Fic: More Than A Rogue - (26/?) - Kitchen reunions
Overall summary: Sometimes we get the balance wrong. Life is not about knowing the answers, life is what happens while you're looking for them. And the bad decisions? The screw-ups? They're what keep it interesting.
Follows on from X3 - after the cure has failed - Rogue's POV
Genre: Action/Shipper/Angst/Humour fic... so basically everything.
Rating: Varies between chapters, but overall R - NC17
Disclaimer: No, Marvel. No suing. I have chocolate. You like chocolate? Here, play with that instead, and put the law suit down...
A/N: Ok, it's taken me ages. Sorry! (especially to crevanfox - here you go - here's the next one!) This chapter's a bit like Frankinstein's monster. I kept re-writing bits of it, stealing other bits from old drafts and adding them, and the initial result was this messy patchwork of crap. Hopefully I've fixed most of that now. Apologies for any bits I've missed!
I'm actually nearing the end of this fic now, there's only two chapters left of this badboy. And an epilogue. And maybe a post fic mini-fic. (Okay... so kinda nearing the end...*g*)
Massive thanks to dutchxfan for the beta, and big hugs to empressnan for all her help so far.
Previous chapters are lurking here.
Okay. I'm actually slightly bored.
I wandered the mansion hallways for a while, not wanting to admit to anyone I was waiting for Logan. I'm not sure why. Too precious a secret to share, maybe. I want to hug it close and keep it mine for a little while longer. Then I went back to his classroom, but he wasn’t there. Danger room? No sign. His room? Empty. In fact it didn't even look like anyone stayed there anymore. Which, okay, normally would set me off on a path of worrying and second guessing motives... but not today. Today nothing can destroy my happy buzz.
Maybe he's just become unnaturally neat and tidy. See? Perfectly logical, if slightly unlikely, explanation.
I stare out the library window and watch the colours fade into the oncoming night, counting the warm patches of gold where the light spills out from the latticed glass and onto the spiky green darkness of the lawn. I even try to reading a book. Yep. Doesn’t work. Can’t concentrate. In the end I head to the small staff kitchen, which proves to be the worst idea I've had all day.
Mainly because Bobby’s in there.
He's just sat casually at the counter with a sandwich and soda, laughing at something someone’s said. I can’t see who, the fridge door is in the-
It swings shut.
Behind it is Kitty. The smile quickly fading from her face.
...Okay, so this is awkward.
"Um, hi..." Kitty casts a nervous glance at Bobby, who's face seems to have frozen in an expression of faint shock.
I give them both my best attempt at a fake smile. "Hi," I say back, trying not to make eye contact. Or do anything that might encourage conversation.
...I wonder if Kitty would notice me stealing enough of her powers to sink though the floor?
"So, um..." Bobby's begins hesitantly, watching me like I might freak out, or just generally explode all over him. "I didn't realise you were visiting. How are... things? I heard you were... well... you know..."
Yeah, he never was one for tact.
"Crazy?" I suggest pleasantly.
He swallows uncomfortably.
I think about that one for a moment. There are about a dozen answers I could give, but in the end I settle for the simplest. Bobby’s the last person with whom I’d want to talk my problems through. "I’m fine."
Besides, when I look at him I keep remembering our awkward attempt at sex, and the lip-twitching expression that screwed up his face when he came. Believe me when I say it’s the last thing I want to think about right now, the memory makes me cringe, yet my brain insists on replaying it every time he takes another mouthful. Ew.
I throw a quick glance in the direction of the doorway, wonder if I can leave subtlety without the conversation going any further...
"You over here to see the Professor?"
Apparently not. Ugh.
"I'm not re-" I begin, but luckily distraction materialises directly in front of me.
"Guten abend," Kurt says with a pointy tooth grin, reaching into the cupboard for a glass.
To be perfectly honest, I'm still at the 'blinking in confusion' and 'trying to focus on the person who wasn't there a second' ago stage, but I manage a polite smile. "Hi."
Where's Storm? This is turning into a reunion.
"Logan is on his way to find you," Kurt tells me, offhand, just before he bamfs over to the fridge.
"Logan?" echoes Bobby.
Excellent. I didn't believe this situation could get any more awkward, but apparently I was wrong.
I try and force myself not to react through sheer willpower alone. It doesn't work. After last night just the mention of his name floods heat into my cheeks. It's about as subtle as a neon sign flashing 'yeah okay, we made out and it was hot' across my forehead. Even for someone as un-perceptive as Bobby is, it's all the answer he needs.
For the second time that evening, he looks mildly shocked. "I didn't realise that you two were..."
"Were what?" This time it's Logan's voice that interrupts from the door way. It's gruff and tired after a day's work, and just the sound of it sends liquid warmth all the way through me.
Yum.
It has the opposite effect on Bobby, however, who shrinks down in his seat, as if making himself smaller will help. "You know..." he tries a few hand gestures...
An eyebrow is raised. "Do I?"
Bobby looks at Kitty for moral support. "As in... together?"
Logan's expression remains unreadable. "What gave you that idea?"
Ha! I mean... um. Okay... what?
The warm feeling stops. My relief at Logan's arrival is really kinda dampened. Not that I expected him to shout it from the roof top or anything, but y'know, some recognition might be nice. I didn't make up yesterday... did I?
I try and convey my confusion along with the general 'what the fuck-ness' I'm feeling into a single look, and I aim it Logan's way.
He ignores it completely and heads straight to the fridge. In a few moments, oblivious to Bobby's gaze darting between the two of us as if he's trying to work out the answer to a complicated puzzle, Logan's piled some food on a couple of plates, grabbed two beers in the other hand, and is already heading back out the door.
He glances back at me over his shoulder. "You comin'?"
No!
...Well, yes. But reluctantly, and only because I'm bereft of any better choices. What was all that about?!
I follow, trying hard not to read too much in to anything, it's never done me much good before, and also to look where I'm going and not concentrate purely on quite how good his long legs look in those scruffy tight jeans.
I fail at both.
He looks hot, and what the hell just happened?
Okay, maybe he just didn't want Bobby to know. That's fair enough... isn't it? I didn't want Bobby to know either.
Right?
Man, I suck at this! I need to find some way of touching a 'path. Absorb me some mind stealing powers. Give myself a chance at having actual social skills.
It's only after several minutes of walking... yes, the Mansion is really that big, that I begin to wonder where on earth we're going. We've already traipsed up one flight of stairs, then there was another. Along the hallway past my old room, round a few corners, through a doorway, past a room I swear I've never seen before in my life, and up another set of stairs at the end. My legs are actually beginning to ache!
"We're eating in the attic?" I say, desperate to break the silence even though I don't think he's in a mood with me, and trying not to sound like I'm annoyed at him. Which I am.
"Not quite," he says over his shoulder.
"Then where are... oh crap!" I clap the palm of my hand against my forehead. My shopping! "My bags, I..." Where the hell did I leave them?
He pauses enough in his stride to look round at me. "The ones full of underwear left outside my classroom?"
Shit!
"Uhhh....nope?" I try, wincing slightly. "Not those ones." I shake my head. "Other bags. Sensible bags. Full of... practical...important type...things."
...Yeah. Not working.
He just raises an eyebrow. "They’re stashed out the way behind my classroom door. You wanna go get them now?"
I shake my head. "No, It’s okay. I can get them...later..."
The corner of his mouth quirks a little at the last word. Despite my best efforts, it tramples all over my annoyance and sends a spark of heat all the way down to my toes, my brain rushing through all the possible scenarios of what could happen between now and then.
Plus, that was an almost-smile. That's good, isn't it? We must be okay.
Yup.
Oh, I am so confused right now!
At the top of the stairs, I follow him along another hallway. Dark this time, there are no windows here, just thick roof beams. The hall ends bluntly as well, two heavy looking doors opening off to either side. He hands me the beers and opens up the one on the right, holding it as I... Oh... Wow.
A couple of things begin to dawn on me. First, that I really have been away for the Mansion for a long time. Second, that the reason his room downstairs always seemed too tidy to be lived in, was because it was no longer lived in. And third? This is most definitely his room. And I'm in it.
I'm also not horribly hung over, covered in vomit or trying to steal items of his clothing either. Definite improvement.
I kinda like it as far as rooms go as well. It’s... him. Clean, but with an organised clutter to it. Little things, like the boots kicked off in the corner next to a stack of files, his jacket slung over a chair, or the papers on his desk held down by an empty beer bottle, they are strangely unexpected... I don’t know why... but they’re so completely him.
I like that.
He's looking at me. As if he's waiting for my reaction.
...I like that too. Even if it does make me feel very self-conscious.
I tuck a strand of hair nervously behind my ear, concentrate on my feet. "So, um... when did the Professor get the attic renovated?"
"He didn't," he says, as he toes the door shut, completely oblivious to the fact that the finality off the gesture sends a shiver of emotion down my spine. "Did it myself, before we knew he was still alive."
"You did all this?" Remembering the clutter of boxes and broken junk that was here before, I look round at the smooth, light walls and the airy wooden framed skylights, and I can't help but be impressed. Is there anything that he can't do? The furniture is basic, but well made and functional, the only decoration is a slightly threadbare rug which warms the wooden floorboards - he must have stolen that from a room downstairs. There's a large flat-screen TV on the far wall, and, swallowing up an entire corner by itself, is a gigantic, slightly ruffled looking bed.
I try really hard not to focus purely on that last point.
"I...uh... didn't know you were good at the DIY stuff." In fact, I'm beginning to realise there's a lot I don't know.
He hands me a plate of food. "Gave me an excuse to get away from all the kids for a while. No one comes up here 'cept me and the Cajun. His is the room across the hall," he indicates with a nod of his head.
Right. Okay.
Oh my God I'm in Logan's room. With Logan.
I really don't think I'm going to get used to that any time soon!
I look around for something to sit on, but he goes for the chair before I can, so I'm left sitting cross-legged, slightly uncomfortably, on the side of his bed.
Was that deliberate?
If it was, he pretends not to notice. He turns on the giant TV instead, flicking through the channels until he finds a hockey game. Normally I’m a hockey fan, his fault - one of the things I picked up when I first absorbed some of his powers - but right now I can’t concentrate on a damn thing. It could be a test screen for all I care. I try and eat as well, but that's not really working either. I damn near stab myself in the face twice with the fork. I’m not safe when my mind’s confused with mixed-up signals and addled with hopeful-lust.
Minutes pass, and someone on-screen scores. I couldn't even tell you which team. My stomach is tense from anticipation. I’m painfully aware of every movement that he makes. Hell, I’m painfully aware of every move I make, every mouthful that I eat. Is he going to kiss me again? Is he going to do more than that? Or nothing at all? Why did he deny everything to Bobby? Am I chewing too loud? Did my knife scrape against the plate? Am I supposed to be doing something? Did I - Ow! Damn! They shouldn’t give forks to people like me.
Eventually he frowns at me. "What’s up?" he says.
Dammit, how is he so perceptive? I hate enhanced senses. "Why?"
"You smell nervous again. Good, but nervous."
Good? I smell good? Okay... so hate’s a strong word. I don’t hate enhanced senses... just... you know... Christ I'm a complete jittery mess. "I'm fine."
"Told you before darlin’, you’re a bad liar."
Oh, the 'darlin' bit screws with my concentration even more, especially the rough way it rolls off his tongue. Totally not fair. "I just... you're not saying much and I thought that maybe before... maybe you regret-"
"No."
His bluntness catches me off guard. It leaves a warm tingly feeling in its wake.
He frowns. "You're surprised by that?"
I play with my food a bit. Push it around my plate. "It's not that, it's more... I can’t make you out." God this is awkward. I wish I hadn’t said anything now. "Earlier you were fine, but then in the kitchen you said there was nothing going on. Is there nothing?"
He looks at me a long time, and I wonder if I’ve pissed him off. "I don’t do big declarations. You know that."
That's not really an answer.
"I just... Why did you change your mind? I mean... yesterday, you kept saying that it wasn't gonna happen, yet we're still here. And last night..." I trail off, embarrassed, thinking about the way his hands felt as his fingers curled into my hips.
"Yeah, I didn't plan on doin' that."
The acknowledgement strikes me like a barb.
He narrows his eyes at me. "What? You don't like it when I'm honest?"
"No, but-"
"Doesn't mean I didn't want to. Doesn't mean I don't want to again. And it doesn't mean I haven't been thinkin' about it. A lot."
"Then what does it mean?"
He sighs. "It means I’m wary of the thoughts you put in my head. The things you make me want do. What, you want me to fill in a checklist or somethin’? I don’t know. Been a long time since I did anything other than just fuckin’ a woman, believe me."
Oh.
I nearly choke. Mortified at his crudeness. Completely floored by the surge of lust that kicks through me at the same time.
I look away, getting to my feet to hide my reaction, the smooth effect totally ruined as I put my plate on his dresser then jump a mile when I realise he’s suddenly behind me.
"If you want it easy, I'm not the guy you're lookin' for. I told you that last night."
"Don't say that."
"Say what?"
"That you're not who I'm looking for." For some reason, hearing him say it really scares me, like he could take everything away again. This already feels like a dream as it is. I don't want it to turn into a nightmare.
"Then you're gonna have to trust me darlin'."
I feel his fingers lightly brush my side, run over the curve of my hip, then down further than they should probably go.
"I'm trying." I say back, but it's as far as I get because his hands slide around my front, pulling me back, fitting me close up against him as he breathes in the scent of my hair.
His voice is suddenly hot in my ear. "Okay. What if I told you I’ve been thinkin’ about you all day."
Yeah... my stomach officially turns to mush.
I can feel the ticklish scratch of his stubble against my neck, hear him breathe as his teeth nip the edge of my ear, and I know right then and there that I am in way over my head. Fuck, but it feels good.
"Been remembering you in that bar. Dancin’ with that almost see-through top on."
The way he says it makes my skin burn. All the words dissolve from my brain, and all I can manage is a fumbled, "I didn't think... think you... noticed."
"Oh, I noticed. Also noticed that complete dick you were dancing with."
God, I forgot about him. "Jealous?" I try and whisper, attempting to mirror his question of last night, but my voice is hoarse and it comes out cracked and husky.
He just growls softly, the sound prickling all the way down to the base of my spine, as the hand that’s holding me up against him slides slowly upwards, thumb barely brushing the underside of my breast through my t-shirt before it slides down again, sending white hot desire flooding through me.
"No more sleazy bar guys, okay?"
"Is that...that a..." God it’s hard to speak when he’s distracting me like that. "That a... rule?"
His other hand’s resting on my hip, the material of my top slowly bunching around his fingers as he moves it up, and his knuckles slide under to brush over the warmth of my skin. Every part of me wakens with the touch.
"Yeah," he breathes. "It’s a... fuckin’ hell, now?"
Um. What?
My shoulders are suddenly cold. He’s no longer behind me, hand already disappeared from under my top. He’s backing away? Why is he backing away? I turn around, stare at him confused, muddled with arousal.
He holds up a hand to stop me speaking, and shakes his head for a moment. Listening. Then he sighs. Almost angry. "Fine," he says to no one in particular...well it’s certainly not to me anyway.
"Yeah. I’m comin’. It better be fuckin’ important though."
Okay, now I’m really confused. And horny. And that’s just not fair! "What is it?"
He leans forward and presses his forehead against mine, one hand going to my hair to brush it out of my face. "Sorry kid."
Sorry? Sorry about what? His voice echoes around my head, and I realise that... kid, he called me kid again.
Joy.
"Chuck," he says, "up here." He taps a finger to his temple. "We’ve got a mission."
A mission? For a moment I’m completely disorientated. From adult to child in mere seconds, and now he’s going? The part of me that felt so dizzy and elated only moments ago now wants to crawl under a rock and die somewhere.
...Actually, that’s not strictly true. It wants to find the rock, maul it a bit first, swear at it, insult its mother, kick it a few times, and then crawl under it and die. Trust the Professor to have impeccable timing. Seriously. Why can’t something ever go my-
Oh Christ...
His lips press against mine, warm and hungry and still unfamiliar, and full of the promise of everything that had just been about to happen. His hands tangle in my hair, and the noise he makes in the back of his throat pushes me to the edge of my control. When he pulls away I feel like I’m free-falling downwards, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
There’s no smile in his eyes when he looks at me, just heat and darkness.
God I want him.
"Wolverine, you coming homme" Remy’s voice is punctuated by a knock at the door, which jolts me back down to earth with a thud. Logan too apparently. He steps back and the darkness is gone, only the annoyance at being interrupted remains.
"Yeah," he yells back. Reluctantly. "Shit," he mumbles under his breath, adjusting his jeans slightly. "Fuckin’ suit’s gonna be more torture than usual."
Okay, so that makes me blush. Again. I step back and straighten my clothes. Give him a shrug, try to show him that it’s okay, I understand. Even if I seriously dislike it.
"See you when I get back?" he suggests softly.
We both know he’ll probably return bloody and exhausted, needing space and time to heal and ready to sleep for a week. He always does. But I nod anyway, and he accepts it.
When he opens the door, Remy’s look of smugness at dragging the Wolverine out of his lair, is quickly replaced with shock at seeing me in his room. I can hear their voices echoing down the corridor.
"You’re leaving da cherie for a mission?"
"Shut up bub. Else I’ll skewer you along with the damn Professor."
Follows on from X3 - after the cure has failed - Rogue's POV
Genre: Action/Shipper/Angst/Humour fic... so basically everything.
Rating: Varies between chapters, but overall R - NC17
Disclaimer: No, Marvel. No suing. I have chocolate. You like chocolate? Here, play with that instead, and put the law suit down...
A/N: Ok, it's taken me ages. Sorry! (especially to crevanfox - here you go - here's the next one!) This chapter's a bit like Frankinstein's monster. I kept re-writing bits of it, stealing other bits from old drafts and adding them, and the initial result was this messy patchwork of crap. Hopefully I've fixed most of that now. Apologies for any bits I've missed!
I'm actually nearing the end of this fic now, there's only two chapters left of this badboy. And an epilogue. And maybe a post fic mini-fic. (Okay... so kinda nearing the end...*g*)
Massive thanks to dutchxfan for the beta, and big hugs to empressnan for all her help so far.
Previous chapters are lurking here.
Okay. I'm actually slightly bored.
I wandered the mansion hallways for a while, not wanting to admit to anyone I was waiting for Logan. I'm not sure why. Too precious a secret to share, maybe. I want to hug it close and keep it mine for a little while longer. Then I went back to his classroom, but he wasn’t there. Danger room? No sign. His room? Empty. In fact it didn't even look like anyone stayed there anymore. Which, okay, normally would set me off on a path of worrying and second guessing motives... but not today. Today nothing can destroy my happy buzz.
Maybe he's just become unnaturally neat and tidy. See? Perfectly logical, if slightly unlikely, explanation.
I stare out the library window and watch the colours fade into the oncoming night, counting the warm patches of gold where the light spills out from the latticed glass and onto the spiky green darkness of the lawn. I even try to reading a book. Yep. Doesn’t work. Can’t concentrate. In the end I head to the small staff kitchen, which proves to be the worst idea I've had all day.
Mainly because Bobby’s in there.
He's just sat casually at the counter with a sandwich and soda, laughing at something someone’s said. I can’t see who, the fridge door is in the-
It swings shut.
Behind it is Kitty. The smile quickly fading from her face.
...Okay, so this is awkward.
"Um, hi..." Kitty casts a nervous glance at Bobby, who's face seems to have frozen in an expression of faint shock.
I give them both my best attempt at a fake smile. "Hi," I say back, trying not to make eye contact. Or do anything that might encourage conversation.
...I wonder if Kitty would notice me stealing enough of her powers to sink though the floor?
"So, um..." Bobby's begins hesitantly, watching me like I might freak out, or just generally explode all over him. "I didn't realise you were visiting. How are... things? I heard you were... well... you know..."
Yeah, he never was one for tact.
"Crazy?" I suggest pleasantly.
He swallows uncomfortably.
I think about that one for a moment. There are about a dozen answers I could give, but in the end I settle for the simplest. Bobby’s the last person with whom I’d want to talk my problems through. "I’m fine."
Besides, when I look at him I keep remembering our awkward attempt at sex, and the lip-twitching expression that screwed up his face when he came. Believe me when I say it’s the last thing I want to think about right now, the memory makes me cringe, yet my brain insists on replaying it every time he takes another mouthful. Ew.
I throw a quick glance in the direction of the doorway, wonder if I can leave subtlety without the conversation going any further...
"You over here to see the Professor?"
Apparently not. Ugh.
"I'm not re-" I begin, but luckily distraction materialises directly in front of me.
"Guten abend," Kurt says with a pointy tooth grin, reaching into the cupboard for a glass.
To be perfectly honest, I'm still at the 'blinking in confusion' and 'trying to focus on the person who wasn't there a second' ago stage, but I manage a polite smile. "Hi."
Where's Storm? This is turning into a reunion.
"Logan is on his way to find you," Kurt tells me, offhand, just before he bamfs over to the fridge.
"Logan?" echoes Bobby.
Excellent. I didn't believe this situation could get any more awkward, but apparently I was wrong.
I try and force myself not to react through sheer willpower alone. It doesn't work. After last night just the mention of his name floods heat into my cheeks. It's about as subtle as a neon sign flashing 'yeah okay, we made out and it was hot' across my forehead. Even for someone as un-perceptive as Bobby is, it's all the answer he needs.
For the second time that evening, he looks mildly shocked. "I didn't realise that you two were..."
"Were what?" This time it's Logan's voice that interrupts from the door way. It's gruff and tired after a day's work, and just the sound of it sends liquid warmth all the way through me.
Yum.
It has the opposite effect on Bobby, however, who shrinks down in his seat, as if making himself smaller will help. "You know..." he tries a few hand gestures...
An eyebrow is raised. "Do I?"
Bobby looks at Kitty for moral support. "As in... together?"
Logan's expression remains unreadable. "What gave you that idea?"
Ha! I mean... um. Okay... what?
The warm feeling stops. My relief at Logan's arrival is really kinda dampened. Not that I expected him to shout it from the roof top or anything, but y'know, some recognition might be nice. I didn't make up yesterday... did I?
I try and convey my confusion along with the general 'what the fuck-ness' I'm feeling into a single look, and I aim it Logan's way.
He ignores it completely and heads straight to the fridge. In a few moments, oblivious to Bobby's gaze darting between the two of us as if he's trying to work out the answer to a complicated puzzle, Logan's piled some food on a couple of plates, grabbed two beers in the other hand, and is already heading back out the door.
He glances back at me over his shoulder. "You comin'?"
No!
...Well, yes. But reluctantly, and only because I'm bereft of any better choices. What was all that about?!
I follow, trying hard not to read too much in to anything, it's never done me much good before, and also to look where I'm going and not concentrate purely on quite how good his long legs look in those scruffy tight jeans.
I fail at both.
He looks hot, and what the hell just happened?
Okay, maybe he just didn't want Bobby to know. That's fair enough... isn't it? I didn't want Bobby to know either.
Right?
Man, I suck at this! I need to find some way of touching a 'path. Absorb me some mind stealing powers. Give myself a chance at having actual social skills.
It's only after several minutes of walking... yes, the Mansion is really that big, that I begin to wonder where on earth we're going. We've already traipsed up one flight of stairs, then there was another. Along the hallway past my old room, round a few corners, through a doorway, past a room I swear I've never seen before in my life, and up another set of stairs at the end. My legs are actually beginning to ache!
"We're eating in the attic?" I say, desperate to break the silence even though I don't think he's in a mood with me, and trying not to sound like I'm annoyed at him. Which I am.
"Not quite," he says over his shoulder.
"Then where are... oh crap!" I clap the palm of my hand against my forehead. My shopping! "My bags, I..." Where the hell did I leave them?
He pauses enough in his stride to look round at me. "The ones full of underwear left outside my classroom?"
Shit!
"Uhhh....nope?" I try, wincing slightly. "Not those ones." I shake my head. "Other bags. Sensible bags. Full of... practical...important type...things."
...Yeah. Not working.
He just raises an eyebrow. "They’re stashed out the way behind my classroom door. You wanna go get them now?"
I shake my head. "No, It’s okay. I can get them...later..."
The corner of his mouth quirks a little at the last word. Despite my best efforts, it tramples all over my annoyance and sends a spark of heat all the way down to my toes, my brain rushing through all the possible scenarios of what could happen between now and then.
Plus, that was an almost-smile. That's good, isn't it? We must be okay.
Yup.
Oh, I am so confused right now!
At the top of the stairs, I follow him along another hallway. Dark this time, there are no windows here, just thick roof beams. The hall ends bluntly as well, two heavy looking doors opening off to either side. He hands me the beers and opens up the one on the right, holding it as I... Oh... Wow.
A couple of things begin to dawn on me. First, that I really have been away for the Mansion for a long time. Second, that the reason his room downstairs always seemed too tidy to be lived in, was because it was no longer lived in. And third? This is most definitely his room. And I'm in it.
I'm also not horribly hung over, covered in vomit or trying to steal items of his clothing either. Definite improvement.
I kinda like it as far as rooms go as well. It’s... him. Clean, but with an organised clutter to it. Little things, like the boots kicked off in the corner next to a stack of files, his jacket slung over a chair, or the papers on his desk held down by an empty beer bottle, they are strangely unexpected... I don’t know why... but they’re so completely him.
I like that.
He's looking at me. As if he's waiting for my reaction.
...I like that too. Even if it does make me feel very self-conscious.
I tuck a strand of hair nervously behind my ear, concentrate on my feet. "So, um... when did the Professor get the attic renovated?"
"He didn't," he says, as he toes the door shut, completely oblivious to the fact that the finality off the gesture sends a shiver of emotion down my spine. "Did it myself, before we knew he was still alive."
"You did all this?" Remembering the clutter of boxes and broken junk that was here before, I look round at the smooth, light walls and the airy wooden framed skylights, and I can't help but be impressed. Is there anything that he can't do? The furniture is basic, but well made and functional, the only decoration is a slightly threadbare rug which warms the wooden floorboards - he must have stolen that from a room downstairs. There's a large flat-screen TV on the far wall, and, swallowing up an entire corner by itself, is a gigantic, slightly ruffled looking bed.
I try really hard not to focus purely on that last point.
"I...uh... didn't know you were good at the DIY stuff." In fact, I'm beginning to realise there's a lot I don't know.
He hands me a plate of food. "Gave me an excuse to get away from all the kids for a while. No one comes up here 'cept me and the Cajun. His is the room across the hall," he indicates with a nod of his head.
Right. Okay.
Oh my God I'm in Logan's room. With Logan.
I really don't think I'm going to get used to that any time soon!
I look around for something to sit on, but he goes for the chair before I can, so I'm left sitting cross-legged, slightly uncomfortably, on the side of his bed.
Was that deliberate?
If it was, he pretends not to notice. He turns on the giant TV instead, flicking through the channels until he finds a hockey game. Normally I’m a hockey fan, his fault - one of the things I picked up when I first absorbed some of his powers - but right now I can’t concentrate on a damn thing. It could be a test screen for all I care. I try and eat as well, but that's not really working either. I damn near stab myself in the face twice with the fork. I’m not safe when my mind’s confused with mixed-up signals and addled with hopeful-lust.
Minutes pass, and someone on-screen scores. I couldn't even tell you which team. My stomach is tense from anticipation. I’m painfully aware of every movement that he makes. Hell, I’m painfully aware of every move I make, every mouthful that I eat. Is he going to kiss me again? Is he going to do more than that? Or nothing at all? Why did he deny everything to Bobby? Am I chewing too loud? Did my knife scrape against the plate? Am I supposed to be doing something? Did I - Ow! Damn! They shouldn’t give forks to people like me.
Eventually he frowns at me. "What’s up?" he says.
Dammit, how is he so perceptive? I hate enhanced senses. "Why?"
"You smell nervous again. Good, but nervous."
Good? I smell good? Okay... so hate’s a strong word. I don’t hate enhanced senses... just... you know... Christ I'm a complete jittery mess. "I'm fine."
"Told you before darlin’, you’re a bad liar."
Oh, the 'darlin' bit screws with my concentration even more, especially the rough way it rolls off his tongue. Totally not fair. "I just... you're not saying much and I thought that maybe before... maybe you regret-"
"No."
His bluntness catches me off guard. It leaves a warm tingly feeling in its wake.
He frowns. "You're surprised by that?"
I play with my food a bit. Push it around my plate. "It's not that, it's more... I can’t make you out." God this is awkward. I wish I hadn’t said anything now. "Earlier you were fine, but then in the kitchen you said there was nothing going on. Is there nothing?"
He looks at me a long time, and I wonder if I’ve pissed him off. "I don’t do big declarations. You know that."
That's not really an answer.
"I just... Why did you change your mind? I mean... yesterday, you kept saying that it wasn't gonna happen, yet we're still here. And last night..." I trail off, embarrassed, thinking about the way his hands felt as his fingers curled into my hips.
"Yeah, I didn't plan on doin' that."
The acknowledgement strikes me like a barb.
He narrows his eyes at me. "What? You don't like it when I'm honest?"
"No, but-"
"Doesn't mean I didn't want to. Doesn't mean I don't want to again. And it doesn't mean I haven't been thinkin' about it. A lot."
"Then what does it mean?"
He sighs. "It means I’m wary of the thoughts you put in my head. The things you make me want do. What, you want me to fill in a checklist or somethin’? I don’t know. Been a long time since I did anything other than just fuckin’ a woman, believe me."
Oh.
I nearly choke. Mortified at his crudeness. Completely floored by the surge of lust that kicks through me at the same time.
I look away, getting to my feet to hide my reaction, the smooth effect totally ruined as I put my plate on his dresser then jump a mile when I realise he’s suddenly behind me.
"If you want it easy, I'm not the guy you're lookin' for. I told you that last night."
"Don't say that."
"Say what?"
"That you're not who I'm looking for." For some reason, hearing him say it really scares me, like he could take everything away again. This already feels like a dream as it is. I don't want it to turn into a nightmare.
"Then you're gonna have to trust me darlin'."
I feel his fingers lightly brush my side, run over the curve of my hip, then down further than they should probably go.
"I'm trying." I say back, but it's as far as I get because his hands slide around my front, pulling me back, fitting me close up against him as he breathes in the scent of my hair.
His voice is suddenly hot in my ear. "Okay. What if I told you I’ve been thinkin’ about you all day."
Yeah... my stomach officially turns to mush.
I can feel the ticklish scratch of his stubble against my neck, hear him breathe as his teeth nip the edge of my ear, and I know right then and there that I am in way over my head. Fuck, but it feels good.
"Been remembering you in that bar. Dancin’ with that almost see-through top on."
The way he says it makes my skin burn. All the words dissolve from my brain, and all I can manage is a fumbled, "I didn't think... think you... noticed."
"Oh, I noticed. Also noticed that complete dick you were dancing with."
God, I forgot about him. "Jealous?" I try and whisper, attempting to mirror his question of last night, but my voice is hoarse and it comes out cracked and husky.
He just growls softly, the sound prickling all the way down to the base of my spine, as the hand that’s holding me up against him slides slowly upwards, thumb barely brushing the underside of my breast through my t-shirt before it slides down again, sending white hot desire flooding through me.
"No more sleazy bar guys, okay?"
"Is that...that a..." God it’s hard to speak when he’s distracting me like that. "That a... rule?"
His other hand’s resting on my hip, the material of my top slowly bunching around his fingers as he moves it up, and his knuckles slide under to brush over the warmth of my skin. Every part of me wakens with the touch.
"Yeah," he breathes. "It’s a... fuckin’ hell, now?"
Um. What?
My shoulders are suddenly cold. He’s no longer behind me, hand already disappeared from under my top. He’s backing away? Why is he backing away? I turn around, stare at him confused, muddled with arousal.
He holds up a hand to stop me speaking, and shakes his head for a moment. Listening. Then he sighs. Almost angry. "Fine," he says to no one in particular...well it’s certainly not to me anyway.
"Yeah. I’m comin’. It better be fuckin’ important though."
Okay, now I’m really confused. And horny. And that’s just not fair! "What is it?"
He leans forward and presses his forehead against mine, one hand going to my hair to brush it out of my face. "Sorry kid."
Sorry? Sorry about what? His voice echoes around my head, and I realise that... kid, he called me kid again.
Joy.
"Chuck," he says, "up here." He taps a finger to his temple. "We’ve got a mission."
A mission? For a moment I’m completely disorientated. From adult to child in mere seconds, and now he’s going? The part of me that felt so dizzy and elated only moments ago now wants to crawl under a rock and die somewhere.
...Actually, that’s not strictly true. It wants to find the rock, maul it a bit first, swear at it, insult its mother, kick it a few times, and then crawl under it and die. Trust the Professor to have impeccable timing. Seriously. Why can’t something ever go my-
Oh Christ...
His lips press against mine, warm and hungry and still unfamiliar, and full of the promise of everything that had just been about to happen. His hands tangle in my hair, and the noise he makes in the back of his throat pushes me to the edge of my control. When he pulls away I feel like I’m free-falling downwards, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
There’s no smile in his eyes when he looks at me, just heat and darkness.
God I want him.
"Wolverine, you coming homme" Remy’s voice is punctuated by a knock at the door, which jolts me back down to earth with a thud. Logan too apparently. He steps back and the darkness is gone, only the annoyance at being interrupted remains.
"Yeah," he yells back. Reluctantly. "Shit," he mumbles under his breath, adjusting his jeans slightly. "Fuckin’ suit’s gonna be more torture than usual."
Okay, so that makes me blush. Again. I step back and straighten my clothes. Give him a shrug, try to show him that it’s okay, I understand. Even if I seriously dislike it.
"See you when I get back?" he suggests softly.
We both know he’ll probably return bloody and exhausted, needing space and time to heal and ready to sleep for a week. He always does. But I nod anyway, and he accepts it.
When he opens the door, Remy’s look of smugness at dragging the Wolverine out of his lair, is quickly replaced with shock at seeing me in his room. I can hear their voices echoing down the corridor.
"You’re leaving da cherie for a mission?"
"Shut up bub. Else I’ll skewer you along with the damn Professor."