Prelude:

The zipper was stuck, dammit. Rogue took a deep breath, held it, and tried to ease the offending piece of metal down again, slowly, carefully, and then not so carefully any more as she struggled to get the skin-tight leather off her skin, *now*.

"Fuck." Once more, she yanked, for a moment forgetting about her recently-acquired super strength, and with a loud tearing noise, the zipper gave way, to the cost of a huge hole making the front of the jacket gape and reveal her breasts. Rogue rolled her eyes. Great. Now, if she didn't forget all moral values she had tried so hard to keep Carol Danvers's barely-legal ideas of fun at bay with, and used her skin on the hellhound-like clerk, she'd actually have to pay for a ruined jacket.

This promised to be a fun day, she thought with a snort as she peeled the rest of the jacket off and flung it into a corner of the changing cubicle. The matching pants followed shortly. She glared at the ensemble and crinkled her nose. At least the race overall was still in one piece. She'd liked that one better anyway.

The bell at the door heralded the arrival of another customer, and Rogue's spirits rose as she buttoned up her shirt. Maybe the clerk would be distracted enough to not notice her sneaking out…'with the overall' Carol added, and Rogue smirked, while simultaneously shaking her head in exasperation.

`I made enough money at that last race to pay several race outfits. I don't steal. Well, those two lipsticks don't count.'

Carol sighed impatiently, and beneath her skin, Rogue felt the familiar tickle that announced Carol's trying to take control, grab the overall with Rogue's hands and fight her way out… `And as much fun as that sounds, I need to stay here for a while, at least until the first races are over. So back off,' Rogue admonished sternly, finishing her dressing by donning her gloves and yanking the curtain back. Again, the seams creaked, and Rogue felt Carol snicker in her head, but otherwise the woman kept quiet and retreated.

Fortunately, the clerk seemed to be occupied at the counter with a man in a beat-up leather jacket, who was smoking a cigar right beneath the obvious `no smoking' sign. Rogue grinned. Another of those race-badass-I'm-the-greatest-macho guys. She liked that kind. She especially liked kicking their ass on the road. Gathering the selected outfit in her arms, she grabbed her helmet and approached the counter.

The cigar-smoking guy threw a suspicious look over his shoulder as she neared him, looked her up and down once, obviously discarded her as harmless and then turned his back on her again in a gesture of arrogant dismissal that made Rogue's blood boil in spite of herself. Immediately, she chastised herself. These guys were always the same. Not worth getting worked up about. She had been racing long enough by now to know that no man ever took her seriously, and that that maybe was her greatest advantage. But she'd show him who owned the street in a race, if she got to face off against him. Casting a look at the stranger's broad back, she noticed a black helmet with some kind of vicious-looking animal painted on it sitting on the counter, confirming that he was indeed a driver.

She kept studying him closely, taking in the taut musculature, proud posture and reserved expression the man was sporting as he pulled out a large wad of cash and dropped it on the counter. It was always good to know as much about your opponent as possible.

"That oughta be enough." His voice was deep and sonorous, almost like a low growl tinged with the raspy edge of a good cigar and the slow burn of a good whiskey, and strangely, just like that shot of alcohol would have done, it went right through her, heating and tingling down to her toes.

Inside her head, Carol snickered again. `Getting soft, girl.'

`Am not,' Rogue countered fiercely, dropping her overall unceremoniously on the counter and setting her helmet down next to it with a thud while she dug through her pockets for money. "I'd like this one," she announced, pushing the green and white overall across the counter in the direction of the clerk.

The cigar-smoking one turned his head and raised an eyebrow while he regarded her with an unblinking glare.
"Wait until it's your turn," he grunted, his eyes wandering to the helmet with her name on it sitting on the counter. "Rogue." He snorted and gave her a condescending smirk. "Female driver? God." He grinned in a way that made Rogue clench her hands into fists with the sudden urge to punch his grin right out of his face. "Now they're letting little girls drive motor cycles?"

In spite of the anger boiling inside of her, Rogue managed to answer as coolly as he had addressed her. "Don't think so." The light reflecting off his helmet caught her eye, and under the head of the little animal she saw a word in silver letters. "Wolverine?"

If possible, his glare intensified, until he was pinning her with his gaze, making her feel as if his eyes were burning right into hers. She simply returned his look, noticing that they were a clear hazel. Beautiful…
"Got a problem with that?"

Wolverine's hard voice shook Rogue out of her trance. She managed to give the man a casual glance and smirk before she pried her eyes away from him and handed her cash to the clerk. "Nah. None that I won't be able to solve during the race."

"You think you can beat me? Or any of the guys out there?" Now Wolverine was openly laughing, and if she hadn't known better, hadn't known she needed to lie low for a while after the incident the month before, she *would* have punched him in the face right then.

"Let's wait and see, huh?" she just spat instead, grabbed her outfit and stomped out. Men. This was one of these times when she felt supremely lucky that she was single, that she could take care of herself, even that no one could touch her. She didn't need this. Throwing her head back defiantly, she put on her helmet, kick-started her bike with a loud roar and disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

Behind her, Wolverine was still following her with his eyes as she disappeared, quick like the wind, as if she'd never been there. He smirked. This was gonna be interesting.

Logan stepped out of the shower and rubbed the towel over his heated, wet skin. He felt about a thousand times better now that the dirt of the road was off and he could change into fresh clothes. He smiled in anticipation as he thought through his plans for the evening. Find a bar. Have a drink or ten. Pick up a woman for the night.

Oh yeah. There were always babes around when there were races, sexy, willing women that were drawn to the bikes and their drivers like moths to the flame. Women who knew their place. He snorted as he buttoned up his shirt and grabbed the keys for his bike. Not like this hellcat Rogue…even though she had been good-looking. Beautiful, even. But, damn. Logan hated female drivers. They were all the same über-feminists or latent lesbians who were living out their male urges. And they just couldn't drive a bike if their life depended on it.

Too bad, Rogue really *was* a looker, he mused as he shrugged into his jackets, the denim one first and his black-and-white leather jacket with the same Wolverine picture that adorned his helmet. Just so people knew who they were dealing with. He cocked an eyebrow at himself while he ran his hands through his pointy hair in front of the mirror. He was a legend at road racing, and even though he hadn't won the last time, or the last two or three times, or the ones before that, he could still kick everyone's ass.

And he would, this time. His face darkened into a scowl. These three days were going to be his. He'd finally show everyone that Wolverine was back. He wouldn't let anything side-track him this time. With that conviction, he flung the door shut behind him and climbed on his bike. Tomorrow, he'd win. Tonight, he'd fuck. He grinned. Too bad this Rogue girl thought she was a driver. She really *had* been a looker.

Rogue leaned at the counter and tossed back her third shot. Thank God that these silly men had backed off. She didn't want to hurt any of them. `Why can't they just leave me alone?'

`Come on. They can feel you need a good ride, and not on your bike, missy.' Carol snickered at her own joke, and Rogue just rolled her eyes while she slammed the glass down on the counter.

`No I don't, thank you very much.'

`Oh yeah, you do. Still being a virgin at 23 is the most pathetic, sad…'

`Shut up.' Rogue ignored the continuing snicker and gestured to the bartender for a new drink. In truth, she couldn't say she had never been tempted to just give in to one of the lewd `come-ons' she heard so frequently in dives like this. She had fantasized about dressing up like your average bike slut, just get drunk and get it over with, but somehow, never gathered up the nerve to actually go through with it.

She just didn't want to make herself vulnerable, give away the precious control she finally had over her life. Living on the streets at sixteen had been hard, absorbing several people that came too close for her liking, being without money or any perspective, and finally, working up her way into this men's domain of racing by giving a lot of blood, sweat, and tears. And now that she was so close, almost at the point where she would finally be acknowledged as a driver, as being equal, she didn't want to get on her back and back to square one. She had worked too hard to sacrifice everything for a few minutes of fun. `Whether you like it or not, I'm going to wait until there are finally *male* race groupies to go after *me*.'

Carol moaned in disappointment, and Rogue grinned. `Then you're gonna die a virgin. And soon, if you don't stop this hell of a crazy *sport* *now*.'

`Invulnerability, remember? And besides, the healing I got from…' Shit.

"Hey honey. Looking for a man to show you how to *ride*…a bike?" Wolverine raised an eyebrow and smirked in the same way that had made her blood boil with anger earlier already.

Rogue just snorted and turned her back on him. She didn't know why this guy was so especially annoying, after all, she heard stuff like that every day. But something about him made it about a thousand times worse. She tossed back the next shot and hoped that he'd lose interest if she just ignored him. Men usually got bored pretty quickly if they weren't admired the way they thought they deserved. Ha.

"Rude, girlie, very rude." No such luck. She groaned inwardly as he settled himself on the stool next to her, smelling like a whole bottle of Jack's. Ugh. Sometimes these enhanced senses were a real bitch, especially the smelling. She wondered how he was still able to walk upright. He didn't seem to have as much as a buzz.

"Yeah. That's me. So just leave me alone, OK?"

"But we're just getting acquainted." He settled down comfortably, she noticed with a look from the corner of her eye. Damn. "I like when women put up a fight. I like a challenge." He tossed back his drink with similar ease as herself, and actually had the nerve to wink at her. "'Cause I always win, in the end, darlin'."

"Not with me." Rogue had had enough. She pulled out a few bills and tossed them in the general direction of the bartender. "I'm a driver." She didn't like how defiant she sounded. She didn't owe this man any explanation. Asshole.

He chuckled. "Sure, baby."

Anger bubbled up inside her and made her want to punch the man in front of her so bad that she could taste it. "Don't. Call me. That. I'm a driver." She didn't care that she was yelling by now, that everyone had gone quiet and was intently watching them.

Wolverine rose from his chair, staring down at her with those heated hazel eyes that made her shiver and hate him even more. "Nah, baby. Girls like you never make good drivers. Let me tell you," he leaned down to her and tipped up her chin, and she flinched back, before she realized that he was wearing his motorcycle gloves, "Way to go for a woman is to shut up, serve cold beer, and to know when to get on her back."

That was it. Her blood roared loudly in her ears, and her hands itched with the urge to smack the man's patronizing grin off his face. Inside, Carol was cheering her on, making her fiery temper flare up like fire. She raised her fists, ready to strike, and saw him lift an eyebrow in surprise, but then she caught herself. She couldn't. She couldn't raise any trouble here, what with the death of that guy last month, she didn't need any more problems. Tears of humiliation welled up in her eyes, and she quickly turned and ran out before anyone, especially Wolverine, could see them.

Behind her, she heard him call something, but she didn't comprehend what and didn't care. She barely made it to her motel and into her bed before she started sobbing and punching into her pillow with all her frustration. Today, she couldn't do anything. But tomorrow, she'd see him lose. She *was* a driver.

Logan lay on his back in his bed, wondering for the millionth time why he had done it, and cursing himself for doing it. But when he'd seen her, something had just snapped. He'd known that he wanted Rogue, on her back, in his bed, tonight, or none. He smirked in spite of his angry horniness.

He had always liked the ones that played `hard to get'. As he had told Rogue, he liked the challenge. But she was different. It slowly dawned on him that she really wasn't *playing* hard to get, but she indeed *was*. But when he'd realized that, he had already royally pissed her off. He had to give her credit for her bravado, raising her small hands as if she really wanted to have a brawl with him, for the temper that had blazed in her chocolate eyes. She had been beautiful…but she had been extremely annoying too. And she was the reason he was lying here with a hard-on and no babe.

He groaned and shifted to his side. Women like Rogue…they were trouble. They were the kind that he had seen keeping the toughest badasses on a leash, the kind that made men forget their rules, their goals, their convenient life to go and do heroic deeds for. He didn't need trouble now. He needed to win.

He shifted again, without achieving any more comfort. At least racing seemed promising. He had inquired for the list of drivers earlier this evening, and there was no one that posed any real thread. The only thing that had surprised him was that Rogue was indeed driving tomorrow, in fact, the whole three days. Every race. Yeah, the girl definitely had balls.

Which reminded him of his uncomfortable state of arousal. With a groan, he shifted to his back again, realizing that he wouldn't sleep until he'd found relief. Damn, the girl was going to pay for this. Tomorrow, he'd leave her in the dust. But now, he had much more entertaining things to imagine her in.

Rogue lay curled up on her side, her head feeling hot and achy after her crying and the lasting bitching from Carol, who was pissed that she had neither slept with nor beaten up Wolverine. She groaned. That woman really was driving her insane. Thank God she had at least, for once, cooperated when she had had to ban Sabretooth's insane psyche from her mind, and helped her keep a lid on the guy.

She shook her head, trying to keep the memory about the beast out of her mind. She shivered. On nights like this, alone, exhausted, and in a strange motel, thinking about him wasn't a good idea. Sometimes, in spite of all she'd been through alone, she still felt like hiding under the covers. She longed for someone who looked out for her, to be her partner, friend, lover, but she'd probably never have that, she thought bitterly.

All there ever would be were men like Wolverine, annoying, condescending, only in for the quick fuck. And the fact that she could have been attracted to him, would have liked to like him, made it even worse.

She could deal with his being attractive. And if his eyes made her shiver even when she recalled his look, that only proved that Carol was right about the necessity of losing her virginity. No, here the disappointment didn't lie. It wasn't even surprising. The handsome guys were always the most arrogant.

But he hadn't seemed like such a bad person. Living on the streets for years, Rogue had always thought that she had acquired quite a good knowledge of human nature. She knew when to back off and whom to avoid. Wolverine had seemed proud and cocky, but never mean or even bad. His expression was reserved and cautious, which told of street smarts, and she could identify with that. And when he was amused, his eyes warmed up and seemed to smile.

Again, she felt the tingling feeling as she imagined his gaze, and immediately recalled what he'd said to her. Apparently, her first impression had failed her. He really *was* only the conceited driver that he seemed like, with his painted helmet and stupid nickname. Rogue snorted. What kind of a name was Wolverine, anyway?

She sighed. She couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if she had played the part of the bike slut tonight, with him, then immediately chastised herself. This man was competition. Her goal was to race, and to win. She'd finally be acknowledged, as a woman *and* a driver. And she'd make a shitload of money that would get her and her bike through the winter. She shivered again as she remembered the winters she had spent on the road. She really longed for someone to hold onto, sometimes.

Curling into a little ball, she tried to cuddle into her blanket, but it was a long time before sleep would come.

Day 1:

Rogue woke with a start as dim light filtered into the Spartan room. Shit. She was gonna be late. Hastily, she pulled on her new overall, once more cursing the crash that had cost her her old, comfy outfit. The new one was stiff and still too tight. It'd be a while until it fit her right. Now, it stretched over her breasts and the curve of her hips. The colors were nice though, a bright green and white, and for a moment she let herself bask in the purely female feeling of vanity before she hastily brushed her teeth and ran out.

She needed to get to the track, quick, or she'd miss the first training.

Logan swallowed the last of the hot, black coffee and grimaced. The night had been dreadful. Not a good condition for racing, and winning, but the competition looked rather mellow. He was confident that he'd be successful. He leaned against the side of his truck, watching the other drivers bustle about, and absently wondered if Victor was here. He grinned ferally. His arch-enemy hadn't shown up for the last couple of races, and Logan wondered where the man-beast had disappeared to. Maybe the rumors were right, and some other drivers had finally noticed that beneath the gigantic helmet there had been fangs and fur, and an insane mind.

He wouldn't be sorry if the guy had finally departed this life. God knew Logan had tried to send him to Nirvana often enough himself. Whoever had finally succeeded must be a helluva guy, and Logan would shake his hand and give him credit any day.

Logan looked at his watch, deciding that it was time to unload the bike from the trailer, and craning his neck to see if Rogue had arrived yet. Damn. The girl still dominated his thoughts, as if he hadn't tried to get her out of his system last night, repeatedly.

But his own admonishing didn't keep him from looking around. She was nowhere to be seen. Strangely, he was disappointed, even though he told himself that nothing good would have come of another meeting anyway. He shrugged and turned to his engine. He'd wait for Rogue behind the finishing line.

Thank God. She'd made it. Well, she *had* missed the first training, but she was in time for the race. Quickly putting on her helmet, and struggling to get the mass of brown and white curls under it, she pushed her bike onto the course and climbed on. In the front row, she saw Wolverine's broad back, adorned with his silly silvery animal painting, and felt a flutter of nerves before she straightened and turned on the engine.

She could do this.

Behind the tinted screen of her helmet, her eyes narrowed as her concentration ratcheted up and let everything around her melt into the background. This was what she had been working for. This race, and she'd be there. She turned the handle bar and the engine roared, as adrenaline pumped through her veins in sync with her frantically
beating heart.

She *would* do this.

The leather of the seat felt warm beneath his thighs, and the engine hummed with suppressed power. Logan felt the familiar thrill go through him and grinned under his helmet. There was no doubt that he'd win, and the anticipated victory tasted sweet on his tongue. He'd show everyone that he was the champion.

He'd win.

"Your winner, ladies and gentlemen, driver number 63," the emcee announced cheerfully, as he handed the cash to the person standing next to him.

"Thanks."

Rogue turned on her heel and walked off the track. Her knees still felt wobbly after the thrill of the race, and she was glad that she was still wearing her helmet, so no one could see the flush in her cheeks, or the tears of relief that had leaked out when she had crossed the finishing line first, only split seconds before Wolverine.

…Who was now standing only a few feet away, arms crossed, a dark scowl contorting his face.

"Lift your helmet and let me fucking see your face," he said, and she could have sworn he growled. Looked as if he wasn't a fair loser, and a part of her wanted to grin and pay him back for last night, but her emotions were still far too much in turmoil to come up with anything witty now. So she just did as he had asked, wiping at her tears inconspicuously as she went.

The moment the helmet was off and a mass of brown hair curled down Rogue's shoulders, framing her rosy, flushed face, Logan almost forgot his anger at losing and swallowed his tongue. Rogue. She had won. She had really…
 
"Fuck." The word had slipped out with his astonishment, and he immediately cursed himself. She didn't have to see that he respected her performance. So instead, he focussed on anything but her face, only now noticing the skin-tight leather hugging her curves. Her very *female* curves…He wondered why he hadn't noticed that before. "Nice outfit, girlie."

Any satisfaction at the obvious surprise in his face died inside her as Rogue saw him roam her body with his eyes, making her feel embarrassed and cheap in the tight leather. So she still was just a chunk of fresh meat for him, two breasts and a vagina.
"Whatever," she spat as she stomped past him, trying to get away from this renewed humiliation as fast as possible, but a hard grip on her arm stopped her.

"Didn't realize it was you. Shoulda known the helmet. So you really won, huh? Well," he licked his lips and wiggled his eyebrows, "you got lucky, now what about me getting lucky with you?"

She tried to look past the sexy sparkle in his eyes as she ripped her arm out of his grip and shoved him a few more inches away. She wasn't comfortable with him so close. "Yeah, I won. Badass toys ain't just for boys, y'know?"

He actually smirked at that, an amused smile that flashed across his face and was gone as quickly as it had come. "Won one race. Won't win the big one two days from now. I'm just getting started. And you never answered my question."

God, how she hated this man. No one had ever made her this angry this quickly. "So you wanna get lucky, huh?" She narrowed her eyes and glared at him. "Tell you something. If you win two days from now, I'll quit racing and spread my legs for you." The second the words had left her mouth, she gasped in shock at herself. Carol hollered and giggled. Damn.

"Whoa." Wolverine's smirk turned into a full-fledged grin. "Now you can be sure I will win, baby. That's one hell of a motivation."

"Wait." If she put so much on the line here, might as well get something in return.

He raised an eyebrow and snickered. "Getting cold feet?"

"You wish." The harsh tone gave him pause. "If *I* win," she paused and crossed her arms in a mock imitation of him, "*you* quit racing and acknowledge me as the new champion in front of everyone." There. That sounds better, she thought.

`I still vote for the first option,' Carol put it.

`Shut up.'
"Deal?" She glared at him, trying to return the surprised gaze of his hazel eyes in spite of the butterflies in her stomach. Reason told her that she should run, now, and stay away from this man, but she was in too deep already and hell, his eyes were intoxicating.

He regarded her quietly for a few more seconds, then extended is hand and nodded. "Deal." She grasped his hand and they shook, until he drew back and chuckled. "Well, baby, you definitely have balls."

She searched his face for hints of sarcasm, and when she found none, cautiously nodded. "Thanks."

"Your driving still sucks."

She gasped and smacked him across the arm, but it was more a playful swat than an angry punch, and she was surprised at herself. Then she noticed the matching playful twinkle in his eyes and relaxed a little.
 
"Name's Logan."

"Marie."
*Fuck*. Why had she told him that? No one had called her Marie in seven years. No one had called her anything, really. She had thought she had left Marie behind somewhere along the road, but now, the name had naturally fallen from her lips. She realized that she wanted to be Marie, have a real name again, even if it was only for a few days, and even if only a competitor, one she didn't even like much, would call her by it.

"OK. See you tomorrow, Marie. And try not to crash. Don't want to get my booty damaged." He winked and disappeared, leaving her before she could make up a witty answer. She hated this man. She truly did.

Three miles from the race track, Logan was still shaking his head at himself while he automatically drove down the road to his motel. Why had he told her his name? Why had he agreed on this crazy deal? True, chances that he'd lose were low, the girl had just been lucky today.

If he was honest with himself, he had to say that she was just damned irresistible. The moment she lifted the helmet, his anger at losing, at his competitor, at himself, had just evaporated, and all he had seen were her shapely body in the emerald green leather, the angry sparkle in her eyes when she glared at him, the defiant set of her chin, the pouty lips. And the way she got mad when he teased her was adorable.

He harrumphed at his own stupid line of thought. Irresistible, adorable. Pah. She was a sucky female wannabe race driver. …And she had kicked his ass on the track today. One more reason for not telling her your name, bub. Damn. No one called him Logan. No one even knew his name was Logan. Hell, he had only known himself for a few months. Felt better than Wolverine though. And that was what surprised him most.

He imagined the name falling from Marie's lips, and was rewarded with instant arousal, which reminded him of the deal they had made. Damn, but if the prospect of winning wasn't about a million times more attractive now. Never in his whole remembered life had he ever wanted a woman this badly. Marie…

He'd still kick her ass. And then he'd finally have her. Yeah. He grinned and flipped on the radio, humming along as he imagined the coming pleasures two days from now.

Day 2:

Rogue came to a stop in front of her bike, breathing hard from her run around the track. Fortunately, this morning she'd been up early enough to go jogging and work off some steam before the race. In fact, she hadn't slept much at all. One half of the night she had spent reeling from her success at the race, the crazy deal she had made with Logan, and most of all, her telling him her name; the other she had spent fantasizing about, and chastising herself for it, what would happen if she *should* lose tomorrow, and have to pay Logan his `prize'.

She didn't know if these fantasies were dreams or nightmares. On the one hand, the man was sex on legs, and if the things his eyes alone were doing to her were any indication, sex with him would be spectacular. On the other, she felt bad for even indulging in these fantasies, getting pleasure out of them. It was like betraying herself, betraying the dream she had worked for so hard. She wanted to win. Still, the niggling feeling of `what if…' stayed at the back of her mind, now and then flashing her images that simultaneously made her blush with mbarrassment and heat up with desire. God. She hated Logan.

"Damn!" Logan leaned against his truck and watched with amusement as Rogue gave her green and silvery motorcycle a hard kick. "Stupid fucking engine!"

"Hey, hey, baby. The bike can't make up for the driver's incompetence." He pushed himself off the car and walked over to where she was ranting. "Wanna give the winner a kiss?"

"*You* can kiss my ass," she shouted, ripping off her racing gloves and immediately exchanging them for thinner ones. Odd, he thought. "You cheated, and you know it. You cut in on me and urged me to go off-track!"

"That's not cheating. That's called racing, darling." He leaned down and picked up a piece of fender that had come loose during her furious kicking. "Stop it. This is a good machine. Maybe I'll buy it from you when you quit racing tomorrow." Her cheeks flamed with another fit of anger, and he grinned. She was so much fun to tease.

"Over my dead body." She gave the motorcycle another hard kick. "Dammit."

"Now, honey, stop that. I want a fair win tomorrow. Plus, you'll need the bike tonight, huh?" He handed her the fender, and she ripped it from his hand before cooling down a little, calming herself with a few deep breaths.

"Tonight? What's tonight?"

"The off-track race." Her questioning gaze revealed that she had no clue what he was talking about. Shit. She hadn't known.

"Off track? You mean, on the street? I thought that was illegal."

"It is." Great, he thought as he saw her face lighten up with excitement. She truly hadn't known. And judging from the resolute set of her jaw, now she'd be there, at any cost, and besides wanting to keep the group of drivers exclusive, he just plain didn't want her there because it was dangerous. "It's not for little girls."

"Pah." He groaned and rolled his eyes. He should have known that that wasn't likely to change her mind. "I'm not scared. What's the prize?"

"Look, you're not going there, got it, Marie?" He was surprised how easily her name came over his lips, and how urgently he really wanted to get this crazy idea out of her head. Damn, *he* had been hurt pretty badly the last time he had participated in this race. The drivers weren't known for their scruples, and not only once had there been serious injuries or dead people when the dust settled.

"You're not telling me what to do." Her brown eyes flashed, and he simultaneously wanted to spank her like the silly girl she was and hug and protect her.

"I'm not telling you." That gave her pause. "I'm giving you advice."

She regarded him quietly for a few seconds, furrowing her brow as she searched his face with her eyes. Then she snorted softly and turned back to her bike. "You just don't want me there because you're afraid I'll walk off with the prize money."

"Bullshit." Anger was bubbling up inside him. That was what he got once he wanted to be altruistic. Great. "No, I don't want you there because tomorrow I want you in one piece in my bed."

Her head whipped around, and she clenched her lips into a thin line as she put on her helmet and climbed on the bike. "See ya tonight," she hissed, slamming the shield down and leaving him in a cloud of smoke.

He sighed, then turned to load up his bike. Damn that woman.

Finding out where to go had been easy enough. Rogue shook her head. She'd never understand why the police were never able to break up those illegal races in time. She drove her bike into the second row, next to two scary-looking guys, and if she hadn't known she could take care of herself, hadn't had to do so too many times, she would have run screaming. *Marie* would have run screaming. But she was Rogue.

It had been stupid to even think there could be a little normality for her, even if it was only for a few days. Marie had been the one who had fantasies about Logan, entertained thoughts of him liking her, just a little, and grown to like him, just a little. Boy, had she been wrong. She was just one more pussy for him, and the realization that she had lied to herself about that, pretended that maybe, just maybe their deal would result in a pleasurable experience, made her mad. Even more than that, it made her sad.

And she hated the sad little girl that had broken down crying the moment she entered her motel room. Of course he hadn't really been concerned for her, of course the determined expression on his face as he tried to convince her hadn't really been for *her* benefit. She straightened and blinked one more tear that threatened away with resolution. She would be in one piece tomorrow, and in one piece she would win.

Logan scanned the crowd nervously, looking for the brown and white curled head, the shining green helmet, but he didn't see her. The drivers, and their accompanying babes, were especially unruly tonight, pepped up with colourful pills and cheap alcohol, hyped by the thrill of the illegal and the anticipation of bloodshed. Damn.

Maybe Marie had come to her senses and decided not to race. He hoped so, and wondered why he cared so much. Well, the prize money was a point. If Marie was here, she had a chance to win. He had watched her twice, and even though he'd never admit it out loud, she had talent. The `prize' he was after even more than that was at stake too. It would be a real pity if her pretty face and perfect young body were maimed today. Yeah, a pity. Right.

He puffed at his cigar as he pushed the bike to the starting line, trying to tell himself he didn't give a shit, and failing. He put on his helmet and threw one more look over his shoulder, when he saw a flash of green and silver left from him, the shining helmet with her name curled on the side, the lithe body encased in green and white, the gloved hand idly playing with the gas handle, making the engine howl and smoke envelope the slim figure.

She was beautiful, and the sight of her rushed into his blood and made his heart thump in his chest.

For a moment, he forgot that he didn't want her there, people, noise, lights, everything faded out into the background as he saw her turn her head and look at him, her eyes still visible behind the opened shield, blazing with heat, the thrill of the roaring bike between her thighs and the road stretched out before her reflected in the smoldering depths of that chocolate brown.

He imagined her straddling him like that, subduing him like the bike she forced her will on with every expert turn of her small, nimble hands on the handle, every squeeze of her slender thighs on the humming, vibrating leather seat beneath her, her eyes glowing like the charcoal that he knew burned inside her, and the image made him wonder if sometimes, losing wasn't better than winning.

Only when someone bumped into him, yelling loudly and shoving him by the shoulder did he snap from his trance. He briefly considered walking over to her and pull her off the motorcycle and get the hell away from this race, but then she turned away from him and slammed down the shield of her helmet. Her eyes fixed on the street, while she leaned forward until her breasts almost brushed the tank, her body tightening until she was coiled and taut, and he knew that there was no going back for them now, not with the heat and the smoke and the rush that was washing over her, over him, and could only be calmed on the street, while the rubber of the tires burned off on the asphalt and one felt like flying.

There were no more words. There were just their machines, and the street. Destiny would decide if there would be any more words afterwards, or the slick heat of their sweat would be washed away with blood, and tears.

Speed. Red, white, red, white, as the lights appear and disappear in front, behind her. Speed. Gray and black, beneath, around her. No sound. Nothing. Just the roads, the lights. Speed.

Heat and drumming, rhythmic, steady, and she doesn't know if it's her bike or her heart that is roaring in her ears, vibrating through her body, and it doesn't matter, because all there is is speed, and the lights, and the street, and all is one, melted, molded into one another, her body, her bike, the street, and she doesn't know where one stops and the other begins, just that she's flying, shooting, racing through the darkness, and at the moment, she *is* light…speed.

Green and silver, a flash in the night, and she laughs, only that there is no noise, everything is swallowed by the rush, the wind, but the bubbling inside her is there, swelling until she feels like she might burst, finally, at last, unrestrained, free and piercing, like a cry that is loud enough to break the sound barrier, and only now does she really feel pure and cleansed of all cries she might have swallowed, all the pain that churned inside her. Speed. Light.

Her grin is uninhibited as she turns the handle, and they both howl in unison as she disappears down the dark road.
 

Not far behind, he grins ferally as he mimics her actions, bringing his hard, metal-heavy body into that state where he feels light, hot, like the bones inside his body that aren't strictly bones are molten and running into a thousand different directions, in little shining drops, and ironically only now, when he's so taut and coiled that his body aches, he is completely relaxed.

The night and the lights and the speed envelop him too, like her, only he doesn't only feel the thrill of the ride…the thing that gets to him best is the hunt, the silvery trace that his prey leaves, shining and flickering in the night, the faint spicy scent of her on the crisp wind, the smell of adrenaline and arousal. He growls as he sees the dancing lights get closer, the faint hum grow stronger. He's gonna catch her.

But there's not only her. There's another. Red and black, the scent greasy, dirty…a male. Competition. The male is getting closer to her, to his prey, the machines rolling and trembling as they meet, a blur of lights and howling, and they don't give up that easily, no, each of them wants to win. Speed, light, and the dark road disappears beneath them, still fighting for predominance…speed, light, hitching breaths and heartbeats, drumming, drumming, quicker, faster…

And then they clash, screeching like wounded animals in a fight for their life, shining, glittering metal flying into the air, cutting through smoke, dust, sparks and flames, into skin and leather, and he thinks he hears her scream, as he screams.

"Marie!"

Lights, speed, the humming, drumming disappears into the night, and what stays behind is darkness, with a laugh lingering on the wind while the other disappears in a cloud of smoke, leaving the lifeless body in the dust.

The thrill of the hunt tastes like ashes in his mouth. It probably is ashes, the remnants of metal, fuel, oil, leather, mixing with the wind that stings in his eyes now, rather than clearing him up. He drops down next to her and touches her face, neck, searching for a pulse, and she is cold, or is that just because the fire around them is so hot? For a moment, he feels nothing. Then it is there. Drumming, drumming, strong and steady beneath her skin, and in the same split second, he feels the pull, and darkness embraces him.

Logan woke up to the not-unpleasant feeling of soft hands moving over his forehead, smoothing his hair away from the sweaty skin, soft, gloved, small hands. He sniffed experimentally, and heard a soft chuckle. Marie. How had she…She had crashed…she should be dead. What…?

"Hey. Do you hear me?"
Logan carefully opened his eyes, finding himself mere inches from her, hovering over him with a concerned expression. "Are you OK? God, I was so worried."

He groaned as he shifted, feeling a lingering ache, his limbs heavy like lead.
"What happened?"

She sighed, her eyes suddenly turning sorrowful, repentant. "It was an accident."

"I know. You crashed. How could you…" He tried to sit up, but she gently pushed him back. He shifted again, and only now noticed that he was lying on a blanket, in a truck, judging from the smell, his own truck. But that had been miles away. How had she…?

He regarded her silently, and noticed that she was wearing one of his shirts over her burned and torn leather outfit. So they *were* in his truck. Marie sighed again. "No. I mean me hurting you. The crash was just…"
She shrugged and gave him a lopsided smile. "Just a little bump. Blacked out for a couple seconds. Nothing bad."

"Nothing bad?" He did sit up this time, his anger assisting him in making his rebelling limbs cooperate. "Hell, girl, your bike blew up! You fucking landed on you head when you hit the asphalt. Nothing bad?" He shook his head in exasperation. "I thought you were dead."

"I'm tough." She moved back a little, sitting on her heels and eyeing him warily. "I'm sorry for hurting you. It was an accident. I should probably go now."

She shifted to reach for the door handle, but he stopped her with an iron grip on her arm. "What's going on here, Marie? How exactly did you hurt me? How the fuck did you walk out there without so much as a scratch?"

She sighed again, moving back to face him squarely. "I'm a mutant. I suck people's life out with my skin. Works with mutant powers too. I can't control it, not one bit." She looked sad at that, but tried to hide bravely behind a smile. "That's how I hurt you. I'm so glad you are OK." She did look relieved at that, and he wondered how many people she had seen *not* recover from her touch to make a look of such utter gratitude light up her face. This was an awful mutation, and he could do nothing but admire her for how she still carried herself through a life like that, isolated, untouchable. Not unlike himself…Her voice shook him out of his reverie.

"About not being injured…" She looked away, and he knew that the hard part must still be coming. "I absorbed two mutants along the way. Killed them, to be precise. Now I'm stuck with their powers for good." A short, hard laugh accompanied the words, one that made all too clear that she didn't find this funny, not at all. "One had invulnerability, super strength, and the ability to fly. That's how I got you here." She gestured at the truck, then dropped her hand into her lap and started nervously fumbling with her glove. "The other…he had enhanced senses, and healed."

Healed? "He healed?" She nodded and shot him an apologetic smile.

"I know this probably doesn't sound very convincing. I'd understand if you didn't want to be near me now. I'll just go. Sorry."

Again she moved to the door, and again, he stopped her. "Healed?" He waited for her nod, to be sure, because this was unbelievable. Could this tiny girl really have killed Victor? "He wasn't, by any chance, a tall furry guy with fangs and claws? Went by the name of Sabretooth?" The shocked expression in her face spoke volumes. So it was true…Sabretooth was dead…and by the hand of a slip of a girl. But it made sense. She had knocked him flat on his ass, too, and he had just hung on to her skin for split seconds. There were not many people who had achieved that much.

He snickered quietly, until he saw her face, all confusion…and caution. A movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he saw that she was slowly removing her glove.

"You knew him?"

He hadn't heard her sound just like this yet, cool and detached, and the hard look in her eye confirmed that now, he was speaking to the one called Rogue, not Marie. Once again, he had to give her credit for her courage. "Yeah." He chose his words slowly, deliberately, all the while looking into her eyes and keeping his gaze level to show her he was telling the truth. "Tried to kill him myself a couple times, as a matter of fact."

She just looked at him for a few seconds, her gaze somehow drawn inward, searching, contemplating, then she relaxed a little. "Yeah. I can see it."

"See it?" He furrowed his brow.

"Yes. I get the feelings and memories from people I touch, too." Her face turned apologetic, and she pulled the glove back on. "Sorry. I won't go and dig in your personal stuff. I'll just keep a lid on it, OK? No digging. And I won't hurt you." She shot a glance at her gloved hands. "I know this stuff about lethal skin can be pretty freaky. I'll just go now, OK?"

"Nah." That gave her pause, and he flashed her a half-grin for good measure. "Not all that upsetting when you're used to those." With a *snikt* he released the claws from his hands, and the six adamantium blades shimmered in the dim light of the truck. He cocked an eyebrow as he regarded her silently, waiting for her reaction, but for a few seconds, she just stared, wide-eyed, surprised, and curious. Then she tentatively reached out a finger and ran it along the blunt side of one blade.

Logan flinched back as she touched the metal, sending shivers down his back and right into his groin. No one had ever touched the claws. Not many people had even seen the claws and lived. He shot her a look, wary, hesitant, but also giving away his excitement, and she met his eyes questioningly, and as she didn't see any resentment, only need, she gave a small smile and ran her finger up the blade to his knuckle and back. He bit his lip to keep from groaning. "Careful."

"Invulnerable, remember?" She gave him a wink and he snorted, snapping the claws back in and catching her curious glance as she looked at his knuckles. "I knew you healed, too, and that there was something about your hands…but it's all not very clear."

"The claws are an added bonus. Government experiments." Only the thought about brought images to his mind he didn't want to dwell on right now, and he tried to lighten his tone, just convey information, not the endless narrative of his life. "As far as I know, I have about the same powers that Victor…Sabretooth had. Y'know, without the foul breath, the fur and the fangs. And I'm not like him in the personality department. Insanity, and whatnot." He grinned at her and her eyes glimmered playfully in return.

"Really? All I see is two chauvinist bikers with a lot of hair. Not that many differences." Her eyes sparkled, and he gave a mock growl, which made her gasp and then burst into a fit of giggles.

"Run, woman." He gave another growl to emphasize his point, which only made her laugh harder. "Whoever is last at the diner across the street buys dinner."

"Thanks for the food. And let me emphasize again," Marie winked at the man walking next to her, "that I reached that door first."

He gave her a snort. "Just because I let you win."

"Not true!" she countered indignantly. "I beat you and you know it."

He snickered at her scowling face. "You could never beat me if I didn't let you."

The scowl changed into a sad grimace. "And now I can't even try." She heaved a sigh. Everything had been futile. Her bike was wrecked, and now she could start all over again.

She shook her head, deciding that pining on it wouldn't make the situation any better. Tomorrow, she'd start worrying about the future, map out a plan for what to do, but tonight, she was too beat to agonize. They stepped up the porch to Logan's room, and he fumbled for the keys while she mused if going to his motel with him had been a good idea.

True, it had been closer than her place. She grimaced. Logan's offer to just go here had been sensible, and she understood that after all the crashing, life-draining, revelations and other unpleasant experiences tonight talking things over wasn't a bad idea. And getting to know someone whose powers were similar to hers made her curious. Still, she wondered what would come of this.

Surely he wouldn't try anything now that he knew about her skin. And the deal they had made was off too, so there was nothing to worry about, she told herself. `Just how you're gonna fix your horniness,' Carol piped in, and Rogue didn't even bother to answer. She just shoved the woman down again and stepped into the room. It was plain, but at least warm, and clean. Speaking of which… "I could use a shower. Wash off the crash."

He nodded and cocked his head in the direction of the bathroom, suddenly grinning in a way that spoke volumes while simultaneously undressing her with his eyes. "Maybe I could…"

"Don't even think about it," she interrupted hastily, and a little edgy. If he was kidding, this wasn't funny, and if not, she wanted to stop thinking about it before the offer could seem too attractive. She turned and retreated into the bathroom. Slipping out of his greasy shirt and tearing off the remnants of her overall, she stuck her head out of the door again in order to ask him for some clothes, just in time to see him adjust himself through his suddenly very tight jeans.

Surprised, and more smug than she liked being, she grinned at him, and could have sworn that he blushed. "I wondered if you…" She didn't know what made her stretch the pause so deliberately, flirtingly, but noted with a kind of vain female satisfaction that was strange to her, that his eyebrow shot up in anticipation. "…could give me some clothes."

"Damn you, woman." He growled at her, and she smiled contentedly before she could catch herself. Carol's sexual libido was definitely becoming a problem. Right. Carol's. There was no way these feelings were hers. She had never felt this way, about no one. A pair of black sweats and a flannel shirt came flying her way, and she caught both and disappeared back into the bathroom with a sassy

"Thanks."

She could have sworn that she heard him curse when she closed the door. This evening was going to be fun.

Marie stepped out of the bathroom, hair still damp, and dropped her shredded overall to the floor unceremoniously. "Dammit, that overall was expensive. And it lasted all of two days." She gave the scraps of leather a kick which made her breasts bounce beneath the thin cotton of his shirt, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

Her eyes twinkled as she looked up and saw where exactly his eyes were fixed. "Stop it, horny bastard."

He gave her a heated look, but got up and tried to ban all his fantasies about Marie from his mind…for now. She had already turned him down, and as much as he wanted her, the Wolverine never begged. No, he thought with a wry smile as he opened the fridge to retrieve two bottles of beer, if she changed her mind, she'd have to ask *him*. And then he'd let *her* beg.

Still, the scent of her, clean and fresh, mingled with the smell of him from his shirt, made it damn hard to keep his thoughts at bay. He gave the refrigerator door a kick and silently vowed to himself that she'd have to beg. She'd have to beg. She'd have to…

"Thanks for the clothes. At least my gloves are still OK." Thank God she always wore a thinner pair beneath the bike gloves. If she'd have to go bare-handed now, she'd feel naked and nervous. And nervous naked thoughts about Logan wouldn't lead to anything good, `or maybe to something too good', Carol added with a snicker, while they were sitting close to each other on the steps of the porch like this, and he was looking good and smelling sexy. She shivered.

"Cold?" She grinned. Deep down, he kinda was a gentleman.

"No, I'm OK." He shrugged out of his jacket anyway, and draped it over her shoulders.

"There."

She protested. "Really, it's fine. You'll get cold."

"Nah, I'm warm." If the heat in his eyes was any indication, he really didn't need the jacket. "Besides, I heal."

"Me too," she reminded him. Odd, she hadn't thought that she'd ever find anyone who could sympathise about her mutation, know what it was like. It was nice. Comforting. He seemed to feel the same way, looking at her intently as if he wanted to say something, but couldn't really make himself, and after a few seconds, his gaze became unnerving. Hastily, she changed topics. "Won't be able to put the healing to the test any more though. My bike is wrecked." She huffed in frustration.

"Yeah." Logan actually looked sympathetic, and she decided to believe that he really was, and flashed him a smile. He had actually been decent tonight, nice, even. She still didn't know what had prompted her to stay while he was unconscious, and share her story with him afterwards, but it seemed as if it had been the right choice. It felt so good to finally let her guard about her skin down a little, trust someone to be careful.

Trust. She sipped on her bottle again as she stared into the night, the man next to her falling into companionable silence, as if he was sensing her mood. Surprising. But a lot about the last couple of days, about Logan, was surprising. And her reaction to him even more. Trust. Yes, she did trust him, first with her name, then with her story and now with her skin. Somehow her heart had made that decision without consulting reason first, and she felt a little as if balancing along the abyss.

This man could have been a mutant-hating fanatic, or just a psycho, like Sabretooth had been. She had been lucky…and not. Somehow she had *known* that he was different, and she wondered why, and how. She hadn't gotten much of him when he touched her, just bits and pieces, mostly the foremost thoughts, the thrill from the race, the shock that she had crashed.

He really had been worried about her. She glanced at him and saw him watching her intently, his body half-turned towards her, casually leaning against the railing, his sexy, glittering hazel eyes absorbing her. Again, she sighed.
"Looks like this is the end of our deal then, too."

"I guess." He calmly replied, and she was almost disappointed that there wasn't more regret in his voice, that he didn't seem more concerned. "Maybe it's better that way."

She actually started at that, then immediately chastised herself. Of course, he had just been kidding when he still signalled he wanted her, after the crash. It was a game of teasing and flirting, nothing more. But now he knew about her mutation, and that surely changed things. And if he was cool and aloof, she would be too. Anyway, she couldn't keep the hint of bitterness out of her voice. "Yeah. Sure. Poison skin isn't exactly a turn-on."

"Not what I meant." She looked at him with surprise. "You're not the only one with a freaky mutation here, darling. Trust the guy with the metal skeleton." He quirked an eyebrow as he continued. "But if we'd gone through with this tomorrow, one of us would've come out the loser, and as much as I hate losing myself," his smile turned into a full-fledged grin, "I wouldn't have wanted to see you quit racing either, because honey, you've got talent." She gaped at him incredulously, unable to believe that he'd actually said it. "Not that I'd admit that to anyone out loud."

Her mouth opened and closed for a few times before she could get her voice to cooperate. "Thanks." He looked at her with amusement as she struggled to return a compliment. "And you're not as big an asshole as I thought."

He laughed out loud at that, and she regarded him for a few seconds, head thrown back, eyes lighting up with mirth, the deep rumbling laughter bubbling up from his chest, before she joined him with giggles of her own.
"Honey, if you weren't just a girl, I'd kick your ass now."

She crossed her arms in front of her chest, challenging him with her eyes. "Just a girl?"

"Yeah, *baby*. Just a tiny girl who can't drive a bike if her life depends on it." He met her smoldering gaze and jumped up, taunting her with his snickering, playfully raising his fists and cocking an eyebrow at her.

She jumped off the porch too, setting her bottle down and advancing on him with a scowl."Take it back."

"No."

"Take it *back*."

"No, baby."

That was it. She jumped at him, shoving him to the ground and landing on top of him with her hands at his wrists.
"Yield?"

"To a girl? Never." He growled at her and rolled her around, struggling to keep her on her back, but she pushed him off of her easily, using Carol's super strength until he was on his back again, still grinning up at her, struggling, rolling her around, back and forth, until they were both out of breath, dirty and sweaty.

He cocked an eyebrow at her as he gazed down from his position straddling her, and she giggled through her gasps. "Truce."

He let go of her wrists, but didn't get up. "I could still kick your ass." He leaned down and brushed a smudge away from her cheek. She noticed that he was still gloved, and that, added to his entrancing eyes, the heat that seemed to burn right into her, made her body heave with another kind of excitement. "Not now though." His face was only inches from hers, his voice a raspy whisper, his warm breath brushing the skin of her cheek, her lips.

Her heart sped up, making the warmth in her veins pound through her body and pool between her thighs in a wave of wet heat. She saw his nostrils flare and remembered that he could smell her, would know what she tried so hard to conceal, from him and from herself. She wanted him.

His eyes darkened, and in response to hers, she could sense his body react to the tight way they were still pressed together, to the heat and the lust and the thrill that was pounding inside her, and she knew was showing in her eyes as much as his. "I'd really like to kiss you now." If it hadn't been for the powers that weren't her own, she wouldn't have caught the low growl with which he'd said it, but as it was, her back arched into him as if of its own volition, her thighs clenched around the leg that had slipped between hers, and she couldn't help the moan that tore from her lips, both with frustration and arousal at the state she was in, they were in.

"Logan…" She didn't know what exactly she wanted him to do, nor if it was a good idea to plead like this, breathy and needy, all she knew was that she couldn't stop, and didn't want to. `And if you did, I swear to God, girl, I'd slit your – our throat the next chance I get.'

`Shut up, Carol.'

"Yeah, baby. Tell me." She fleetingly noted with satisfaction that his voice was equally strangled with need, and that he was as uncomfortably aroused as she was. But when he ground his knee into her crotch, rubbing and teasing, all thought left her, and she let out an unabashed groan.

Only with a lot of effort could she pry open her eyes to look at him hovering above her, convey the words she wanted to say. "Let's do it."

He cocked an eyebrow and regarded her sceptically. "Sure?" The content and tone of the word was at odds with the fire in his eyes, the way his body still rocked into hers, and she realized how much effort he must be putting into it, and if she had had any more trepidation, it melted away now. "You know you don't have to do this."

"I know. No deal. No promises." She lifted her hips to rub up against him deliberately, holding his darkening gaze as she whispered into his ear, dangerous scant inches away from him. "I want you." A smile curled her lips as the relief that came with admitting the truth washed over her. "I'll even let you be on top."

He clenched his eyes shut, a low growl escaping his lips as he scrambled to his feet and yanked her up by her arm. "Let's go."

He locked the door behind them, then turned around and approached the bed where she had sat down. She looked up at him, desire pooling in those big brown eyes while she dropped her slender hands to the buttons of his shirt that she was wearing, slowly pushing the buttons from the holes until her long, slender neck was revealed, the smooth, porcelain skin of her neckline, the swell of her breasts. The flannel slid off her shoulders and curled around her hips on the bed, and just the sight of her naked breasts made him more aroused than anything ever had before. Her eyes never left his as her hands sensually skimmed down her body over the slightly pink flushed skin which had come out of the fire so amazingly unharmed.

Logan had never thought about his mutation much. It had just been with him all the time he could remember. But as he gazed at her flawless, lithe body now, he couldn't stop roaming her with amazement, silently thanking the Gods that there had been an upside to her awful, isolating mutation after all, that she could sit here, in front of him, smiling so seductively, the perfect little thing that she was. His knowledge about her powerful mutation, or her fiery temper didn't make her look any less fragile, and precious, and he wondered how he'd come to actually have her here, in his life.

He reached out and brushed a lock away from her forehead, careful not to touch her, and he saw her eyes soften as she pressed her cheek into his sweater-covered arm. "Lie back," he commanded, and she obeyed with a smile. He retrieved a soft, cotton piece of cloth from his bag, which he had actually bought to polish his bike with, and chuckled as he considered Marie telling just that.

"What?" she asked, and he noted with satisfaction that her voice was just a little bit husky.

"Nothing," he answered, propping himself up on his elbow as he stretched out next to her, watching the woman beneath him for a few minutes, enjoying that he really had her where he had wanted her, right from the beginning, and not because of a deal, but because she desired him. The idea made it about a thousand times sweeter.

He wondered why it had never occurred to him that while having a woman surrender to him felt good, having her surrender after she had put up a fight, and actually let him meet his match, was a thousand times more enticing. This was why he had wanted Marie from the first second, why the thought of her had haunted his every second, awake and sleeping. She was his match…his mate.

A woman whose name he actually knew, who he had actually talked to before dragging her off to his room, who he could actually regard as equal, who he actually liked, was more than he had ever had before. But this was even more. He had known it when he had looked at her, breathed her in for the first time, and the way their mutations complemented each other, his adamantium-enhanced body, her artificially acquired strength, the healing, the prospect of living a long, lonely life, if it wasn't for the other, only made it seem more fitting.

They belonged together, even if he still had cold feet, and even if they hadn't known each other longer than two days.Now it was only up to him to make her feel that way, too.
 

Part Two