Are We Having Fun Yet?
by
Elektra
DISCLAIMER: All the characters in this fan fiction belong to Marvel, Fox, etc. The lyrics belong to the fellas of Nickelback.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
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 them.
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 of flesh.
That amusement surprised 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 pride.
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 matters.
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 sexual encounters.
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 thinks.
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 flesh.
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.
*Rogue?*
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 lets 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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