Disclaimer: They belong to Marvel, not me. Like that's a big surprise. The lyrics belong to Depeche Mode.
Archive: Sure, just let me know where.
Notes: Takes place around Revolution, when Cyclops was "dead." Creative fudging of timelines has taken place. The lyrics come from the song "When The Body Speaks" on the album Exciter. Damn good album.
For Audaxia, who asked me ages ago for a Logan/Jean story set to Depeche Mode lyrics. Hope this one doesn't disappoint. :)
Thanks to Deke for the beta read.
To the soul's desires
The body listens
What the flesh requires
Keeps the heart imprisoned
What the spirit seeks
The mind will follow
When the body speaks
All else is hollow
We're pressed up against each other and I'm not quite sure how we got here. All I know is that my heart is pounding and my head is spinning and I'm hot and wet and ashamed.
Things were going crazy a few days ago, as usual. It always seems like the best thing to do when you think you're going to die is kiss. Who wants to die miserable and alone? Might as well go with a smile on your face.
So he kissed me, long and hard, and I kissed him back, for one moment forgetting everything that had happened in the past months. If I was going to die, I was going to die kissing Logan, letting myself feel the burn that I had denied for so long.
Fortunately -- or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it -- we didn't die. Things didn't explode, and we were left staring at each other. There was an unspoken agreement, I think, that we'd pretend it hadn't happened. No one else had seen it.
And things were awkward after that, to say the least. We didn't talk to each other much, just shared an occasional look that sent cold shivers down my spine. It's the kind of look that made me think of things that I didn't want to think about when my head is clear and the grief over Scott's death is still fresh. But no matter how much I tried to sweep it from my mind, I kept thinking about the kiss. How his hands tangled in my hair and pulled my mouth down to his. How fire surged up inside of me, making me feel truly alive for the first time in months. How my own hands had grasped at his arms, holding onto him for dear life. How the fear of dying that had choked me abated when his arm slid around my waist and pulled me against his body.
And now we're standing here in the darkened hallway, bodies so close together that there isn't air between us. He's staring at me in that piercing way of his.
"I can't take this anymore," I find myself whispering, hot shame burning in the back of my throat.
"Can't take what?" he asks, his voice low and gravelly.
He shifts against me and I can feel how hard he is. I know he's aching for me as much as I'm aching for him, but I can't swallow the sense of betrayal that's choking me.
"If we do this," I say very softly, but I know he can hear me, "there can't be any strings attached. Just... sex," and his breath catches at the word, "and nothing else. It can't be anything else."
Logan just looks at me for a long moment, and I can tell he knows that it could never be like that. But I can sense the conflict. Should he take what he can get and pretend it means nothing, or should he walk away?
He smoothes his hands over my face, and it feels like he's begging me to take back what I've said. I can't. I can't betray Scott's memory, but I can't ignore the need his kiss stirred up inside of me anymore. I'll lose my mind if I don't.
He leans in and kisses me hard, forcing his tongue into my mouth, and I respond in kind, kissing him fiercely. We somehow end up in his room, naked without a thought to taking clothes off. He pushes me onto my back on his bed, his mouth burning a trail over my skin. I clutch at the sheets, letting him work me into a frenzy with his hands and his tongue.
He waits until I'm shaking, grasping helplessly at an orgasm, before crawling up over me, his naked body tense, like a predator ready to attack. My heart stutters, beating against my ribs painfully. I clench my eyes shut when he lowers himself down onto me, settling between my spread legs. His erection rubs against me intimately, ripping a moan from my throat. He braces himself on his forearms, his body pressed against the length of mine, his penis nudging at my opening but not yet inside of me. I turn my head to the side, keeping my eyes closed tightly.
He presses his mouth to my neck, dragging his teeth lightly over my skin. I can feel his breath on my flesh, and he is so very close to being inside of me. For a second, everything crashes down around me, grief sweeping through me in a destroying wave. Silent tears slip from my closed eyes, falling onto the sheet.
His lips brush against my earlobe, making me shiver. "Look at me," he says quietly.
"I can't," I whisper desperately, fighting more tears.
"Yes, you can. Look at me, Jeannie."
I take a deep breath, feeling an ache in my chest, and open my eyes, turning my head to look at him. His eyes are full of pain and something that looks dangerously like love, and as soon as our eyes meet, he pushes himself inside of me.
I can't help but cry out. He draws out slowly and thrusts in again, setting a slow rhythm. Sliding one arm under my shoulders, he pulls me against his chest. My own hands move to his waist of their own accord, feeling the hard muscle flex under my touch. He dips his head down to kiss me lightly, and I start to close my eyes again.
"No," he says gruffly, "I want you to watch me."
I moan helplessly as his pace quickens, each movement sending a spike of pleasure into my body. "I want you..." he continues, punctuating his words with deep thrusts, "to know... exactly... who's... inside... of you..."
I hold onto his shoulders, raking my nails over his back in a sudden fit of anger, and wrap my legs more firmly around his hips, moving to meet him. He kisses me roughly, keeping his eyes open, then draws back to watch me.
I can feel an orgasm building, curling around my spine, making my whole body rigid with the promise of release. He pumps into me harder and faster, his breathing ragged. "Look at me, Jean," he groans, and I can't tear my eyes away from his face.
His pace slows for a second and he seems to regain a bit of control before speeding up again. "I want you to watch me," he says, his voice dropping into a low growl, "when you come. Know I'm the one who's making you come. I want you to watch me when I come inside of you."
The deep, resounding pulse of an orgasm seizes me, arching my back, but I don't close my eyes, can't close my eyes. He pushes himself deep inside of me and holds there, letting me spasm around his erection. I can feel hot tears flowing from my eyes, but I'm so far gone in the pleasure of it that I don't care.
He draws back and thrusts hard once, twice, and then he's moaning desperately, clutching me to him. Wet heat bursts inside of me when he comes, and I feel branded. His.
Our foreheads pressed together, we come down slowly. "Jeannie," he whispers, pressing his lips to my damp cheek, "don't you understand? It can't mean nothing. You know it as well as I do. Your body listens to what your heart wants, darlin'."
As much as it hurts, as much as it feels like betrayal, I know.
"I know," I whisper, holding onto him.
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