Title: As You Desire Me: A Red Shoe Diaries Letter Author: Donna Email: bevan1013@mindspring.com Fandom: X-Men (movie) (slight crossover with Red Shoe Diaries) Rating: Oh, what do you think? LOL - mild NC-17 Summary: Smut, plain and simple. No redeeming plot to speak of, just my answer to Kia Mira's challenge to write a "Red Shoe Diaries" fic. LOL She's such a bad influence, and I love her dearly for it. :) Oh, and if you guys like, I may do a letter from Logan, too. Like he'd do something so poofy as write Jake a letter. Category: Logan/Rogue fantasy? (Is that even a category??) Disclaimer: Not mine! Not Logan, Rogue, Jake, the dog, or the song! LOL Dedication: To Zalman King, who made Billy Zane say the one single line that never fails to crack me up. To Nikki, who started this whole thing with her perverted menage-a-trois talk. ;) And to Mira, who issued this challenge. Oh, and the ending tag is for Deby, who asked so nicely. ;) Notes: If you hate this, I apologize. :) It's just one of those things that happened... Blame it on the rabid plot bunnies. Well, okay, no plot... Blame this one on an ultra-rabid smut bunny. LOL As you desire me, so shall I come to you However you want me, so shall it be Be it forever or be it just a day As you desire me, let come what may Dear Red Shoes: There's a man I know. He is not my lover. He is not even my friend, not really. Some see him as my brother, some as my protector. No one has ever bothered to ask how I see him. This is how. This is my fantasy. I am in New Orleans, in an old hotel on Dauphine Street, between St. Ann and Dumaine. There is not much here - just a table with a phonograph, a straight-backed chair.and a bed. There are French doors leading to a courtyard outside, and they are open. A lazy breeze stirs the gauzy curtains and brings to me the scent of bougainvillea. A song hangs in the air, and both are slow and sultry. The music is old, and Ella Fitzgerald sings as though she means every word. His room is across the courtyard, and we've spoken, but only in passing. I know he has been watching me. Every night, through the undulating curtains, he watches as I sway my body softly to the rhythm of the music, the rhythm of sex. Tonight will be the night. The night he comes to me. I let the music fill me, so that I might be able to act surprised when he comes to the door. So that I might feign ignorance. It's a needless action - his approach is soundless anyway, and I am caught off guard by his voice, rough and even lower than the dim light. "You gonna leave that music on all night, darlin'?" I turn and there he is, leaning against my doorframe with relaxed arrogance. He is clad only in a pair of low-riding blue jeans, and his chest and feet are bare. The sight of him makes me shiver despite the warm night air. The record on the phonograph is scratched a little, and the needle skips and jumps in tiny pops of sound. "Maybe," I answer, arching an eyebrow. He arches one in return, and he's much better at it than me. His eyes sweep over me in lazy appraisal. "You know," he says, smiling, "a man might get the wrong idea, coming over here to an open door and you.dressed like that." Or he might get the right idea, I think as he once again rakes his gaze over me. I am wearing the thinnest silk I own, a loose dress with tiny straps and a bottom hem that brushes me at midthigh. "You came to me," I remind him. He steps closer, and I can feel the heat pulsing off his body in waves. "You wanted me to," he says simply. There is no question in his voice, because he sees right through me. And there is no accusation, either, because we both want this. We both want this. "Wanna dance?" I ask in a whisper, and he shakes his head. Instead, he edges a silk strap off my shoulder, and one side of my dress falls. It slides to a stop on the crest of my breast. With one hand, he traces the skin above the lowered silk, passing over breast and throat, curve and hollow. His other hand gathers silk at my hip, lifting the hem of my dress until his palm is in contact with bare flesh. I shudder, and he slides both hands to my back, gathering me close to him. He says nothing as he pulls my zipper down, opening my dress. He moves away slightly and the silk falls away from my body, sliding with a hushed whisper to the floor. His eyes darken as he drinks in my nakedness, not touching, just looking, and then his gaze is locked with mine. "Is this what you want?" he rasps, running his hands down my sides to my hips. "Is it, Marie?" He looks concerned, and it breaks my still silence. "You're overdressed for the party, sugar." He growls softly as my fingers brush his stomach and reach the buttons of his jeans. Behind the denim, his body is already straining to be freed. The very thought that his sex is seeking mine.It inflames me. My touch becomes more insistent, impatient. Finally, as he lowers me to my bed, I slide the rough fabric down his hips, along with his boxers. He is lying with his body pressed down into mine, and I am trying to maneuver so that he can be inside me when he grins and halts my movements. "Easy, Marie. I haven't even kissed you yet, darlin'." He drops a kiss to the corner of my trembling mouth. "No rush." Then, my hands are in his hair and I'm drawing him to me, opening his mouth with my own. He groans as my tongue slides past his lips, exploring, searching. Against my thigh, his hardened flesh stirs. It's heady, this feeling of the tables being turned, of the predator becoming the prey. Suddenly, I realize that I am seducing him, and I know that's how I want it to be. I drew him here, and I will not lie passively while he touches and kisses and strokes me. I am going to stoke the embers that rest within him until he is as consumed by this inferno of lust as I am. I'm going to show him. I shove against his shoulders, and he rolls onto his back, taking my body with his. I revel in the look of fierce concentration that twists his features. I like knowing that being so close to me, touching my naked body, is what's doing this to him. "Is this what you want?" I demand, smiling down at him a little. "Is it?" "Yes." Nothing more, and there is no hint of teasing or humor. There is just need - need that I can no longer ignore, because it's mirrored in me. I lean over him, letting my hair fall in a cascade over his skin. My fingers trail through the hair on his chest, up to his neck, to rest on the sheets on either side of him. My mouth is on his, and then on his ear, breathing softly. My tongue glides into the hollow of his ear, and I feel his hips arch upward as I hear his gasp. His gasp turns into a groan as I lean down a little more, pressing my breasts into his chest. He jerks, and the movement makes my nipples brush against his skin, eliciting another groan.this time from both of us. He's breathing erratically by the time I move my mouth and trace my tongue along his cheekbone. "I've had you in my head, Logan. Now I want you in my body." With that, I lean back. His hands grasp my hips and I press down as he thrusts upwards and into me. "Oh God." Did I say that, or did he? I don't know, and I don't care anymore. I feel like a spider who's spun the perfect silken trap, only to find herself firmly entangled in it. What began as a seduction has now become a mating dance, a cataclysmic melding that steals my breath and my thoughts. It would be useless to resist, so I follow my body as it curves and bends above his. He is talking, I realize, and it's odd - I never figured Logan for a talker. But apparently he is, because he's sighing words and broken phrases as I move. ".dreaming of this, Marie.I wanted you like this, on me, around me." His breath catches sharply, and his hands urge me faster. "Don't stop, Marie. Oh, baby, don't ever stop.feels so good." There's something about the sound of his voice around my name, begging me to keep going, that loosens the knot twisting inside me. It relaxes for a split second, then coils tighter than ever, and I cry out. "Logan!" "Yes, Marie, yes.like that.Ah, baby." Then I'm gone, flying outside myself, and all I can feel is the oxygen rushing in and out of my lungs, and Logan's chest beneath my clenched hands. He groans and shudders beneath me, and I open my eyes to find him staring up at me, chest heaving. He reaches up with one trembling hand and pushes my damp hair from my face, white and brown strands clinging to his fingers. "I love you, Marie." That is my fantasy, and it will never happen. It is impossible, because I am a mutant. If anyone touches my bare skin, my body immediately begins to draw their life energy away from them. If they touch me for long enough, they will die. That is why this is my fantasy. It's nothing spectacular or earth shattering or remotely kinky. Not like the stuff you usually read, I'm sure. But it is outrageous, if only because of its impossibility. This man is not my brother - he never has been. He was once my protector, but now he is much more.and less. He is the greatest wish I shall never have granted. The star that will never fall on me. The dream I always wake from. My nighttime fantasy. Jake sighed and refolded the letter, stuffing it hastily into his pocket. His dog stared up at him quizzically and cocked his head to one side, whining softly. Jake grinned and drew a hand through his tousled hair. "Well, I guess things really can always be worse, can't they? I mean, at least I can still touch people, right?" He reached out rubbed the dog's ears, laughing. Then he thought again of the woman in the letter. "Suddenly, my life doesn't look so bad." Then he rose from the park bench and started his walk home. Haven Of Fic - Fanfiction [Midnight Confessions] Title: Midnight Confessions: A Red Shoe Diaries Letter Author: Donna Email: bevan1013@mindspring.com Fandom: X-Men (movie) Rating: NC-17 (kiddies begone!! Now!!) Summary: Logan pens a letter to the infamous Jake. Companion piece to "As You Desire Me." Category: Logan/Rogue smut Disclaimer: The only thing that belongs to me is the dirty imagination. That I claim, although sometimes I think I shouldn't. Dedication: For Kara, who (in a roundabout way) helped me de-poof Logan's letter. Also for Kia Mira, who assured me that clothes didn't have to come off for the sex to sizzle. ;) And for Die, who branded me a tease.literally. Dear Red Shoes: So, you want letters about love and betrayal, eh? Well, then, I've got a story for you. I've loved. Hasn't everybody? And I've betrayed. I've betrayed everything - the trust of my peers, the law, even my own conscience. But, worst of all, I betrayed the clean, sweet innocence of a young girl, a girl I swore to protect above everything else. I guess, in the end, what she really needed protection from was me. I was pacing in my room after dinner. I was restless, edgy. Things had gotten to the point where I was like that a lot. I'd been watching her, you see. Watching and wanting. Needing. I tried to ignore her, and it just got worse. If she'd been nowhere near me, we all would have been better off. I mean, imagine that you're a recovering alcoholic, and your job is tending bar; sooner or later, the temptation to take just one sip can bring you to your knees. That night, I was on my knees. I had tried everything to soothe my raging agitation, but nothing had worked. I was pacing like a caged animal. And in a way, I was. Caged, that is. Imprisoned by my inappropriate desire for her - unable to either stop or assuage it. Trapped. I tried to console myself with the knowledge that I couldn't have her anyway. She was too young, and she didn't see me as anything but a friend. A kindred spirit. Also, she was incapable of skin to skin contact. As much as knowing all those facts pained me, they also kept me sane. I could want her until I was blue in the face (and other places), but I still couldn't do a damn thing about it. Anyway, she knocked on my door. She wanted me to watch a movie with her, and I considered telling her I was busy. But, in case you haven't already figured it out, I said yes. Of course I said yes. I'd move heaven and hell for Marie, if it meant I got to see her smile. It wasn't until we got to the TV room that I realized it was just going to be the two of us. I asked her about it as she was loading the disc into the DVD player. "No one else wants to watch this movie, Logan, 'cept for me," she told me, nervously pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. Then she smiled. "And now you, too, I guess." The movie she'd chosen was "Gone With The Wind," and I did not want to see it. But my weakness overwhelmed everything else; I'd watch four hours of The Weather Channel if it meant I got to sit in a darkened room all alone with Marie. I sat on the sofa as she dimmed the lights, then curled up next to me with the remote control. That position gave me a perfect view down the front of her shirt. She'd taken to wearing these tight little tee shirts with deep v-necks, and they drove me nuts. They exposed rather than hinted, and I didn't need that kind of enticement. The scarf she was wearing made my discomfort worse; it was this sheer piece of black material that she'd draped around her neck. She moved, and one end of the scarf trailed across the back of my hand. I was imagining what it would feel like in my mouth when she flashed me a little smile and leaned lightly against me. My heart skipped a few beats before I realized that she was just settling in to watch the film, and her proximity had nothing to do with wanting to touch me. It had to do with her being comfortable enough to kick back and relax with me. I was nice, comfy Logan. Nice, comfy.safe Logan. Part of me wanted to grin like a damn fool. Another part was irritated. I wasn't all about comfort and stability; I halfway wanted to show her exactly how dangerous and exciting I could be.if she would just let me touch her. I'm a goddamn pervert. Ever seen "Gone With The Wind"? Well, it's a damn long movie, and parts of it aren't exactly breathtakingly exciting, especially if you've seen it before. Marie's eyes were drooping by the time Scarlett's second husband bit the dust. She moved in closer to me, resting her head on my shoulder, as Atlanta burned. And she was sound asleep by the time Rhett whisked Scarlett away for their decadent honeymoon. Aw, hell. I should have turned the movie off and carried her up to bed, or at least woken her gently and told her to go to bed herself. But I didn't. I sat there, my body tensed, and let her use me as a giant-sized pillow. Things were marginally fine until she twisted her body around so she was facing the back of the couch. The action pressed her face into my shoulder, affording me the sight of her innocent face completely relaxed in sleep. Something in my gut twisted painfully, and I knew I had to get away from her. She was doing something to me, and I had no idea what it was. I only knew that I'd never felt about any woman the way I felt about her, about little Marie. And I had no right to be feeling those things. I began to slowly and carefully maneuver my shoulder from under her head. It didn't work out as I'd expected, mostly because she rolled onto her back as I moved. The side of her face slid down my chest, and the back of her head came to rest in my lap. Shit. Holy shit. Okay, if there was one thing I didn't need at that moment, it was Marie's head anywhere near my crotch. My throbbing, aching crotch. Just the slight pressure of her head against my body was making me react, and the way she looked lying there.It made me want to scream or cry.or both. It also made me want to run like hell before I did something I'd live to regret. "Dammit," I swore underneath my breath. I had no idea what to do. My hands hovered helplessly above her sleeping form, then tangled in her hair. There it was again - that strange curling in my stomach. I recognized it that time. It was fear. With her hair wrapped protectively around my hands, I nudged her face gently. "Marie. Marie, wake up," I urged her quietly. If there was a God, she'd wake up, blush, and scramble to get away from me as soon as possible. Apparently there was a God, but I'm pretty sure he hates me, because she only stirred at the sound of my voice. She moved onto her side again, burying her nose in the fabric covering my belly. Hell, no. Oh, hell fucking no. "Marie," I hissed. "Get up, kid." She didn't immediately wake up; instead, she sighed and stretched and rubbed against me like a cat. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth, unable to stop the shudder that ran through me. "What is it, Logan?" she asked sleepily, pushing herself up into a half-sitting position. She braced a hand on my thigh for leverage, but she was still only half-awake, and her hand slipped. It landed squarely on my burgeoning erection, and I couldn't breathe, much less move. Finally, I managed to choke a few words past the lump in my throat. "Time for bed," I rasped, wrapping my hand around her wrist and lifting her fingers away from my body. "Logan?" She was wide awake now, her eyes huge as she stared at me. She could see the tension in me, could feel the tremors that ran through my hand on her wrist. "What's wrong?" Her hair was disheveled from sleep. She was still slightly bent over, and I could see the tops of her breasts and a bit of black lace peeking from her neckline. "Get out of here, Marie." My voice was flat. She didn't say a word, just stared at me with confusion darkening her eyes. Then she did the one thing that made me lose it. I forgot everything: control, good sense, decency. Everything. She licked her lips. With a sound that was half groan and half growl, I reached out and yanked her into my lap. She yelped softly, her mouth falling open in shock as she landed on me, one leg on either side of my hips. "What're you doin'?" she squeaked. "Shh." I slid my hands around to her back and drew her closer to me, until her knees were pressed into the sofa cushions and her hips were aligned with mine. She let out another tiny yelp, quieter this time, and I searched her face for signs that she was frightened. There were none. Her eyes were wide, but not with fear. She stared down at me for long seconds, then whispered, "We can't, Logan." "We can't, or you don't want to?" My hands were shaking as I waited for her answer. Her eyelids drifted down to half-mast, and her breathing quickened. "We can't. My skin." Oh God, yes.Her skin. I'd seen it in so many dreams, bare and silvered by moonlight. I'm not going to lie; I wanted nothing more than to taste it, to feel her naked flesh sliding against mine. But I wanted to feel her in any way I possibly could, and if that meant through her clothes, then so be it. I wanted to hear her gasp and sigh. I wanted to hear her voice break over my name, to feel her shaking in my arms. I wanted her to fly apart for me. "Trust me, Marie," I said, and I barely recognized my own voice. I dragged the scarf from her neck and wound the ends in my hands, then reached up and clasped her face carefully. "Trust me." I kissed her through the sheer cloth. I started soft and slow because I didn't want to frighten her out of my arms, but she wasn't scared. Not at all. I could feel the wet heat of her mouth as her lips parted above mine, could feel the soft stab of her tongue as it slid out. I could taste her though the fabric, on the fabric, a combination of sweat and perfume and the sweetness that dwelled behind her lips. She leaned into me, moaning low in the back of her throat, and I could feel the sound vibrating against my mouth. Her gloved hands slid up my chest to clutch my face and stroke my neck. The fire in my blood blazed higher, and what began soft and slow became hard and deep. Demanding. Still, she twisted against me in an effort to get closer. A shudder ran through my body, and I nearly lost it. I almost pushed her back into the cushions and took her right then, deadly mutant skin be damned. I'd die to be inside of her, to feel her body clench around my hardness. Every cell in my body was screaming for completion, insisting that I brand her as mine. But I couldn't do that, not if I wanted Marie to feel good about touching me. And she was going to feel good, of that I was determined; she was going to think she'd died and gone to heaven. There was only one thing I could ever give her, and that was it. Pleasure. I could give her pleasure so intense that she'd never forget it. No, I didn't stop to ponder the blatant arrogance of that thought, nor did I think about how selfish I was being. Fuck that. Marie was on top of me, kissing me with everything she was worth, and I was burning. I pulled away and dragged the scarf from between us. Her chest was heaving, her lips swollen. "Are we stoppin'?" she panted, her hands on my jaw. "I don't want to stop, Logan." "We're not," I assured her, reaching up to knead her breasts with both hands. She gasped and dropped her hands to my shoulders. "Logan!" I was suddenly very aware of the fact that we were in one of the school's common rooms, and that anyone could walk in at any moment. I didn't particularly give a damn. Let 'em come in and find us. But then I thought of Marie. "Quiet, Marie," I cautioned, reaching down to wrap the scarf around my fingers again. "What do you want, for Chuck to wheel in here and find us like this?" I asked teasingly. She shook her head, then jerked away as I started to slide her shirt off of one shoulder. "No, Logan, don't--" I stilled her with one hand. "I'll be careful, Marie. You won't hurt me." At her nod, I pulled the cotton down, exposing one breast, and hissed in a breath at the sight of the sheer bra she wore. A light brush of my fingers against her covered skin tightened her nipple, and she gasped, grinding her hips against mine. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the sofa, fighting for control. Her fingers were hesitant on my face. "Logan?" I forced my eyes open. "Marie." I slid my hands to her back again, drawing her closer to me. "Relax, baby." At the first cautious press of my mouth against her breast, she stiffened. Then her fingers twisted in my hair and she held my head to her body. When my mouth opened and my tongue wetly traced the flesh underneath her bra, she began unconsciously moving her body, riding me in a rhythm she knew by instinct and instinct alone. I drew her fabric-sheltered skin into my mouth, and she bucked. Her grinding motions became faster, more insistent, and she whimpered my name. "Logan." I was gasping for air as I lifted my mouth from her, trying not to groan aloud every time her body shifted against mine. "Go with it, Marie.Just let it feel good." She nodded and bit her lip. I wanted to kiss her, to be able to whisper things to her with my lips and tongue pushed against her ear. I wanted her. All of her. My hands slid up and cupped her shoulders, urging her to increase the pressure of her pelvis on mine. I began to thrust my body upwards, moving in counterpoint to hers. The tense knot of pleasure inside me was growing, tightening, and I fought to stay in control. There was no way I was going to come; it was all about her, all of it. Everything. She fell forward against me, her hair protecting me as she buried her face in the curve of my neck. She was moaning my name and breathing in these hitching little gasps, and I had to clench my jaw to keep from crying out. Then Marie began to shake, and her moans melted into a low keening cry that splintered through me like a bolt of lightning. She bit my neck through my shirt and ground into me, and stars exploded behind my eyelids. Her head snapped back, and she looked down at me, her hair falling around her face. I could see myself in the darkness of her eyes. Then she quivered and sighed, biting her lower lip and falling against me again. I sat there beneath her, my body frozen, teetering on the edge of release. Then she began to whisper soft words into my shoulder, rubbing my body gently with hers. "I love you, Logan. I've always loved you." I snapped. I grabbed her hips with both hands as the tension inside me dissolved into ecstasy, and I cried out as waves of pleasure shot up my spine with an intensity that made me quake in her arms. She continued to whisper to me, tenderly brushing my hair back from my face as I slowly regained some semblance of sanity. "I love you, Logan." I left that night. What else was I going to do? I showered, packed my shit, and left. I only stopped long enough to slide a scribbled note under Marie's door - "I'm sorry, kid. Things got out of hand." You're sitting there, damning me for any number of things right now, aren't you? You might be thinking that I should never have touched her in the first place, and you'd be right; her innocence wasn't mine to take, and I should be shot for what I did to her. Marie deserved flowers and candy and soft words.You know, all the shit that goes along with courtship. She deserved undying love and promises of forever. What she got instead was me and a cheap fuck on a sofa, with Vivien Leigh whining on the television about tomorrow being another day. Not a very fair trade-off, is it? Or maybe you're thinking I shouldn't have left. Maybe you think that I should have done the right thing by her, that I should have stayed and given her everything she missed the first time around. Well, that just goes to prove that you don't know jack shit. I left because I had to. I left because I love her. God help me, I love her. I could have done one of two things. I could have stayed and tried to be the man she wanted, the man she needed. I could have stayed.But I knew that, sooner or later, I would betray the feelings she had for me. I don't know how, but I knew I would end up breaking her heart. My other option was leaving, ripping myself away from her arms and the only home I'd ever known. My other option was betraying myself. In the end, there was really no contest, was there? I can live with my pain, but I couldn't bear knowing that I'd hurt Marie any more than I already have. So I left, and I'm never going back. I can't. I can't. Jake lowered the paper with shaking hands, his eyes narrowed. He only occasionally received letters from men, and never had he gotten one so full of emotion and pain as the one he held. Stella whined, and he absently reached down to pat her on the head. Vaguely, he recalled a letter he'd gotten several weeks back from a girl who called herself Marie. Could it be the same one? He searched his desk drawer hastily, finally finding the faintly-scented letter. Logan. The man in her letter was named Logan, too. And she mentioned something about not being able to touch people, just like the man had written. He swallowed tightly and sighed. Not for the first time, he wished there was a way for the man and woman named Logan and Marie to work things out.but it didn't look good. It didn't look good at all. Title: The Things I Deserve Author: Donna Email: bevan1013@mindspring.com Fandom: X-Men (movie) Rating: R Summary: Jake just couldn't keep his mouth shut.God bless his soul! Sequel to the Red Shoe Diaries fics ("As You Desire Me" and "Midnight Confessions"). Category: Logan/Rogue romance Disclaimer: None of this crap is mine. I beat Marvel, Bryan Singer, and Zalman King up and took their toys. I'm thinkin' about not givin' 'em back, too. So there! Dedication: For everyone who cried "Sequel!" (especially Die, Mira, and Chris). And for Teresa, who gave me the idea that maybe Jake should do a little meddling. :) Rogue never paid much attention to mail call. She wasn't like Kitty, who had a family that actually still kept in touch, or Jubes, who had pen pals all over the globe and coming out her ears. She never got mail. Ever. That's why she was so shocked when Scott Summers handed her a long white envelope addressed by name only to "Marie." There was no one left who called her that but Logan, and it was highly unlikely that he'd be writing anytime soon. It had been a month, but her memories of that last night with him were seared into her brain; she was sure she'd never forget. The way he smelled, the way he touched her.But, above all else, she remembered the haunted look in his eyes afterward, when he led her to her room and gently kissed the top of her head. She'd known what he was going to do. She'd stared up into his tired face, and she'd known what was coming, if not why. An hour later, as she lay awake in bed, she heard the soft scrape of paper against hardwood, and she shut her eyes against it. She hadn't wanted to be right. She imagined that he stood outside her door for a while, unable to simply walk away. It gave her hope. What would he do if she yanked the door open and threw her arms around him? How would he react? Would he run away then? Or was there something in her power she could do to make him stay? She never found out, because by the time she'd dragged herself from her misery and her bed, he was gone. Funny. It had taken her half an hour to go from child to woman in Logan's arms. Thirty minutes. Such a short span of time to gain and lose everything. She refused to run after him, and she refused to cry. If he had wanted either, he would have stayed. So she hid his farewell note in her underwear drawer and said nothing, simply endured the questions and the conjectures, and finally the suspicious and sympathetic stares. She refused to bend. If she did, she would break, of that much she was certain. She stared at the envelope in her shaking hands and wondered if she should even open it. But curiosity kills, and she walked quietly to her room and sat down to read. "Marie.You don't know me, but my name is Jake. You wrote me a letter a few months ago, and there's something I think you should see." She burst into his office, a piece of paper fluttering in one gloved fist, and Charles Xavier didn't need to be a telepath to know that Rogue was incensed. Fury lined her face, making her look as if she'd seen far more years than just her seventeen. "Find him, Professor," she choked, coming to a halt in front of his desk. "I need to talk to him. Now." He also didn't need psychic ability to know of whom she spoke. He'd been expecting this sort of demand from her; he had, in fact, expected it a month earlier, the day Scott had come to tell him that Logan was gone. He had found it odd that she didn't question him, didn't inquire to see what, if anything, he knew. It was almost as if she knew precisely why Logan had disappeared. No, it was exactly as if she knew. "Why now, Rogue, after all these weeks?" was all he said, folding his hands carefully in his lap. If she wanted him to know, she would tell him. If not, then it was probably none of his business. She hesitated, then sighed. "I need to talk to him. There are thing.I didn't know." He nodded gravely. That was all the explanation he needed, and all he was going to get, he suspected. "I'll see what I can do, Rogue." He wheeled around his desk and toward the door, stopping when he heard her tiny voice, too young to belong to a woman with a soul so old. "Professor? Thank you." Logan almost didn't answer the knock on his door. He knew no one in town, and only someone looking for trouble would be banging on his door at three in the morning. But then he smelled something faintly feminine.and remembered the couple next door. He'd seen the woman's bruised and battered face on more than one occasion. She never made a sound during the abuse, but he had smelled the fear and pain wafting through the paper-thin walls of the apartment building. Damned if he knew why she stayed, but that was none of his concern. What was his concern was the fact that she might be huddled outside his door, waiting for help. And damned if he was going to sit by and let her bastard of a husband kill her just because the toad thought it part of his marital rights. Maybe if his mind hadn't been fogged with sleep, he would have known who was on the other side of the door, would have recognized the scent. But his mind was foggy, and he didn't even stop to consider who else might have been outside his door. After all, if danger waited, he could dispatch it easily enough, so there was no need to worry. He was wrong. He yanked the door open and found himself staring down into the eyes that filled his dreams, his heart. "Marie," he whispered, not at all believing she was really there, standing in the hallway outside his tiny apartment. No, it was just his foolish mind playing tricks on him, making him see the things he wanted but could never have. "Logan." Her voice was angry, and he knew then that she was real. Shit. He forced himself to growl at her. "What the hell are you doing here, kid?" She took a deep, shaky breath, then looked at the floor beneath her feet. "You told me once that I should follow my instincts. Well, that's what I'm doin', Logan. Followin' my instincts. And this," she added, holding a paper aloft. Holy shit, motherfucking hell, Jesus Christ on a cracker. Shit, shit, shit. "Where'd you get that?" he demanded hoarsely, instantly recognizing the cheap motel stationery and tortured scrawl. "Where the fuck did you get that, Marie?" "From a friend," was all she said, and her voice was icy. She craned her neck, looking over his shoulder. "Are you gonna let me in, or do you have some kinda hot date in there?" For a few moments, Logan waged a battle, head against heart. In the end, it was a war his head could never hope to win, and he stepped aside, letting her in. Rogue was shaking as she breezed past Logan and into his tiny, dimly-lit apartment. All she wanted to do was throw her arms around his neck and hold him until he knew how exactly how she felt, and never wanted to walk away from her again. But she'd practiced her approach, if not her exact words; she knew in her gut that if she cried and wept and wailed, then he wouldn't hear a word she said. He would see her pain and know that he'd been the cause of it, and it would serve only to strengthen his insane convictions. She knew this, and so she reached inside herself and tapped into the one emotion she could show him, the one that might make him see. Anger. "Nice place," she offered flatly, and he raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Fine," she shrugged. "Forget small talk, then." "We both know you didn't come here to check out my new digs, Marie." He looked calm and collected as he flipped on the overhead light switch, but she could see the tension in his muscles. He was not calm; he was as torn up inside as she was. "You're right, Logan. I didn't come here for a pleasant chat. I came here to ask you about this." She threw his crumpled letter on the stained coffee table, and he stared at it as if it were a living, venomous thing. "You never did say where you got that." She nearly laughed at the dread in his tone. She wanted to ask him how it felt, knowing that she was privy to his most intimate thoughts. It was how she'd always felt with him. "Damn, I gotta tell ya, Logan.It's good to see the shoe on the other foot." "What're you talking about, Marie?" Now he was faking boredom, going so far as to manufacture a yawn for her benefit. She cocked an eyebrow, unconsciously imitating him, and smirked. He was obviously forgetting that she knew him like no one else. If he wanted to play hardball, then she was more than up for it. "Bored already, Logan? But we haven't even gotten started yet." She reached down without looking and picked his letter back up. Then she started to read aloud. "'Her skin.I'd seen it in so many dreams, bare and silvered by moonlight. I'm not going to lie; I wanted nothing more than to taste it, to feel her naked flesh sliding against mine--'" He sucked in a harsh breath, and the sound made her fall quiet. "Still bored, Logan?" He stalked over and snatched the paper from her. "It ain't right, kid, you reading this." "Why?" she demanded. "Because it's personal? Or because it's about me?" He said nothing in answer as he crumpled the letter and tossed it in the wastebasket near the stove. "Which is it, Logan?" His eyes were tired and sad. "Go on back to school, kid." "Kid?" She narrowed her eyes and approached him slowly. "Kid? Funny thing, Logan." Her voice dropped to a purr. "You weren't calling me 'kid' when you were fucking me." Before she even finished speaking, Logan's hand was locked like a vise around her upper arm. "Don't say that," he growled. "Don't ever say that again." "Why not?" It was little more than a whisper. "In the letter, you said you loved me. Is it true?" He released her so abruptly that she nearly stumbled. "Doesn't matter, Marie." He turned away and shuffled through a desk drawer. He came up with a cigar and a lighter. "Nothing matters now except you getting back home." Things weren't going at all like she'd planned. She'd never imagined that he'd be so.cold. He wasn't composed or relaxed, just. detached. "Coward," she mumbled at his back. Silence. "I did it to protect you, Marie. I know you don't believe me, but this is for the best." Something inside her broke, and she lashed out, hitting his shoulder with an open-handed slap. "That's bullshit, Logan!" He spun to face her again, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Don't try and make this my fault, you hear me? I'm not the one runnin'!" His throat worked, and she could tell that he was carefully reigning in his emotions. She didn't want that; she wanted him to show something, and she didn't care what. Rage, fear, love.She'd take anything, just to know she wasn't screaming at a brick wall. "Why are you doing this, Marie? Why are you making things harder?" Her eyes blazed. "You're the one who's making this--" "Dammit, Marie!" he yelled. "I'm trying not to hurt you!" That did it. "It is too fuckin' late for that! Don't you get it? Nothin' could hurt more than you walkin' out after.after we." She swallowed, blinking wildly. She would not cry. She wouldn't. The fight drained out of him, and he stood, his cigar dangling, forgotten, from his fingers. "What do you want from me, Marie?" he asked, knowing the answer. "I want you to try, Logan. I want to be worth that much, at least." He couldn't stop himself from taking a single step toward her. "You are, Marie. You're.You deserve so much, and I can't--" She laughed distantly. "Don't talk to me about the things I deserve, Logan. I know what they are. I deserve to have a chance, Logan. I deserve a shot at bein' happy." Her eyes fell to the floor. "You deserve the same." They said nothing for long minutes, then Logan sighed. "I'm trying to do the right thing here, Marie." She laughed for real then. "Keep tellin' yourself that, Logan. But I know what's really goin' on. You're scared. And there's a big difference between bein' noble and bein' scared shitless." "Dammit, Marie.What can I say to you?" he asked painfully. "What can I say to make you understand?" "Nothing," she replied, smiling softly. "Not a damn thing." She took a last look around, and a last look at him. "I'll be goin' now." He watched as she walked past him, barely brushing his arm with hers. Then she stopped, and he turned. Her eyes met his as she reached for the metal chain around her neck. The agony that had been scratching at him threatened to break free. "No," he said reflexively, and she stopped, her hands at the back of her neck. "Don't, Marie.Just keep 'em, okay?" She looked him dead in the eye. "No." The chain came apart between her fingers, and pain spread through Logan 's stomach as she gathered the tags in her palm. "I'm leavin', Logan, for good. You have my heart, and I guess that's always gonna be the case." "Marie, put 'em back on." His desperation was breaking through, but she continued as if he hadn't spoken. "But I can't let you keep any more of me than what you already have, and as long as I wear these tags, then you have a part of me." She didn't look as lost as he felt. She looked determined. "That ends right now, Logan." "Marie." His eyes were stinging, and his claws ached to slide through flesh. She couldn't do this, not now, not when he. "Take 'em, Logan." Her voice was gentle, and it cut through him. "No." She turned her palm downward to drop the chain, and his hand closed hers into a fist around the metal. He was shaking, suffering..Couldn't she see it? Couldn't she see that she was killing him with her quiet resolve? "Put it back on, Marie." "Logan, I--" "Put the damn tags back on!" His voice cracked, and he could feel his control slipping, his vision blurring. She wasn't going to do this. He couldn't let her. She stared at his devastated face for a long moment, then shook her head. "If you aren't willin' to be with me, Logan, let me go." Fucking shit. He could feel the hot burning in his throat as pain overwhelmed him, lashing at his already bleeding heart. "I can't, Marie!" "Please." "No!" he choked. "It's.It's all I have left," he admitted, closing his eyes against his tears. "Knowing that you wear those tags.It's all I have." Instead of melting her resolve, his words wounded and angered her. "You can't do this to me, Logan!" she yelled, her own tears threatening to strangle her. "You can't run out on me and expect me to still hang on!" Her face crumpled, and she cried out. "It's not fair," she sobbed, wrenching her hand out of his and throwing the tags at his chest. "It's not fair, damn you!" The metal hit the wall of his chest and bounced to the floor. He stood, unmoving, unseeing....Unaware. She was right. In the end, what he wanted was to know that Marie loved him, no matter what, that she still clung to him even though he was gone. It was his greatest fantasy and his biggest fear - having Marie love him. And she had loved him. But he had broken her, through his own selfishness and stupidity; he'd stripped away the soft, warm layers of her heart and exposed its core. And then he'd shown her what pain was. She wanted nothing more to do with him. He didn't blame her. "I'm sorry," he rasped as spasms of the purest sorrow he'd ever felt twisted him. He had to get her out of there before he fell, before she bore witness to his collapse. He didn't want her to see him hit the floor. "So sorry, Marie." Then it was too late, because the next thing he knew he was on his knees. A harsh voice deep inside his head screamed for him to get up, to shake off the pain and at least try to look like a man, but it was eclipsed by the roaring in his ears, by the sound of his own heart pounding. He was dying, and he knew it. He had to be. No one could hurt this badly and live, healing factor be damned. Through his sobs, he heard her soft voice murmuring to him, felt her gloved hands running tenderly through his hair. It made him cry harder, because he'd never given her anything good, and she'd given him everything, was still giving, even though he'd thrown it all back in her face. He focused on her tearful voice, on her gentle fingers. ".never getting' rid of me, Logan, I don't care what you say, or how often. I love you, and that's forever. It doesn't stop, Logan., even if you want it to like all hell on fire.That's part of the deal." He lay there with his head in her lap, gasping, barely feeling the rough carpeting beneath his bare shoulder. All he could feel was Marie. And then he knew. He finally understood that she was telling him the truth, that nothing he could do or say would make her forsake him. But beyond that, he saw that he didn't have to worry about it, because loving her was enough reason to make her happy, and he could. He had the power to make Marie happy...just by being Logan. He didn't have to run. He was going to fuck up from time to time, simply because he was Logan and he tended to do that on occasion. But it didn't mean that he had to live alone. It didn't mean he had to walk away. "Marie." "I know," she whispered soothingly. "I know.It's all right." I'm sorry. I love you. Don't leave me. I love you. She knew. Dear Jake: I'll bet you never thought you'd hear from me again, but here I am. I took your advice, by the way, and that's sort of why I'm writing. It worked out, after all. Every time I mention writing to tell you thanks, Logan growls at me and reminds me that he's still considering tracking you down and kicking your ass for forwarding me his letter. But I wouldn't worry too much if I were you. I'll keep him in line. It's sort of strange, but I never realized what was really going on with him and his running. I was being self-centered, I guess, because it turns out that it had very little to do with me. Nothing I could say or do could stop it, like a force of nature, you know? What Logan really needed was to realize within himself that running away didn't have to be a way of life, and that sometimes it's okay to stay. And he has stayed. Regardless of Logan's growling and bellyaching, I have you to thank for that. If you hadn't sent me that letter, I never would have known how he felt.and I never would have gone after him and dragged his ass back home. He's reading over my shoulder, and he wanted me to tell you that my version of events differs slightly from his. But we're not going into all that right now. I guess I just wanted to say thank you. One more thing - I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for. All my best, Marie