FIC: Unspoken RR #57: One Hundred Dollars: 1/1: L/R: NC-17
- Title: One Hundred Dollars
Author: Victoria P. [victoria_p@...]
Summary: "A hundred bucks? That's what I'm worth to you?"
Series: Unspoken RR #57 [dear god!]
Timeline: Directly after "A Sure Thing"
Rating: NC-17 to be safe
Disclaimer: All X-Men characters belong to Marvel and Fox; this piece of fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights.
Archive: Lists, RR index at jenn's Indulgence, Muse's Fool
Feedback: Builds strong bones.
Notes: Thanks to my gusys (sic): Jen, Meg, Dot, Pete & M'Rae. To Laura, who pushed me until the writer's block finally broke.
One Hundred Dollars
Logan grumbled the whole ride over to the Hilton, planning ways to get back at Betsy for this little stunt.
The night clerk made as if to stop him on his way to the elevator. He bared his teeth. The man returned to reading his newspaper.
Logan hit 'three' on the panel, shaking his head at the lax security even as he was grateful for it.
Something nagged at the back of his mind, but he was too annoyed to pay attention. He hated hotels -- the noise, the smells, the freaky carpeting, the questionable sheets -- they were the same the world over, and they grated on his hyperacute senses.
The elevator doors opened and he exited onto the third floor. The sign pointed left for rooms 301 through 345, and right for 302 through 344. "Room 313," he mumbled. He turned left and took a deep breath.
And it all clicked into place. The scent that had been nagging at the edges of his consciousness suddenly became identifiable.
Betsy wasn't staying here. Marie was.
"I take back every bad thing I ever said about you, Betts," he muttered, not even trying to stifle the grin that creased his face.
Betsy could be annoying, and more than a little domineering, but she usually had his best interests at heart. He didn't know how she'd gotten this particular bit of information, and he didn't care.
He strode down the hall, purpose in every step, imagining a continuation of his conversation with Marie, one in which he got to check out the place his tags had been living.
The flimsy card-key lock was no match for Logan's superior breaking and entering skills, and she hadn't bolted the door. He'd have to have a talk with her about that later, he thought absently.
The door swung open silently, creating an arc of light in the darkened room, and he entered, closing the door behind him, his body already tense with arousal from her scent.
And promptly got hit in the head with something hard and rectangular. Something that felt remarkably like the Gideon Bible that resides in every hotel room in the country.
Before he could identify himself, she followed up with a punch to his stomach. She'd put some muscle behind it, he noted clinically as he caught her other fist and easily subdued her, holding her within the adamantium circle of his arms. She was wily, though, and swept her foot out, just as he'd taught her in their short time together, catching him behind the knee. He didn't let her go, and they tumbled to the floor.
They rolled until he was on top. Then he grasped both her hands in one of his and stretched them over her head, pinning her with his body.
"Marie, baby, it's me, Logan."
She bucked her hips in response, which made him suck in a breath.
"I'm glad I hit you. I hope it hurt," she hissed.
"What? Why? If this is about Betsy--"
"Good. She's a business associate and a friend. Nothing more. So," he shifted his weight a little, moving his legs to either side of hers, but still keeping their bodies pressed close. He was enjoying it and he knew she knew it. She was enjoying it, too, if her scent was anything to go by. He just had to figure out why she was so pissed. "Why'd you hit me?"
"You broke into my hotel room."
He nodded, then remembered the room was still dark and she might not be able to see him as well as he could see her. "Yeah. You really should use the bolt. Those magnetic locks open if you look at them too hard."
She squirmed beneath him, making it difficult for him to focus on the conversation. His hand tangled with both of hers above her head, the soft glide of her skin sending shockwaves to his already hard cock.
"God, Marie," he rasped, and it hit him full-force. "You're touching me."
She raised an eyebrow in a gesture that was eerily familiar. "And Scott said you were slow on the uptake."
He growled low in his throat at the mention of her fianc� -- ex-fianc� now, if the way the guy was hovering around Jean was any indication. He knew Rogue could feel the vibration when he growled; her body trembled beneath him, and not from fear.
But even in his surprise he hadn't released her. His free hand came up to caress her cheek, wonder flooding through him. "How--"
"I went to see Erik."
He unconsciously tightened his grip on her, his free hand now entwined in her hair. "And you're all right? He didn't try anything?"
"He touched me." Every muscle in Logan's body tensed; she must have realized he was afraid for her, because she continued quickly, "He *taught* me. Everyone said it couldn't be done, but he did it. He showed me how to touch." Her voice was husky from some emotion stronger than lust or fear or anger. It took him a moment to place it -- it was joy.
Logan cupped her face tenderly, sliding his thumb along the curve of her cheek and then over the full lips he'd been dreaming of since that night on the Statue of Liberty.
He knew that kissing her, making love to her, meant something it had never meant before -- she would be conscious of the touch of his hand, his lips, this time. He would wed her to him, body and soul, with the touch of his bare lips on hers. Her first kiss without ill effect.
He dropped his head and, whisper-soft, kissed her.
He was kissing Marie.
The thought sent another hot rush of desire through his veins.
He nibbled at the corner of her lips, coaxing her mouth open much as he had earlier coaxed the lock to her room. He slid his tongue inside, reveling in the warm velvet wine of her taste.
She moved beneath him, their legs tangled together. He freed her hands so he could run his fingers through her hair as he stroked her throat with his other hand. She gripped his shoulders and skated her teeth lightly along his bottom lip before sucking on his tongue. Electricity again jolted through his body, and his caresses grew fevered as he felt the need to touch her, consume her. He wanted to absorb her as she had him, and keep her safe and loved within himself.
And then she clocked him with something that felt like the remote for the television.
"Wha--?" Dazed by the passion of their kisses, he didn't move quickly enough, and she managed to break free of him.
She stood, panting, in the center of the room.
"A hundred bucks? That's what I'm worth to you?" she snarled as he slowly got to his feet.
He froze. "Oh, shit." The bet. He's completely forgotten the bet.
And she obviously had not.
"You better believe you're in deep shit, buddy," she snapped, launching the box of tissues from the nightstand at him.
He ducked and it clattered harmlessly against the wall. "Marie, baby--"
"Don't you 'baby' me, mister. I still have enough of Magneto's power to pretzelize you."
He felt laughter bubble up inside, but kept his face impassive. "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," he intoned with mock solemnity.
His good humor only seemed to make her angrier.
"What?" she shrieked. "You weren't exactly *scorning* me two seconds ago."
"No," he agreed, holding his hands up as she reached for the lamp, which was (luckily for him) bolted to the table. "I wasn't." He took a step, and when she remained silent, he kept moving until he could take her hands in his own.
Again, the feel of her bare flesh against his sent a thrill through his body.
"I'm worth more than one hundred dollars," she said.
"Yes, you are," he replied. "And don't ever forget it." He brought her hands up to his lips and reverently kissed her palms, darting his tongue out to taste the soft tang of the skin that so tantalized him. He could smell her growing arousal as he kissed her knuckles, and then took the tip of each finger into his mouth, licking and sucking gently.
"The bet," she reminded him, but the anger was gone from her voice.
"It was supposed to be a compliment."
That wrung a weak laugh from her. "That's what St. John said, but--"
"St. John?" So that's how Betsy had known where Marie was. He must have spoken with Marie and then Betsy had picked it out of his mind.
"Yeah. St. John. He said you meant it as a compliment." She took a deep breath and he wondered if she was still wearing his tags. "Just so you know--"
"It's not." He nodded and went back to fondling her fingers. "It's like -- it's being bought and paid for. It's being played for a fool. I don't like either of those options, Logan."
"I know, and I didn't mean--"
"How am I supposed to know what you meant?" Her voice was rising again.
"I want you. You picked that up from my thoughts, right? The last time we touched, at the lake?"
She blushed but held his gaze. "Yes, but--"
"No buts," he whispered.
She overrode him. "But how do I know it's *me* that you want and not the -- however many hundreds of dollars are in the pot now?"
"If I win, I won't take it," he said immediately. He really couldn't see any other way to answer her question, and he couldn't have cared less about the cash. She was right. "You're way more important to me than any amount of money, Marie."
"Prove it," she challenged.
"I'm trying," he said, feeling that laughter bubble up again, and this time letting it out, "but you keep talking."
"Oh," she whispered, dropping her eyes.
He cupped her chin and stared down into her eyes. "I'm going to kiss you, Marie." She raised her face to his, eyes fluttering closed as he pressed his lips to hers in a searing kiss he felt all the way to the marrow of his metal bones.
He couldn't get enough of her; he didn't think he ever would. His hands were everywhere, caressing, teasing, stroking her body. He ripped his shirt off, popping all the buttons, which scattered across the floor. Her sleep shirt followed, tossed over his shoulder carelessly. He just wanted to feel her against him.
He thumbed her nipples, making her arch her back and cry out wordlessly for more. He bent his head to suckle at one, and then the other, paying homage to their perfection with lips and tongue. Her hands skimmed over him, learning the feel of his body, making his muscles jump when she returned the favor and played with his nipples, before moving around and sliding down his back to squeeze his ass.
Her legs cradled him and he rocked his groin against her wet heat, feeling it even through her panties and his jeans. Her hands slid beneath his waistband and he sucked in a breath as her fingers moved along his hard shaft.
He kissed his way down her stomach, feathering touches along the soft curve of her abdomen, enjoying the softness of her skin. Skin that only he had touched. It spoke to the animal in him as well as the man -- she was an undiscovered country, and he was staking his claim.
"God, Marie," he groaned, inhaling the deep, rich scent of her arousal. She purred in response, raising her hips off the bed, an invitation he was not slow to take. He slipped his thumbs beneath the waistband of her underwear, slowly dragging them down her long, toned alabaster legs--
And the phone rang.
"Grrr. Ignore it, Marie."
"I-- I--" He grinned at her inability to form words, and dropped delicate kisses along the sensitive flesh on the insides of her thighs. She was an X-Man to the core, though, he realized in resignation, when he heard her say, "Hello?"
His acute hearing picked up Charles Xavier's voice on the other end. "Rogue, it's Charles. I understand you saw Erik this evening."
"Yes, Professor, I did. He--"
"We can discuss that later. It's of the utmost importance that you return to the mansion, now. This night's work is not finished. The bomb at the warehouse--"
"Bomb at the warehouse?" Rogue repeated in a daze.
"One of Warren's warehouses was bombed by the Friends of Humanity earlier this evening. I'm afraid Candace did not make it out alive."
Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, God."
"Yes. Warren is here tonight. Scott was heading toward the cabin in the mountains, but I have called him back as well. Betsy has said she will contact Logan. I've just received some information about the Friends of Humanity's plans for the rest of this evening.
"This time, the X-Men will be there to stop them."
"Yes, Professor," she said. "We'll be right there."
She hung up, and Logan felt the desire drain from his body. "Promise me you'll stay at the mansion," he demanded as she pulled her underwear back on.
"I can't promise that, Logan. I'm part of the team--"
"You're the weak link, Marie. You know that. A few more weeks of training with me, you'd be ready to fight, sure, but these fuckers mean business. They're not going to let you get away with defensive tactics--"
She pressed a finger to his lips, followed by a swift kiss. "Get dressed, Logan. You'll be there to protect me."
He sighed. "Yeah. I guess I will."
"Not that I need it," she muttered under her breath. It send a chill down his spine, but he chose to ignore it, since she obviously hadn't intended him to hear.
They dressed quickly, and were headed back to the Xavier mansion in less than ten minutes. Logan feared what the rest of the night would bring.
And that he'd lose everything he'd just gained.
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