Title: Fangs for the Memories (1/2)

Date: October 12th, 2006

Author: Wolf CrescentWalker

Email: wolf755 at hotmail dot com

Rating: PG-17

Summary: Halloween costumes come in many varieties.

Series: Yes, eventually

Category: Foofy smut-lite (the first chapter, at least)

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, their universe, or the whole mutant idea. I just make my stories for fun, not for profit.

Archive: wrbeta, go for it: anyone else, please ask. I don't bite for the first 20 minutes (usually).

Spoilers/Continuity: None.

Genre: Mix it up, mostly Movieverse.

Author's Notes: Being a picky perfectionist, I didn't beta, so any mistakes found are genuine.

NOTE: I love Halloween!

Rogue silently cursed her stiletto heels as she rubbed her right calf. The perfect addition to her Elvira costume, the spikes made her legs look like walking sin, and feel like walking hell. Another chorus of 'trick or treat!' and 'thank you!' punctuated with joyous laughter made the pain diminish. Beggar's Night was the only time the obvious mutant kids could walk the streets without anyone staring, shouting obscenities, or running away, screaming. Blue hair, green skin, scales, fur, or fangs, it all blended in on Halloween night.

Pulling her cell phone from it's snug spot in the front of her black push-up bra, she checked the time and breathed a sigh of relief as the phone disappeared back into her cleavage. Piotr would be arriving soon in the school's shuttle bus to take the kids back home. She volunteered every year for Beggar's Night escort duty; in fact, it was virtually expected of her. She had the knack, and all the kids knew it: her reputation had preceded her. With an innate sense of cunning and years of trick-or-treating experience, Rogue had early on developed that mercenary instinct for which affluent neighborhoods would produce the absolute best candy. Every year, it paid off. After an hour and a half of ringing doorbells, the kids were struggling under the weight of their loot.

As the herd of kids ascended the next front porch, Rogue cast a casual glance across the street to where Logan leaned idly against a small tree. He'd been monitoring them through the whole night, part watchdog and part bodyguard, keeping at a discrete but responsible distance. The kids knew he was there, but weren't constantly aware that they were being guarded.

Rogue gasped as she saw a police cruiser pull to the curb, stop, and both officers got out to talk to Logan. She knew in a heartbeat that one of the locals must have called him in as a potential criminal: a grown man, unaccompanied, watching children like a hawk watches field mice. She saw Logan produce an ID from his wallet (undoubtedly one of the fakes), and after more obvious conversation, he pointed to the flock of kids who ambled on to the next house. Rogue smiled broadly and waved at the policemen to confirm their acquaintance, and the cops left. Dramatically mocking a wipe of perspiration from her forehead, Rogue saw Logan shoot her the thumbs-up, and he went back to lounging against the tree.

Piotr parked the shuttle at the end of the block and waited while the laughing, candy-laden kids piled into their seats. Rogue pulled off one shoe and rubbed her foot while she watched Logan's long legs carry him across the street. If ever there was a man born to jaywalk sexy, he was approaching her now. Stopping in the shadow of a larger tree, Logan gave her a low wolf whistle as she stood illuminated in the pool of light from the street lamps.

"Wicked," he breathed the word for her ears only, still standing wrapped in shadows. His eyes raked over her costumed body: deep, pale, creamy cleavage edged in black lace, the clingy black dress that draped sinuously down the curve of her round hips, the ragged hem dancing around fishnet-stockinged legs, and those evil heels. Christ, but she was molasses and smokey liquor and wild sex, standing right in front of him. From the dark kohl-lined eyes to the full blood-red lips, she was the perfect vision of dark delight on All Hallow's night.

"Ditch the bus, n' ride with me."

Rogue cast him a sideways glance and smiled. The sight of her nearly brought Logan to his knees. He'd waited. Years, he'd waited. She'd been through Drake, the Cajun, and another guy in college whose pointless name escaped him, and she hadn't settled down with any of them even after getting a lock on her mutation. She was fair game now, not that 'fair' would have stopped him with anyone else, but this was his Marie.

Rogue wondered briefly why Logan was even more non-verbal than usual, and seemed determined to mumble his way through any conversation. Shrugging her shoulders, she spoke to Piotr and the shuttle filled with sugar-laced kids rumbled off down the street. She was off-duty, and officially free for the evening. The October breeze shattered a cloud of colorful leaves down around them and Rogue almost shivered from the sheer energy of the night. It was glorious. She was dressed to the nines, the night was perfect, and Logan was looking at her like she was a rare steak. It might just be the night to make magic happen for real.

Bending from the waist, she slid her lacquered nails up her legs, pulling her hem up slowly and rotating one foot on the toe to display her stockings and heels. "Sugar, I hardly think this is appropriate attire for a motorcycle ride."

He stepped out further, halfway into the light, but she still couldn't see his face clearly. "You wearin' panties?"

"Shame on you!"

"Well, are ya?"

"You can't ask me a question like that, especially since you didn't wear a costume at all. You cheated. You promised me that you'd make some kind of attempt at a costume, and you blew it, mister."

"I am."

"You are what?"

"Wearin' a costume." There was the slightest hint of a lisp on the last word. Odd.

"Are not! Jeans, boots, t-shirt, flannel shirt, that's you. That's everyday you." She tapped one foot in annoyance. "Okay, just who are you supposed to be, then, smartass?"

"Wolf man," he mumbled.

Rogue laughed dismissingly. "Oh, no, you don't. Having a hairy chest and claws and being feral is NOT a costume. Well, okay, it is sexier than hell, but it still doesn't count for Halloween. And why are you mumbling?"

"It's the costume."

"Explain, or I'm callin' a cab home."

Grabbing her shoulders, Logan maneuvered her gently backward so they were both bathed in the street light's glow, then he angled his head and bared his teeth at her.

He had fangs: gleaming white, sharp, perfect fangs. The sight of those bared white teeth framed against the dark muttonchops gracing that hard, handsome face made her turn to jelly in his hands.

"Gawd, sugar, that is so sexy!" She grabbed his biceps and stared at the canines. A passing police cruiser broke their attention from each other momentarily, and they quickly stepped apart as Logan snapped his mouth shut again.

"Cops gimme a rash, let's go." Taking Rogue's hand, he led her toward the end of the street where the Harley leaned on it's kickstand. Throwing a leg over the saddle, Logan pulled the bike upright, toed in the kickstand, kicked the engine to life, and waited for Rogue to slide on behind him.

Taking his outstretched hand for support, she daintily stepped up on a peg, slid one leg tightly in behind him and settled herself against his back and hips. "Logan, I really don't think I can ride like this. My feet won't stay on the pegs."

"Feet ain't the issue, darlin', it's that dress. You can't have all that ragged skirt hangin' down around the chain. Might get ya killed if it tangles and throws us. Can ya bunch it around your hips, sort of tuck everything in tight?"

"Is that why you asked if I was wearing panties?"

"Uh-huh... yeah. Right." He turned his head toward her and grinned evilly, and again she caught the flash of white fangs gleaming in the sultry light.

"Where did you get those, anyway? They're really good, look very natural."

"That costume shop up on 16th and Whatever stree..." His voice broke off as he watched Rogue stand upright on the pegs, putting her pelvis right at his eye level, and begin wrapping her skirt tightly around her hips, barely covering her dark purple velvet panties. She was wearing a black satin and lace garter belt to hold up the fishnets, and he nearly drooled at the sight before him.

"Goddamn, Marie."

"What? Won't this work?" She finished wrapping and tucking and sat back down, then adjusted herself against him again.

"It'll work. Now if I can just get some blood back above my belt..." Rogue laughed merrily as he eased the bike away from the curb. At the first stop sign, her spike-heeled shoe slipped off the peg and she accidentally kicked his calf.


"Wrap your legs around me."

"I'm sure that's the first time you've ever said that to a woman sitting BEHIND you." That observation brought a chest-deep chuckle out of him. "Can I put my shoes in the packs? They're killers, anyway."

"You got that right, baby..." he muttered to himself. "Yeah - just pop one open and stow the shoes, then we'll go grab some supper, and maybe some drinks. Can ya handle that?"

"Yeah." Rogue tugged off the heels and reached down to dump them in the saddle bag below her left thigh, slapping the top closed. "You still want my legs around you?" She slid one long leg up and around Logan's leg, stroking her heel down the top of his thigh. No longer able to resist the temptation to touch her, he let his hand slide up the outside of her leg, the fishnets making a honeycomb pattern under his fingertips.

"Darlin,' I'd love that, but in this rare instance, it's safety first. Plants those pups on the foot pegs, and we'll take it slow and easy." Rogue toed the pegs and leaned forward, slipping her arms around his waist. Leaning close to his ear, Rogue spoke soft-voiced, knowing that he'd hear her above the rumble of the engine.

"Logan, I'm ready."

"I know, baby. So am I."

Letting the clutch ease away from the handle grip, the Harley surged forward and they glided into the russet October night.