Fic: Desperate Measures - (4/5)
More trashy Rogan foof of the poke-fun-at-Logan variety.
Logan prepares for his evening in with Marie...
Rating is NC17, R, M, 18 - whatever your high-rated symbolic preference is. Contains swearing. And Logan thoughts.
Super-tight jeans, big assed belt buckle, and a loose shirt over a wifebeater… go for the traditional ‘this is what I always wear’ approach. Yeah. …No… That was a crap idea. What was he thinkin'?
Smart pants and a jacket. Yeah. The way forward. Much more modern-day-man.
Or… not.
Christ, if there was ever a time he owned either of those two things, then the memory was long obliterated.
He rummaged through his draws. Wifebeater, wifebeater, really bad shirt, wifebeater…dammit!! Was there not a secret superhero draw swivelling button that revealed long lines of really smart clothes for emergencies such as this? Seriously. Chuck should get that installed.
James Bond never had to put up with any of this shit.
Jeans, smart-ish…kinda… ok not really but it would do T-shirt, and a bit of gel in his hair. Said gel then hidden under the bed where it would not be found. A moment of hideous panic when he realised the stolen Cosmo mag was still in his room, but he hid it inside a far more manly copy of some girl-on-girl porno, and shoved it alongside the hair gel, trying not to think about how fucked up in the head that made him.
He surveyed the room. Not bad, not bad at all. Not too neat. Not too messy. Clean sheets. All the necessities conveniently at hand; TV remote, beer, hand-cuffs multipack of condoms… They would want for nothin'…
His stomach growled.
…Except possibly food. Maybe he should-
A knock at the door suddenly hammered his heart through his throat.
Two months, fourteen days, and seven hours.
Christ, super-healer or not, there was no way he was going to survive this if things didn’t start going his way.
She didn't wait for him to answer. Probably a good thing. His feet appeared to be frozen to the floor. So he just watched. Attempted to strike a casual, 'yeah this is how I always stand in the middle of my room' pose.
Not really workin'.
Still, as the door swung open and she let herself in, he managed a sexy half smile, and let his eyes feast on her glossy hair, that slim neck, the low V cut of her top...
Hell, he was screwed.
Was he dribbling? He had a feeling it was a distinct possibility. She hadn’t noticed though. He hoped. “Hey darlin’.” Oh yeah, and that sounded smooooth. Rough around the edges, deep, warm and slightly growly. Enough to give most women an orgasm on its own. Damn he was good.
“Hi Logan.” She smiled shyly, and his heart constricted. As did his jeans.
He smiled back. “So…” He had great plans for taking that sentence further, but yeah… his brain was already picturing what colour underwear she had on and whether he could rip it off with his teeth. Damn, but that was a good-
“Green. And yep. You probably could.”
Green? Oh yeah, that was a good colour on her, suited…what the FUCK?
Ok, back up here a minute, bub. “Did you just…” He frowned. “Did I… out loud? With... the…”
Oh but she was grinnin' at him now, the little minx. Not her cute little innocent smile either, a full on cat that just got the cream smile. Where the hell did that come from?
“I touched Jean this afternoon.”
Man that was a pretty image. Fuck, he’d pay to see somethin’ like that. Hell, he’d already-
“Not like that,” she gave him a stern look, but the humour was still there behind it. “But I can tell everything you’re thinking. It was Jubes' idea. Your air con thing was so obvious, I thought I'd give myself a fighting chance.”
Fuck.
“You swear a lot.”
Yeah, well. It was a healthy outlet.
It began to dawn on him that he had seriously underestimated her.
She nodded. “Yep.”
She was no more 'kid', than he was Mary Poppins.
“You've watched that?”
Goddammit!
He concentrated and tried really hard to think of... manly things. Bikes. Machines. Prodding open fires with sticks. Not sex. No. Definitely not sex. Especially not the hot, dirty kind... Oh Christ, did she know there were handcuffs under his pillow?
“Well I do now,” she said, sneaking a look past him to peek at the bed.
He ran a slightly nervous hand through his hair. Was he sweatin'? Fuck, this was not goin' the way he planned.
“So how did you plan it, sugar?”
Yeah. Either he’d died and gone straight to hell. Or he’d died and gone straight to heaven.
Rogue's eyes sparkled. “Well, that depends...”
Damn. It was so unfair that she could do that!
“I ain't gonna sleep with you. Not tonight.”
Hell. Definitely Hell.
“My momma raised me to be a lady.”
He hated her mother.
“But I did tell Bobby to get lost.”
...Hopefully with a shotgun...
“And I might just let you take me out tonight. If,” she paused to smile wickedly, “you're very, very good.”
He folded his arms. Raised an eyebrow. “An' what if I'm very, very bad?”
Her smile widened, and he realised for the first time that she wasn't as innocent as she looked.
Damn, that was hot.
Logan prepares for his evening in with Marie...
Rating is NC17, R, M, 18 - whatever your high-rated symbolic preference is. Contains swearing. And Logan thoughts.
Super-tight jeans, big assed belt buckle, and a loose shirt over a wifebeater… go for the traditional ‘this is what I always wear’ approach. Yeah. …No… That was a crap idea. What was he thinkin'?
Smart pants and a jacket. Yeah. The way forward. Much more modern-day-man.
Or… not.
Christ, if there was ever a time he owned either of those two things, then the memory was long obliterated.
He rummaged through his draws. Wifebeater, wifebeater, really bad shirt, wifebeater…dammit!! Was there not a secret superhero draw swivelling button that revealed long lines of really smart clothes for emergencies such as this? Seriously. Chuck should get that installed.
James Bond never had to put up with any of this shit.
Jeans, smart-ish…kinda… ok not really but it would do T-shirt, and a bit of gel in his hair. Said gel then hidden under the bed where it would not be found. A moment of hideous panic when he realised the stolen Cosmo mag was still in his room, but he hid it inside a far more manly copy of some girl-on-girl porno, and shoved it alongside the hair gel, trying not to think about how fucked up in the head that made him.
He surveyed the room. Not bad, not bad at all. Not too neat. Not too messy. Clean sheets. All the necessities conveniently at hand; TV remote, beer, hand-cuffs multipack of condoms… They would want for nothin'…
His stomach growled.
…Except possibly food. Maybe he should-
A knock at the door suddenly hammered his heart through his throat.
Two months, fourteen days, and seven hours.
Christ, super-healer or not, there was no way he was going to survive this if things didn’t start going his way.
She didn't wait for him to answer. Probably a good thing. His feet appeared to be frozen to the floor. So he just watched. Attempted to strike a casual, 'yeah this is how I always stand in the middle of my room' pose.
Not really workin'.
Still, as the door swung open and she let herself in, he managed a sexy half smile, and let his eyes feast on her glossy hair, that slim neck, the low V cut of her top...
Hell, he was screwed.
Was he dribbling? He had a feeling it was a distinct possibility. She hadn’t noticed though. He hoped. “Hey darlin’.” Oh yeah, and that sounded smooooth. Rough around the edges, deep, warm and slightly growly. Enough to give most women an orgasm on its own. Damn he was good.
“Hi Logan.” She smiled shyly, and his heart constricted. As did his jeans.
He smiled back. “So…” He had great plans for taking that sentence further, but yeah… his brain was already picturing what colour underwear she had on and whether he could rip it off with his teeth. Damn, but that was a good-
“Green. And yep. You probably could.”
Green? Oh yeah, that was a good colour on her, suited…what the FUCK?
Ok, back up here a minute, bub. “Did you just…” He frowned. “Did I… out loud? With... the…”
Oh but she was grinnin' at him now, the little minx. Not her cute little innocent smile either, a full on cat that just got the cream smile. Where the hell did that come from?
“I touched Jean this afternoon.”
Man that was a pretty image. Fuck, he’d pay to see somethin’ like that. Hell, he’d already-
“Not like that,” she gave him a stern look, but the humour was still there behind it. “But I can tell everything you’re thinking. It was Jubes' idea. Your air con thing was so obvious, I thought I'd give myself a fighting chance.”
Fuck.
“You swear a lot.”
Yeah, well. It was a healthy outlet.
It began to dawn on him that he had seriously underestimated her.
She nodded. “Yep.”
She was no more 'kid', than he was Mary Poppins.
“You've watched that?”
Goddammit!
He concentrated and tried really hard to think of... manly things. Bikes. Machines. Prodding open fires with sticks. Not sex. No. Definitely not sex. Especially not the hot, dirty kind... Oh Christ, did she know there were handcuffs under his pillow?
“Well I do now,” she said, sneaking a look past him to peek at the bed.
He ran a slightly nervous hand through his hair. Was he sweatin'? Fuck, this was not goin' the way he planned.
“So how did you plan it, sugar?”
Yeah. Either he’d died and gone straight to hell. Or he’d died and gone straight to heaven.
Rogue's eyes sparkled. “Well, that depends...”
Damn. It was so unfair that she could do that!
“I ain't gonna sleep with you. Not tonight.”
Hell. Definitely Hell.
“My momma raised me to be a lady.”
He hated her mother.
“But I did tell Bobby to get lost.”
...Hopefully with a shotgun...
“And I might just let you take me out tonight. If,” she paused to smile wickedly, “you're very, very good.”
He folded his arms. Raised an eyebrow. “An' what if I'm very, very bad?”
Her smile widened, and he realised for the first time that she wasn't as innocent as she looked.
Damn, that was hot.