X-Men: Stolen

She gasped and shuddered wildly, knees going weak, surrendering to the assault and to the moment. "Oh, Logan, yes!"

He let her go and stood back, so suddenly she almost fell. It took her a moment to realize what had happened, what she had said. She looked at his eyes, cold now, the ice-heat dead. Eyes pale like the ash of the fire they had held a moment before.

"Bobby," she began, aware of how pathetic her apology would sound.

"Save it, Marie." He never called her that. He made a point of never calling her by her given name, but rather respecting her chosen name instead.

"It's not what you think. Logan an' me. It's not just the sex..." She stopped and went on softly. "It's not just touching. He's a friend. Someone I can talk to, about things. I don't know what to tell you, it went too far. I didn't ever mean to hurt you Bobby."

"Well, you never do," he said. He turned to head inside. The grass, frozen under his feet crunched and died as he moved. After a step, he turned back.

"Some advice from someone who cared," he called back to her, and she winced at the past tense. "If you're going to deny what you and Wolverine are doing, you probably want to quit doing that." He gestured to her right hand.

She looked down, and was shocked to find, still lit, one of Logan's cigars comfortably held, as if by lifetime habit, in her fingers. It was peaked with a crown of ash, and she could not for the life of her remember when she had lit it.

She looked up, and Bobby was gone. She was cold, colder now than in his arms. The cigar smell reached her nose, and it was all Logan. Strong and spicy and adult, rough and warm. It was a sex smell, an animal smell. A Logan smell.

She took a puff, drawing the smoke deep as if by years of long practice. Then she dropped the cigar, and sat on the low wall. She cried, and when she felt better she cried some more, and all the while she wondered what to do with the hole where her heart had been.

-fin--