right away. To get his attention, she cleared her
      throat and said, "Looks like a nice, juicy one."

      "Yeah," he answered. "Just gotta use your nose --" He turned and looked
      at her and his words petered out. "God." It was a breath, no more. "You
      look incredible."

      She blushed and reached out a hand for a slice of melon. "Thanks." The
      cantaloupe was as sweet and juicy as it smelled, and when she bit into
      it, the nectar dribbled down her chin and into her cleavage. He
      swallowed hard and leaned toward her as she finished chewing and licked
      the juice off her fingers. "Mmm."

      "Yeah," he said, his hands already at her hips as his tongue licked at
      the drops of juice clinging to her breasts.

      She picked up another chunk of fruit, taking a small bite and offering
      it to him. He ate it from her fingers, not even flinching at how close
      his lips came to her bare skin. She made a low noise in the back of her
      throat, and then he was lifting her onto the table, pushing everything
      aside so she could lie flat.

      "Logan?"

      He raised an eyebrow in response, grabbing a handful of chopped
      cantaloupe. "Lie down." She did.

      He ran the pale orange fruit over her lips, growling a little when her
      tongue came out to swipe a drop of juice off the corner of her mouth.
      Then he traced it down her neck and over her breasts, circling the hard
      peaks of her nipples and then licking and sucking. She moaned and
      squirmed, her legs falling open naturally to let him stand between them.
      He popped the chunk of fruit in his mouth and chewed it, a wicked grin
      on his face.

      "I thought that was for dessert," she said, panting.

      "Maybe I'm a dessert first kinda guy," he answered, taking another piece
      of melon and skating it over her body, then licking the trail it left.
      "Though you know, cantaloupe can also be an antipasto." She moaned in
      response, as his hands massaged her breasts, sending currents of
      pleasure through her body. "And I plan to make a meal out of you."

      She groaned at the cliché. “You make the lamest jokes, Logan.” He
      chuckled, and she shivered at the feel of his whiskers through the sheer
      material that kept him safe.

      Another piece of cantaloupe, and he knelt between her legs, closing his
      eyes and inhaling her scent. She jumped when the cold fruit ran over her
      wet sex, and he laughed softly. "This is gonna be so good, kid. So
      good." His voice was hoarse as he placed the fruit on her abdomen so he
      could slip his gloves on. He rubbed the cantaloupe against her swollen
      folds, then licked it. Her eyes widened as he swallowed the fruit and
      smiled. "God, you're so sweet. You taste so good."

      "I think that's the cantaloupe," she managed, as he began the sweet
      torture again, with another chunk of cool melon, circling it against her
      clit before taking it in his mouth.

      He laughed. "Trust me, it's not."

      He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small sheer square of
      cotton. Once again, he skated a small chunk of melon along her folds,
      but this time, he pressed the cloth to her, and traced her labia with
      his tongue.

      "Logan," she groaned. He lifted her legs over his shoulders, and buried
      his face in her mound, licking and sucking eagerly. She ground her hips
      against his mouth, as he pumped his fingers in and out of her tight
      passage while working her clit with his tongue and lips. She grabbed the
      edge of the table, knuckles white with tension, and strained toward her
      release.

      "God, Logan. I'm going to come. God, Logan. Logan!" Her hips bucked
      against the table and her legs tightened around his head as the powerful
      orgasm washed through her. She felt a sudden gush of wetness and he
      pulled back slightly, face damp with her come.

      He licked his lips greedily. "That was fun."

      "Uh huh," was the only response she could manage, riding out the
      aftershocks of her orgasm. He slid her boneless body down onto the floor
      and used his tee shirt as a barrier so he could kiss her. He tasted of
      cantaloupe and him and herself; sweet and sticky and pungent and
      *right*.

      It was right.

      She just didn't know if he felt that way, too.

      They cleaned up, ate dinner, and spent the rest of the night and the
      next two days in the same fashion. When they weren't having sex, they
      were cuddling, talking, sleeping.

      Rogue was very careful not to let her feelings show again. She didn't
      bring up the future, or even the fact that they idyll would end on
      Monday morning when they drove back to Westchester. She tried to
      convince herself that this was what she wanted, was all she needed from
      him.

      Unfortunately, it didn't work.

      ***

      Rogue woke abruptly, as the nightmare that had her heart racing and her
      palms sweating faded into the dim light of the pre-dawn.

      She shifted in Logan's arms, turning to face him.

      He looked younger and more innocent in sleep, the grim lines on his
      forehead and around his mouth smoothed out, his hair sticking up wildly
      at all angles.

      They were going back to the mansion this morning, and she realized that
      her clever plan had been the biggest mistake she'd ever made.

      She swallowed the tears that threatened. Now that she'd been with him,
      had had his full attention for three days, she didn't think she could go
      back to being friends and nothing more. She was in love with him. Always
      had been, if she was honest with herself. And it was much worse knowing
      what she was missing out on than it had been never having it.

      She struggled out of his embrace. He grunted but didn't open his eyes.
      "Rogue?"

      "Bathroom, sugar."

      He let her go, slipping back into sleep.

      She turned the water on to cover the sound of her tears, and sank to the
      tiled floor of the bathroom, sobbing into the damp towels that smelled
      of him.

      ***

      Logan turned over and felt Rogue's absence. The sheet was cool.

      <Shit.>

      She'd gotten up to go to the bathroom, but she shouldn't have been gone
      long enough for the sheets to get cold. He tensed, worried, until he
      heard the water running. <Shower. She's taking a shower.> But the sound
      wasn't right. And he heard something else that the sound of running
      water couldn't quite cover.

      Crying.

      <Fuck.>

      He rushed to the door, wide awake.

      "Kid. Kid, what's wrong?"

      He heard her sniff. "Nothing. Go away."

      "Open the door, Rogue."

      Another sniff. "No."

      He tried the handle -- it wasn't locked.

      "Rogue--"

      She looked up at him, eyes red and swollen from crying; her nose was
      running and her hair was snarled.

      "Marie, what's wrong?"

      "This was a mistake," she choked out.

      He felt his heart drop into his stomach. He'd never quite understood
      what people meant when they said that; now that he did, he wished he
      didn't.

      "What?" He folded himself into a sitting position on the floor next to
      her. "What do you mean?"

      "This whole thing. The plan. The clever plan wasn't so clever after all,
      was it?" She sniffed and rubbed at her damp cheeks with the back of her
      hand. "It was supposed to finally help me get over you. I'm so sick of
      being 'poor little Rogue, pining for Logan.' I thought, I thought--"

      "You thought this," he gestured between them, "was about sex."

      She nodded. "Didn't you?"

      "No. We've never been about sex, Marie. That's why we're us."

      "But--"

      "Shh." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she laid her head on
      his chest. He dropped a kiss on the crown of her head and said, "You
      know I suck at this heart-to-heart business, kid, but I think this could
      be -- this is what love feels like." He buried his face in her hair,
      hugging her to him.

      "Love?"

      "Yeah."

      "So, maybe it was a clever plan, after all?"

      His lips hovered over her ear as he replied. "Yeah, I think so. And I've
      got another one. We don't have to be on the road until noon. We haven't
      tested that glider out back yet."

      "It's cold out there, Logan."

      "I'll keep you warm."

      "Sounds like a plan."

      End

      ~*~

      victoria

      --

      "I have yet to find a sure thing that I don't doubt / I can't think of a
      thing I can safely think about" - "Song for a Girl Who Has One" - Too
      Much Joy

      --

      The Muse's Fool: http://www.unfitforsociety.net/musesfool
      read my diary: http://musesfool.diaryland.com
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