TITLE:Do Me A Favor And I'll Do You
(AU - set during X2, though)
RATING:high R or weak nc-17 ;
WORD COUNT:about 1630
WARNINGS:baaad language and smuttish stuff?
PAIRING:Rogue/Pyro, implied Rogue/Bobby (horror!)
SUMMARY:Even in his dreams, it'd always been him. It'd been his choice and he'd chosen to let her have the lead. But he hadn't chosen that time. Or the next. And well, after a month, it'd become pretty damn clear he wouldn't, not ever.
(for 50scenes at livejournal)
A/N:Well. I wanted to write... something.
Something were Rogue wasn't the sweet Marie we all know from the movies and where Pyro's the um, heartbroken one? I love Rogue, you know I do and I'm not mean to her on purpose, really (there is a reason behind her behavior, but I'm saving the explanations for the very -damn- possible follow-up, gah), but damnit I just wanted to write something different for a change. Sue me.
Hearts go out to smartasschef14 (livejournal) who tried to kick some sense into me - grammatically. All the mistakes you can find were probably pointed out by her and turned back by me, so, I guess... blame the frogs. Because what other possible use could you have for frogs?
AND:The previous fics written for 50scenes you can find in livejournal. I'm charmingsyrai there.
DISCLAIMER:Dude, sure. I'm also the santa. The one that invented a time machine and fired the reindeer.
DO ME A FAVOR AND I'LL DO YOU
She'd said, with the huskiest and most seductive tone he'd ever heard, she'd said ya've got to teach me, Johnny and placed her fingers suggestively just above his knee. And she'd squeezed, gently, but hard enough for it to have an impact. He'd cursed underneath his breath, eyes closing and opening, closing and opening, closing and opening-
She'd known immediately how the scene would play itself out.
John hadn't, but then, that'd been her plan right from the start and that much he'd known all along.
Her self-satisfied smile had only grown when she'd heard him make a deep, growling sound at the back of his throat - he hadn't meant to, seriously, but he couldn't stop it from escaping - and then, he'd grabbed her hand and almost told her to fuck off.
Nails digging into her gloved wrist, he'd thought of it; thought of how her face would've fallen if he'd actually done that, said those words. Told her to get lost. He'd known, even then, that later he'd regret it if he didn't say them and now, after everything, there's no one else to blame, but himself.
Though, to be fair, he blames her a little, too, but mostly he blames himself for being so fucking weak.
He'd forced his eyes open and met her brown ones, asking, why the fuck should I do that, Marie? - and he'd watched, with thrilling fascination, how her eyes had seemed to flash at his words and he'd realized his mistake.
"That's exactly why," she'd said playing around with his words, whole face radiating with the kind of smile he had no describing words for, and he'd swallowed. In pain, because my god, his pants were starting to feel way too little for him.
When the delicate fingers had moved upwards, even if it had been just an inch or so, the growl had escaped - again.
She'd laughed, but to his ears it'd been a full-fledged moan meant to drive him insane and nothing but.
He'd dreamed of that -of her willing hands working on him, playing with him- about millions of times, but apparently in real life, it hadn't been what he wanted. Not then anyway. Not like that. It was never supposed to be her; the one to make the first move. To surprise him, to leave him speechless.
Even in his dreams, it'd always been him. It'd been his choice and he'd chosen to let her have the lead. But he hadn't chosen that time. Or the next. And well, after a month, it'd become pretty damn clear he wouldn't, not ever.
In the end the whole concept of choice and free will - it lost its meaning and he hadn't cared about any of it after that point.
Just like he hadn't cared that through it all she'd been with Bobby - and he'd known that. Only, a lot later he'd realized that maybe -'cause life's shitty that way and all- maybe he did care.
Nothing had changed then, because he hadn't let it. He hadn't said anything. In fact, he'd gone as far as refusing to believe it himself so why the hell would he have told her?
Hey, I do love all the wonderful things you do to - and with - my dick, but guess what, I think I love you too.
As fucking stupid as it was, he'd thought of that, yeah - thought of saying those words to her face, but he'd never, not once, been able to picture what her reaction would be-
And that was why he hadn't said anything. He hadn't wanted to give her another chance to surprise him.
She'd been with Bobby while the guy's best friend had gone out of his way to teach her stuff-
And every time she'd throw it back at his face like it didn't mean a thing, didn't matter at all. Bobby would sneak back into their dorm, flushed and reeking of sex, of her and he'd tell his best friend, with an all-saying smirk, that the killer-skin really wasn't an obstacle anymore.
Of course, being the fucking gentleman he is, at first Bobby hadn't told John anything - at all. For a week or so John had constantly been telling himself he was glad for that... but after a little while he changed his mind and started asking, started asking what exactly had happened with the iceman and his girl and he'd even managed to put it all on male arrogance and Bobby hadn't questioned it. It was all on guys being guys and teenagers being teenagers and well, on a bunch of lame ass sayings like that.
Finally, after a lot of covered up begging and conscious manipulating on John's part, Bobby had finally caved in and told-
You wouldn't believe, he'd said to John once, the things she's come up with to make this happen, and he'd nearly snorted and been too damn tempted to tell him otherwise.
I love her, you know,Bobby had continued and for the first time ever - or at least, for the first time in ages - and John, he'd felt something break and shatter inside.
And hell yeah, he'd regretted ever asking, still does, but it wasn't like he could've taken it back, so after that he was sort of forced to listen-
Listen, how all the things he'd shown her because she'd fucking asked him to, she'd show to Drake and make them mean something.
She hadn't seen it coming and neither had he, but after a year, he'd grown tired of it. He'd realized -and regretted- it was too little and too fucking pricey.
And yet he's here; in one of the secret rooms the mansion holds and they discovered (accidentally), when, really, he could've just stopped coming altogether and be done with it.
He snickers, but more on his own expense than on hers. Not only is he there, but like a fucking boy scout, he's there on time too. She never is.
She's supposed to show up any minute now, though, and usually he's already laid down on the mattress, relaxing, by the time she does.
This time he isn't.
He stands there in the middle of the room with his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, fingers caressing the zippo affectionately, and he's trying to collect his fucking thoughts, those damn sons of bitches and he's trying to make sense of them, and it's not really going anywhere.
Because all he can think of, really, is the way her skin feels when she lets him touch it.
That's about the only thing he has and Bobby doesn't.
At least he did.
When she finally does appear, she's wearing blue jeans and a gray t-shirt, saying 'do me a favor and I'll do you' with pink letters and he snorts at the double-meaning - and its accuracy.
She doesn't waste any time - not this new, improved Rogue John's got the privilege of seeing her turn into. He feels a tad cynical, sure, but hell, can't deny he has every fucking right to.
Rogue moves as fast as she always does after a brief, unintentional skin contact with Wolverine and before he knows it, she's already clinging onto his body like she'd drown if she didn't and momentarily he loses both the start and the end of his mission.
Her lips crash on his, hard and demanding, and his hands creep up to her hips, squeezing. But no, not gently because she - she doesn't deserve it.
Or want it.
Though that knowledge alone is almost making him want to take it slow. Just in spite.
But not that surprisingly, he doesn't. Somehow her hands manage to be all over him at the same time, because the moment he's sure they're clawing his back, trying (but failing, because she doesn't have the patience to complete the said task) to pull his shirt off, one of them is actually unzipping his pants and wraps around his dick and he forgets everything else. Like how to breathe.
Her teeth clash with his, trying to force him bend backwards and he's fighting against her, pulling her closer-
Though no one ever brings it up, it's always, always a battle for domination and they are all too aware of it. All the time. Sometimes he wins, sometimes he doesn't. Either way, he's stopped minding a long time ago.
The kiss, in all its brutality, it seems to last and last until finally, he feels the familiar tug - the way too familiar sensation of pain, of life being drained out of his veins, and though she feels it too, she doesn't back off.
No, but she smiles and gives him one more; one more peck on the lips because more than anything, she loves to play with fire.
Shit, isn't he a living proof that, huh?
Then she releases him, pushes him backwards (more roughly than needed, of course) only because she knows he doesn't have the strength to do it himself anymore; to put the needed space between them.
A moment goes by with him trying to return his breathing to normal and with her, well, trying to understand the images his kiss brought into her head.
Because that, she can tell, was far from their usual kisses.
She blinks in shock, but with his eyes cast on the floor, he misses that.
He's going to stop it? He's going to walk away from it, he's going to say, no, no more games, Roguey and hell, he actually thinks he can do that?
Well, he can't.
"Rogue-" John starts, swallowing hard, and lifts his chin to meet her face and-
"It's okay," she says, dripping cold, "I'm done with the lessons anyway."