Title: Midnight Confessions: A Red Shoe Diaries Letter|
Fandom: X-Men (movie)
Rating: NC-17 (kiddies begone!! Now!!)
Summary: Logan pens a letter to the infamous Jake. Companion piece to "As You Desire Me."
Category: Logan/Rogue smut
Disclaimer: The only thing that belongs to me is the dirty imagination. <smirk> That I claim, although sometimes I think I shouldn't.
Dedication: For Kara, who (in a roundabout way) helped me de-poof Logan's letter. Also for Kia Mira, who assured me that clothes didn't have to come off for the sex to sizzle. ;) And for Die, who branded me a tease.literally.
Dear Red Shoes:
So, you want letters about love and betrayal, eh? Well, then, I've got a story for you.
I've loved. Hasn't everybody? And I've betrayed. I've betrayed everything - the trust of my peers, the law, even my own conscience. But, worst of all, I betrayed the clean, sweet innocence of a young girl, a girl I swore to protect above everything else.
I guess, in the end, what she really needed protection from was me.
I was pacing in my room after dinner. I was restless, edgy. Things had gotten to the point where I was like that a lot. I'd been watching her, you see. Watching and wanting. Needing. I tried to ignore her, and it just got worse. If she'd been nowhere near me, we all would have been better off. I mean, imagine that you're a recovering alcoholic, and your job is tending bar; sooner or later, the temptation to take just one sip can bring you to your knees.
That night, I was on my knees. I had tried everything to soothe my raging agitation, but nothing had worked. I was pacing like a caged animal.
And in a way, I was. Caged, that is. Imprisoned by my inappropriate desire for her - unable to either stop or assuage it. Trapped.
I tried to console myself with the knowledge that I couldn't have her anyway. She was too young, and she didn't see me as anything but a friend. A kindred spirit. Also, she was incapable of skin to skin contact. As much as knowing all those facts pained me, they also kept me sane. I could want her until I was blue in the face (and other places), but I still couldn't do a damn thing about it.
Anyway, she knocked on my door. She wanted me to watch a movie with her, and I considered telling her I was busy. But, in case you haven't already figured it out, I said yes. Of course I said yes. I'd move heaven and hell for Marie, if it meant I got to see her smile.
It wasn't until we got to the TV room that I realized it was just going to be the two of us. I asked her about it as she was loading the disc into the DVD player.
"No one else wants to watch this movie, Logan, 'cept for me," she told me, nervously pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. Then she smiled. "And now you, too, I guess."
The movie she'd chosen was "Gone With The Wind," and I did not want to see it. But my weakness overwhelmed everything else; I'd watch four hours of The Weather Channel if it meant I got to sit in a darkened room all alone with Marie. I sat on the sofa as she dimmed the lights, then curled up next to me with the remote control.
That position gave me a perfect view down the front of her shirt. She'd taken to wearing these tight little tee shirts with deep v-necks, and they drove me nuts. They exposed rather than hinted, and I didn't need that kind of enticement. The scarf she was wearing made my discomfort worse; it was this sheer piece of black material that she'd draped around her neck. She moved, and one end of the scarf trailed across the back of my hand.
I was imagining what it would feel like in my mouth when she flashed me a little smile and leaned lightly against me. My heart skipped a few beats before I realized that she was just settling in to watch the film, and her proximity had nothing to do with wanting to touch me. It had to do with her being comfortable enough to kick back and relax with me. I was nice, comfy Logan.
Nice, comfy.safe Logan.
Part of me wanted to grin like a damn fool. Another part was irritated. I wasn't all about comfort and stability; I halfway wanted to show her exactly how dangerous and exciting I could be.if she would just let me touch her.
I'm a goddamn pervert.
Ever seen "Gone With The Wind"? Well, it's a damn long movie, and parts of it aren't exactly breathtakingly exciting, especially if you've seen it before. Marie's eyes were drooping by the time Scarlett's second husband bit the dust. She moved in closer to me, resting her head on my shoulder, as Atlanta burned. And she was sound asleep by the time Rhett whisked Scarlett away for their decadent honeymoon.
I should have turned the movie off and carried her up to bed, or at least woken her gently and told her to go to bed herself. But I didn't. I sat there, my body tensed, and let her use me as a giant-sized pillow.
Things were marginally fine until she twisted her body around so she was facing the back of the couch. The action pressed her face into my shoulder, affording me the sight of her innocent face completely relaxed in sleep. Something in my gut twisted painfully, and I knew I had to get away from her. She was doing something to me, and I had no idea what it was. I only knew that I'd never felt about any woman the way I felt about her, about little Marie. And I had no right to be feeling those things.
I began to slowly and carefully maneuver my shoulder from under her head. It didn't work out as I'd expected, mostly because she rolled onto her back as I moved. The side of her face slid down my chest, and the back of her head came to rest in my lap.
Shit. Holy shit.
Okay, if there was one thing I didn't need at that moment, it was Marie's head anywhere near my crotch. My throbbing, aching crotch. Just the slight pressure of her head against my body was making me react, and the way she looked lying there.It made me want to scream or cry.or both.
It also made me want to run like hell before I did something I'd live to regret.
"Dammit," I swore underneath my breath. I had no idea what to do. My hands hovered helplessly above her sleeping form, then tangled in her hair. There it was again - that strange curling in my stomach. I recognized it that time.
It was fear.
With her hair wrapped protectively around my hands, I nudged her face gently. "Marie. Marie, wake up," I urged her quietly. If there was a God, she'd wake up, blush, and scramble to get away from me as soon as possible.
Apparently there was a God, but I'm pretty sure he hates me, because she only stirred at the sound of my voice. She moved onto her side again, burying her nose in the fabric covering my belly.
Hell, no. Oh, hell fucking no. "Marie," I hissed. "Get up, kid."
She didn't immediately wake up; instead, she sighed and stretched and rubbed against me like a cat. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth, unable to stop the shudder that ran through me.
"What is it, Logan?" she asked sleepily, pushing herself up into a half-sitting position. She braced a hand on my thigh for leverage, but she was still only half-awake, and her hand slipped. It landed squarely on my burgeoning erection, and I couldn't breathe, much less move.
Finally, I managed to choke a few words past the lump in my throat. "Time for bed," I rasped, wrapping my hand around her wrist and lifting her fingers away from my body.
"Logan?" She was wide awake now, her eyes huge as she stared at me. She could see the tension in me, could feel the tremors that ran through my hand on her wrist. "What's wrong?"
Her hair was disheveled from sleep. She was still slightly bent over, and I could see the tops of her breasts and a bit of black lace peeking from her neckline. "Get out of here, Marie." My voice was flat.
She didn't say a word, just stared at me with confusion darkening her eyes. Then she did the one thing that made me lose it. I forgot everything: control, good sense, decency.
She licked her lips.
With a sound that was half groan and half growl, I reached out and yanked her into my lap. She yelped softly, her mouth falling open in shock as she landed on me, one leg on either side of my hips. "What're you doin'?" she squeaked.
"Shh." I slid my hands around to her back and drew her closer to me, until her knees were pressed into the sofa cushions and her hips were aligned with mine. She let out another tiny yelp, quieter this time, and I searched her face for signs that she was frightened.
There were none. Her eyes were wide, but not with fear. She stared down at me for long seconds, then whispered, "We can't, Logan."
"We can't, or you don't want to?" My hands were shaking as I waited for her answer.
Her eyelids drifted down to half-mast, and her breathing quickened. "We can't. My skin."
Oh God, yes.Her skin. I'd seen it in so many dreams, bare and silvered by moonlight. I'm not going to lie; I wanted nothing more than to taste it, to feel her naked flesh sliding against mine. But I wanted to feel her in any way I possibly could, and if that meant through her clothes, then so be it. I wanted to hear her gasp and sigh. I wanted to hear her voice break over my name, to feel her shaking in my arms.
I wanted her to fly apart for me.
"Trust me, Marie," I said, and I barely recognized my own voice. I dragged the scarf from her neck and wound the ends in my hands, then reached up and clasped her face carefully. "Trust me."
I kissed her through the sheer cloth. I started soft and slow because I didn't want to frighten her out of my arms, but she wasn't scared. Not at all. I could feel the wet heat of her mouth as her lips parted above mine, could feel the soft stab of her tongue as it slid out. I could taste her though the fabric, on the fabric, a combination of sweat and perfume and the sweetness that dwelled behind her lips.
She leaned into me, moaning low in the back of her throat, and I could feel the sound vibrating against my mouth. Her gloved hands slid up my chest to clutch my face and stroke my neck. The fire in my blood blazed higher, and what began soft and slow became hard and deep. Demanding.
Still, she twisted against me in an effort to get closer. A shudder ran through my body, and I nearly lost it. I almost pushed her back into the cushions and took her right then, deadly mutant skin be damned. I'd die to be inside of her, to feel her body clench around my hardness. Every cell in my body was screaming for completion, insisting that I brand her as mine.
But I couldn't do that, not if I wanted Marie to feel good about touching me. And she was going to feel good, of that I was determined; she was going to think she'd died and gone to heaven. There was only one thing I could ever give her, and that was it. Pleasure. I could give her pleasure so intense that she'd never forget it.
No, I didn't stop to ponder the blatant arrogance of that thought, nor did I think about how selfish I was being. Fuck that. Marie was on top of me, kissing me with everything she was worth, and I was burning.
I pulled away and dragged the scarf from between us. Her chest was heaving, her lips swollen. "Are we stoppin'?" she panted, her hands on my jaw. "I don't want to stop, Logan."
"We're not," I assured her, reaching up to knead her breasts with both hands. She gasped and dropped her hands to my shoulders.
I was suddenly very aware of the fact that we were in one of the school's common rooms, and that anyone could walk in at any moment. I didn't particularly give a damn. Let 'em come in and find us. But then I thought of Marie. "Quiet, Marie," I cautioned, reaching down to wrap the scarf around my fingers again. "What do you want, for Chuck to wheel in here and find us like this?" I asked teasingly.
She shook her head, then jerked away as I started to slide her shirt off of one shoulder. "No, Logan, don't--"
I stilled her with one hand. "I'll be careful, Marie. You won't hurt me." At her nod, I pulled the cotton down, exposing one breast, and hissed in a breath at the sight of the sheer bra she wore. A light brush of my fingers against her covered skin tightened her nipple, and she gasped, grinding her hips against mine. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the sofa, fighting for control.
Her fingers were hesitant on my face. "Logan?"
I forced my eyes open. "Marie." I slid my hands to her back again, drawing her closer to me. "Relax, baby."
At the first cautious press of my mouth against her breast, she stiffened. Then her fingers twisted in my hair and she held my head to her body. When my mouth opened and my tongue wetly traced the flesh underneath her bra, she began unconsciously moving her body, riding me in a rhythm she knew by instinct and instinct alone.
I drew her fabric-sheltered skin into my mouth, and she bucked. Her grinding motions became faster, more insistent, and she whimpered my name. "Logan."
I was gasping for air as I lifted my mouth from her, trying not to groan aloud every time her body shifted against mine. "Go with it, Marie.Just let it feel good."
She nodded and bit her lip. I wanted to kiss her, to be able to whisper things to her with my lips and tongue pushed against her ear.
I wanted her. All of her.
My hands slid up and cupped her shoulders, urging her to increase the pressure of her pelvis on mine. I began to thrust my body upwards, moving in counterpoint to hers. The tense knot of pleasure inside me was growing, tightening, and I fought to stay in control. There was no way I was going to come; it was all about her, all of it. Everything.
She fell forward against me, her hair protecting me as she buried her face in the curve of my neck. She was moaning my name and breathing in these hitching little gasps, and I had to clench my jaw to keep from crying out.
Then Marie began to shake, and her moans melted into a low keening cry that splintered through me like a bolt of lightning. She bit my neck through my shirt and ground into me, and stars exploded behind my eyelids.
Her head snapped back, and she looked down at me, her hair falling around her face. I could see myself in the darkness of her eyes. Then she quivered and sighed, biting her lower lip and falling against me again.
I sat there beneath her, my body frozen, teetering on the edge of release. Then she began to whisper soft words into my shoulder, rubbing my body gently with hers.
"I love you, Logan. I've always loved you."
I grabbed her hips with both hands as the tension inside me dissolved into ecstasy, and I cried out as waves of pleasure shot up my spine with an intensity that made me quake in her arms. She continued to whisper to me, tenderly brushing my hair back from my face as I slowly regained some semblance of sanity.
"I love you, Logan."
I left that night.
What else was I going to do? I showered, packed my shit, and left. I only stopped long enough to slide a scribbled note under Marie's door - "I'm sorry, kid. Things got out of hand."
You're sitting there, damning me for any number of things right now, aren't you?
You might be thinking that I should never have touched her in the first place, and you'd be right; her innocence wasn't mine to take, and I should be shot for what I did to her. Marie deserved flowers and candy and soft words.You know, all the shit that goes along with courtship. She deserved undying love and promises of forever. What she got instead was me and a cheap fuck on a sofa, with Vivien Leigh whining on the television about tomorrow being another day.
Not a very fair trade-off, is it?
Or maybe you're thinking I shouldn't have left. Maybe you think that I should have done the right thing by her, that I should have stayed and given her everything she missed the first time around. Well, that just goes to prove that you don't know jack shit.
I left because I had to.
I left because I love her. God help me, I love her.
I could have done one of two things. I could have stayed and tried to be the man she wanted, the man she needed. I could have stayed.But I knew that, sooner or later, I would betray the feelings she had for me. I don't know how, but I knew I would end up breaking her heart.
My other option was leaving, ripping myself away from her arms and the only home I'd ever known. My other option was betraying myself.
In the end, there was really no contest, was there? I can live with my pain, but I couldn't bear knowing that I'd hurt Marie any more than I already have.
So I left, and I'm never going back. I can't.
Jake lowered the paper with shaking hands, his eyes narrowed. He only occasionally received letters from men, and never had he gotten one so full of emotion and pain as the one he held.
Stella whined, and he absently reached down to pat her on the head. Vaguely, he recalled a letter he'd gotten several weeks back from a girl who called herself Marie. Could it be the same one?
He searched his desk drawer hastily, finally finding the faintly-scented letter. Logan. The man in her letter was named Logan, too. And she mentioned something about not being able to touch people, just like the man had written.
He swallowed tightly and sighed. Not for the first time, he wished there was a way for the man and woman named Logan and Marie to work things out.but it didn't look good.
It didn't look good at all.