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FIC: Osae Waza [X2] 1/1 (Logan/Marie) R

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  • Macha
    TITLE: Osae Waza AUTHOR: Macha (macha at healthyinterest dot net) ARCHIVE: WRFA. Others, please ask. SPOILERS: X2 RATING: R DISCLAIMER: These guys
    Message 1 of 1 , Oct 19, 2003
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      TITLE: Osae Waza
      AUTHOR: Macha (macha at healthyinterest dot net)

      ARCHIVE: WRFA. Others, please ask.

      SPOILERS: X2

      RATING: R

      DISCLAIMER: These guys belong to Marvel and Fox, not me. Dammit.

      SUMMARY: Selfless, giving soul that he is, Logan offers to help Marie break in her uniform. Osae waza: a pinning technique in Aikido.

      THANKS: To Lulu, Philateley, Meg, and Katie for timely comments and editing, and especially to Em, for that *and* for rescuing this fic from DeadLaptopHell. Happy Totally Late Birthday! :)

      Osae Waza

      Onegaishimasu: please [let's practice together]

      Logan's goal was simple: make sure Marie could fight.

      That was truly the only thing on his mind when he started meeting Marie at the gym for two hours each night. He had no ulterior motives. So she happened to wear skin-tight lycra -- that certainly wasn't why he worked her so hard. No other goals at all except to train Marie to defend herself under any circumstance, so she would always come back alive. He'd been working with her for a couple months, working through his grief and anger by physical exertion. Bottom line was he had no intention of experiencing that kind of loss again, not with Marie.

      So he taught her to fight, and she grew more confident, more quick every day, until it took some actual effort -- not much, but some -- for Logan to take her down.

      And then one day he ducked under a slightly wild punch aimed at his midsection and barreled into her full tilt. She landed spread-eagled on the mat, his weight pinning her down.

      Logan pushed himself up onto his elbows, his thigh slung across hers, still holding her lower body down. He peered down at her stunned expression, momentarily concerned. "Marie?"

      Then she started to laugh, her whole body shaking delightfully under his, and he levered himself up, settling on the mat beside her. She was free to get up, but she still lay there, laughing tiredly.

      "What?" he demanded, not allowing his eyes to stray down to her curves.

      "Look at me," Marie managed, still giggling. She lifted one arm to indicate her lithe form, and Logan's gaze involuntarily slid down her body, noting the way the damp fabric clung to her curves. "Hell," she continued, one gloved hand brushing his knee, "look at you. We're all sweaty."

      Inappropriate, Logan told himself. Mental images of *other* ways he and Marie could get all sweaty together were wholly inappropriate. With an audible groan, Logan pulled his mind from the gutter and forced himself to stare only into her eyes. "Sweat's good for you."

      Her laughter tapered off, leaving her grinning up at him. "I don't know how y'all do this in the leather."

      Logan frowned down at her, valiantly ignoring some thoughts involving Marie and leather. "Whaddya mean?"

      She gestured at her lycra-clad body to illustrate. "The uniform," she explained. "Must get pretty hot in there."

      "You've worn one."

      Marie shrugged one shoulder, and Logan's gaze dropped to her chest. "Sure," she answered, more subdued now, the memory of *why* she'd worn the outfit coloring her words, "to stand in a room and look menacing."

      Logan had had too much of misery these last months, and he'd been actually enjoying himself with Marie just now. He didn't want that to end, so he arched a skeptical eyebrow. "*That* was your menacing look? Maybe we should have classes for that."

      Marie snorted and pushed herself upright, crossing her legs to face him. "Glowering 101?" she teased, following his lead away from darker subjects. "You'd be the perfect instructor." She flashed an impish grin and talked right over his protests. "Besides, it's hard to look threatening when your outfit is so..." She stopped, biting her lip as she searched for the right word.

      When your outfit is so *what*, Logan wondered, leaning toward her just a little. So tight? So sexy? So--

      "Binding," she decided with a little nod.

      Concerned, Logan furrowed his brow. "Whaddya mean binding?"

      Marie tilted her head to one side and poured on the accent. "Well, sugar, I'm not accustomed to being encased in leather." Logan made a sound that came nowhere close to actual words, and Marie's slow smile widened. "Though I did appreciate what it did for my figure."

      Again, Logan found himself staring at her breasts. He jerked his gaze back to her amused face and thought he might actually be turning a bit red. He gave her his best glower. "You're not wearing leather to show off that body, Marie," he pointed out. Her smug smile slipped, and she looked uncertain. Logan considered the fact that was able to speak at all a victory, since lesser men would've been reduced to speechlessness. Still, he should say something to put her at ease. Or not.

      Because he remembered how stiffly he'd moved when he first put on the leather outfit. For her own safety, he wanted Marie to work through that in a safe environment. And if he got to see that body of hers encased in smooth black leather? Well, so much the better.

      "Same time tomorrow," he told her, rolling to his feet and giving her a wolfish grin. "And Marie," he hesitated, enjoying the anticipation on her face. "Wear the leather."


      Yoi: ready

      Rogue didn't think she'd be able to breathe until Logan cleared the door. He was moving confidently, as always, even swaggering a bit in those silly sweat pants. At least he'd been wearing the tank top today. Logan's arms were simply amazing.

      Sometimes she let him tackle her just so she could feel him land on top of her. Cheap thrills, sure, but it's not like she could look forward to much else, considering her skin.

      Logan disappeared without turning back, and Rogue rolled to her feet. Wear the leather. Was he serious? She'd feel like an idiot showing up in full X-Men regalia if he was wearing sweats and a tank top.

      Plus she wasn't sure if she was really part of the team, considering recent events, or if her brief trip to D.C. was more of a temporary fill-in kind of thing. On top of which no one had ever told her what to do about the uniform. It was sitting in that glass case in the hallway, and while Rogue had never noticed a lock, she wasn't sure of uniform protocol. Was she supposed to sign it out? Was someone in charge of the uniforms?

      She shrugged and decided not to worry about it. After all, Logan was kidding. He probably just wanted to see if he could rattle her with that gruff voice and that knowing smile and that incredible chest -- Wait. No. Just the first two. He knew she wanted him, and he was using his sex appeal to make her blush.

      And she just knew that if she showed up in uniform, he would laugh and laugh and then she would have to kill him. So, really, it would probably be best for all concerned if she just forgot all about the way Logan's eyebrow quirked when he told her to wear the leather.

      When he'd *jokingly* told her, she reminded herself. He wasn't serious. He couldn't be serious.

      Though she *had* noticed the way his gaze slid down her body. She wasn't sure there was a woman alive who *wouldn't* notice that look from Logan. That look that said he wanted to eat you up.

      Mmmm, Rogue thought. To be Logan's dessert.

      She shook herself out of such ridiculous thoughts. He'd just reacted as any normal male would to a female body in lycra. It wasn't like Logan wanted *her*.

      Rogue staggered to the shower and peeled off her bodysuit, thrilling, as always, at the feel of something other than cloth on her skin. She stayed under the spray longer than necessary, and emerged feeling slightly overheated. The shower, she told herself. Nothing to do with that knowing grin Logan had given her.

      Dammit. She wasn't supposed to be thinking about that anymore. She wasn't going to think about his biceps or his pecs or --

      "Argh!" Rogue gave her trashcan a vicious kick. "Fuck!" Probably wasn't a good idea while barefoot to kick a metal object.

      See? All of it was Logan's fault with his bedroom eyes and his sexy voice. Rogue glared in the general direction of his room as she slid into bed, determined not to think about Logan like that anymore.

      Then she had quite a dream involving Logan, leather, and the blue mat in the gym. She woke up flushed and frustrated. Rogue glared at the clock, knowing she'd never get back to sleep, even though it was only five a.m.

      Rolling out of bed, she made her way absently down to the lower levels and found herself standing in front of the uniform display. Okay, she thought. Maybe I'll wear the leather.

      To train. After all, it *was* a little binding. She really should practice moving in it, break the leather in. And who better to break her in than Logan?

      Rogue flushed. Not like *that*, of course. Break the *leather* in. Flustered, she pulled her uniform out and retreated to her room. The day passed too slowly for her tastes, hours dragging past dreadfully slowly when she thought about sweaty Logan in the gym, then skipping along too fast when she realized she hadn't made a decision about the leather yet.

      Then it was dinner, and then it was time to meet Logan. Still undecided, Rogue brought a lycra bodysuit and the uniform with her down to the gym. She vacillated while she undressed, sure that if she wore the leather, Logan would take one look at her and laugh his fool head off.

      Unless... Hell, even Rogue had noticed how flattering the uniform was for her body. It slimmed in all the right places and emphasized certain other areas. And Logan was certainly the kind of man to appreciate the female form. *Any* female form.

      She narrowed her eyes and studied the supple black leather. After months and months of sexual frustration brought on by Logan strutting around in his tight jeans and his giant belt buckles and, worse, his tight leather uniform, maybe it would be kind of fun to pay him back. Maybe some torture-by-leather was appropriate.

      Defiantly, Rogue tossed the lycra bodysuit in her locker with her clothes and slithered into her leather uniform. The pants were low-cut and form-fitting, and the bodice had almost a princess waistline, arcing down to be fastened by a belt. Rogue leaned forward and zipped up to her breastbone. She straightened up and carefully pulled the zipper up the rest of the way, tugging a bit at the mandarin collar.

      Nervously, she peered into the mirror, half-expecting to see a girlish form all dressed up in leather. But the uniform was as she remembered it -- clinging to her curves in all the right ways. She turned, attempting to see the uniform from all angles, but the tight leather made movement a challenge.

      Rogue walked in small circles, twisting and leaning and pulling her knees up to her chest, listening to the leather creak in protest.

      You can do this, she told herself, grabbing a ponytail holder on her way out of the locker room. She ignored the butterflies in her stomach and headed for the gym. She let her hips sway a little more than usual, fighting the stiff leather every step of the way. Then she reached the doorway and caught sight of Logan, and she hadn't the faintest idea what she'd been thinking with this stupid plan.

      Because Logan had worn the leather too. And he was warming up, wearing only the leather pants with that big belt buckle. His glorious chest bare, his muscles rippling as he stretched.

      Marie leaned against the doorframe and tried to remember how to breathe.


      Mawatte: turn around

      Logan was a hard guy to sneak up on, and an even harder guy to surprise. Marie almost managed the first, appearing suddenly at the door to the gym while he was warming up. She damn sure nailed the second, because she'd done as he'd requested and worn the leather.

      Yes, technically, he'd seen her wearing it before. He even fondly remembered the way she'd glowed when he'd handed it to her, one small happy moment in a dark, dark day. But he'd been far too preoccupied by other concerns to really *look* at her.

      Damn, but he was a stupid man.

      Logan had no idea how he'd managed *not* to notice 60 inches of leather clinging to dangerous curves. And just when the hell had the kid acquired *that* body, anyway? She'd been rail thin when she climbed into his truck, half-starved. He'd known she'd fill out some with regular meals, but he hadn't expected her to fill out like -- like *that*.

      Blinking, Logan realized he'd been standing stock still on the workout mat, staring at Marie. And not at her face, which was flushed when he finally tore his gaze from her legs. She gave him a smile, though. A knowing smile. A smile that conveyed that she knew *exactly* why he'd been staring.

      When the hell had she learned how to smile like *that*?

      "Hiya, Logan," Marie said, sauntering into the gym, her hands twisting most of her hair into a ponytail at the back of her head, leaving the platinum strands free. Her one vanity, though seeing her in the suit, Logan figured she deserved ten or eleven at the very least.

      "Marie," Logan greeted, satisfied that he sounded completely unaffected. He might've been drooling over her like a jackass, but he didn't want her to *know* he was doing it. Especially not with the way those big brown eyes were surveying his bare chest appreciatively. This training session was starting to take on a very different tone than he'd expected.

      She reached him and took one more step than strictly necessary, stopping very close to him. Then she frowned and made a wordless noise of annoyance.

      "What's wrong?"

      "Nothing," she answered, rolling one shoulder, which did very good things for her chest and very bad things to Logan's sanity. "Dammit."

      "Marie, what's the problem?"

      She gave him an exasperated look. "It's nothing. Just -- the ribbing," she hesitated, a flush stealing across her cheeks, "kinda pinches."

      She shifted again, and Logan concentrated very, very hard on holding her gaze. Marie tilted her head a bit and fixed him with a speculative look. "Could you turn around for a second?"

      Logan worked at it for a moment and found some words. "Why?" Okay, *a* word.

      "Underwire's not sitting right and I can't fix it unless I unzip."

      Logan merely blinked at her. Surely she wasn't going to--

      Marie brought one gloved hand to her throat and raised her eyebrows at him. Logan jerked 180 degrees around and stared dumbly at his image in the mirrored wall. The top of her head appeared next to his left shoulder, and he met her gaze in the mirror.

      She grinned. "Just making sure you can't see me."

      She disappeared behind his larger form, and Logan clenched his jaw at the obscenely loud sound of a zipper releasing its hold. Her breathing was uneven, and Logan could hear her struggling with the stubborn material.

      When he could take not one more second of standing inches away from a half-naked Marie, he injected a good deal of amusement into his voice and asked, "Need some help, darlin'?"

      Marie laughed easily, touching his shoulderblade with one gloved hand. "You're probably better at it than me, but I don't feel like trying to explain where it pinches."

      Logan swallowed an unhelpful suggestion about measuring her breasts with his hands. He crossed his arms and glared at the mirror, where his interest in Marie's little escapade was rapidly becoming noticeable.

      Luckily, he heard the sound of a zipper, and Marie's relieved sigh. "There," she said. "Fixed it."

      Logan was already walking away, busying himself with the leather tunic he'd tossed over a chair. By the time he tugged it on and fastened himself into the second half of the suit, he was back in control.

      He was training Marie, for God's sake. Training her to fight. To kill, if necessary. He was training her to live, and he wasn't going to leer at her like some--

      Marie was stretching.

      Logan turned to face her and stopped short, because Marie was stretching, legs slightly spread, bent in half at the waist. His eyes tracked the lines of her body, from her gloved hands on the mat, partially obscured by strands of dark and light hair, up that long, pale neck, her elegant back, encased in black leather, up, up, up to the glorious curve of her ass.


      Marie twisted a little, giving him an odd look from her position. "What's wrong?"

      Logan managed a nonchalant shrug. "The leather's moving with your body," he said, letting his gaze drift just a little. "Uniform's a good fit."


      Katagatame: a takedown technique

      Breathe, Rogue, she told herself. Passing out from the sheer sexual magnetism of Logan is not an option.

      Marie wondered what would happen if she went on a mission and got distracted at some inopportune moment by the delicacy of Logan in head-to-toe black leather. Hell, she thought, at least I'd go out with a smile on my face. She tried unsuccessfully to hold back a giggle as she straightened up.

      "Marie," Logan grumbled impatiently.

      "Right," she said, joining him on the mat with slow, measured steps. "How do you want me?" The words left her mouth without checking in at her brain, and Marie froze. Why would she say that? To *Logan* of all people? Her face flushed crimson, and she searched for something to say before Logan could make it worse with some flip remark.

      But Logan surprised her -- instead of smirking or leering or staring at her breasts some more, he stood there gawking, looking nearly as shocked at her double entendre as she was. With a jolt, Marie realized he was actually having some sort of reaction to her. She tilted her head a bit, studying him as she tried to figure out if it was a *good* reaction or not. He could, of course, be so shocked by the *idea* of his little Marie making a sexual innuendo that he couldn't find words to tell her that he was completely uninterested.

      God, would that suck.

      Logan pulled himself out of his shock with a little shake, cracked the vertebrae in his neck, and stared at her for a moment. He was pretty good at looking impassive, but she knew him well enough to know he was coming to some sort of conclusion. Marie concentrated on not hyperventilating while he gazed at her. Being gazed at by Logan? Surprisingly sexual experience.

      Finally, he gave her a slow, dangerous smile. "Any way you want it, Marie."

      Blink. Okay, then. Not the bad kind of shock. Definitely not horror. Possibly, just maybe, a little bit of interest. Breathe, dammit.

      Marie narrowed her eyes at Logan, recognizing the challenge for what it was. He stood there, arms crossed, *smirking* at her. With that *eyebrow* up like some sarcastic punctuation mark. That bastard thought he was too experienced to be affected by some girl in leather, didn't he?

      Well, damn, Marie thought, it is time to take that ego down a notch or two.

      "Come for me, Logan," she tossed back, her voice low and suggestive. "Hard and fast." She let the corners of her mouth tip upwards. "I like it when you're rough."

      Logan's eyes went comically wide, and he made a very satisfying choking noise. Before he could recover, Marie moved in.

      It was *supposed* to be a nice, fluid roundhouse that sent him sprawling, but between Logan's reflexes -- a tad sluggish, maybe, but still sharper than most people's -- and her unforgiving leather, it was Marie who ended up on her back.

      "Damn," she whispered, a little winded. Talk about one step forward and two steps back. One minute he's choking in reaction to her -- choking in a good, sexually aroused kind of way -- and the next he's laughing his ass off 'cause she can't even kick him. She suppressed the growl she could feel growing in her throat and widened her eyes at him, letting tears pool. She pressed her lips tightly together, and suddenly he wasn't laughing.

      "Shit, Marie." Logan was beside her instantly looking concerned. "Are you -- Oof!"

      Tossing Logan around was *not* particularly easy, but damn it was worth it just to put him on his back.


      Koutai: change

      Logan landed in an undignified sprawl, unable to believe that Marie -- sweet, innocent Marie -- would fake an injury just to bring him down. Of course, the sweet, innocent Marie he was picturing would never, ever look like *that* in tight black leather. But still.

      And now she was laughing at him. He rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow, to enjoy the view. She really was gorgeous, her leather-clad body writhing as she laughed, palms slapping the mat, legs shifting helplessly as she tried to get herself under control.

      It didn't seem to be working, but Logan found that he didn't mind. Not a bad view, all things considered. Even if every glance at him seemed to set off a fresh torrent of giggles.

      "That wasn't very nice, Marie."

      Still giggling a little, Marie pushed herself into a lounging position, one arm propping her up, her legs curling in until her free hand could settle on her thigh.

      She looked like she should be splayed on a divan wearing something dark and gauzy. When the hell had she learned all of this womanly wiles stuff? She shouldn't be able to leave Logan monosyllabic until she was at *least* twenty.

      He opened his mouth to tell her so, and she lifted one shoulder in a slow, deliberate shrug that derailed his train of thought. In a wicked imitation of Logan at his most irritable, she said, "This isn't fucking medieval England, Marie." Startled, he tore his gaze from those damnable breasts to look at her. She was suppressing a grin when she added, "Fight dirty."

      Shit. He'd told her that not two sessions ago. And *he'd* said it without all that sexual-undertone business. Damn her and her incredible body and her tight leather and her double entendres.

      He growled at her, and she just laughed once more, raising an eyebrow. "I'm just following your instructions," she said, her tone innocently cloying.

      If that's the way she wanted to play it, well, he'd just use his knowledge of *her* weaknesses. Particularly her appreciation of some of his finer physical attributes. 'Cause this was an age-old game, and he had no intention of losing to a 19-year-old girl.

      Logan rolled slowly to his hands and knees, keeping his gaze locked on her. Her giggles ended abruptly, and he fought back a triumphant grin as he pushed up, balancing effortlessly in a crouch. "Good, then," he told her, his voice little more than a rumble. "I like it dirty."

      She flushed red and he knew he'd won. Logan waited, letting his appreciative expression tell her every single thing he wanted to do to her. Any second, she'd stammer something and flee, and then he'd spend a few extra minutes in the shower reminiscing about her body, and they'd be back to normal. Pals. Buddies.

      He should've known she was entirely too stubborn to back down.

      Still blushing, Marie shifted slowly, sensuously to her knees, leaving them slightly spread as she rose up to face him, gloved hands on killer hips. She was sex in leather, and the worst part was she knew it. Marie tilted her head slightly and pursed her lips. "Guess we're a good match."

      Logan knew something was different, knew the stakes of their little game had changed somehow while he was busy staring at those lips of hers, but he honestly didn't care. She wasn't fawning over him. She wasn't looking at him like a girl looks at a hero. She was drinking him in, staring at him with the lustful anticipation of a woman watching her lover. She was nineteen, she was stunning, and she wanted him. And he found that the reasons he'd been staying away from her escaped him entirely.

      "Good match, huh?" Logan answered finally, quirking an eyebrow at her. "We'll see," he added, seconds before he tackled her.


      Kaeshi-zuki: counter-thrust

      Rogue hit the mat with an ungraceful "Oooph." But Logan came down right on top of her, so on the whole, it was a positive experience.

      Especially when strong fingers encircled her wrists and dragged them out and away from her body, bringing Logan closer until he hovered inches above her, his intense gaze boring into her. The move also, of course, left her without much in the way of leverage, but all things considered, she didn't want to get away from Logan very badly at all.

      In fact, she'd happily stay pinned beneath him, that strong chest inches away from her, those fingers wrapped around her wrists, the slide of leather against leather making her shudder. Yeah, she could enjoy this sweet torture for days.

      Except that Rogue was pretty sure she was going to pass out from the anticipation. Something was different, though she couldn't quite put her finger on what. Occasionally Logan would slip up and flirt with her. Sometimes he even looked at her with a really alluring combination of affection and something more primal.

      But this -- something in the way he was looking at her -- it wasn't affectionate or playful or instructional or any one of a dozen expressions she'd seen there before. It was... Well, shit. It looked a hell of a lot like hunger.


      Rogue froze with the realization, not even breathing as she stared up at him. God, he wanted her. Logan actually *wanted* her.

      Rogue inhaled deeply, because she was quite clearly suffering from oxygen deprivation. She blinked, then met Logan's beautiful hazel eyes again. Yup. There it was. Desire. She shuddered and he made a very satisfying growling noise in response, shifting his weight onto one elbow and bringing his chest against hers.

      Rogue's gaze dropped involuntarily to that mouth of his. The one that was smirking at her.


      He must think he's won, she thought with a flash of annoyance. That arrogant bastard probably still thought she was some besotted girl who'd been in love with him since he rescued her from the side of the road. He wouldn't be *wrong* if he thought that, but hell if she'd go down that easy.

      So to speak.

      She struggled a bit beneath him, arching up against him until he inhaled sharply, his pupils dilating. At least she was having *some* sort of effect on him. That was only fair, considering she couldn't seem to catch her breath when he looked at her like that. Rogue shifted, easing her leg out from under him so she could hook it around his hips. But when she tried to roll him, he didn't budge.

      "Nice try," Logan rasped, pinning her more securely to the mat. "But you're still holding back." He fixed a heated gaze on her, settling himself between her legs. "I don't want you to hold back with me."

      Rogue was breathing too fast, nearly panting, and she felt a flush of excited embarrassment wash over her face. Just how far was Logan willing to take this? They were fast approaching point-of-no-return territory, but the look on his face didn't give any indication that he was planning on stopping any time soon.

      Which was good, because Rogue thought she might have to kill him if he got up and left her vibrating with want. On the other hand, she'd be damned if she'd break first. She'd wanted this since she saw him, shirtless and leaning insolently against a metal cage, and he knew it. He'd always known it, and he'd never reciprocated until now. He'd only wanted her for five minutes, and if they were going to do this, she sure as hell wouldn't be the one with reason to regret it in the morning. It'd have to be his call, and it would have to be about more than flushed bodies in tight black leather. It would have to be about *her,* about wanting Rogue.

      Though, really, if he kept staring at her like *that* for very much longer, her resolve might waver.

      She'd just have to prod him to the point where he *would* make the move and break their standoff. Given the expression on his face, she didn't think it would be all that hard. Concentrate on making Logan snap, she told herself. Don't think about what happens when he *does* snap.

      Damn, she was shaking again. Got to get that under control.

      "Fine," Rogue whispered, injecting an extra shot of southern drawl into her voice. She hitched a leg up and hooked it around his hips, using that for leverage to press her body up against his, her breasts against that solid chest. Then she gave him a smoldering look and lowered her voice. "I won't hold anything back."

      Logan's nostrils flared as he stared down at her, dark eyes burning with intensity. Then he shifted against her, his mouth dropping open as a groan escaped him. Her eyes drifted shut at the feel of him and she half-whimpered his name.

      "God," Logan muttered, then lunged for her, burying his face against her shoulder. She felt the pressure of his teeth through the thin leather and this time she was the one moaning, imagining what else he could do to her through her uniform.

      Rogue wasn't aware of anything but the man above her and the blood burning through her body. She writhed beneath him, pressing her hips up against his and -- wow. He was--


      Eyes wide, Rogue stilled, dropping flat against the floor. Logan released one of her wrists, his fingers sliding torturously up her arm, stopping suddenly as he lifted his head to look at her.

      "What's wrong?" Logan asked quietly, still breathing hard as he studied her with a worried expression. "Oh, hell, Marie," he said, starting to roll off of her.

      "No!" Rogue wrapped her newly freed arms around his chest, holding him in place. "Wait. No, I'm just --" She flushed, her bravado deserting her. "I -- You really --"

      "Marie." His voice was so low, so gentle.

      She took a steadying breath and forced herself to meet his gaze. "You actually want this?" God, she hated that she sounded like an inexperienced girl. Especially with *him.* She wondered if she could possibly do anything else to turn him off more quickly.

      To her surprise, instead of leaping away from her, Logan started to laugh, dropping his face down to her leather-covered shoulder. He shook against her, his warm breath heating her skin even through the leather. And then she was laughing with him. Because -- really, did she need verbal confirmation when she had felt... well, *him*?

      Curious and more than a little embarrassed, Rogue shifted her hips beneath him, eyes widening when he groaned into her neck. Her hands loosened their grip on his uniform, smoothing flat against his back, sliding possessively over the leather.

      Logan pulled back, his weight on his elbows, and smiled down at her. "Still have any doubts?" he asked, one hand tangling in her hair.

      Rogue cursed her propensity for blushing. "No. I was just -- surprised."

      That agile eyebrow of his arched. "You were surprised?" he asked, shifting so he could run gentle fingers along her waist. "How do you think I felt when you flounced in here in this outfit?"

      "When I *flounced*?" Rogue sputtered. "I did not *flounce*!"

      His smile was really beautiful, Rogue thought, her momentary outrage fading quickly, replaced by giddiness and some serious lust.

      "You flounced," he told her, his gaze drifting down to her lips, to her neck, those fingers smoothing up her ribcage. "Flaunting this body in that outfit."

      Rogue's cheeks flushed again, but she wasn't honestly sure anymore if it was from embarrassment or pleasure. His hands on her body. God. That felt really good. Wait -- what was he going on about? Oh, right. The uniform. "You told me to wear it!" she answered belatedly, reaching up and threading her fingers through his ridiculous hair. "You had ulterior motives."

      Logan leaned in closer, a breath away from kissing her, and said, "I didn't think I did. And now I don't really care." And then he was pulling away, moving backwards, pushing himself to his knees. His hands trailed down her arms to her hands, and he pulled her upright as he rose. "Let's go."

      "Go?" Rogue squeaked, stumbling numbly behind him as he tugged her towards the door. "Where are we going?" Logan tossed her a smirk over his shoulder, and she flushed again. "Oh." She slowed, squeezing his hand. "Um, Logan?"

      "Marie," he said, turning to face her. "Whatever happens next, I'd prefer not to have it captured on film." He pointed towards the corners of the room, and Rogue glanced reflexively up at the cameras.

      Cameras. And they'd just--

      "Oh, God," she mumbled, cheeks burning. "Logan--"

      He reached for her waist, pulled her up against him. "I'll erase the tape, okay?"

      Rogue slid her arm around him, pressing herself tight against his body. "Okay. Hey, Logan?"


      "I still can't, you know..." She shrugged. Why the hell did she have to keep blushing like a schoolgirl? She certainly didn't feel like a schoolgirl, not with a man like Logan looking at her like -- like *that*. She lifted her chin and said, "Touch."

      His hands wandered her back, sliding down to cup her ass and crush her to him. "You're touching me right now."

      Rogue tried to give him an annoyed look, she really did, but -- the man had very talented hands, hands that were trailing up and down her back, leaving her shuddering in his arms. "I mean--"

      "I know what you meant," he answered, those hazel eyes boring into her with an almost unbearable intensity. "And believe me, there are ways around your mutation. Hundreds of ways."

      Interesting. Did that mean he'd actually thought about it before, Rogue wondered, a little of her confidence returning. Because she'd thought about getting Logan naked about, oh, a thousand times before, but the idea that he'd had similar thoughts about her... Well, it was kinda liberating. Put them on equal footing.

      She let her hands wander his back, feeling the shift of his muscles underneath the leather. "Really?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow in her best imitation of his mischievous expression.

      "Really," Logan answered, reluctantly pulling back. "And while I'm willing to teach you the best use for these leather pants--" he emphasized his point by trailing his fingers softly up her thighs-- "I'm not keen on teaching them." Logan pointed again at the cameras.

      She grinned up at him. "I thought you were going to erase the tape," Rogue teased.

      Logan matched her devious look and started backing her up. "I am."

      Rogue gasped when her back collided with the wall. Logan wedged one thigh between her legs and gave her a challenging look. "Your call, Marie."

      She held her breath for a moment, then grinned up at him. "Does this door have a lock?" The stunned expression on his face was almost too much, but Rogue managed not to laugh until he gave a little growl and wrenched himself away from her.

      "C'mon, you little minx," he ordered, twining his fingers through hers and yanking her along behind him.

      "Where are we going?" Rogue asked, laughter trailing behind her as she matched his fast pace toward the elevator.

      "My room has a lock," Logan answered, jabbing the call button repeatedly and glaring at the elevator doors as if they'd sense his displeasure and hurry. "And no camera."

      The doors slid open, but Rogue tried to hold her ground when Logan practically leaped inside, his hand still grasping hers tightly. "Wait!"


      "The camera," Rogue said, glancing down the hall towards the observation room even as Logan used his superior strength to get her the rest of the way into the elevator. "What about the tape?"

      "Later," Logan answered. "Now c'mere."

      THE END

      Feedback cherished at macha@...

      Author's Notes: What little I know about Comic!Logan is that he has some sort of connection to Japan and possibly martial arts. Therefore, I made him an Aikido guy since the vocabulary was perfect. *Big* thanks to the Aikido FAQ: http://www.aikidofaq.com/index.html


      Healthy Interest. We're not obsessed. Really.

      The Sticky Wicket
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