Summary: Logan had promised to take care of Marie, but that didn't mean he couldn't look.
Coupling: Logan/Rogue, some Bobby/Rogue.
Warnings: Language, sexual content, stalker!Logan.
Disclaimer: If I owned it, it would have been canon. The songs belongs to Nine Inch Nails and Limp Bizkit; the quote is from the last X-Men movie; the definition is from Wiktionary. This fic was loosely based off of My Broke Quill's "Expectations and Evolutions." It's amazing, so if you haven't read it, go read it now.
When you cage the beast, the beast gets angry. – Logan, X-Men: The Last Stand
Help me tear down my reason, help me its' your sex I can smell
Help me you make me perfect, help me become somebody else
I want to fuck you like an animal
I want to feel you from the inside
I want to fuck you like an animal
Closer – Nine Inch Nails
Marie had changed.
He wasn't exactly sure what happened, much less when, but it had happened. One moment she was the sweet girl he had found hidden in the back of his truck, the next she was a fully grown (and very attractive) woman. Her chest was fuller, her legs longer, and her lips just daring him to make his move. It wasn't something the Wolverine inside him could ignore.
Now Logan wasn't the type of man to think about things first. No, he was the kind who would act first and deal with the consequences later. That had always been his way. Except when it came to Marie. She always seemed to make him second guess himself.
It started that first damn day she had decided to hitch a ride in his truck. He'd kicked her out, because the Wolverine did not give charity rides to runaway brats. She could fucking fend for herself. But then he'd seen her in the mirror, still watching him with those eyes, and the next thing he knew, he was stopping. She had done it again the first time he'd left the school. He hadn't wanted any sappy goodbyes, he'd just wanted to get on the road again – to take off, because that was just what the Wolverine did, he left. He did not sit around babysitting kids. But then she'd caught him just before he had the chance and looked at him with those goddamn eyes ("I don't want you to go"). The next thing he knew he was giving her his tags – his fucking tags – his only solid tie to his past – and telling he'd come back for them, even though the Wolverine never went to the same place twice. Especially not for a girl (girl, what she had been then, not the woman she was now).
And now she was doing it again. She was fucking tempting the Wolverine.
Normally that wouldn't have been a problem, because Logan didn't separate himself from the Wolverine. It had been the Wolverine that had kept him alive all these year, so when it wanted something Logan usually let him have it. Usually – as in every time except this one.
Except when it came to Marie.
She wasn't Logan's usual woman. Logan's usual women consisted of too little clothing and too much alcohol. The kind that wouldn't be surprised to not find him there in the morning, because that was just how it worked. And that was not Marie. Marie was always covered, even now, when she'd learned how to turn her skin on and off, because that was just what she did. Marie never drank enough to be drunk and when she did drink, she blamed it on him (You're in my head, Logan, and you won't shut up until you have a beer). But most importantly, Marie would expect him to love her, to be there in the morning, because that's just how it worked with her.
Logan had promised to take care of her, so he fought so that the Wolverine would not win.
He would not take her, would not hurt her, but that didn't mean he couldn't look. There was no harm in him simply looking at Marie and look he did.
It became an obsession. He followed her everywhere she went, never being seen, but always there. The halls, her classes, everywhere. He always had to know where she was, what she was doing, who she was with. It wasn't normal and it wasn't healthy, but since when had the Wolverine (or even Logan) cared? Besides, he wasn't hurting anyone. He was just looking.
The worst was when she was with the Popsicle. He watched her too, just the way Logan did. The difference was that the fucking Popsicle could do more than just watch, and he knew it. He would hold her hand, put his arm around her shoulders, pull her closer to him – always fucking touching her. It drove the Wolverine insane.
He was a boy, a brat. He didn't know how to please a woman. Not like the Wolverine did.
The Popsicle would be slow, gentle. He would caress her, kiss her, careful to never leave a mark, and probably (Logan gagged) whisper mushy stuff in her ear. And Marie would think that was as good as it got. But she had never been with Logan, with the Wolverine. He would take her all night, in more ways than she had ever imagined. Every time would be race to finish, just so they could start again. He would make her scream so much that she wouldn't have a voice in the morning. She would be covered in bruises and bites, a reminder of the best fucking night she would ever have.
But that wasn't going to happen because she was Marie (Marie, Marie, Marie) and not one of his usual girls and he needed to stop thinking about her like that. She was Marie.
He didn't stop.
He followed them when they went out, when they stayed in. He saw them when they were outside her room, when she invited him in, (why the fuck hadn't he killed the Popsicle at the start when he had the chance?!), and when they fought. About him. Several times.
I don't like the way he looks at you, Rogue.
She defended him every time.
And slammed the door in Popsicle's face.
That was his favorite part.
It was on one of those nights that Logan found himself standing in front of her door, his fingers on the knob, reasoning that he should check on her. He had been in her room several times. There was nothing wrong with it. He was just going to make sure that she was okay. The Wolverine inside agreed, urging him to open the door. And then, with the swiftness he had learned from his battles, he turned the handle and slipped into her room.
She slept on her side, one foot curled up to her, another dangling off the side of the bed. One of her arms rested on her pillow above her head, the other under it, hugging it closer to her. Her hair, wild and free, covered her face and somewhere along the way, she had kicked her blanket to the floor. It was one of the most uncomfortable positions he had ever seen anyone sleep in.
All of which he forgot when he noticed that the strap on her gown (black and lacey) had fallen down her arm. That when she curled her leg closer to her, the bottom rode up enough to reveal her thigh. That she was angled exactly right so that he could see down her gown. Because then all he could think of was how hot it would be to have her right then and there.
And suddenly all he wanted to do was tear the fucking gown off of her. To see naked and sweating under him.
He wanted to feel her breast in his hands, her bare nipples against his thumbs, between his teeth. To taste her (Christ, he bet she had the sweetest taste); to have her pulling at his hair and crying out in a way that would make her completely forget about Popsicle. To feel her from the inside, her hands grasping at the sheets and her legs wrapped around his waist. He wanted to feel her nails digging into his back when he slammed her against the wall. To hear her begging him, screaming his name, the sound she made when she finished. And the one when they started again. He wanted her right then and there more than he had ever wanted anything before.
If he woke her she wouldn't object. He was more than aware of the crush she had on him, even after all these years. He wouldn't be forcing her into anything she didn't already want. He'd just be giving her what she always wanted. It was a win-win situation.
He poked at her shoulder with his finger. Her eyes peaked open with the first poke, but only for a moment. It took two more before she lifted her head and realized he was there. She seemed startled, but didn't ask him why he was there. The Wolverine was screaming at him to fucking move already. Logan ignored him because she was looking at him with those goddamn eyes again. The word trust seemed to be lingering in the air.
Don't be ridiculous, Bobby. This is Logan we're talking about. He would never do something like that! He's my friend.
And suddenly he remembered the girl he had found hidden in the back of his truck, the one he had given his tags to in a promise to return, the one he had promised to take of. That this was fucking Marie, not one of his usuals. And suddenly, he was disgusted with himself.
He mumbled some lame ass excuse about her screaming because of a nightmare and ran out of the room before she had a chance to say anything. The Wolverine inside was howling, screaming at him to go back and take her, but Logan paid no attention to him because it was Marie (Marie, Marie, Marie) and he couldn't do that. Not to her. He packed a bag and left a note in his room and took off. (Because that's what the Wolverine did when things got too personal, he ran.)
He ended up in a bar outside of Toronto three days later.
He had hoped to settle the raging Wolverine with cage fights, but it had only taken three beatings, before everyone lost the balls to go against him. So he sat at the bar, a beer in hand, reminding himself that she was Marie (Marie, Marie, Marie) and he was protecting her by staying away. She wasn't one of his regulars, she was innocent.
She has us in her head, there's no fucking way she's still innocent. The Wolverine growled.
He distracted himself when a woman (one with too little clothing and too much alcohol) swayed her way to him. She was holding some girly blue drink, her hair was blonde and she was giggling in an annoying pitch and she didn't look a fucking thing like Marie. So the next thing he knew, he was slapping down money on the counter and following her back to her place.
He took her all night – on the floor, in the bed, against the wall – in every way and then some. She pulled at his hair and grew hoarse from screaming. She dug her nails into his back and he covered her in bruises and bites. He felt inside her and went until she couldn't anymore. She stared at him with a seductive grin and told him that it was the best fucking night she'd had in a long time. And it sounded twisted, wrong coming from her.
He left the moment she fell asleep.
Marie, Marie, Marie.
He was back at the institute by the end of the week.
Marie was there, of course, the moment he walked through the doors. She greeted him with a smile and hug, saying that she knew he was coming back. He noticed the dark look on Popsicle's face behind her and smirked. He pulled back before she could feel the effect she was having on him with her chest pressed against his, even through all her layers.
"'Course, Marie. Can't get rid of me that easily."
Neither of them would be that lucky.
The Wolverine inside just smirked.
I'm drawn to you
Something's magnetic here
If I could approach you
Or even get close to the scent
That you left behind, that'd be fine
No doubt that you bring out
The animal inside
Eat You Alive – Limp Bizkit
Animalistic - In the manner of an animal; savage; untamed.
Note: This was my first attempt at both writing something smut-like and writing Logan. I must admit, I liked it. I usually write angst, so writing something that's a bit more, I dunno, dark and drama(?), was a nice change. I've always wanted to write something dark and creepy. I absolutely adore Stalker!Logan. I hope it came out okay/in character. This is the end of this fic. There will be no continuation, no sequel. I know if feels unfinished, but I meant for it to be that way. Continuing it now would almost ruin this. I already have another Logan/Rogue/Bobby fic in mind, but I need to decide if I wanna give it a bittersweet or a happy ending. I guess I'll jump that hurdle when I get there.
This fic is dedicated to Muffintine, who is always helping me by checking my writing and reviewing my fics even if she doesn't know the fandom. She has been trying to get me to write Logan and/or smut for the longest time, so here you go, girl!
Review, please. =]