Part 1: Alliance

So much blood. Crimson and coagulating on latex and leather. This wasn't how I imagined we would meet again and I curse myself for not being here, not fulfilling the promise I made. A thousand times I have vowed to protect her, in a thousand different places along this destitute land of ashen dreams.

Breathe.

I will her to show some sign of life. But the only response is the blood, pulsing from the wound along her torso. I cradle her awkwardly in my grasp, her bodyweight slight and the warmth of the fluid draining into my shirt sickens me.

"Is she bad?" Storm is suddenly beside me, her voice filled with a passion I did not remember. Her eyes fade back into colour as her mutation ebbs away and she looks pleadingly. I feel absurdly detached by the situation, never having thought this would be the way of my reunion. No `Hello, how are you Logan? Did you enjoy wherever the hell you've been?'. just an entreaty. I adjust my little Marie's body and Storm is able to see the angry gash splitting her torso. She pales as much as her dark skin will allow.

The X-woman's eyes meet mine again and I can see the tension, the desperation and I know she'll leave it unspoken. It's not like she has to ask anyway. I'd do anything for my Marie. I left her two pieces of metal and a promise, five years ago, that I would return. Granted that when I finally did I found the Mansion deserted and the Professor stoically informing me where the battle was taking place, should I choose to join. Of course I did, finding them here. The X-Men and Marie.. only finding her too late.

<Almost too late..> Jean's voice warms my head as Storm tugs me towards the hoverboat. Further away the battle continues as X-Men and Brotherhood rage against each other, while Storm throws a blanket hastily over a small expanse of floor. It's easier if we do it here. Last time One Eye almost broke his back hauling my ass off Magneto's damn contraption, not that I'm not grateful and not that I'd ever admit that.

The fresh chill of the air outside is gone, the atmosphere in the cramped craft impregnated with sweet iron as Marie's figure settles onto the coarse blanket.

Then a realization hits me. It's a realization that I don't want to have right now, and I certainly don't want to pass on to Marie, but want has nothing to do with it. Or more exactly, want has everything to do with it.

She's not a child anymore, wasn't even one last time I saw her. But it's easier to pretend when those flowing cloaks hid her body. I realize that the shrapnel that tore into her skin had to tear through her uniform first. The metallic suit offered scant protection, it's X shredded and the material almost nothing from what I can see now. The sanguine stain contrasts acutely with her pale skin, lacing its mark across unmarred ivory and the twin rises of her breasts. I fight the red of my cheeks and the surge of an intense yet undefinable emotion, as I see the scrap of metal that rests across the softness of her left breast, hovering over her heart. The beaded chain attached to it holds it to her neck and I wonder if she ever took it off. I angrily suppress my thoughts, irritated that while I enjoy my voyeurism she's getting just that much harder to save. The stream of consciousness from my revelation only took as long as I did to kneel by her, remove my glove, think better of it and brush my lips gently across her lips.

The rush is immediate, like a rollercoaster, like every conscious thought splintering, like your heart being torn out. And I know I'm addicted.

"You think, maybe I held on a little too long this time, O'?" I drawl, sauntering past the mahogany door. The older woman breaks her reverie of his face and looks up in surprise.

"Oh, you're here, Rogue," she smiles warmly and I returned the gesture.

"Does this mean my vigil's up?" Ororo asks.

"Looks like," I shrug and usher her out of Wolverine's room with a few more words. Jean thought he'd prefer to wake up here, this little place of memories. Where he slept for the few nights he was here, where he finally felt some comfort and rest.. even acceptance, away from the sterile medlab and its connotations. Here where his adamantium talons raked through my shoulder and I first tasted his life. Though I doubt she was thinking of that last one.

He's asleep/unconscious on the bed and his face is as sedate as that other night.

"Five years.." I whisper, trying for apathetic but it only sounds bitter. Five years ago he left.

"Five years." I can't help but whisper it again, sighing the words. My hand is bound by a knot of chain, where his dogtags are tangled in my fingers and I brush it past my thigh as I approach the bed.

Someone went to the trouble of removing his clothes, bathing my blood off him, even trimming that wild hair of his, before bringing him here. That's why he lies there elutriated, clean, echoing a moment in the past. Only the moonlight is here now, spilling through the window and accenting his bare skin, where the sheet about his waist hasn't covered. I stopped hoping for his return, but I didn't stop wanting it. Yes, there's a difference. From a childish expectation, fuelled by the constant cool of his tags against my chest, it ascended to the ethereal. Wolverine became a concept and an icon of my adolescence. He was the intangible hero, as untouchable as my skin and though I knew, I thought I knew, he would never return I let him continue living in my mind. It fed my love for him and my lust.

When his lips brushed mine, the memory absorbed into my unconscious mind, I knew he felt that too.

Time changes things, time changes people. It changed me and he had noticed. That thought pricked a smile on to my face. Deny as I knew he would in the future, I could hold onto that mental image.. watching my own body withering away and Wolverine trying to choke back desire.

At least this way there would be little need for conversation, having his touch back in my mind. I knew where he'd been, what he'd seen.. who he'd seen. And that his dreams were as plagued with me as mine were of him. I remembered a night where I, no.. Wolverine, lay sweating heavily in a cheap motel room, having made a transition from thinking of me as sweet Marie, to Marie.. potential lover. He had been disgusted and appalled and thrilled.

And his vision of more than a child was confirmed when he saved me. I never even got to say hello, the copper sculpture had detonated in front of me, instantly wiping out Glower who I'd been fighting.

Wolverine saw the metal fragments cut me down just as he arrived. The rest is history. Or at least.. his story. And that's how we got here to a time when he's within my touch again.

I lean further over the bed, breathing deeply.. every sense is acute, still alive with his mutation. With a glance to the doorway I can see it is shut and I reach a gloved hand across the bed to lightly slide across his face. He does not react and I release a breath, only then realizing I was expecting his claws to lance through me. With more courage I trace the contours of his face, trailing my way down past his throat, across the scape of his chest.

I'm fixated by his chest, the way the muscles expand and undulate with his breathing. There's a chorus of girlish voices in the back of my mind, cheering that Wolverine has returned. <He's finally here! He's really here! Wolverine, Wolverine.. he's our man!> I smite them with vexation and continue the exploration.

I trace along his torso, feeling each rib, each sinew. Our breathing patterns merge, though I can feel mine escalating. There's hunger too and I can't stand it anymore. Withdrawing one hand, I tug away the glove with my teeth. An infinitely more careful caress I use this time, my nails extending past my fingertips to grate along his skin. He flinches slightly, as though tickled and I carefully waver my fingertips away from his skin, careful to allow only my nail to touch. People were surprised when I found this out, that my nails have no touch of death. I don't know why. Hair and nails.. same thing really. All dead.

But it's different with nails. They're connected to your hands. When they're moved, the points where they connect to your fingers can feel it, the vicarious touch.

My nails lingered along his body, the firm muscle dimpled beneath the white crescents. I turned a digit over, pushing further, just above his navel. The skin of my thumb almost contacting. Then a little closer. Turning, closer. Back and closer. I wanted to lean a little further, a little too far. Actually feel his skin, then his mind being enveloped into me. A little further.. but not far enough. The slightest layer of air separated my skin from his. And I almost pushed closer.

But my wrist was wrenched abruptly away. Wolverine had his eyes open, an unreadable expression on his face, eyes darkly intense. He seemed tired, but he had reacted swiftly, dragging a hand enclosed in the bedsheet up to my touch before I could respond.

"Marie.." he whispered, questioning.

I shook my head, trying to regain my breath, "Rogue."

He tilted his head, cocking an eyebrow in a gesture of mock and familiarity.

The sheet had pulled away from his waist when he had seized my hand and I could see the bare skin of his hip, taught over the bone and muscle. Suppressing a tremble, I unwound the chain of his tags from my free hand and let them fall onto his stomach, where the chain pooled at his navel. I raised my eyes back to his face, where his eyes bore into mine, making me feel absolutely vulnerable. Feel like Marie.

"You might need these," I nodded to the tags and tugged my wrist away. I strode to the door and quietly left the silent room.

I know Wolverine realizes I've changed, but he doesn't know how much.

Part 2: Insurgence

There are certain things nice young mutants don't do.

And as opposed as I am to the organization that lists require, I'll break with tradition and give you one.

One. Nice young mutants don't swear.

Two. Nice young mutants don't drink.

Three. Nice young mutants don't rub up against you through too thin layers of clothing when introducing you to friends, making you want to toss them against the nearest wall and find something to howl about.

Four. Nice young mutants don't sleep naked.

Five. Nice young mutants don't sneak out during the night to go to the nearest, bad-ass bar.

When I left this place, Marie didn't fit into any of those categories. She was the quintessential nice young mutant. But I've made this list up from what I know now and what I shouldn't. One, two and three I found out easily, meeting her friends and listening to the talk. Four was an accident, and I admit now I should have knocked before finding out if she wanted to go for an early morning run with me. But what a mistake! Relax, I've already slapped myself for that one. Yeah, sick old man.

But five.. well five just isn't meant to happen. Not to Marie. So I'm worried now that of all the things I can think of, she's not what she's meant to be anymore. Marie somehow got confused with a wild, young, woman. The thought disgusts me.

Disgusts me in a way that once again leads to howling.. and sweating, panting, growling, biting and a thousand other animalistic adjectives.

Don't make me feel that way, please God. Not Marie.

Even though I tracked her here, I can hardly believe it is her. That my nose and my senses should be wrong, that the woman dancing isn't her, that's what I'm begging to myself.

Marie is a nice young mutant. A nice young mutant who knows how to throw that body around all too well. I didn't bother to order a drink but the bartender knows me and one's already by my hand as I lean by the counter, watching. The hairs prick up on my neck as I realize that's exactly what everyone else is doing.

Watching her. A sweet southern belle. I clutch my hands around the tags she returned, remembering the way she'd hovered there, tracking those nails over my skin in a non-nice-young-mutant way.

My Marie.

Yeah, just keep telling yourself that.

Her arms move over her head, forming a partial circle, loose and swaying. Her torso is more descriptive of her body's instinctive hunger. Rolling motion travels down the length of her, twisting her hips in a seductive arc that beckons to be joined. Wolverine longs to accept the offer and join her in a primal wild heat, but I, Logan, am filled with a desire reigned in by fear. I like any living entity, fear that touch. Her skin, soft and supple, is an ivory path to death, to the extinguishment of consciousness and my survival instinct dreads it.

But it's hard to ignore what her dancing is doing to me. I'm still only a man and she's a woman. A scantily clad, writhing, sexy, beautiful woman. The music has a pulse I'm unaccustomed to hearing in this bar and I know she must have chosen it. Probably leaned over the bar, wearing that shirt that dips further than is wise in a place like this, and asked the bartender herself. Although a wise neckline in this place is a full body suit, hers is almost a deathwish. A deathwish for anyone enraptured by her.

I am.

Her body shape ripples with her dancing, turning and twisting. Does she know every man in here is picturing that motion, her motion beneath them, her lips parted on their name?

Her crimson lips are curling into a sultry smile with only the slightest fleck of motion. She knows.

The realization collides with my thoughts, settling sickly that it is my touch that has given this insight.

Then I see him. It doesn't matter who he is, what is he, even what he's thinking. Just that he's near her, dancing almost against her. Mental alarms start screeching. Her neck is moist where her hair brushes against the heated skin, thrashing like her body. Her arms and legs are bare too and her partner is dangerously close. Marie doesn't seem to notice, or maybe just doesn't care. He's reaching out, ready to entangle his arms in her body, on her skin.

Before I know it, I'm standing up and walking towards her. She can't realize what she's doing, she's still over-run with me. Marie wouldn't do this, she must have forgotten that she can't touch and she can't dance like that. There's too many people, too much possibility for her bared skin to brush against theirs and for her to suck their life out as easily as a child sucks icecream from the bottom of a cone. My hands are covered by the suede gloves I bought for her. bought to touch her.

What are you doing Marie??

She falls back towards my body as the beat slows. The man trying to paw her backs away as I growl at him. He's young and far too much of a pretty boy for a place like this. But then, Marie should never be here either.

"Marie," I whisper urgently into her ear, not entirely knowing what else to say.

"Wolverine," she sings softly, letting her southern accent wash over the voice and my body.

"What are you doing, Marie?" I ask, ignoring her movements as she grinds lightly against my jeans.

"Dancing, Wolvie," and the way she says it, I cringe. It's the most obvious statement in the world and she makes it still seem like a revelation.

"You could hurt them."

"They should be more careful."

"Marie," I hiss the name, full of warning. Abruptly she spins, her face bare inches from mine. Her eyes shouldn't be like that. I don't remember them ever seeming so dark and deep. Abysses of her soul, rather than windows.

"My name is Rogue," she whispers, her breath softly hitting my face.

A moment before I was aware of every gaze in the bar tacked to us. But her lips tremble slightly when she's angry and her skin is hot through the layers of clothing, burning into my own. Somehow I know she's right. Alternatively my body doesn't exactly give a fuck at this moment. It wants her.

But I'm stronger than that.

"Come on," I growl. The next song is starting. It's beat is heavy and the music's full of angst. Something I don't want her dancing to. Oh, want. I could write a thesis on the subject at the moment, as I sling my jacket over her exposed skin, pulling her towards the door.

To her credit, she doesn't whine like a child caught out. She just lets me pull her along, not defeated but accepting. I'm too strong for her. Her touch is death but I'm still too skilled for her.

What am I thinking? As though if she thought she could kill me first, she'd try it?? Damn, Logan, get a grip.

Her body sways its way in front of me, my hands gently guiding her by her hips.

I know what I'd like to get a grip on alright.

Shut the hell up.

Patronizing son of a -

"Get on," he grunts, the air smoky as his warmth merges with its ice.

I stand, my arms crossed and just watch. Go ahead, Logan, love to see how you handle this one.

I left the bar with little protest, although technically I'm legally old enough to do whatever the hell I like. And yet here he is, two weeks after returning and he's already tracked me down to a place no-one else has managed in the last three years. Yeah, that's right. I started coming here two years after he left. It was an easy decision. I threw on the best `bar' clothes I could find and trekked out. The bartender said, yes, there had been a Wolverine guy who fought here. Average height, muscular build. Excellent fighter.

And that was it. You hooked me on this place, Wolvie. Even though you were long gone.

He's still straddling that motorcycle, looking over here, his face all determined and anxious and suppressed rage. He didn't like that I should come here, but what choice does he have?

It's too late to make up the past, Wolvie.

"Marie," that hoarse voice starts again, "get on the bike."

His shadowed eyes are scanning the situation, mentally testing his options for how to control this. Sometimes it's fun not to know, Logan.

"Rogue."

My reply is soft and feathery. I tried to make it lulling, but he reacts to it like he's burnt. Do you think you're burnt, maybe. By what I am? By what I'm not.

Because I'm sure as hell not Marie anymore. It'll be a cold day in the corona before I hop onto Scooter's bike. It's something we both know now, from the look on his face.

Logan is suddenly off the bike and by my side. He wraps his jacket further around me and my arms are pinned to the side.

Strength.

It's something I think I forgot. I've seen him knock guys unconscious with the effort of swatting a fly, but he's never used that on me. He never had to before, some whiny voice persists in my head.

Then I'm being lifted, pulled towards him but still with a care not to have our skin make contact. I struggle out of rebellion, but not because I think it will stop him.

He turns me around to lift a leg over the side of the seat. I push one arm free and attack whatever that rubber and metal construction is that my hand has found. Logan's curses fills the air and he binds me again, this time facing me towards him. Settling over the seat I never stop writhing. This isn't meant to be easy, I grin, knowing that the jacket and the night are masking my face but knowing too that he can sense it anyway.

"Rogue," he grunts.

There's a lurching sensation I don't understand and my body is roughly rearranged. While Logan sits comfortably on the motorbike, my legs straddle his waist, on either side in a parody of a lover's embrace. His right arm grips my torso against his and the only movement I can make are mild tossings of my head, and kicking my legs ineffectually.

He whimpers softly, thinking that the ignition of the engine will hide it.

Not completely ineffectual.

Part 3: Reproach

"Will yah be running back to Wheels, now?"

The question comes suddenly, unexpected after such a long silence. We're walking across the lawn, approaching the mansion and the thin covering of snow is slowly collecting along my boots. I tilt my head her way, casting a glance along her shivering form. She's holding my jacket in her arm, refusing to wear it for whatever childish reason she's clinging to. The insurrection once again offers me a delightful view of her dancing clothes and the lithe body they reveal, as though the ride back here wasn't hard enough. Pun entirely unintended.

"I don't think I need to. It's not like this is ever gonna happen again," I reply eventually, letting her stress it for a moment. Hell, she deserved that much.

Marie looks slightly surprised, and maybe a little relieved. But there's that other something in her eye. I recognize rebellion and mentally instruct myself to wait outside her window for the next few nights, at least.

"You can't stop me living, Logan," she mutters angrily, responding more to my thoughts than my words. That's something I've come to understand in these last two weeks. I've never been good with words, well, maybe not so much good as bothered.. But with Marie that hasn't been a problem. In a room of silence our thoughts connect in conversation. But to connect to someone, as deeply as I feel her in my head, is not to understand them.

We stray closer along the treeline as we get closer, both knowing instinctively that to be caught tonight is something neither wants.

"I can stop you putting those other people in danger."

"They've had worse, I'm sure."

Her voice is too dismissive, as though she doesn't realize the danger of waving that bare skin around for anyone to brush against and have their life sucked away. Not even the scum that inhabits those bars deserves that. There's been a tension building since I first stepped into that bar and I can't bite down on it anymore. I don't think I even want to. With a jolt, I stop walking forward tugging at her bare arm with a gloved hand and Marie stops too, looking at me with wider eyes.

"Do you even know what you were doing out there?" I demand, trying not to sound as furious as I feel.

"Ah believe we covered that subject already," she drawls and steps closer, "Dancing, sugah."

"In that?!?" I gesture to the black top and skirt, realizing only now that they're both leather. Don't even go there.. I command the non-concerned-friend part of my mind at this moment.

"They're comfortable," she shrugs.

I plead, "You could kill someone."

"Everyone dies."

Why is your voice so cold, Marie?

What happened to you..

She starts to stalk away, further into the trees.

"You don't get to do that," I growl, "You can't pretend that you don't care whether you kill a man and then just walk away, Marie."

"Maybe I don't!" she yells, her voice almost breaking as she throws the words toward me, breaking into a run.

I roar and spring forward, catching her within a few steps, linking my arms around her waist. I'm thankful I left the gloves on as I use them to hold her struggling arms, backing her against a pine.

"No," my voice hoarsely tears through the hush.

Her eyes are dark and wild, raking through me like a predator, but her face is controlled.

"What happened, Marie?" I whisper. "What happened to the girl I knew?"

"Nothing," she replies with a lilt, "Because you've never known anyone. You have to actually be there to know someone."

The words cut into me, more efficiently than had she whipped out a little pair of adamantium claws and stuck them through my ribs. She smiles bitterly and shakes her head. I've regretted walking away before, never as much as at this moment, but even now I know it's not that simple.

"You don't get to blame this on me, Rogue," finally I use that damn name she wants so much. She's right, it suits her more than Marie. "You're stronger than that. What else happened, to make you so," I look at her face searching for an answer, but it's in her eyes, "..old."

She moves her arm gently, and I obligingly release it from my grip. With knowing motions she raises it to my face. Her fingers are still bare and I close my eyes. I can't control my muscles trembling slightly with a terrified anticipation.

The touch is cool and smooth. Nothing happens and I edge an eye open. Rogue laughs cruelly and dangles the dogtag in front of my eyes, removing it from my cheek.

"That is what happens," she laughs again.

"No-one wants to be touched, no-one wants to touch," she casts a disgusted glance downwards, indicating her leather-encased form.

"So you thought you'd go find the roughest joint you could, wearing clothes that scream `Touch Me', and dance around like a stripper," I demand, "All so someone would want to touch you?"

"Did it work?" she smiles again. But it's not as cruel. It's slight and sweet and for a moment, it's Marie. Only a moment.

My hands fly back to her hips, lifting her slight weight from the ground and pushing her further against the tree. Her back arches forward and her legs kick out reflexively. I press my body along hers, pinning her effectively. Her curves are pressed into me, bringing images of her body to my mind, as it drained its blood and as it swung to the music. She presses her palms onto my shoulders, supporting her weight more, but she hasn't struggled yet.

Onehanded I pull a handkerchief from my pocket, laying it across the bottom of her face, before pressing my mouth against it. My knee and hip supports her weight, while my hands lay an assault course along her body. The wet heat of my mouth on her skin is as ragged as my touches. I'm not being sweet, I'm not being gentle and I'm hoping to hell she's as terrified of my actions as I am.

After a moment I pull away, slinging the cloth to the ground and glaring at her. Her body hasn't moved yet and I expect to see her face filled with horror.

Her lips are flushed and parted gently, her eyes are darker now, filled with intangible emotion. But no fear.

"Is that what you wanted? Some stranger to assault you? Too far away for anyone to hear your screams," my voice is barely contained rage.

She doesn't respond, her face is closed to my world.

"Did you want to kill someone? Did you want someone to kill you??" I shake her gently, feeling her heated frame still crushed against mine. She leans forward, her hair falling across the sides of my face as she isolates us from the surrounding world.

"It has to be better than this."

Old.

It's in her eyes and its in her soul, like a black poison contaminating a glacial river.

I thought I'd scare her, show her what the big bad world can be like. But she already knows too well and she's too damn fine with it. Maybe because I left her, maybe I touched her first and let that poison in. Maybe they never let her in, never touched her enough. Maybe she's always been damned to this by that fucking mutation of hers. I tug the gloves off with ease.

"Marie," my voice breaks slightly. Her breath is warm against my mouth, but her eyes are as cold as a void.

"Marie's not here anymore," with a southern accent, almost inaudible.

You were wrong, I think to her. And I mouth my next thought, across the inches of moon-dappled air that may as well be a chasm.

[I wanted to touch you.]

Then my face is leaning forward, with a melancholic resignation that this will help her. To know you're loved, more than life itself, that's what I'm offering you Rogue. I pray its enough to break through the dusk that surrounds you.

I hear her whimper as my lips touch hers, melding against her while I rub my bared thumbs against her hips, pushing her shirt up to reveal more of her skin. The tug begins and immediately my grip slackens.

Were you ever a child, Rogue?

"No!" I cry, pushing his body away from mine with all the force I can muster.

It shouldn't feel this way, shouldn't hurt, shouldn't hurt, shouldn't hurtshouldnthurtshouldnthurt. Shut the hell up!

Why did you touch me, Logan? Why didn't you draw away like everyone else. But his response is already in my head. He's weakened but he won't let me go.

Love you.. need you.. want you..

Get out of my head, you bastard! How dare he make me care. I manage to break my lips away from his, already missing their rugged caress. My right hand is levered free and I punch with all the expertise of a seasoned cage-fighter. He falls back, only because I've stolen most of his strength.

Then I'm running, further into the trees, tears carving a web into my face. The touch has left me disorientated but I still know I don't want to go back to the house yet, I can't. He wanted to make me hurt and terrified, maybe to cry like a child. But it took more than what he'd hoped and he's lying on the ground, clinging onto life.

The crashing and breaking of sticks and shrubs behind me alerts me to the fact that Wolverine has recovered.

He heals too fast.

"Rogue!" he yells coarsely and I feel the urge to run back, to suck the rest of his soul into mine and finish what he wanted started.

No!

Rogue and Marie. Who am I now?

The tears come faster and my legs are sore with the effort.

Beneath me suddenly, the ground is slicker and, surprised, I try and stop myself. The mistake is realized too late as I skid further out onto the lake.

"Rogue!" he cries out again.

I manage to spin my face towards the edge of the lake, where he managed to stop in time.

"Logan," I wheeze, unable to say anything more as the ice grazes a pained track along my skin, sliding slightly as my thigh contacts the unforgiving surface.

I'm almost vertical on the ice, the only points of contact as I attempt to help myself are my knees and feet. There's a sickly cracking sound as I realize something about pressure Scott taught us in Physics. Force and Area.. Force over area. My body's weight is spread thinly over where my legs contact.

His eyes are so expressive.

Pure wells of everything he's ever felt and everything he ever could. They meet mine as the ice gives away, for a frozen moment of time they're caught between acceptance and denial.

I didn't think water could be this cold.

It squeezes everything out of me, like I imagine Logan felt when his lips touched mine.

Of course I flail, I'm obliged to, right? And who am I to disappoint. Raise right arm, wiggle, left arm, wiggle, feet kick and hands seek to grip something other than the frictionless ice. I can feel the water seeping into my muscles. Does time always pass so slowly?

There's warmth, I recognize that sensation. When my mother cradled me against her hip and fed me carrot mash. When Carrie and I sunbaked under the sprinkler during summer. When Wolverine smiled, handing me two meaningless snaps of silver.

The air is even colder than the water, if that's possible. The muscles along his arm are defined by exertion, visible through the sodden sleeve of his shirt.

Logan is sprawled along the ice, adding as much surface area to his weight as possible while he hauls me from the lake.

His eyes are so clear again and I could swear the water against his face is not just from the lake. He pulls me against him, slicing away my iced clothing with a brush of his claws, before pressing the warmth of his own body against mine.

There's one more observation I make. And I should be applauded for being able to make any, feeling like this. Though everything is slower, it's harder to grasp. Like that thought you so desperately want but it sidesteps your attempts.

He never put his glove back on. His bare hands run along my soaked, chilled skin, pressing me into him as he whispers again and again. [Marie..Marie..Marie..Mariemariemariemariemariemariemariemariemariemar ie]

The observation isn't that, but that his skin is touching me. It's warm, so hot it burns like the ice did.

But there's no pull.

Part 4: Glacial

[[ I don't know how I made it off the ice. There was rolling and scrabbling and, as a whole, not very dignified motion. I was fleeing across the school's grounds, my body pumping lactic acid, my bare hands clasping Rogue against me, forcing the heat of friction into her, and all I could think of was how that must have looked. Pretty damn funny.

Losing your mind already, old man?

I congratulate myself on the forethought to leave the alarm disabled, as my leg effectively splinters the kitchen door from its hinges. Within moments I've carried her to the dormitories and instinctively seek out Jean's room. The sturdy mahogany doesn't give an inch to my insistent poundings but I'm certain they must have awakened.

.. She's not here, she's not here..

My heartbeat accentuates the phrase invading my mind, over-riding my senses.

My gaze rakes over the child in my arms. Marie's skin is like iced adamantium, and I wonder if I pulled this girl away, would my skin stick to hers? Her face is too pale and her lips too blue. Before I can pause to consider any alternative I've taken her to my room. It's closer than hers, by three doors, but that's enough.

The doorknob gives way to my shoulder easily and then I'm in the bathroom, placing her carefully on the bathmat as my hands brusquely tear away at the ice-slicked dress. I pause to slam the faucet on, before pulling a towel around her and rubbing briskly. Marie folds into my arms like a child as I press her body into my warmed flannel, using the position to rub strongly against her back. Her bared body gains a pained flush, cold but warming as the hasty contact pulls her back from hypothermia. I continue the rub for a while longer, across her chest and grating at the fragile skin, tugging at the muscle hidden deeper.

"Come on, Marie... open your eyes," my voice is husky, abraded by the cold. Only the cold, I convince myself.

She doesn't respond as I continue to rub for an anxious eternity, before finally choosing to release her to the water. The rubbing has done all it can for the moment, and I pray it is enough.

The water surrounds her and rises in the porcelain cell. Marie is breathing. Soft, weary snatches of breath. But her eyes are still closed. Open your eyes. ]]

(( I can feel the breath passing over my tongue, carrying warmth from my body while the water is achingly slow to return it to my body. Logan can have a touch as gentle as a puppy when he tries, yet I am glad he relinquished my body to the water, free from the motion of his frantic pace. It's a strange sensation, to have your entire body alternate between unfeeling numb and oversensitized jolts. It's, quite simply, excruciating. The warmth of the water slowly rises over my legs. I can feel the friction of his palms still rough against my skin, forcing heat back into the unwilling skin. The warmth is comforting. Like his hands and his body wrapped around my flesh, holding the cuts so my soul doesn't seep out into the water. He's pleading for me, to open my eyes. I'm sorry, Logan. But it takes strength. And I lost that. ))

[[ Would she wake up if I kissed her..?

My voice is strained, pleading with her though I lost control over what it's asking a while ago.

Why did you run?

"It's entirely your fault," I reprimand, hoping to provoke a harsh `Logan' and a snap of her hand. But she lies there, accepting my criticism with her limp form. Her skin refuses to work its treacherous magic, and only the rhythmic puffs of breath reassure me she's alive.

Open your eyes. ]]

(( I still have legs. I still have arms. The pain in them is inarguable. Maybe if I open my eyes Logan will be gracious enough to slice them off for me.

Why did I run?

Because you touched me, Logan. I ran because it is entirely my fault that I chose the path less taken. I like to think the majority of people are inherently good. But I excel at minorities.

In your mind, you make me someone I am no longer.

That doesn't make me angry, to be masked in your eyes with innocence. It doesn't annoy me that you ask me to sacrifice this part of myself. Mostly, it hurts. ))

[[ I break my hands away from their paths across her body. Her tissues have sucked the heat from the water with all the Roguesque efficiency she has perfected, except for her hands. Within a serous prison my hands close over hers. I feel the heat flow from my body to hers, without barriers, in pulses of blood heat. Her touch is more than the fantasy I had reduced it to. It's cool and trembling as her body hunts recovery, but it's soft and female, and unknown.

I don't question. I hold.

And I beg her to open her eyes. ]]

(( I can feel your hand, your skin, touching mine. My hazy mind doesn't find that exceptional. I've been touched by hundreds of people, in a thousand different ways: through skin before it was forbidden, through cloth and the barrier of hair. I once shared a kiss. But none of them felt this way. It's the same way my mind felt when you were there, after the nightmare and after Magneto. Why does that feeling always have to fade?

Don't call me cynical because time is unforgiving. ))

[[ Entwined hands beneath the water. ]]

(( Entwined minds. ))

[[ Open. ]]

(( Eyes? Mind? Soul.?

I settle for eyes. ))

[[ Her eyes! Shadowed by low eyelashes, trembling to see out. The gaze settles on me and her hand squeezes mine ever so slightly. ]]

(( He smiles like a preschooler. I don't think he'd like it if I told him that. The smile falters though, and I feel my eyes close. His hand is warm, too warm, as though it becomes energy in my grasp. Energy that I consume. ))

[[ Flame courses across my hand. Marie's eyes are closed, while Rogue steals the touch bestowed. ]]

(( I feel the pull. ))

No
Yes

As though the banging wasn't enough, Logan's thoughts are loud enough to wake the telepathic dead. I mutter something about coming and getting clothing on but the banging stops after an enthusiastic session. Scott stirs in the bed and he rests a hand on my thigh to accompany his thoughts.

[Go back to sleep]

My head nods a little and the pull of sleep takes me for a moment longer. but some conscious part of me demands more. I rise slowly with the ache of sleep and Logan's thoughts conflicting. Scott's hand still rests on my thigh and I move it easily, still readjusting into a waking state. He groans slightly and his thoughts hazily intruct me, again to sleep.

Scott isn't callous, he's just been woken by noisy students late at night before. Most times someone's accepted a dare in one of the impromptu `Truth or Dare' competitions the students think we don't know about. And creativity doesn't flow fast at this time of the morning.

"It's Logan," I reply, knowing that's doubtfully the most reassuring phrase, but it's enough to alert him.

"Urh?" Scott sits up, pushing the comforter away from his arms.

"He's." I pause to place a metaphysical toe into the current of thoughts, ".. terrified."

Logan's fear settles thickly over me. I wrench on a minimum of clothing and stalk to the door, not bothering with a robe or slippers. I concentrate harder, wondering what could have caused a man like Logan to be so scared.

"Rogue."

The door is flung wide open and I simply run in. The only light comes from the bathroom and I immediately follow it, finding them as a daguerreotype of some Ophelian tragedy.

Their hands are locked. But Logan doesn't stir, he's just kneeling there, clothing drenched and torn.

Oh.. God. She's dead. I can see their hands, beneath the water, locked together. But Logan's still breathing. He's intent on her, so fixated he hasn't realized I'm standing here.

She's dead. Rogue's dead. I start to choke on the air, but then something happens.

Rogue's eyes open. Tentatively, she looks to Logan and I swear his mind is singing.

Then it starts, he falls away, tugging his hand free and Rogue reaches out, her fingers barely capturing the beaded chain about his neck. It comes away into her grasp as his body slumps against the tiles and she stands, crying out his name while water pools onto the floor. Logan convulses and Rogue is screaming for help.

It takes Scott yelling my name to break me from this trance.

"Should we get Xavier?"

"No.. just.. no."

Scott nods his head and paces away from me. He turns back quickly, the fluoro of the med-lab casting crimson beams off his glasses.

"Damn," he utters suddenly, "What happened in there, Jeanie?"

"He touched her," I reply feebly.

"I know.. but what's happening in there," he gestures towards the treatment room. Inside, Wolverine is still unconscious on a table and Rogue is just sitting there, her eyes wide and scared and something more.

"I told you, Scott. I can't invade - "

"I know, I know, Jean," he interrupts me before I can reiterate the moral code of telepaths.

"Jean." We both start, surprised at Rogue's call. I walk towards her, my heart lighter now that she seems alert.

"What did you want, Rogue?"

She looks at me with those eyes. Deep and haunting.

"How did we touch?" her voice gently pleads, but her eyes demand. She opens her mind, begging me to find the answer and I let my own mind graze across hers.

With several more minutes I have a surgical basin, filled with iced water, sitting on the table by Rogue. Her expression is a mask and her thoughts give away no more. One of the most effective ways to understand an event is to re-enact it. She wants to know whether it was a random event, or perhaps something she can hold on to. Rogue's asking me to recreate hope.

Scott watched me gather the supplies without voicing his curiosity, but now that Rogue has placed her hand in the water and I have rolled up my sleeve, he understands and he cannot control his protests.

"Jean! You can't." Harshly the words fill my ear. I nudge him with my mind that I perfectly can and will.

"At least.. let me," he concludes.

"I'd much rather touch Red," Rogue grunts at him before a look of confusion comes over her face and she shakes Logan off.

I tremble as I look at Scott, who has trapped my fingers with his muscular hand. Rogue watches us, her hand still lying in the water. Scott pushes me gently away from the basin and places his hand in it instead. It's partly because he's a gentleman, partly because logically he's physically stronger, partly because he's Scott and he's a better man than most. I step back and feel a swell of love and guilt, for letting him take my place.

Three pairs of eyes are fixed intently on the bowl.

I brace myself against him, ready to throw his weight away, physically and telekinetically. Scott reaches his index finger out carefully, letting the back of the finger brush Rogue's as though she were an electric wire. His skin doesn't sicken and Scott gains more courage. With a shaky breath he allows his finger to rest on Rogue.

It rests there.

He doesn't even flinch.

I look at Rogue with excitement, as she looks at Scott's hand touching her. I see her smirk in response to my hyperventilating grin.

Scott isn't quite as happy when she jerks his finger back, spilling ice water down his pants.

Rogue apologizes for Logan. Old habits, etc.

Part 5: Elimination

Vital Note: Akubras are damn sexy hats.

Essentially, it's both the cold and the water. By themselves, they're insufficient to protect a person from me. The water forms a slight barrier between touch, like an added skin. The effect of the cold is to restrict circulation in the body, particularly the extremities. With less blood, the skin is less perceptive. The sum of the parts is that my mutation is blocked. The sum of the parts is that I, Rogue, can touch.

That's how Jean explains it, although she uses the term vasoconstriction far more.

And that's also the quasi-medical explanation for how we have come to be here, again. History has a tendency to repeat this moment, of my standing here vigil as Logan is serenely bowed out of this conscious world. Jean was amazed he could still breathe, with his blood essentially converted to adrenaline. I stole the last of his strength when his body warmed the water, and it's almost faded.

Only confusion remains. Primal fear fuelled by desperation that I recognize as his.

And the rest.. something colder than the lake.

After Jean consented to move him, Scott helped me bring Logan back to his room. My throat hurt and I asked for a glass of water. Cyke knocked a little later and held out a tumbler. Despite my almost breaking his finger in the lab, he just winked and left. I tilted the cup slightly, hearing the hollow tink as ice hit the side. Even Wolverine-me was impressed.

Clear fluid forms rivulets over heated lips, tracking coolly down his chin, but he doesn't respond. I pass the ice across my lower lip before brushing our chilled flesh together. I mold my lips against his, feeling the warmth grow and for a moment, leave them there.

Logan whimpers and I retreat, satisfied to watch him instead.

This touch amuses me. It's closer than nails, and cleaner. There's no death. Unless I let too much warmth through.

This touch binds me. So I draw my warmth deeper inside, locking it away with all the other unnecessary elements.

I know the concept is hardly revolutionary but habits do tend to make time pass faster. Marie and I found ours easily enough. She continued her daily life as she had before, playing foosball with Jubilee, snacking with Kitty and flirting with Bobby. I was surprised when Marie asked me not to tell anyone, especially not the Ice kid. While he wouldn't have a clue what to do with the information, she's the one craving touch. I told her that and she just smiled at me. A sweet Marie smile.

I had decided to wait outside her door each night, after the others were in bed so as not to raise too many eyebrows. But when Scott's treasured grandfather clock chimed twelve the first night, she swung the door open, looped a gloved arm around my stomach and pulled me in.

Maybe we could've just kept doing that. Lying on her bed, me watching her in the inky hours, across the abyss of her bedsheets. Maybe I could have stayed a father figure and a friend, content in our grudging connection. She could have been Marie for a little while longer. Innocent and gentle, allowing me to pretend I'd never seen anything more than a child, pinning her against that tree. Sometimes playing games is the only way to hide from understandings we would rather avoid.

But hypothetical pontification has yet to help anyone in this world and everything changes. Evolution.

Alternatively, sex just fucks everything up.

The entire week had been a series of damn fine days. Of course, a mutant with the capability to control weather should have had her potential for picnics realized long ago. Wheels decided it was a great way to hail in the new summer, with gingham and crustless sandwiches, and Storm had graciously obliged.

Chuck wheeled over to where I was sprawled on a rug, head resting against a cooler containing more of the beer I was chugging. Although an Akubra rested on my nose, I'd been keeping a steady watch on the surroundings. He cleared his throat, though I'd smelt him already and I managed to rouse myself into a conversational state. Eventually we were embroiled in a debate on his political viewpoints and my lack thereof, when something cool, slimy and reeking of decay, slapped into the base of my neck and slid downwards.

There was a light, mischievous laugh behind me, which Xavier followed with his eyes before dourly frowning and taking his cue to retreat.

I tentatively touched the back of my neck and recoiled in disgust.

Fuckin' pink paste coated my hand. With a less-than-playful growl I whirled around. Marie stood several meters away, staring at me unabashedly. She'd changed into a thin body-mesh for what I assume was a game. Cowering behind her, with pink pasty hands at Marie's hips, was Jubilee. I growled again. Marie's eyebrow took on a warning tilt and she wagged her finger twice.

[ I like you Marie. but your friend must die.]

I felt a tap at my hand and caught another vehement wave of the rosy concoction.

It was one of the kids, holding a plastic bucket towards me, allowing me to see the contents, full of slime. I looked up again, a feral smile masking my face, only to be met by two handfuls of slime flying my way. Reflexively I arched a hand up, splattering the goo into the air. Marie and Jubilee both shrieked as I took the bucket, and ran in opposite directions. One of the easiest decisions in my life suddenly seemed insurmountable.

Jubilee and vengeance... or Marie and ..

I intercepted another goo-ball, feeling the icy chunks in it. Bobby squealed like a girl when I pinned him on the ground and shoved that goo down his throat. Jubilee wasn't much better, though she had an excuse: she was a girl. I'd only managed to slam a fistful into her mouth when a sludge-ball penetrated my defenses. As an attack slapped into the side of my head, I shook away the sting and instantly followed the source. Marie dived around another player, letting them take the brunt of my flying attack. I have strength, but she has speed. I dove and gripped her ankle. Marie shrieked and lashed out. I pulled her roughly along the ground, until I'd almost pinned her. She raked a pink hand through my hair, and I growled menacingly. With a laugh she ran the slime across my face until I was distracted. I could only howl when she kneed me.

Just because I heal quickly it doesn't mean it didn't hurt like hell. Marie was up like a bunny, and scampering away. I shot to my feet and followed her. A kid thumped into me and by the time I made sure he didn't have a concussion, I couldn't catch sight of her. Screams and slime were flying indiscriminately through the air. The rancid scent made tracking difficult, but I could still find it. still follow the Marie essence.

[ You're silent, I'll give you that Marie. ]

Slinking forward I approached the bush where she was hiding. When I barely managed to control a snicker I mentally slapped myself. But the slime in the bucket was beckoning me. The malodourous temptress. What the hell, it was fun.

I dumped the contents over the side of the bush and was rewarded by a spluttering shriek. The defeated stood up, all but obscured by the slime covering her body-suited figure. She turned towards me, and I grinned cockily.

With a shrug and mock pity, I gloated,"I warned you."

"No you didn't," the bitter voice attached to Marie's clothing wasn't the southern lilt I knew. Jubilee scraped away a layer of goo from her face, revealing the betrayal, as telling laughter echoed behind me. Before I could whip around, Marie and Bobby uptipped a storage bin of pungent glue on me. Iced-boy wasn't snorting his head off when my claws came out.

Marie laughed sweetly, and attempted to flee along the bank of the thawed lake. I tackled her into the water and we both came up gasping from the cold. I clamped my hands on her hips, now sporting Jubilee's clothing and pressed against her. Her bared skin posed no threat, my body sheathed in pink protection, as iced water rolled off it. She squealed obligingly as I rubbed against her like a feline. The glue saturated the touch with a heavy lacquer, making everything sickly soft. My hands slid against her back as I burnished her skin with it. Marie struggled and winced as I nuzzled slime into her neck.

Through the dull odour of slime, I could still inhale the heady simplicity of her. She rocked her hips into mine, forfeiting the illusion of resistance. I rubbed my arms, legs, face, hips more insistently against her, craving the friction despite the slippery paste between us. Marie purred throatily and I growled in response.

"Logan," she murmured huskily.

I looked up, still entrapping her in a sturdy grip, to see darkening eyes and feel her chest contract steadily against mine in shallow breaths.

[ Marie, Marie... I could fall into your eyes. ]

On the grass Jubilee was still yelling, Bobby was ducking and slime contaminated everything. Marie broke our stares by closing her eyes. Closing them as she leaned her face towards mine.

The eyes were shut, preventing me from losing myself in her.. that way, but they were no longer necessary.

"Marie.." I breathed as I too leaned in. The first contact was soft and wet, with all the innocence of two children playing at love. I pulled away slightly, breathing her in. She pressed her lips against mine almost immediately and, faintly, glue tainted the contact as her tongue ran along my lips. I bit at her lower lip, tugging it into the heat of my mouth without thought.

"Dinner!" Ororo's shout drew my head sharply away as the flesh began to tingle. I could feel my heart heavy in my chest, and Marie's eyes took several more moments before they opened.

"Cleeeeeee-" Kitty screeched past us, hurtling along as she entered the expanse of water.

We moved away from each other carefully, unsure of the moment created. Ororo shot me a pointed look before she turned back towards the barbecue area. Marie rocked on her ankles slightly, knocked by Bobby as he sped past hooting louder than Jubilee had. There were more hoots and squeals as everybody scrambled into the lake, splashing and spraying as they scrubbed the remnants of the game away, slowly turning the water frothy around us.

Marie tilted her head towards the chaos and grinned. She looped a leg behind my knees and pushed me backwards, tumbling us both into the water. The water was no longer crystallized in translucent sheets of winter, but it's temperature had risen little above melting point. And as I pretended not to stare at Marie, scraping pink goo from Jubilee's taut, saturated shirt. I was grateful for the cold.

I couldn't sit next to her at dinner, although technically no-one safely could with her still wearing Jubilee's summerwear and freshly cleaned. When Jean and Scott started up a limbo competition I decided it was time to make myself scarce.

I can still hear them all, raucous outside my window. Earlier I watched, standing by the view. Iced-kid coaxed Marie into joining the competition, letting her sway her way under the broom. I feel cleaner, having showered off the rest of that gunk, but I miss the clinging scent of Marie rubbed into my clothing.

There are too many things assaulting my senses. I need to sleep. No, I need to shred something within a shadow of its former self. Something other than myself.

And something other than her.

I could accept this if it were lust. Marie isn't a child, as I'm reminded every time I see her. She's grown lissome with training, and bolder with age. Her clothes cling tighter to her skin, elucidating what my eyes do, and what my palms want to.

It's not merely lust because simple lust doesn't tear you up. It doesn't make you wake up sweating, disgusted with yourself for marring something as saccharine as her. It's too feeble to twist the soul of a mercenary. But I touched her and crushed her, and I can't take the pieces of what she was and grind them between my fingers any more, because it hurts.

Greed. passion. hate... friendship... irritation... obsession... I've known each and more. So much of my life is trapped behind my own mind and yet I have still lived widely. Enough to grasp that this sensation is foreign to me.

It can't be love.

Love shouldn't hurt like this. It shouldn't eat away at you like a wild animal, or burn like flames or thieve all sense of self-preservation. Love is good. Love is sweet. Love isn't this.

It can't be.

I've known so much of emotions, living wildly and living painfully. I've learnt how to conceal them, feeling dull as fist after fist pounded into reanimated tissue. Emotions are more primal than thoughts, they accumulate quickly and refuse not to be known. I had chosen to suppress this.. feeling. Because it terrifies me. It's not something you can slice your claws into, or growl at, or argue away. It's unlike anything I have ever known before.

Distinguishing what it is, is a simple process of elimination. That this is nothing that I know. And I have never known love.

The door reverberates with the gentle thudding and I cast a weary gaze towards it. The thudding repeats itself. Her heartbeat rises slightly as someone else approaches. Ororo says hello and something about dessert and then she continues. Then the noise resumes itself.

"I know you're in there, Logan," she states calmly. She doesn't bother to whisper, but her voice is hushed by the door and her accent. I roll to my feet, running a hand through my hair before twisting the door open.

She's standing there, still clothed in Jubilee's short skirt and revealing singlet. I wrinkle my nose at her theatrically. She flicks a free hand through her hair, pulling a piece of dried glue from it. I lean into the doorframe waiting for her to speak first.

"Why did you leave the party?" Marie asks. I ignore the question, instead choosing to pick at a pink spot along her ivory streak.

Now Marie waits.

"Have fun limboing?" I drawl.

"Kind of wished you were there," Marie's face cracks into a shy smile, "Didn't win."

"Who did?" I cock my eyebrow at her.

She shrugs, "Xavier."

Marie drags her bronze eyes hotly down me then and I don't bother to control my own stare. The silence stretches indefinitely.

"You `kay, Logan?" she drawls, laying into that accent with determination.

I hoarsely swallow.

"You look a little. hot," she drags her teeth slowly over her bottom lip and I almost reach out, almost repeat the gesture with my own mouth. She sees my fists clench, rendering taut the muscles of my arm and across my chest. Marie pauses, to stare more longingly beneath my face, then she returns those wide eyes back up.

"Want a little ice?"

Marie brings her arm around from behind her, revealing for the first time a metal bucket. A few pieces fall over the top with the inertia, hitting the floor and splintering. Across the floor, ice shards are beginning to form puddles and she's staring at me, her eyes offering a dare.

My eyebrow arches higher but I step back, to let her in.

Part 6: Entropy

You were hesitant at first. I saw it in your eyes before you even attempted to deny it. You needed that time to gather your thoughts, and control your heartrate. You may have heightened senses, but even my still human ears could hear it thudding through the room, Logan. I made a joke about a cold shower.. although it wasn't entirely a joke and your eyebrow arched most satisfyingly.

So we danced through the conversation for a while.. actually you babbled and I didn't know that was possible. You said you loved me and I ignored the request. I didn't tell you I loved you but I know you thought you saw it in my eyes. It's easier that way, to let you lie to yourself.. does that make me a liar? Sorry, if so.. the problem I guess is that I can't be a child. I can't be a child and a woman simultaneously. But I can be innocent and your lover..

Assuming I was innocent before you uttered those words, handing me everything you valued. Control.

And you were sweet, Logan. So gentle and loving.. nothing like the animal every human is.

It was simple.. rolling the ice in my mouth, letting it melt and spread ice water across my lips. I sucked at the water, thirsty and took it from my mouth, pulling it out cautiously through my lips. You were still as I placed it against yours, but then your eyes shut lightly and your breath came out in a tremor. The way your muscles tensed and then relaxed, tensed and coiled... you fought the touch instinctively. But inside that furry little head of yours you must have believed this was good for me. And it is good. But not in the way you want.

I didn't tell Bobby. I didn't tell Jubilation.. why? Because it makes me take a step closer to normal again. The ice makes touch possible but not probable and they might mistake me for cured. I don't want to lie to them, even if only through their own misconceptions.

I'm sorry, Logan .. but I'll do that to you.. for just a little longer. Because you're old and wise. But not as old as me.

So I rolled the ice across your lips, watching as the crystal wetly webbed down your chin and I lapped at the chilled water. You responded then, jealous or enflamed, you bit into ice and pulled my mouth to yours. The ice lasted another minute before the dual pounding heat of our mouths, raggedly tormenting eachother, consumed it.

Ice and fire.

The heat of blood.

And all I could think of was what you saw of me, and how my blood felt hot through my X-Men uniform, when you carried me to the Blackbird, holding my ebbing life.

Ice and fire. like when you pour yourself into me. It's anguish and hunger.

You took the pail from my hands, tipping the contents into your bath, staring at it numbly, as pieces tinked across the glossy surface. You twisted the handle of the tap as an afterthought and beckoned me across the room. You bent your knees, ducking your hand into the tub and found another piece. When I shut my eyes against your inquisitive ones, you ran the fragment across my flushed lips. I tried to pull it into my mouth, like you had... but you teased it across my face instead. tracing the bones and veins.

I opened my mouth slightly as you traced strength and mortality.

You followed the water with your tongue, whimpering softly as you went, savouring salt and winter. The lake water had given my skin an earthy flavour and perhaps your thoughts skated across your wild days, where the taste of the earth never left you.

I whimpered softly, as you circled it under my neck, against the throbbing pulse of my jugular. Then you circled the skin with an open-mouthed kiss, molding the cool until it evolved to heat. I ran my hands into your hair, pulling you against the skin you tortured. Your hand tangled with the hair at my neck, stroking hypnotically in concentric circles. Fingers trailed the fluent path lower, emphatically. I watched your face. so studious. as you observed the workings of my skin, finally able to connect to the source of much of your contemplations. The fervor of your stare scared me for a moment and I shivered. Thinking you'd found sensitive flesh you suckled there and a breathy moan escaped my mouth.

While I feel every woman you have ever touched, I never knew what it felt like for them. Your senses can taste me, feel me, measure my heat and the yield of my flesh... but you can't feel how electricity sparked across my every nerve and the way your calloused caress scorched my skin.

I caught your hand with mine and fled to the safety of the ice in your grasp, using it and your hold on it, to pull you to my mouth. I played my tongue over the ice as you held it before my face, then pulled your fingers into my mouth., rolling over the supple muscles. Your eyebrows raised slightly, and your chest contracted.

I grazed past your body and my fingers fished out a piece of ice, this one larger as a chunk of ice cubes had found a purchase on each other, melding into a hunk. The mass was agonizingly real and tangible, felt without the barrier of silk, or cotton or that latex Jean used for medical examinations. I leaned away, your hands clasping our hips together to hold my balance, as I ran it across your shirt once. The streak of dampness was tempting and almost poetic, like a brand. I eyed the shirt, lapped at the ice and waited while you sliced the shirt open. Then your hand returned to my hip, as we began a music-less dance, slowly leaning against each other. I couldn't help it when you traced your nail across the small of my back, and the ice dropped. It caught at our stomachs and when you crushed my torso against yours, the ice bit into every nerve. I writhed against you, feeling helpless against the onslaught of the ice and you ran a hand along my leg to hook it around yours, calmly ignoring the cold penetration

What are we doing, Logan? Why didn't it feel as bad as it should, guilty and cheap.

I'm addicted to your touch.

~~It's a secret that no-one tells~~

Oh God, your eyes were so dark and shadowed.

The squeals outside died away as a tune began. Finally our movement was accompanied. Jean cried out with indignation and Gambit laughed and someone asked Storm for a dance. You held me against you, our bodies wet and chilled, every sense beyond alert.

I finally grasped the realization of a perfect moment.

You loved me.

Oh God. you love me.

~~One day it's heaven, one day it's hell~~

I pulled away again, but your eyes were so dusky.

Did I taint you, Logan?

When I took so much, did I leave a shadow to pool into your eyes? I knew it was only for a moment: as I was standing there, flushed and pale, hot and cold, human and innocent.. before you closed the gap. Your lips were brutal on mine and I surrendered again. Touch is so powerful. touch seduces me. I seduced you..

~~And it's no fairytale, take it from me
That's the way it's supposed to be~~

The tide started, between heated moist flesh and you broke away, nuzzling into the hair above my ear. We danced next to the tub with the moonlight as the sole illumination. You took another piece of ice, preparing to retrace my face but then I guided your hand down, across my stomach. You traced wet lines and then up, breaking through my shirt with a trace of the adamantium.

~~You will fly and you will crawl
God knows, even angels fall~~

An eddy of ice.

And a swirl of tongue.

Peach nipples hardened under the erotic ministration and our breathing caught. When you stopped teasing with the ice, to suckle and bite, laving the pink skin carefully through lace, my knees almost failed. You lowered me against the edge of the tub, resting so precariously against the porcelain. The water still spilled into the tub, filling it with unwelcoming water.

~~No such thing as you lost it all~~

Logan..

~~God knows, even angels fall~~

I leant my hands into the ice to wade for a moment, before running them behind your shirt, tracing patterns and massaging your back. You breathed carefully over my breast, before resting your forehead painfully carefully against your brand, slung around my neck. Did you even notice when I took them back, that night? Maybe they'd been gone so long, they were no longer a part of you. Because they're a part of me. I cling to them, like I cling to any other infinitely invaluable trinket. Twin tabs of silver.

You moved your teeth over one, and there was a clink as teeth hit metal. Then you leant back against your haunches and swayed, moving with the music muted outside the window. There's water and music and breathing and it's a wonder I needed any other sense as the beaded chain grated softly against my neck, swayed from side to side by your motion.

I laughed. You reminded me of a dancing cobra, with hooded eyes and a feral smile and you dropped the tags, allowing the moist metal to bounce against my skin.

~~You laugh you cry
No-one knows why~~

You asked a question and I swayed backwards, looping lightly with my hips as a pivot. Your hands against them steadied me and cold thumbs pushed against the skin, dipping beneath the band of the skirt and then over the exposed stomach again, in arcs. My head connected with the other side of the bath tub and I arched away from the glacial contents. You suckled another piece of ice, retrieved carefully from the bath like a miniature iceberg, and grated your teeth down my stomach, following a path towards my navel. I giggled throatily. I couldn't help it when you pushed the ice into my navel and then sucked it away, exchanging the probe for a dancing tongue.

~~But oh the thrill of it all~~

Abruptly you tugged my hips forward and I couldn't react quickly enough to prevent my scalp from dipping into the rising water. You pulled me down, straddling your hips and pulling my dripping hair over my shoulder. Water spread from my hair, soaking into our pants as we teased and tasted, once again moving to the music of the impromptu party. Your knees must have been hurting, having the bone pressed against cold, unforgiving tiles. You didn't seem to notice, just as it eluded your attention when you hovered over me that night, desperate and watching and begging me to open my eyes.

~~You're on the ride
You might as well.. ~~

My eyes flew open then and yours were still void of light. Intense and hooded and hurting. Sometimes eyes should be closed, and I don't refer to eyelids.

But you didn't hide from me and I prayed that I was hidden from you. Our hips found a rhythm separate to the music and the denim between us was too much suddenly.

~~open your eyes~~

It was like the lake at first. It enveloped my body in a glacial grip and flowed over my lips as my head flew back. My hips barely warmed from your steady grip against them, massaging and gentle. Your tongue traced warming patterns across my neck and lips, but the central heat I felt through thin latex as you penetrated, tracing internal contours with heat. The water still churned in my ear while the music downstairs hummed. You gritted your teeth, hissing so lightly when we first joined.

I scraped patterns into your back , as the pace increased. The pulse from my heart could only be felt between my legs and your hips slid against my skin. And when you growled, it rumbled through your body, swelling in my stomach.

Why do we, the generic we, do it? Sex, that is. What greater purpose can it be if not for children. I couldn't carry your child, not yet. Maybe not ever. But the striking agony of pleasure, and erotic simplicity answers questions with a brutal force of nature that logic would fault, were it not being fucked by Wolverine.

You whispered carefully, loving me with words and phrases. They weren't cliches though. they're idiosyncratic stories of blood and of dogtags and skin... while our bodies moved against eachother, with circlings and angles that pushed us both to the edge. The abyss between us never really left but perhaps if we leapt into it, from opposite sides, then maybe we could hold hands during the fall. The pounding increased, as I dragged into your back and bit against your shoulder and never uttered more than whimpers and groans. You couldn't speak anymore but you growled and fluid rolled away from your skin, bathwater and sweat, tepid from the law of entropy.

~~You will fly and you will crawl~~

You hissed `Marie', spasming as my legs clamped higher around your muscular thighs, driving you deeper. I felt heat and electricity and your hands skated over roused skin. My head shook, spinning from sensations and my body felt distant to my thoughts. Rogue. it was always Rogue.

~~God knows, even angels fall~~

You look unharried, when you're asleep. Your forehead is smooth and your cheeks puff slightly with breath. Stretched towards me, I've retreated to this side of the bed to watch safely. There are no longer grazes on your back and the lingering ache between my legs was soothed when you brushed my face with a kiss.

Your eyes are so green, so verdant and full of life. My eyes are brown, like chocolate and puppy-dogs, you used to think. What did you think as you spiraled into that abyss and my hand recoiled from yours? Don't laugh it away Logan, unless you want to play this game... and I can't imagine you would if you knew what is was you were fighting.

You're not toying with Marie. You're not playing with teacups and teddies, but with Rogue.

And yet, you're so beautiful. You're two decades old of memories and I'm far too old for you. I've seen too much and I think too much and I'll only ever win this game. Winning it, even though I've lost myself.

I'm so sorry, Logan.

You left and she left.. and you came back and found me and you were foolish enough to believe it was her.

I tug your tags away from my neck, already missing them, and pool the chain into your stomach. The metal is warmed so you don't even flinch. With my nail I race around your skin, slowly dipping closer and closer as I did before, until the tears sting against my eyes and I can't see to stop myself. So I take my hand away, cradling it against the skin of my stomach, like a rebuked child.

The vicarious touch.

But it's no worse than the vicarious Marie you want to live through me.

Jubilee laughs outside. I curse the break of my reverie and hesitantly turn back to my Adonis. Pygmalion.

You wanted Marie tonight and you wanted her against that tree. I scare you because I lost her.

Maybe, my sweet Logan. innocent.

I want to be yours again. It's silly and juvenile and feminine but I do.

Yet you'll only take Marie and she's someone I can never return to.

Maybe. we could keep up the game.

Maybe if I stole the soul of someone innocent enough. I could give you Marie.

And we could be happy.