By Trilogy

Rating: R

Disclaimer: I don't own or profit in any way from the character's used in this fic. They belong to Marvel and assorted others who are probably way too busy to read fanfiction to care if I borrow them.

Dedication: For my good friend and awesome beta reader, Stormfreak.

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Casual Sex 2

It is well past three in the afternoon, yet I am finding it nearly impossible to leave my classroom. My last class ended well over an hour ago and although I should be reading through the stack of essays sitting on my desk, I have yet to pick up a single one. Peter the Great and the Russian rise to power was the last thing on my mind.

All day my concentration has been elsewhere and definitely not on World History as it should have been. In fact for the last few days, I have been unable to think of little else but him. Logan.

Something is wrong between us. I have been growing aware of it for several weeks, but until last night I was determined to ignore it. To regard it as my own insecurity. But I must admit it now. I am losing him.

Not that I really have him now, admittedly, but I am afraid he interest in me is waning. And Goddess help me, but I am completely unprepared to let him go.

We have been secretly intimate for eleven months or so now, involved in what I thought was a mutually satisfying arrangement. I wanted him, he seemed to find me desirable and we both are single, mature adults. It seemed like a simple enough idea at the time. Two consenting adults, lonely and accustomed to being that way, finding release in each other. I am surprised I agreed so willingly. How unlike me.

We'd been meeting in the gym twice a week, since Scott recommended that I have additional training to hone my hand-to-hand fighting skills. While it was not at all what I would chosen to do with my very limited free time, I could see his point. Over the years, I'd begun to rely far too heavily on my mutation. I am not so foolish that I could not realize what a disadvantage that could someday be.

As expected, Logan was not very accommodating to yet another person imposing on his beloved beer and brood time. He already had his hands full with several of the students. But despite all his grumbling, Logan showed up everyday, gruff, businesslike as usual, and cutting me no slack. After a session with him, my body sported bruises in more places than I cared to count. But I appreciated not being treated with kid gloves. Like he once said, "Our enemies never play nice an' neither will I."

Yet I swear by the Bright Lady, sometimes I thought the man hated me some days. And perhaps it was that I was beginning to feel like a punching bag on a daily basis that caused his irritable manner to finally get to me. It seemed that no matter how hard I fought to keep up with him, I always ended face down on the dirty mat at the end of the day, deeply humiliated and ready to explode.

I have never been able to handle not being good at something, so when he told me that I was wasting both my time and his, I decided to prove him wrong. One afternoon I dared him. If I could knock him down he would refinish the floors in my attic. If not, I would owe him a thirty-minute massage after every session. It sounded like a reasonable deal at the time since I was positive I had finally discovered his weak spot. Only I was to discover that when it comes to fighting, Logan's one weak spot is ten times stronger than I will ever be. Goddess, who knew a massage would get me into so much trouble.

At first, I blamed my actions on the out-of-control hormones one would expect from a healthy woman in her sexual prime. The very moment I got my hands on his bare back, I was captivated. It had been a long time since I had touched a man like this - so personally. I fought for detachment as I spread my hands over and over again, across his broad shoulder, intrigued by how hot and silky his skin felt. I almost sighed outloud at the raw power in his well-defined back, the muscles flexing and shivering beneath my fingertips as the tensions began drifting from his body. Shifting slightly, I drifted lower, kneading the base of his spine, feeling his muscles tighten until I finally felt him relax with a low, involuntary rumble of pleasure coming from his throat- like purring. My fingers relaxed then, tracing only lazy patterns on his flesh. Inhaling the sweaty, spicy scent of him, I could no longer think past the decadent pleasure of touching him, and the knowledge that at least in some way I had some power over him.

I fully expected him to tell me to stop when he twisted his frame slightly to capture one of my wrists in his grip. My cheeks heated with embarrassment as I attempted to pull my hand away. I was positive that with his alert senses he could smell the changes in my scent. But he only lay there, watching me with a lazy - almost expectant - smile on his lips. It irked me to see him watching me so knowingly, like a child caught with my hand in the cookie jar. I tried looking away, but his grip tightened slightly, forcing me to acknowledge what was happening between us, to see the mutual hunger in his eyes. And I found that I did not have the strength to resist temptation when he calmly rolled over onto his back and settled first my left hand, and then my right hand just beneath his ribcage. Waiting.

I am amazed at how simple it was to just give in and let my desires reign for once. It was due to that open, unspoken invitation that I was able to lose my pretense of control. It was nothing more than the wicked promise I saw gleaming his eyes that emboldened me enough to allow my fingers to slowly trace an upward path to the hard swell of his pectorals and teasingly flick the flat, rapidly pebbling nipples. Fascinated by their immediate response, I brushed my fingertips over his aroused nipples yet again. I noticed a barely perceptible tremor from the light scrape of my nails on the sensitive buds. Spurned on, I leaned down and lowered my head for a taste.

Never had I realized salty male skin could be so distinctly pleasant. Addicted, I licked a trail to his collarbone, until I felt him give my shoulder a gentle squeeze. I still remember how his usually cold, unreadable gray eyes glittered with a look full of both warning and potential as he gently pushed me away. For a brief second I thought it was so he could leave, but he surprised me yet again, dropping his hand to my hip and guiding me to straddle his waist.

I know he saw me shiver at the erotic pressure of him against my center, but I no longer cared to hide my arousal. Not when his own was in full evidence. Ready to face the inevitable, I threw caution to the wind and lowered my mouth to his.

I knew then I was addicted.

His first visit to my attic loft was late that very same night. I could barely sit through my classes without thinking of him, constantly aroused by the memory of all the things he'd done to me the night before. Listening to the children reading about the fall of the czars while images flashed in my mind of my fingers clenching in his wild black hair while he slowly drove me to near insanity with his masterful mouth, using his toungue and teeth to work me into a frenzied bundle of nerves. All day I struggled to keep my face neutral while I recalled reaching behind my head to hold onto the headboard for dear life. Watching his eyes glaze over and his teeth bare in a snarl as he relentlessly pounded into mejust the way I liked it. Goddess, how I wished I could have screamed. How close I came to letting the whole mansion know just how much the woman they all secretly referred to as 'Ice Princess', loved getting fucked like an animal. How in the world had I ever imagined this could be a one time thing?

I fought hard not to need him so much. Not to crave his touch. But on the rare nights he did not visit me, I found myself unable to sleep, on edge and torn between relieving myself with my own fingers or tiptoeing downstairs to his room and into his bed. But in the end I was always to unwilling to do either. The last thing Logan wants is a needy, clingy woman. I respect his need to feel free.

I tried to convince myself that I did not miss him on those nights. Instead I insisted upon myself that I was just sex-starved. But when he'd return to me the next night and make love to me with such painstaking tenderness, tears would threaten to fall from my eyes. Outside the skies would quietly weep from the intensity of what I felt for him.

I craved him beyond reason. I loved him.

Early on, he would stay with me until the last possible minute, spooning me in his arms as we slept soundly I'd have to awaken him just before dawn so he could return to his room unseen. But lately, he's been restless, sleeping fitfully when he's with me, and leaving far too soon.

And last night he refused to kiss me goodnight.

I felt my heart shatter when he turned away and walked out on me. There was a determination in his eyes that scared me, making me realize just how rapidly I am losing him.

I stayed up late long after he left, replaying the things we said to each other, wondering if I had somehow slipped up and told him how I really feel about him. Wondering if I'd mumbled it in my sleep and scared him away.

It was a mistake to get so involved. Allowing myself to fall in love with someone like Logan is the worst thing I could have done. He does not want love and commitment - of that I am certain. And I know if he suspects that I am in love with him, he will never come within two feet of me again.

It is not that he is heartless or unfeeling. Quite the opposite actually. He is just protective of his heart. I am woman enough to realize that his soul is wounded by the uncertainty of his past. He wears that pain everyday. Logan is a man I have seen show absolute fearlessness in any situation imaginable, yet I can imagine of that emotion, he is petrified.

I felt so alone when he left me last night, like half of myself was walking away. And I wanted nothing more than to ask him to come back to bed and hold me. To fall asleep to the steady beat of his heart.

I really should get up and go find him, but I am too much of a coward. So instead, I just sit here wondering how something that should have been so simple got so confused and wondering exactly how to fix it.

A soft sound at the door causes me to look up and wipe at the dampness I am just now noticing on my cheeks. And it appears I will not have to go and find him after all. Logan is standing at the door watching me.

"Ororo, we need to talk," he says softly, solemnly.

My heart clenches painfully in my chest as I meet his resigned gaze, knowing without a doubt that he is ready to end things.

Stubborn as always, I resign to play my game to end, refusing to let him know that I am dying inside. Instead, I lean back in my chair, affecting a casual pose. After all, this was just a casual arrangement and if I keep things as cool and civil as possible, I will have at least retained my pride.

His brow is drawn in a frown as squeezes his large frame a little awkwardly into the student desk nearest mine causing my smile to waver briefly. I am certain I imagine the fleeting look of anxiousness on his unreadable face.

I grow a bit uncomfortable as he levels his gaze on me for long moments before he finally leans back with a long and tired sounding sigh which cues me to brace for the worst. True to form he wastes no time with small talk.

"I'm sick of sneakin' around, Ro. I can't do it anymore."

Amazingly enough I sit there, still and calm, while inside my chest, my heart shatters.

"I've been tryin' like hell to figure out how to tell you this...that this sneakin' around just ain't who I am." he added quietly. He watched me for long moments, probably waiting for me to respond. Unfortunately, I could not speak. The pain in my heart is so great, I knew if I tried talking I would wind up a sobbing fool at his feet. All I had to hold onto at the moment was my dignity and there was no way I would let that go.

"I know I don't...." he begins, lifting his hand to his hair. He messily rakes through it as he chooses his next words. "...do to good with the whole commitment thing." he adds finally, holding up his hand to silence me as my mouth opens in wordless protest. I'd never suggested that to him, and I wanted to remind him.

He continued on. "I'm pretty much a one night stand kinda guy, Ro, but I don't know what to make of what we got goin' on here... it ain't a one night stand and it don't look like it's headed towards bein' permanent..."

Again, I opened my mouth to speak only to shut immediately as he spoke.

"I s'pose it's what everybody calls just a casual fling...but," his eyes drift to mine full of steel and determination "This just don't sit right with me. I wanna...Jesus, Ro, we need to be honest about where this is headin'. What we got right now just ain't workin' anymore."

Goddess, I could swear time has frozen as I stare at him, trying to force a calm reaction from my body, which was demanding that I do something other than sit there. I've never been the dramatic type, but at this moment, I want nothing more than to scream at him. To throw something. Instead, I level my gaze at him and smile. It's was a weak smile, I know, but I imagine it's adequate. "I could not agree more Logan." I interrupt softly. "It is not working out." I had to beat him to the punch so to speak. "Perhaps it is best that we end it."

The relief I expect to see on his face never comes. In fact, I dare say he looks stunned. Then he suddenly straightens, and I had the brief thought that he looking as if someone slapped him.

"Yeah..uh, that's best.." he says abruptly, stiffly rising from his seat.

I want to faint. Underneath the desk away from his eyes, I can feel my knees beginning to tremble. I want to go to him and throw my arms around him, and beg him to tell me how to get things back to the way they were. The voice in the back of my head is screaming at me not to let him walk out the door without telling him how I felt. That same voice is calling me a damn fool over and over again.

I barely register as he pauses by my desk, on his way out the door.

"Are you alright, darlin'?' he asks me, quietly.

I can barely bring my eyes to meet his as I nod. I know that if he doesn't go soon, I will lose my tenuous control and start crying like a lovesick teenager. "I am fine." I whisper, my voice horrifyingly thick with emotion. He continues to stand there, trying to hold my gaze.

I notice a familiar muscle ticking in his jaw, causing me to wonder if he knew I was lying. Steeling my shoulders, I sit back, despite the threatening tears in my eyes and meet his unyielding gaze head on.

"I'm not," he murmurs.

And only then I did not see anger or pity. I only saw pain...pain identical to mine.

TBC

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