FIC: Memory of Bruises [2/3] R
Title: Memory of Bruises [2/3]
Author: Bex
Email: hexybex@yahoo.co.uk
Rating: R
Pairing: Wolverine and Rogue
Genre: Not foof!!! Angsty romance?
Summary: Logan’s in love, but not with Marie.
Setting: After X3
Disclaimer: Logan belongs to Marvel and Fox, which is really unfair. He’d have more fun with me.
Notes: Here's Part Two. If you missed Part One I posted it here yesterday, or you can find it at my journal. (Not very good with the clever links yet!)
Memory of Bruises - Part Two
Marie halted at the sound of a low snarl coming from the shadows above her. Only one man in the mansion was capable of that menacing rumble, and so far she’d been doing a pretty good job of avoiding him. Lately, though, she’d felt him watching her, although what reason he might have she couldn’t guess. He’d wanted her to get out, get a life and grow up: she was trying hard to do all three. She was also trying hard not to let her thoughts dwell for any length of time on her one-time best friend and first lover, but that was proving more difficult. You couldn’t love a guy for five long years and not think about him now and then, even if he’d turned out to be a first class sonofabitch.
“You have yourself some fun, darlin’?” Logan purred, stepping out of the dark at the head of the stairs and looming over her. He sniffed the air deliberately, and she could almost swear she saw his hackles go up. The sudden flush of guilt she felt was ridiculous under the circumstances, particularly as nothing had happened, but it contributed to the hectic colour in her cheeks as she continued up the stairs towards him, only stopping when he moved in front of her, blocking her path.
She plunked her hands on her hips and lifted her chin. “Yeah, Logan, I’ve been out. It’s been a blast.”
“I’ll just bet. His scent’s all over you.”
“What can I say?” she sneered, quirking one eyebrow in perfect imitation of the man in front of her, “His girlfriend dumped him and I felt sorry for him. You know how it is.”
“You little bitch!” Logan growled. He grabbed her shoulders painfully, whipping her around so that she was pressed against the wall of the stairwell, all the breath whooshing from her lungs at the sudden impact. “You let him put his hands on you. Was it worth it, honey? Was he as good as me?”
“Better!” she hissed defiantly, curling her hands into fists against the lie. Logan didn’t need to know that she’d only kissed the guy a couple of times before nausea nearly overwhelmed her. His ego didn’t need any more boosting.
With a snarl he lowered his head and took her mouth in a cruel kiss, one hand holding her chin so that she couldn’t escape. She pushed frantically at his chest but he stilled her struggles effortlessly, the weight of his body holding her pinned against the wall. Despite the rough handling and the cruelty in the fingers at her throat, Marie felt a kick of thrilling awareness in her stomach and felt afraid for the first time: not of the man in front of her but of the way her body responded to him despite the desperate urgings of her brain. A sob of panic rose in her throat and spilled from her lips, and Logan went still. He lifted his head, allowing her to draw some air into her gasping lungs, and slowly moved away, the dim light in the stairway showing her little of his expression.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” she said shakily. Her lips were bruised and sore, and she wiped her hand across her mouth as if she could sweep away the last few minutes.
“Isn’t that what you wanted, sweetheart? Why else would you be trawlin’ the bars?” His voice didn’t sound quite steady, as if the kiss had affected him as much as it had her.
“You told me I needed to see more people, Logan. It seems a little contradictory to get pissy with me when I’ve only done what you suggested. I had a good time tonight.” Maybe if she said it often enough she might start believing it.
He reached out one finger and casually ran it down her cheek. “If you want a good time you don’t need to leave the mansion, honey. I’m right here.”
She tried not to betray the small flare of excitement that tingled down her nerve endings at his touch. God knew she tried. Unfortunately she hadn’t counted on Logan’s heightened senses, because a wicked grin suddenly spread itself across his face and he chuckled. “And you do want me, don’t you Marie? I can almost smell it on you.”
Damn! Just what she’d wanted to avoid. She narrowed her eyes, furious with him and with her own weakness where he was concerned. “I did want you Logan, for a long time. I thought I loved you. Shit, I almost had myself convinced that you loved me too when you kissed me on that couch. Well, you proved me wrong didn’t you? So now there’ll be no more wanting and no more loving. I’m all grown up now, you see?”
His jaw tightened. “One taste won’t be enough for either of us. You’ll be back in my bed in no time, count on it.”
“But I never was in your bed, was I?” she retorted, pushing past him and heading to her room. He made no reply, and it felt good to have the last word. Until she slammed the door behind her and the tears started to fall.
***
Back in his room Logan prowled up and down, finally stopping to lean his head against the wall. How had everything become so fucked up? He hadn’t intended to sleep with Marie, but it had happened and nothing could change that. What he didn’t understand was why he was obsessing about it now, all these weeks later. He’d had enough meaningless encounters in seedy motels to know that you take what’s on offer and you don’t look back. For some reason it wasn’t working this time, and he couldn’t even use the excuse that Marie was flaunting herself in front of him. In actual fact she’d gone out of her way to avoid seeing him, he was the one who had been forced to seek her out.
He’d intended to apologise. His good intentions had flown out the window as soon as she came towards him with the scent of another man on her, and obviously his sanity had gone along with them because there was no other explanation for his behaviour out there.
Unable to stay a moment longer in the cramped confinement of his room he raised the sash window and, swinging his legs over the sill, dropped the two floors to the ground. He needed some air, and he headed off to the wooded area that surrounded the mansion. Walking should have relieved some of the tension in his muscles, but he was uncomfortably aware with each step that his body was still aching for release. Disgusted with another sign of weakness he popped his claws, ramming his fist against a tree trunk with a hoarse shout, the adamantium easily penetrating the dense fibres, the rough bark grazing his knuckles. He retracted the claws and examined his fist, watching as the torn skin knit itself together again as his mutation kicked in. It reminded him of that first ride with Marie, when she had asked him if it hurt when they came out. ‘Every time,’ he had replied. Sometimes the pain was a welcome distraction.
The sound of a twig snapping beneath someone’s foot had him whipping around, and squinting into the darkness he spotted Storm wandering through the trees to his left. She hadn’t seen him yet, and he briefly considered avoiding her. Which was ridiculous - he wasn’t reduced to hiding in trees just yet. He purposely stepped into her line of vision, hoping that she would take the choice out of his hands and avoid him herself. Anyone out at this time of night was probably not in the mood for casual conversation anyway. However, she turned at the sound and headed straight for him, and he allowed himself a silent curse. This just wasn’t going to be one of his nights.
“Watcha doin’, Logan?” she asked, coming to a halt a short distance away from him and tilting her head to one side like an inquisitive bird.
“Not much. Just out for a walk.”
“That tree do something you didn’t like?” she queried, nodding her head in the direction of the tall oak that now bore the distinctive mark of three long claws.
“It looked at me the wrong way,” he deadpanned, and she chuckled, moving closer and falling into step with him.
They walked together in silence for a while until they came to an old bench hidden beneath the canopy of the branches overhead. As if by mutual consent they sat down next to each other, the musty odour of decaying leaves and damp earth rising up to meet them. Logan fumbled in his pocket for a cigar, and the sudden flare of a match briefly illuminated the scene. He shook it to put it out and flicked it way into the trees, his superior vision easily tracking its path even in the dark. Sometimes he forgot that not everyone saw things the way he did. How much simpler the world must appear that way.
“Wanna talk about it?”
He looked at Storm from beneath lowered brows and shook his head, then, realising that she probably couldn’t make out the movement, clarified: “Not really.”
“Okay. It’s up to you.”
Yeah, right. Any moment the questions would begin. He braced himself for the inquisition he was sure was coming, caught off guard when she suddenly leaned across and pressed her lips against his. Whatever he had been expecting this wasn’t it, and he caught hold of her shoulders, whether to push her away or pull her closer even he couldn’t tell at first. Her tongue insinuated itself into his mouth, darting in and out suggestively, and with a sudden shiver he knew that this was one offer he was going to refuse.
“Whoah!” he muttered, gently extracting himself from her clinging arms. She fell back, a look of puzzlement on her face.
“What’s the matter?” she asked softly.
“I don’t think this is a good idea.” Understatement of the year. “It’s not you, it’s me,” he elaborated when she looked as though she was about to argue. Cliches had their uses after all.
“But Logan, I thought-”
“Just forget it ever happened!” he ordered, already on his feet and hastily putting some distance between them. Jesus, could things get any worse? He had Storm practically ripping his pants off while the woman he really wanted…he almost stumbled as his brain finally caught up with what his body already knew. He wanted Marie: only Marie. It was the last thing he had ever expected to happen. Despite all the grief he’d felt at the loss of Jean he was honest enough to admit that he might well have taken what ’Ro had offered at any other time, but since the moment he had first kissed her that southern witch had crawled under his skin and lodged there like a splinter. She’d left him so goddamn frustrated that he was taking it out on trees, for Christ’s sake!
The question was: what did he do now? Cruising the backstreets and bars wouldn’t satisfy the ache inside him this time, but he knew damn well that Marie wasn’t about to welcome him with open arms. Probably a beer and a fight would help relieve some of the tension in his muscles. With that thought in mind he set off towards the gates of the mansion, wincing as it began to hail. Never upset a weather goddess when you’ve come out without your jacket.
End of Part Two - Next part tomorrow!
Author: Bex
Email: hexybex@yahoo.co.uk
Rating: R
Pairing: Wolverine and Rogue
Genre: Not foof!!! Angsty romance?
Summary: Logan’s in love, but not with Marie.
Setting: After X3
Disclaimer: Logan belongs to Marvel and Fox, which is really unfair. He’d have more fun with me.
Notes: Here's Part Two. If you missed Part One I posted it here yesterday, or you can find it at my journal. (Not very good with the clever links yet!)
Memory of Bruises - Part Two
Marie halted at the sound of a low snarl coming from the shadows above her. Only one man in the mansion was capable of that menacing rumble, and so far she’d been doing a pretty good job of avoiding him. Lately, though, she’d felt him watching her, although what reason he might have she couldn’t guess. He’d wanted her to get out, get a life and grow up: she was trying hard to do all three. She was also trying hard not to let her thoughts dwell for any length of time on her one-time best friend and first lover, but that was proving more difficult. You couldn’t love a guy for five long years and not think about him now and then, even if he’d turned out to be a first class sonofabitch.
“You have yourself some fun, darlin’?” Logan purred, stepping out of the dark at the head of the stairs and looming over her. He sniffed the air deliberately, and she could almost swear she saw his hackles go up. The sudden flush of guilt she felt was ridiculous under the circumstances, particularly as nothing had happened, but it contributed to the hectic colour in her cheeks as she continued up the stairs towards him, only stopping when he moved in front of her, blocking her path.
She plunked her hands on her hips and lifted her chin. “Yeah, Logan, I’ve been out. It’s been a blast.”
“I’ll just bet. His scent’s all over you.”
“What can I say?” she sneered, quirking one eyebrow in perfect imitation of the man in front of her, “His girlfriend dumped him and I felt sorry for him. You know how it is.”
“You little bitch!” Logan growled. He grabbed her shoulders painfully, whipping her around so that she was pressed against the wall of the stairwell, all the breath whooshing from her lungs at the sudden impact. “You let him put his hands on you. Was it worth it, honey? Was he as good as me?”
“Better!” she hissed defiantly, curling her hands into fists against the lie. Logan didn’t need to know that she’d only kissed the guy a couple of times before nausea nearly overwhelmed her. His ego didn’t need any more boosting.
With a snarl he lowered his head and took her mouth in a cruel kiss, one hand holding her chin so that she couldn’t escape. She pushed frantically at his chest but he stilled her struggles effortlessly, the weight of his body holding her pinned against the wall. Despite the rough handling and the cruelty in the fingers at her throat, Marie felt a kick of thrilling awareness in her stomach and felt afraid for the first time: not of the man in front of her but of the way her body responded to him despite the desperate urgings of her brain. A sob of panic rose in her throat and spilled from her lips, and Logan went still. He lifted his head, allowing her to draw some air into her gasping lungs, and slowly moved away, the dim light in the stairway showing her little of his expression.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” she said shakily. Her lips were bruised and sore, and she wiped her hand across her mouth as if she could sweep away the last few minutes.
“Isn’t that what you wanted, sweetheart? Why else would you be trawlin’ the bars?” His voice didn’t sound quite steady, as if the kiss had affected him as much as it had her.
“You told me I needed to see more people, Logan. It seems a little contradictory to get pissy with me when I’ve only done what you suggested. I had a good time tonight.” Maybe if she said it often enough she might start believing it.
He reached out one finger and casually ran it down her cheek. “If you want a good time you don’t need to leave the mansion, honey. I’m right here.”
She tried not to betray the small flare of excitement that tingled down her nerve endings at his touch. God knew she tried. Unfortunately she hadn’t counted on Logan’s heightened senses, because a wicked grin suddenly spread itself across his face and he chuckled. “And you do want me, don’t you Marie? I can almost smell it on you.”
Damn! Just what she’d wanted to avoid. She narrowed her eyes, furious with him and with her own weakness where he was concerned. “I did want you Logan, for a long time. I thought I loved you. Shit, I almost had myself convinced that you loved me too when you kissed me on that couch. Well, you proved me wrong didn’t you? So now there’ll be no more wanting and no more loving. I’m all grown up now, you see?”
His jaw tightened. “One taste won’t be enough for either of us. You’ll be back in my bed in no time, count on it.”
“But I never was in your bed, was I?” she retorted, pushing past him and heading to her room. He made no reply, and it felt good to have the last word. Until she slammed the door behind her and the tears started to fall.
***
Back in his room Logan prowled up and down, finally stopping to lean his head against the wall. How had everything become so fucked up? He hadn’t intended to sleep with Marie, but it had happened and nothing could change that. What he didn’t understand was why he was obsessing about it now, all these weeks later. He’d had enough meaningless encounters in seedy motels to know that you take what’s on offer and you don’t look back. For some reason it wasn’t working this time, and he couldn’t even use the excuse that Marie was flaunting herself in front of him. In actual fact she’d gone out of her way to avoid seeing him, he was the one who had been forced to seek her out.
He’d intended to apologise. His good intentions had flown out the window as soon as she came towards him with the scent of another man on her, and obviously his sanity had gone along with them because there was no other explanation for his behaviour out there.
Unable to stay a moment longer in the cramped confinement of his room he raised the sash window and, swinging his legs over the sill, dropped the two floors to the ground. He needed some air, and he headed off to the wooded area that surrounded the mansion. Walking should have relieved some of the tension in his muscles, but he was uncomfortably aware with each step that his body was still aching for release. Disgusted with another sign of weakness he popped his claws, ramming his fist against a tree trunk with a hoarse shout, the adamantium easily penetrating the dense fibres, the rough bark grazing his knuckles. He retracted the claws and examined his fist, watching as the torn skin knit itself together again as his mutation kicked in. It reminded him of that first ride with Marie, when she had asked him if it hurt when they came out. ‘Every time,’ he had replied. Sometimes the pain was a welcome distraction.
The sound of a twig snapping beneath someone’s foot had him whipping around, and squinting into the darkness he spotted Storm wandering through the trees to his left. She hadn’t seen him yet, and he briefly considered avoiding her. Which was ridiculous - he wasn’t reduced to hiding in trees just yet. He purposely stepped into her line of vision, hoping that she would take the choice out of his hands and avoid him herself. Anyone out at this time of night was probably not in the mood for casual conversation anyway. However, she turned at the sound and headed straight for him, and he allowed himself a silent curse. This just wasn’t going to be one of his nights.
“Watcha doin’, Logan?” she asked, coming to a halt a short distance away from him and tilting her head to one side like an inquisitive bird.
“Not much. Just out for a walk.”
“That tree do something you didn’t like?” she queried, nodding her head in the direction of the tall oak that now bore the distinctive mark of three long claws.
“It looked at me the wrong way,” he deadpanned, and she chuckled, moving closer and falling into step with him.
They walked together in silence for a while until they came to an old bench hidden beneath the canopy of the branches overhead. As if by mutual consent they sat down next to each other, the musty odour of decaying leaves and damp earth rising up to meet them. Logan fumbled in his pocket for a cigar, and the sudden flare of a match briefly illuminated the scene. He shook it to put it out and flicked it way into the trees, his superior vision easily tracking its path even in the dark. Sometimes he forgot that not everyone saw things the way he did. How much simpler the world must appear that way.
“Wanna talk about it?”
He looked at Storm from beneath lowered brows and shook his head, then, realising that she probably couldn’t make out the movement, clarified: “Not really.”
“Okay. It’s up to you.”
Yeah, right. Any moment the questions would begin. He braced himself for the inquisition he was sure was coming, caught off guard when she suddenly leaned across and pressed her lips against his. Whatever he had been expecting this wasn’t it, and he caught hold of her shoulders, whether to push her away or pull her closer even he couldn’t tell at first. Her tongue insinuated itself into his mouth, darting in and out suggestively, and with a sudden shiver he knew that this was one offer he was going to refuse.
“Whoah!” he muttered, gently extracting himself from her clinging arms. She fell back, a look of puzzlement on her face.
“What’s the matter?” she asked softly.
“I don’t think this is a good idea.” Understatement of the year. “It’s not you, it’s me,” he elaborated when she looked as though she was about to argue. Cliches had their uses after all.
“But Logan, I thought-”
“Just forget it ever happened!” he ordered, already on his feet and hastily putting some distance between them. Jesus, could things get any worse? He had Storm practically ripping his pants off while the woman he really wanted…he almost stumbled as his brain finally caught up with what his body already knew. He wanted Marie: only Marie. It was the last thing he had ever expected to happen. Despite all the grief he’d felt at the loss of Jean he was honest enough to admit that he might well have taken what ’Ro had offered at any other time, but since the moment he had first kissed her that southern witch had crawled under his skin and lodged there like a splinter. She’d left him so goddamn frustrated that he was taking it out on trees, for Christ’s sake!
The question was: what did he do now? Cruising the backstreets and bars wouldn’t satisfy the ache inside him this time, but he knew damn well that Marie wasn’t about to welcome him with open arms. Probably a beer and a fight would help relieve some of the tension in his muscles. With that thought in mind he set off towards the gates of the mansion, wincing as it began to hail. Never upset a weather goddess when you’ve come out without your jacket.
End of Part Two - Next part tomorrow!