Title: I Don't Approve|
Fandom: X-Men (movie)
Summary: Scott ponders the need for earplugs.
Setting: Rogue is 22
Category: Fluff - Logan/Rogue - Jean/Scott
Disclaimer: I own not. You sue not.
Notes: This piece contains no angst of any kind, unless you consider Scott bemoaning lack of sleep to be angst. Otherwise . . . it's just fluff.
You know, I think giving them the room next to us was Charles' way of saying he thinks I'm a little to uptight.
I didn't approve, of course. And it's not just because I don't like Logan--and I don't. I'm not going to deny that. He's dirty and smelly and hairy and rude and steals other people's women. Not to mention he's an affront to any kind of order . . .
And I certainly don't like the way all the girls--my fiancée included--like to get all starry-eyed whenever he walks into a damn room.
So I don't like Logan. But that's not the only reason I disapprove of this so-called relationship.
Jean says I'm not giving Logan enough credit. Fine. Maybe the animal man, Mr. Sexuality himself . . . maybe he can have a relationship with a woman he can't really touch.
Right. And Jean says I'm the one who needs a reality check.
He can't be good for her. Rogue is so damn fragile--and I don't think many people realize it. She needs a stable man. One who will be there tomorrow and the next day--one who doesn't like to pick up and leave when things get tough.
One who doesn't always look at her with eyes that are undressing her and caressing her. Shit--Logan should know better. He can't touch her for Christ's sake!
But they hug and they cuddle and they stand and stare into each other's eyes and have long, meaningful conversations under the moonlight, and since Rogue is twenty-two this week, Charles handed them the keys to the room next to ours and gave them his blessing.
Jean thinks it's cute. I guess that should reassure me--if she were really in love with that hairy creep, she'd be more upset about it than she is. But she just smiles and shakes her head whenever the giggling or the whispering or . . . god help us all, the whimpering wakes us up.
We must be the only ones who hear it--because no one else seems to know that something strange is going on behind those closed doors.
And I'm dying to find out what. I guess I can't really pretend I need to know it as the Leader . . . after all, I've never inquired after Ororo's social activities. And I'll be six feet under before I give in and ask Jean.
She knows I'm curious. And from the glint in her eyes, she knows exactly what Logan has discovered that lets him wring those noises from his untouchable lover. Maybe Rogue told her . . . after all, girls talk about that kind of stuff, don't they?
Or maybe she just got curious and read their minds. I suppose a gift like hers would be useful if you're a voyeuristic lecher like me.
I still disapprove though.
It's three in the morning. Jean must be really tired--the racket from next door hasn't even woken her up yet. Which is surprising . . . Logan must be on top form tonight in his no-touch Olympics, because Rogue is carrying on like tomorrow will never come.
Even with the pillow over my head, I can't block it out. And unlike other nights, I can't get my mind off of it by repeating my mantra, "At least it's not Jean" over and over.
Damn Xavier. He's a real smart ass. I guess he's trying to teach me how to be flexible.
I wonder if they'd shut up if I threw something at the damn wall.
"Don't swear," Jean mutters, rolling over and kicking me with one foot. "Just go to sleep. You're giving me a headache."
"That--" I wave towards the wall--"is giving me a headache! This is sick!"
Jean cracks one eye. "They only do it because it gets such a rise out of you," she mutters. "If you'd stop giving them those shocked looks every morning, they'd probably tire of the entertainment."
"Marie! God, Marie!"
"That's it. Either they are moving, or we are."
"Grow up, Scott." Jean rolls back over, taking half of the covers with her as she tangles her legs in them. Well--at least that is something to distract me. Jean does have damn fine legs.
"Thanks," she mutters again. "But I'm tired. Can't we just forget about sex and sleep?"
"Logan, Logan, Logan, Logan!"
This time I do throw something at the wall. Jean glares at me as her novel slaps into the wall and slides down it.
The moaning and crying out ceases, replaced by high giggles and low laughter.
Jean rolls over again, her nightgown falling off her shoulder. Now that is really distracting.
"Listen, honey . . ." She props herself up on one elbow. "If you lie down and go to sleep, I promise we can keep them up all night tomorrow."
And she gives me the smile.
She must have said it a little too loudly, because I hear snickering on the other side of the wall and Jean grins.
Then the snickering fades and the whimpering starts again.
Sinking my head under the pillow, I inform myself that I am The Leader.
It would be immature to shortsheet their bed or something.