Snow (sweptawaybayou) wrote,

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Old X-Fic

Old stuff, just adding to my memories. Feel free to skip on by.


Secret of the Bottle

by Snow
X-men movieverse
Soooo not mine
Title and song by Jackyl


I feel better when I’m drinking,
It just seems to ease my mind.
And all my worries and troubles,
They just seem to fade behind.

No one asked Rogue about her nightly trips to the nearby town, to the bars. Did they notice? Did she care if they did?


Was it her painful break-up with Bobby? The loneliness of her particularly cruel mutation? Logan’s leaving again; presumably searching for more answers to his lost past? The ever-present voices in her head? Erik, Logan, anyone and everyone else? Did she even know?

But every night, she was in the local tavern drinking whiskey, neat, no ice. Smoking Marlboros, one after, perched on a bar stool. Drinking until she was in a comfortable haze. Drinking until nothing hurt inside anymore.

Not noticing the admiring, lustful stares she constantly received, the leers drinking in her slim, shapely body, her curves poured into blue jeans and t-shirts. Her long gloves covering her hands and arms, keeping the fools around her safe. Her brown eyes didn't see anything but the scarred, dark wood of the bar, her brain didn't register anything but when her glass was empty.

Oh, the secret of the bottle,
It may never be known.
So I’ll raise my glass and propose a toast,
And this one baby, is for you.

She had finished at the school, wasn’t sure about college, didn’t want to get a job. She felt her life was in a complete state of limbo.
Charles was trying to help her control her skin, but remained, as usual, ambiguous about offering any advice. Scott, the new, unsmiling, stern, humorless Scott, had his toys; his cars and motorcycles, his endless electronic gadgets. Ororo spent her days in the greenhouses, planting and repotting, growing things from far away countries that had never seen the cold New York winters or the muggy, sticky summers. Kurt’s days were devoted to the chapel he was building near the mansion, a miniature replica of the Vatican, his nights for prayers and scarring and Storm. Bobby had left for the University, taking Jubilee and Kitty with him, a giggling, carefree group, not even pausing in their excitement to say good-bye.

And Logan, well, Logan had left not long after Jean’s funeral. It was almost a relief for everyone, to have him out of the house, his brooding, dark, angry temperament had kept nerves on edge.

A relief for everyone but Rogue.

She missed him. Missed him with a nearly palpable ache. Missed him so much she would look for him in dark corners, in the shadows of the woods that circled the school, on the seat of every motorcycle she passed when she drove away from the school with no where to go.

She would listen for his steps, the scuff of his boots on the wood floors that would wake her as he walked past her door when he came in late at night from missions with the X-men, working out in the gym, running through the forests, skulking in bars.

Oh, yes, Rogue knew his habits. Knew his sounds. As stealthy, as animalistic as Logan could act, Rogue had him in her head, in her soul. She knew his body language like it was a verbal communication all it’s own. She could read his subtle and, well, not-so-subtle expressions, she could hear inflections in his speaking voice that even a telepath wouldn’t pick up.

And she hungered for him, she grieved for him.



I start to laugh when I’m drinking,
I may even tell a joke or two.
Sometimes I even pretend
That I’m still in love with you.

Logan had left the mansion, but not to search for anything. He’d really run away this time and not for all the reasons everyone thought. Not to look for his past. Not because of Jean’s death. Not because of his ‘wandering ways’. He’d left because of Marie. There.

He’d said it to himself, if no one else, finally.

She haunted his nights, she crept into his day dreams. The older she got, the more beautiful she was, the way her eyes warmed him when she smiled. He had to get away from her. She needed someone her age, someone from her generation. Someone with a future.

Not him. Not his tortured past. Not his uncertain present.

He found himself circling around the school. Far enough away that he wouldn’t run into anyone he knew, but close enough that he could reach Westchester in a day. If he needed to.

If he wanted to.

He couldn’t make himself go any further away or move any closer.

And you ask me if I’ve felt pain,
After all that I’ve been through.
I’ve paid more than just my dues,
I’ve felt the pain of you.

He spent every evening in bars, drinking whiskey, neat, no ice. Smoking cigars, on after another, slouched on a bar stool. Trying to drink himself into that comfortable haze, until nothing hurt inside anymore.

Not noticing the admiring, lustful stares he constantly received, the leers drinking in his muscular, strong body, poured into worn blue jeans and tight t-shirts. His depression damping his rage, his bestiality, keeping the fools around him safe. His brown eyes not seeing anything but the scarred, dark wood of the bar, his brain not registering anything but when his glass was empty.

I feel the pain when I’m drinking,
It just don’t seem to cut as deep.
And when I lay down without you,
It makes it easier to go to sleep.


by Snow

Very not mine
Song and title by Jackyl
Bless those Southern boys.


Smoke signal rising from my cigarette
I’m like an Indian warrior taking all I can get
You’re never quite sure just how much I know
Only that they call me Chief Rock-A-Ho

This feeling had nothing to do with love.
Nothing to do with respect.
Nothing to do with anything but pure, honest, unadulterated lust.
Logan had to get away from the school.
Away from the squeaky clean atmosphere.
Away from the rules.
Away from the kids.
God, the kids.
The constant, unflagging, whining little brats.
All day.
Every day.

“Mr. Logan, help me with this.”
“Mr. Logan, teach me how to do this.”
“Mr. Logan, please, show me what to do now.”

Oh, and Jubiliee, with her ‘Wolvie’ this and ‘Wolvie’ that.

Like he was a God damn dog or something.

Just once, just once Logan would love to turn around at the sound of her voice, pop out a claw, catch one of her hideous looking hoop earrings with it and ask,


Maybe that would shut them up.



‘Cause I’m always thinking dirty, always thinking sin
Always moving over and sliding it in
Pumping like a diesel,
Stopping on a dime
I been a bad boy for such a long time

What Logan needed now,
right now,
was a dark smoky bar.
Preferably with a pool table.
Preferably with some loud, hard driving music.
Stevie Ray Vaughn?
John Lee Hooker?
Joe Satriani?
A tall, cold beer after a burning shot of tequila.

Or two.

Just enough to warm him up.

A fat Cuban clenched between his teeth.

Oh, and a statuesque, gorgeous redhead.
Or brunette.
Or blonde.

It’s not like he was picky.

And I’m
Feeling sleazy dirty
Feeling kinda mean
Feeling up and down and in between
Feeling kinda cocky
Feel I’m on the rise
Feel myself a coming between your thighs

This was more like it.
Logan slammed back the Jose` Cuervo double shot and drank down half of his Molson.
Steve Vai pumping out of the jukebox.
A cigar burning, smoke trickling out of his lips, past his eyes.
The soft bumps of pool cues against ivory balls coming from over in the corner.
And a beautiful woman staring unabashedly at him from across the bar.
Yeah, this could be a good.

You wear your war paint, it looks good to me
Hey baby, why don’t you step inside my teepee
Smoke on my peace pipe, it’ll make you high
You never know until you give it a try

Logan stared right back at her.
A slow grin easing the lines of the perpetual scowl on his face.
She stood up.
Walked over to him as he leaned against the bar.
In the corner.
In the dark.

“Haven’t seen you in here before.”

Her voice was smooth butterscotch.
Low toned.

"Guess it’s your lucky night.”

His was gravel.
Curled around her like the air.
He could smell her.
He could almost taste her.
The soft musk of her perfume.
The hot, wet, pulse of her center.

She was his already.

I live for the right now day after day
I’ll use you up and then I’ll throw you away
I pump you like a diesel, I stop you on a dime
I been a bad boy for such a long time

He pulled her close to him.
His lips on her neck.
His hands roaming.
On her breasts, loose beneath the soft silk of her halter top.
Under her skirt, she was bare.
Touching her.
Seared by the heat.
Her fingers quick, unhooking his belt.
Unzipping his pants.
Pulling him free.
Wrapping around his hard, aching need.
He brought her up, on his lap.
Perched on the stool, his hands gripping her hips, moving her to a rhythm that only they could sense.
Oh yeah.
This was nice.
Sweat beaded on her forehead and he licked the salt from her.
Trying to get in deeper.

“Come for me. Now.”

His harsh whisper in her ear.
Her hands digging into his arms.
And she did.
Then he did.

And I’m
Feeling sleazy dirty
Feeling kinda mean
Feeling up and down and in between
Feeling kinda cocky
Feel I’m on the rise
Feel myself a coming between your thighs

Finally they kissed.
Hot, hungry kisses.
Their tongues dancing against each other.
She slid off his lap, adjusting her clothing.
Logan tucked himself back into his pants, zipped up.
She grabbed the beer out of his hand and finished it.
Winked at him.

“See yah back at the school.”

Logan watched her walk out of the bar.
Watched the other men watch her walk out of the bar.
She turned at the door, one hand reaching up to pull the white streak of hair out of her eyes.
She smiled at him.
Then she was gone.


We all had to start somewhere, didn't we?

Mmmmm, Logan ...
Tags: fic, logan/rogue, x-men
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