Title:  Voodoo

Author: m.jules

Rating: R for some very bad language

Summary: Marie gets her revenge on Logan.

Disclaimer:  They’re not mine… but they sure are fun to play with.

Author’s Notes:  (Possible TMI Warning)  Oh dear God.  I can’t believe I’m writing this.  I also can’t believe I’m telling you what spawned this little bunny.  It happened tonight, in the shower, as I was having my “To shave or not to shave?” argument with myself.  I passionately hate shaving my legs, and in the winter, sometimes a “fur coat” can come in handy.  (Better than long underwear.)  Anyhow, my Mom has this joke that during the winter months I turn into Mrs. Wolverine, and as I was regarding the razor in my hand versus my nice fur coat, I was reminded of my Mom’s little nickname.  This little bunny just sank its teeth right into me, and I had to write the story.  (As to who won the argument… well, I got about half of one leg done and got fed-up with the razor nicks.  Not to mention the drain was beginning to clog…)

xXxXxXx

Voodoo

 

Y’know, of all the things.  Of all the fucking things that coulda stayed with me – the kick-ass pool skills, the sex-in-blue-jeans aura, the super senses, the healing factor, or even his lame-ass fucking crush on Jean Grey – the only part of Logan’s personality or mutation that still, to this fucking day, hangs around is the super-fast growth of dark, thick hair on my face and body.  And shaving only makes it worse.

 

Godfuckingdamnit.

 

Waxing helps a little.  By pouring hot, molten liquid over my skin and then ripping sticky fabric off several times in a row (kinda like a bandaid, only worse), I can keep the hair growth down to a minimum.  And I only have to do it twice a week, as opposed to shaving twice a day.

Did I mention that I’m going to kill him when he gets back?

***

 

Seven months to the day that I left Xavier’s School for the Gifted, I’m returning tired, hungry, and frustrated.  In more ways than one, my brain puts in, and I snarl at it to shut up.  I haven’t gotten laid in nearly four weeks, because the last girl I fucked was a young brunette and when I came I called for Marie and that scared the shit out of me.  So instead of risking that happening again – and because suddenly all those leggy redheads and busty blondes weren’t appealing to me anymore – I’ve just ignored that need or taken care of it myself as best I could.  And if I call out her name when nobody else was around… well, that’s nobody’s fucking business but mine.  Besides, unless you’re just really fucked up, you gotta yell somebody else’s name when you’re fucking yourself.  It ain’t quite the same insult or implication as shoutin’ someone else’s name when you’re fucking a perfectly beautiful young woman.

 

Anyway, back to the story at hand before I get really carried away.  Seven months after I left, I came back.  No fanfare, no welcome wagon – for a coupla telepaths, apparently Chuck or Red neither one are worth jack shit when it comes to knowin’ who’s walkin’ through their front gate – I just waltz through the door to see about five kids playin’ cards and to be assaulted with the loud-ass sound of a woman shoutin’ my name, although not in the context I’m usedta hearin’ it.

 

“DAMN YOU, WOLVERINE!”

 

It sounded a helluva lot like the Kid.  Over at the card table, the kids’ heads shoot up, and the girl in yellow cringes as she lays down a card.  “Upper lip,” she says with a frown.

 

I arch an eyebrow and saunter over to the card table, wonderin’ what the hell kinda game they’re playin’, and wantin’ to know just why Marie’s cursin’ me out upstairs.  Before I can announce my presence or ask any questions, though, there is an ear-piercing screech followed by what sounds like,

 

“Logan, you cock-sucking BASTARD!  I’m going to fucking KILL you!”

“Oooooh,” the yellow kid winces, drawing a card from the pile.  “Ouch.”

 

“Vhat vas dat?” a blue kid with a tail wants to know, rearranging the cards in his hand.

 

“Bikini,” the yellow kid chimes in unison with the girl beside her.

 

“What the fuck’s goin’ on up there?” I growl, and without exception, every kid at the damn table jumps.

 

“Oh my God,” the yellow kid breathes.  “You’re – Wolverine!”

 

“No shit,” I snarl.  “Now what--”

 

The guy beside Yellow – I dimly remember him bein’ the Ice Kid who was hittin’ on Marie while I was here – interrupts me with a quick, “You’d better run, man.  Today was not a good day to come back – she’s gonna have your balls on a platter.”

 

Number one, nobody talks to the Wolverine that way.  Number two – run from Marie?  What the fuck?  “What the fuck?  I don’t fuckin’ run from nobody.”

 

“Whatever, dude,” Yellow says as all the kids gather up their cards to move the game somewhere else – and quickly, it looks like.  “If you ever wanted to know how many body parts you could lose before your healing factor gave up, you’re probably gonna have the chance to find out.  See ya!”

And with that, they’re all gone.  Confused, I adjust the pack on my shoulder and clomp up the stairs to see just why the hell Marie is so fuckin’ mad at me.

 

***

Bastard son of a bitch piece of goddamn fucking shit!  Fuck!  That fucking hurts and it’s all his goddamn fault!  I’ve never had a problem with body hair before.  I shaved my legs once a week, maybe twice in the summer if I was going to be around any cute guys, and my bikini line was perfectly well-maintained without the use of razors, cream, or – fuck!  Ow! – wax.

 

But now, thanks to Mr. Tall, Dark, and Hairy, the puffy redness will barely have time to leave my skin before I have to do this waxing shit all over again.  Dammit.  At least the healing factor could’ve hung on to alleviate some of my sensitive skin’s reactions.  And my own fucking skin – first it won’t let anybody touch it, now it’s going all sensitive to chemicals and shit.  What the fuck?  Next thing I’ll know I’ll probably start having allergic reactions to my gloves or something.

“Hey darlin’, what’s all the commotion?”

 

And there he is, unannounced, at my door, smug and cocky as always.  I’m going to fucking kill him.

 

***

 

“Don’t you fucking knock!?”

 

Whoa.  Lotsa naked Marie parts here.  Makin’ it kinda hard to think… Heh.  Appropriate choice of words there, bub.  And… somethin’ smells funny.  What the…?

 

“What, I’m gone for seven months and that’s all the welcome I get?”

 

“Fuck off, Logan!”

 

Damn, she is mad.  Her little friends downstairs mighta been right.  But I gotta find out what’s up with this—maybe the me in her head has been givin’ her problems or some shit.  “What’s the matter, Marie?”

 

“You!  Because of you, dammit, I have to go through this twice every fucking week, just to keep from looking like a goddamned werewolf!”

 

Asking her just what “this” is might put me a little close to death right now, so I’m just gonna use my observational skills to gather evidence…just as soon as I can look away from naked Marie…okay, looking away now…all right, now I’m just gonna…okay, if I can just look right over there, away from—aw, shit, can’t I see it out of the corner of my eye?

 

All right, finally got my eyes to cooperate, gonna do a real quick scan of the room – real quick so I can get back to lookin’ at Marie – and – hair removal wax?  And little strips of paper with hair on them… ooooohhhhh.

 

And suddenly it all becomes clear.  Yellow’s comments downstairs, the strange scent in the air of chemicals mixed with anger and pain, and why she’s mad at me.  My hair-growth musta stuck with her, poor kid.  Most people think I wear the sideburns outta some sense of style or manliness or whatever… fact of the matter is, I’ve always liked bein’ clean-shaven… but by the time I get done shavin’ around my mouth and chin and shit, I’m just sick and tired of nickin’ myself with the razor knowin’ it’s all gonna be grown in by tomorrow mornin’ anyhow.

 

And I can’t help it.  I just start laughin’.  I know it’s a stupid thing to do, but right now it just seems so funny I can’t help it.  Poor darlin’.  She probably can’t get away with the sideburn look as good as I can.  Besides, I really can’t think straight with all those naked Marie parts starin’ me in the face.

“I’m sorry, Kid,” I manage to snicker.  “I’ll uh… I’ll be in my room, huh?”  And still chuckling, I walk out the door closing it behind me.  Poor Kid. 

 

***

He laughed at me!  The bastard actually laughed at me!  I’ll show him if he thinks it’s so funny… just you wait, Wolverine; just you wait.  Now, I just gotta go find Remy…

 

***

“Chere, what you want wit’ dis, hm?  You tell Remy what you up to now.”

 

“Don’t worry about it, Remy.  Now – can you do me a favor?  Can you just go sneak down the hall and sit outside Logan’s room?”

 

“Oh no – Remy too smart for dat, Chere.  Your big hairy man – he not like dis Cajun, no way.”

 

“Oh, please, Remy.  He’s sound asleep.  He’ll never know you’re there.”

 

“He know, P’tite.  Somehow, he know.  Remy, he not takin’ de chance, comprenez?”

 

Dere she go wit’ dat sigh again.  Remy not know what de chere be doin’ wit’ dis t’ing she buy from Remy, but it not be good, dat he know for damn sure, ‘specially since it be involvin’ de Wolverine, non?

 

“Oh, all right, Remy.  All right.  Fine.  Just – just go then.” 

Whew.  Remy not argue wit’ dat, chere.  He gettin’ out o’ here before de Wolverine be decidin’ he want himself a good Cajun meal, non?  But ol’ Gambit hear de petite mutterin’ as he pull de do’ shut, and it be soundin’ like she sayin’ somet’ing about hot wax.  Now Remy know he leavin’ de mansion, fo’ sure, non?

 

***

 

As Remy was finishing hot-wiring one of the cars in the garage, a shout could be heard reverberating through the mansion –

 

“HOLY FUCKING SHIT, MARIE!  That HURTS!”

 

Remy scrambled out from under the dashboard and was just about to speed off into the night when a frantic whisper caught his ears.  “Remy!  Wait up!”  He looked into the rearview mirror in time to see Jubilee come dashing out the door, her shoes in her hand, her coat hastily pulled over her pajamas.  “I’m not taking any chances in there with that madman, capisce?”

 

“Oui, cherie,” Remy nodded as she jumped into the car and quickly fastened her seatbelt.

 

“So, whatcha say, Cajun?  Pedal to the metal?”

 

“Let’s go, p’tite,” Remy agreed, squealing out of the garage and down the road.  As the convertible zipped through the front gates and rounded a curve, disappearing from the mansion, Jubilee shouted to be heard over the wind.

 

“So just where did Rogue get that voodoo doll anyway?”

 

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THE END