Setting: S1. 'The Kidz are Aiight' never happened. Logan walking, not falling, trip out to the cabin. No near date night has occurred, but that first kiss has (hence Logan up and walking).
This follows Lisa's wish list (since I needed a break at one point writing Tig's).
Don't Want List:
1) Excessive injury angst (no use of the words 'atrophy' or 'catheter' please)
Wish List (must have three of five):
1) Really good sexual tension, like "if I don't have her right now I'll go insane" sexual tension.
2) An escape from a dangerous situation
3) An unexpected kiss
4) An unusual location (i.e. not Logan's apartment)
5) AURLCO Approval – some of Logan's clothes have to come off. Feel free to get smutty if the mood strikes.
"Not a single word," Logan ordered as he threw his coat down on the driver's side seat before getting in.
Max turned straight ahead quickly as she jerked with the motions of holding in her laughter, her head bobbing as they threatened to spill out.
He shot her an evil look as he threw the car into drive as she just turned to his mud splattered face and was forced to throw a hand in front of her mouth in order to try to suppress the bawling laughter that was desperately trying to escape.
"This is not funny," he declared.
"You're not sitting here," she squeaked out, still trying not to laugh she continued shaking.
"No, I was the one sitting in mud," he glared.
"I offered to change the tire," she pointed out.
He glared at her again.
"Chivalry would play a lot better on you if you didn't have me jumping out of buildings and outrunning bullets on a regular basis."
"I don't outrun bullets quite as well as you," he looked down at his splattered self, "and I'm assuming the same can be said about changing tires," he looked over, "consider my lesson learned on both of those subjects. I'll know better next time."
"Likelihood of me ever offering to change a tire again?" she shot him a look.
"In the rain no less," his eyes narrowed and his head shook, feigning appall with himself over turning down such an offer.
"Light drizzle," she corrected smirking.
"Good timing at least," he nodded looking out the windshield into the darkened night, "it's starting to come down heavier."
She frowned and leaned forward onto the dash to get a better look at the weather, not though it showed her anything new, "I should be five s'mores in."
"Five s'mores?" he turned quickly to look at her in astonishment, "We were at the cabin less than a half hour ago."
"You've been talking about s'mores for a week; it's amazing I'm not sitting here with the bag of marshmallows and a cigarette lighter right now."
He chuckled forgetting his soaked bottom and the slight crunch to his cheeks when he did so.
"I can't believe you're making us drive an hour to get to another cabin," her head shook, "there was a perfectly good motel in town."
"I didn't spend half of my day shopping yesterday for the food to spoil while we had to eat out."
"Could have left it with Bennett," she pointed out.
"He already got the cabin, he's not getting my groceries," his expression darkened into a spoiled child's.
"Not his fault you guys both thought it was a good idea to make plans with someone who's wasted," she said referring to his uncle Jonas, who had double booked the cabin.
"I called him at 11; he was one Bloody Mary, at most, into the day. Bennett's the idiot that called him after dinner," he glared. "And he had to have left at most a half hour before we did."
"That'll teach you to turn off your phone," she cockily replied with an air of superiority, "remember that whole, the world can stay broken?"
Another quick look at her, "And what's this weekend?"
"Weekend was supposed to start at 5:30," she shot him another look.
"You were still raiding my cabinets. That shouldn't have mattered."
"Yet we're the ones sitting in the car going to pay for our weekend away."
"I'm probably chafing and you're complaining," he said with exasperation.
"Once more, I offered," she drawled innocently.
"We're not talking anymore," he ordered as he turned up the volume.
She finally chuckled.
"If the hot water doesn't work, I'm going back down the hill and using his," Logan railed against the man, who ten minutes ago had handed off the keys to his rental cabin with a less than assuring answer regarding the hot water. Moodier than he had been an hour ago, after a missed turn due to a missing sign had sent them several miles off track, a power drunk sheriff harassing them as they entered the town and a walk of several feet out in the icy rains of February to the other man's house had left a very chilly and bitter Logan.
Max held her laugh in as she turned on the lights, displaying a living room right out of the eighties, sea-foam green couch and all. Logan followed her in, ignoring the décor, "Kitchen's to the right?" he questioned.
"That's what you told me," she nodded.
He dumped his bag next to the couch, Max having grabbed his laptop from the trunk, not trusting to have him near the invaluable item in his current mood. She followed him in after gently placing the rest down, once more trying not to laugh as he near threw their food for the next two nights into the fridge.
"You alright there?" she questioned leaning against the doorway admiring the muddy view.
"If you ever hear me saying anything about communing with nature ever again, feel free to knock some sense into me," he replied not even bothering to look back.
"That some new technique you haven't shown me?"
"What?" he asked turning back.
"You normally scramble them after you take them out of the shell," she smiled walking into the room.
"What?" he turned back and realized what he had in his hand, the eggs.
"Oh," he shook his head, "sorry," he apologized as she gently extracted them from his hand.
"No harm, no foul," she shrugged and put them onto the top shelf.
He turned and gave her a look.
"Do I look like Sketchy to you? My jokes are a lot better than that," she nodded realizing just how cheesy a comment that could have been if she'd meant 'fowl,' though inwardly being decently amused at the accidental pun.
"Can you finish this up?" he asked smirking.
"You gonna hit the shower?"
"While I can still get these jeans off of me," he confirmed.
"Gonna say, they're a little tight for you. Been trying to figure out if you got a little dryer happy with them."
He turned and gave her a look through the thin silver frames, "What's wrong with my jeans?"
"Nothing," she shrugged innocently, "just a little tight for you." Not that I'm complaining.
"They've been in my closet for awhile."
"So why haven't you worn them?"
"I used to, little easier getting in and out of things that don't require a lot of bending when you can't."
Another thing to thank the good ol' Manticore blood for.
"Can I go shower yet?"
"Nice to know the chivalry thing isn't lasting," she teased turning, enjoying torturing him today.
"Considering I've seen you enter my shower when I'm putting a roast into the oven and not leave until I'm putting it on the table, I'm not risking my boxers having to be surgically removed from my skin."
"Amazed boxers fit under those jeans," she innocently remarked.
He looked down at his jeans, "They're not that-" he looked up and caught her smirking before she could hide it, "I'm going to shower."
"Hey Lo-" the words died in her throat as he turned at the bathroom door, a baby blue tee-shirt having just been peeled over his head, replacing his glasses to see her. He had started peeling off the layers the moment he left the kitchen.
He waited expectantly for a question or a statement, not realizing he should feel any discomfort.
She swallowed and forced her eyes to focus upwards despite the tempting lure of arms that should never be encased in fabric ever again and a teasing trail of hair that made her want to pop open those jeans and go exploring. "Should I start dinner?" she remembered to ask. "Boil water or chop something?" she offered.
He chuckled, "Pre-heat the oven? 400? I'll be out in five minutes, less if what I'm sure is true and there's no hot water."
"Take your time," she nodded slowly, the movement allowing her a better look at the body she was fighting to check out.
He just smiled.
"His hot water heater is being disconnected before we leave," Logan announced walking into the kitchen in a pair of loose navy blue sweats and a white tee-shirt, his feet covered in white socks as Max was slowly sucking away the outer layers of her marshmallow, dissolving it into a gelatinous blob.
"Cold?" she questioned.
"Freezing," he corrected. "Luckily I had my anger to keep me warm," he nodded as he traversed the length of the kitchen. He was cold, hungry and…And not looking at Max popping the marshmallow in and out of her mouth. He debated slamming his head into the white of the fridge instead of opening it, maybe being unconscious would help this never ending day from hell pass faster or knowing his luck today, he'd just get one hell of a headache.
"We still having 'Spicy Hoisin Chicken?" she asked following a slimy pop of the marshmallow leaving her mouth. She used the full description he'd given her earlier and not for the first time, she shrugged as he looked at her, "I like saying hoisin, something about it," she shrugged again before popping the marshmallow back in.
He shook his head and shut the door without putting his head between the door and the fridge itself. Why had he planned on raiding his Uncle's wine cabinet and why hadn't he at least grabbed a bottle or five before realizing Bennett and Marianne were on their second honeymoon less than two weeks after their first?
He froze in front of the stove. "Please tell me there are pots and pans," he shut his eyes ready to let out a whimper of defeat.
"Cabinet to your left," she smiled.
He sighed in relief.
"I don't think they expect you to travel with pots and pans," she rolled her eyes.
"With how this day is going," he shook his head.
"You mean like a Friday with no booze?"
"I apologized for that already in the car," he said pulling out a pan.
"Doesn't fix it," she stood to join him.
"There's rum," he pointed out dumping the marinating chicken he'd prepared in Seattle into the baking dish.
"I'm not an alcoholic," she pointed out as she started to wander around the kitchen, not having any interest in taking shots.
"You are the one complaining about no booze on a Friday night," his lips twitched up as he bent over to toss the covered dish into the oven.
The marshmallow remained mid-pop as she stopped to check him out, sweats were oddly revealing in a clingy type of manner. "And you're the one with a stick up their ass," she replied taking the near non-existent marshmallow out once more.
She was right, he crossed the kitchen to the bag he'd left next to the fridge. He pulled out a small bottle of vodka and handed it to her, "I figured you wouldn't like the buttered rum."
"You're aware you could have just told me that instead of offering to make it."
"But then it wouldn't have been your decision," he casually played it off, his concern over her, his desire for her to experience everything the world had to offer with no limits.
"So what's this for?" she asked checking out the bottle.
"Coffee," he offered, "there's Kahlua in the bag as well. Hot chocolate," he gave her a look, "I figured you'd drink anything with whipped cream on top."
"Valid assumption," she nodded back.
"We have orange juice; just remember we have two mornings here."
"As in don't make a Screwdriver Max despite the fact that I'm offering it to you," her head bobbed as she spoke for him.
"I never said that, I would just be careful with your orange juice and coffee use."
She laughed, "What else you got in the goodie bag?" she asked squatting to the floor. "Bailey's as well," she turned back and was happily rewarded with another great view of his ass. "Someone went booze happy at the liquor store."
"Not Bailey's," he responded as he measured out the rice. "They wanted seventy dollars for the small bottle. There was no way I was paying that much when it was being mixed with other things."
"Irish cream whiskey…Same thing."
He turned for that. "I've taught you nothing," he shook his head in anguish.
They'd debated as they ate dinner as Logan actively bemoaned the lack of a chess board, swearing that this weekend would have been when he finally beat her. Without it however they were left with some free time so they debated between some bad tv on the one station the cabin got, a board game between the pitiful selection they'd been supplied with, a card game, or a dvd on the laptop. Cards won without much enthusiasm.
A quick game of Rummy, which he'd suspiciously viewed her after she won had led to a much longer game of War, which they moved for, from the small table they'd been playing on in the living room to the floor in front of the fireplace. Their backs propped up against the couch, the cards laid forgotten between them having eventually lost their appeal and their nearly empty spiked coffee cups next to them that had followed their hot chocolate, which had effectively killed their appetite for s'mores, deciding to wait until tomorrow when their appetites were revived before attempting them.
Words occasionally passed between them, but what had begun as a full-blown conversation between them hours earlier drifted into something much more unhurried and relaxed as they were lulled into a sense of peace by the fire and the company.
"More coffee?" he asked after picking up his mug and seeing only remnants.
She viewed her empty mug before responding, "Nah."
"Hot chocolate? Warm milk?" he further offered.
"I'm good," was her only reply.
He sighed and let his head lean back against the sea-foam green.
She smiled as she turned to see him, lit only by the orange embers of the fire. His hair naked from the shower, lying flat in a haphazard pattern, clueless as to how to behave without direction. The silver frames she was sure had survived many a short nap with another one looming around the corner. The stressful day forgotten and the very essence of him, stripped free of excess like his locks.
His head turned feeling the eyes upon him and his lips lifted seconds after his lids, twitching up in a tender smile, "What?" he asked seeing her gentle one studying him.
She found herself leaning towards him, found her lips touching his, found them opening as they were urged on by the fingers sliding into her hair, cupping her to him. Coffee…Bailey's…Chocolate…Hoisin…Logan…Melted their way through her dulled senses, so at peace with the moment, with the sound of the rain at the windows and the fire crackling before her.
Through heavy and curious lids he studied her as they slowly separated, fingers slowly sliding across her jaw, not wanting the moment to end.
"What was that for?" his husky voice questioned.
"Because…" her head fell to the side slightly.
His lips twitched up, "Because what?"
Hers joined his in the action, "Just because," her head bobbed slightly and her smile turned into a smirk.
He simply gave her a bemused look before their heads both turned back to their original positions against the couch, staring at the fire, though now both suddenly not really seeing it.
Lips twitched up further.
"Just because," he repeated just as a full grin broke out on both of their faces.
What more did they need to explain it?
Thanks for reading!
Possible nitpicks not addressed in the story (because I'm trying NOT to include everything in my stories like I tend to)
Fridge is on (he gets a lot of regular/last minute guests).
Max starts a fire while Logan's in the shower and turns on whatever other heat is available.
Logan excuses himself to get a sweatshirt after starting the drinks because yes, it's not exactly warm that time of year.
I wish you guys saw my frown as I was re-reading the story, I hit the words, spoiled child, changed it to spoilt child, frowned at it, changed it back to spoiled, frowned again, then spoilt, then five minutes worth of researching it before deciding spoiled did sound better. One word should not cause so many issues. :-P