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Bikini Kill

It started innocently enough. Well, as innocently as a bunch of
eighteen-year-old mutants playing Truth or Dare could ever be.

"Jubilee, truth or dare?" St. John asked, playing idly with his lighter.

"Truth." Jubilee lounged against her bed, Remy's head in her lap.

"Have you slept with Remy yet?" the young man asked, an eyebrow raised in
inquiry.

"Have you slept with Bobby yet?" she shot back, nonplussed.

"Not my turn, Jubes. Answer the question." He didn't seem disturbed at the
question, though Bobby turned beet red.

"Kitty? Rogue? Help me out here," Jubilee appealed to her friends.

"Sorry, chica," Rogue replied. "It's all you, babe." Kitty leaned into Piotr
and nodded her agreement.

Jubilee's eyes narrowed at her friends' desertion. "No. Not yet," she bit
out.

"Remy takin' his time with the petite," the Cajun said, sitting up and
wrapping an arm around his girlfriend.

"My turn," Jubilee said, her voice full of false sweetness. Rogue and Kitty
straightened up, knowing what was coming.

"Rogue, truth or dare?"

Rogue thought about it carefully. Most of the questions had concerned sex.
Since, as the only unattached member of the group, she was fairly certain
she was safe, she figured "Truth" might be the way to go. However, there was
that night when she'd come home at three am after a night on the town with
St. John and Bobby, all three of them shitfaced. The others would be pissed
they'd missed out, and gang up on her, so maybe "Dare" was the best option.

"Sometime this century, Miss Thang," Jubilee prodded.

"Dare," she blurted, hoping she'd made the right choice.

By the smile on Jubilee's face, she realized she had walked right into the
other girl's trap. "Oho, what shall we make Roguey do, boys?" she asked in a
voice that sent shivers down Rogue's spine. No one answered; they could tell
from Jubilee's manner they weren't expected to. The Asian girl got up,
walked to the dresser, and pulled out two green scraps of cloth. She tossed
them into Rogue's lap.

"Wear that to the barbecue tomorrow."

Rogue held up the scraps of cloth. "What the hell is this?" she asked,
turning it over in her hands, and looking at the tags, which were still
attached.

"Kitty and I bought it for you. It's a bathing suit."

"I'd pay a dollar to see that," Bobby muttered. St. John smacked him.

Rogue shot him a dark look as she said, "I already have a bathing suit. Two
of 'em, in fact." She did; Jean had bought them for her. They covered her
from neck to ankles, much like the suits Olympic swimmers wore. She had
matching aquasocks and gloves, to give others protection against her deadly
skin.

"Not like this one," Jubilee responded.

"Kitty?" Rogue's voice was dangerously calm.

"Um, yeah, Rogue. We thought it would be great if you could, you know,
sunbathe like the rest of us."

"And kill someone in the process?" Rogue said, her voice rising as she
spoke.

"Calm down, chere," Remy said. "We'll stay far away."

"Great. So I have to wear this, this dental floss, and be treated like a
pariah all day? No fucking way in hell, darlin'."

Jubilee and Kitty exchanged glances. Logan popping out was rare these days;
he'd been gone for over a year, and his personality traits had mostly faded
from the girl whose life he'd saved with a touch.

"It's the rules," St. John said. "You said dare, Jubes dared you."

The others all muttered things along the same lines, and at that point, she
felt so much older than the rest of them. The rules. Like calling dibs on
riding shotgun, or do-overs in wiffle ball games, only for children do "the
rules" really matter. Adults prattle on and on about them, but live their
lives free of all but the most general laws, while childhood is a tyranny of
rules and regulations, many of them self-imposed. She knew she couldn't win
this argument.

Sighing, she said, "Fine. But don't any of you come near me." And she
stalked out of the bedroom she shared with the other girls, angrily
clutching the green bikini.

"That went better than I thought," Bobby murmured.

St. John smiled. "I told you she would follow the rules. She's Mr. Summers'
favorite, remember? Some of that stuffiness has rubbed off."

Jubilee snorted. "If Ol' One-Eye only knew what little Miss Rogue gets up
to," she said, "he'd have her scrubbing toilets with the rest of us."

But her punishments, rare as they were, usually involved helping him wash
the numerous cars in the garage, or working on his new motorcycle -- chores
any of the others would have killed for. None of them begrudged her that
special place, though. They knew that, even with their mutations, she was
still worse off than most of them would ever be. They pitied her. And
sometimes, she hated them for it.

***

The next day dawned bright and clear. At about noon, Rogue rolled over,
covering her eyes with her pillow. "Five more minutes," she mumbled.
"Femammem," is what Kitty heard.

"Rise and shine, Rogue. I've been up since eight. It's a beautiful day in
the neighborhood."

Rogue sat up, eyes bleary. "Fuck Mr. Rogers," she snapped.

"Good morning to you, too," Kitty sang out, used to her roommates' morning
surliness. Jubilee threw a pillow at her while Rogue raised her middle
finger. "Weather's perfect for a pool party."

"Damn," Rogue muttered, trudging to the bathroom. She'd prayed for rain last
night, though with a weather goddess in residence, she figured it was
futile.

Jubilee jumped out of bed. She went from sullen to hyper in three point
three seconds. She knocked on the bathroom door. "You forgot something," she
called, holding the green bikini out.

Rogue snarled something unintelligible and grabbed it, slamming the door
quickly. Jubes jumped, just getting her fingers out of the way in time.

"Dude, do you think this is a good idea?" Kitty asked nervously.

Jubilee turned on her. "Jesus, Kitty. She's been here a year and a half and
she's still, like, totally scared to be around people. That's not good. In
fact, I'd go so far as to say it's bad, KitKat. We have to show her that
it's not all on her, that we can be mature and responsible around her, so
that she doesn't always have to be afraid."

Kitty was about to respond when the bathroom door opened. "I am *so* not
going outside in this," Rogue declared, her accent thickening with anger and
fear.

She stood before them, her hands clenching and unclenching in her agitation.
The bikini had little triangular, crocheted cups -- thankfully with an
underwire, because there was no way she could go without one -- on top, and
a two teeny triangular patches of crochet front and back, held together by
two thin strands of material that rode her slender hips enticingly, on the
bottom.

For the two roommates, it wasn't much of a shock.

For the boys -- and the men -- it was a heart attack and a half.

When Jubilee and Kitty finally managed to convince her to leave the room --
after an hour of pleading and cajoling -- she was wrapped in the matching
pareo. Crocheted, hunter green like the suit, it didn't offer much
protection, and she walked with her arms crossed over her chest, green silk
gloves covering them to just above the elbow.

Everyone was already out by the pool. She stopped at the glass doors that
led to the deck. "I can't do this, guys," she whispered, her eyes wide with
fear.

Bobby looked up and saw them in the doorway. Sauntering over, hair damp from
the pool, he opened the door. "Join the party, ladies."

He put a careful, gloved hand on Rogue's arm, and she walked stiffly next to
him as he led her outside.

"Do you really think you should be out here with bare legs, Rogue?" Jean
asked, looking her up and down.

"You're right, Jean. I'll go back in and change," she said, quickly turning
to go.

Bobby, Kitty and Jubilee grabbed her. The girls were gloved also. "We have a
whole thing set up," Jubilee said. "Mr. Summers said it was okay."

Jean looked to her fiancé. "Scott?" she called.

He lifted himself out of the pool, water dripping from his lean,
well-sculpted torso. More than one girl -- and a few of the boys -- sighed.

"Rogue, Kitty, Jubilee. Good to see you finally made it down."

"Scott, did you agree to Rogue's," she paused, as if searching for the right
word, and then said, "attire?"

He turned to actually look at the girls now, and they had pried Rogue's
arms -- and her covering -- away from her body.

His jaw dropped. He worked his mouth for a few seconds, but no sound came
out. Then, "Uh --"

Jean looked annoyed. "Rogue. Her name is Rogue, Scott. Which you'd remember
if all the blood in your system hadn't just headed south."

"Rogue. Right. Yes. Special arrangements. Over on the grass," he pointed,
"there are chairs set up away from the main group. Kitty and Jubilee
requested it specially for Rogue. So she could sunbathe."

No one could see his eyes behind his glasses, but Jean -- and everyone
else -- was sure they kept darting over to look at the very exposed, very
shapely young woman standing before him. He would never stare, but he would
certainly take a good look. Every other male -- and a few of the females --
in the place was staring.

Rogue took a deep breath. <Okay, no more deep breaths,> she told herself as
every eye honed in on her chest. <You can do this.> "Ain't y'all ever seen a
woman before?" she asked, strutting out to the lounges Scott had indicated.
<Hell, I could learn to enjoy this,> she thought.

Kitty and Jubilee trailed behind, grinning widely.

***

It had been a long eighteen months, Logan thought. The trip to Alkali Lake
had given him a number of leads, all of which eventually led to dead ends.
He was tired, he was annoyed, and he was finding that thoughts of
Westchester -- if he was honest with himself, thoughts of Marie -- haunted
him more and more.

He'd been away a while, and he wasn't sure what kind of reception he'd get,
but he hoped the kid would be happy to see him. He imagined her running down
the driveway, his dogtags bouncing around her neck, big smile on her face.

He didn't expect the nothing that welcomed him. No one at the door. He heard
shouting and splashing and followed the sounds around the side of the
mansion and out to the back, where a big party was in process.

He took in the sight of Jean Grey, in a red one-piece suit, going off the
diving board. Ororo Munroe, in a white bikini, lying on a float in the pool,
trying to avoid a group of boys splashing each other loudly.

He sniffed the air, checking for Marie's scent. She was here. And she was
wearing sun tan lotion. He grinned. Following his nose, he walked over to
the far side of the pool, keeping to the shade of the house, unnoticed by
the revelers.

And was greeted by the sight of six or seven teenage boys fawning over three
young women in bikinis. He recognized the girl who walked through walls --
she was wearing blue. The Asian girl was in bright yellow. And the third
girl -- "Christ on a fucking crutch," he growled, stalking over to the rowdy
group, scattering the boys like a cat among the pigeons, or, more
accurately, like a wolf among the sheep.

Rogue looked up at him -- the man who'd haunted her thoughts and dreams for
the past eighteen months. The postcards had come with great frequency at
first, then dwindled in number as time went on. She'd just about given up
hope of ever seeing him again -- had even put the dogtags away, with her
stash of mementoes from home and her eight months on the road. Part of her
wanted to leap up and throw herself into his arms. The rest of her figured
that wouldn't do, so she arched her back slightly and pointed her toes.

She grinned at the way his eyes widened.

"Hey, sugar," she said. "How's it hangin'?"

"Marie, what the hell is goin' on?"

"It's a pool party, Logan. Haven't you ever been to one?" She cocked her
head, as if thinking. "Though I guess up in the Canadian Rockies, they don't
have too many pool parties, huh."

"I meant -- dammit, what about your skin?" he ground out. He paid no
attention to Scott, Jean and Ororo as they made their way over.

"Deadly as ever, sugar. Which is why I'm over here in the corner. I'm
thinkin' of callin' this," she waved a hand to encompass the area where she
and her friends were sitting, "the Rogue's Gallery." She put a finger to her
chin. "Or is that cheesy?"

"Welcome back, Logan," Jean said in the momentary silence, moving in to give
him a hug.

He looked at her, startled, then returned the hug peremptorily. He said,
"Hey, Red," before turning back to the girl in the lounge chair. Scott
grinned smugly.

"It is good to see you, Logan," Storm said in her musical voice. He nodded
but his attention didn't waver.

"I think we need to talk, kid."

"I ain't a kid anymore, Logan," she replied, tossing her head. He felt
desire for her rush through his veins and he wondered how he'd lost control
of the situation. Then he realized he'd never had control of the situation.
"Why don't you pull up a chair and join us? Maybe take off some of those
clothes. You sure look… hot." And she licked her lips. The little witch
actually licked her lips.

Two could play that game, he thought. "You're right, kid -- Marie," he said,
stripping his jacket off and pulling his t-shirt over his head. He knew the
effect his bare chest had on most women, and she was no exception. He
dropped down on the grass beside her and looked up at the crowd gathered
around. "Marie and I got some catching up to do," he said. "Do you mind?"

They all scrambled to get away and he smirked. <I still got it.>

"Whatcha been up to?" she asked, twirling a piece of hair around her finger.

"A little of this, a little of that," he replied, not really wanting to talk
about it. "Didn't learn anything, if that's what you mean. A whole lotta
nothin' is what I found."

She frowned and laid a hand on his arm. "I'm so sorry," she said softly, and
he could tell it was genuine.

"What about you?" he asked, cursing himself silently for bringing her down,
when she was obviously having a great time.

She spread her arms wide, giving him a great view of the way her breasts
strained against the little patches of material that barely covered them,
and said, "Oh, it's been pretty good here. Everyone is great. I'm starting
college in the fall up in White Plains. I'm training and hope to join the
X-Men in a year or two, or maybe after college. I'm not quite sure how that
works."

He leaned on an elbow and rested his head on his hand as he let her chatter
wash over him. He'd missed her, more than he thought was possible. Had
thought about her -- Christ, he'd dreamt about her, and not brotherly type
dreams either -- all the damn time while he was away. He still couldn't
figure out why he hadn't called or written more often, except that he was
too damn scared of his own feelings for a girl young enough to be his
daughter.

They ate -- burgers barbecued by a huge guy covered in blue fur who spoke
like he'd swallowed a dictionary. He talked briefly with Xavier about what
he'd found, and accepted the other man's offer of a home, for a while at
least. But his eyes and his thoughts never strayed far from Marie.

He loved watching her chatter with her friends, hearing her laughter ring
out while she told some outlandish story involving a goat, some carrots, new
license plates, and the woman from the DMV. He noticed -- how could he not?
She was practically naked -- the way a steady diet had filled out her figure
and gave her eyes and hair a luster she'd been missing when he met her in
Laughlin City.

Finally, she said to him, "You wanna come upstairs and I'll give you your
tags back?"

"You don't--" he started, and then he kicked himself. <A beautiful lady
invites you up to her room, you don't say no, asshole.> "Let's go," he said,
putting his shirt on, picking his stuff up and getting his driving gloves
out of his jacket pocket.

Pulling them on, he took her by the elbow and led her into the house. As
they walked up the stairs to her room she said, "I missed you, Logan. Why
didn't you call? Those postcards were kind of -- meager."

He sighed. "You're right. I'm a dick. I wasn't sure you'd want to hear from
me." They reached her room and he stopped, unsure of what to say next. "I
thought maybe you'd wanna forget the old guy who couldn't protect you."

She pulled him inside. "Dammit, Logan, you saved my life. *Of course,* I
wanted to hear from you. I thought maybe you forgot all about me." She went
to the closet and bent over, looking for something, and he closed his eyes,
willing his body to calm down as desire raged through him again.

"I could never forget you, Marie. You're all I think about. Hell, thinking
of you kept me pretty warm on some cold goddamn nights." <Maybe that wasn't
the smartest thing to say,> he thought, until he noticed how her face lit up
as she turned to him, dogtags in hand.

She held them out and he took them, noticing how her face fell a little when
he did. He moved closer to her -- closer than was probably safe -- and
slipped the chain around her neck. After he fixed the clasp, he ran his
hands over her neck and her shoulders, hearing the hitch in her breath as he
touched her.

"You got a boyfriend?" he asked gruffly, his hands running up and down her
arms.

She laughed. "Nope. You?"

"Nope. Or a girlfriend, either."

"That's good to know," she murmured, her eyes half-closed as she swayed
toward him.

He walked her back to the bed and laid her down on it. Thinking, he quickly
shucked his t-shirt in favor of something with long sleeves that he pulled
from his bag. Then he took the filmy white scarf tied to her bedpost and
laid down on the bed next to her.

"We're gonna take it slow, Marie," he said, already fighting his arousal. He
was the adult. He had to be smart for both of them.

She rolled on her side, facing him. "Do we have to?" she whispered.

He gently placed the scarf over her lips and pushed her onto her back.
"Yeah," he replied, his lips already against hers.

She'd been kissed since she'd been at Xavier's. Both Bobby and St. John had
asked her out before they realized they loved each other, not her, but it
was nothing like this.

She felt like he was consuming her, and flames licked her skin where his
mouth pressed against it. She gasped, trying to get a handle on what she was
feeling, but his mouth and hands were everywhere, branding her as his.

He slid his fingers along the edges of her top and then it was untied and
her breasts were bared to him. He took their heaviness in his hands, gently
caressing and squeezing, wafting the scarf over her, covering her from nose
to hips, so he could take one taut nipple into his mouth as he rolled the
other between his fingers. She arched into him, her legs cradling his hips
as her hands dug into his scalp. He switched his mouth to her other breast,
as she moaned his name. One of his hands moved up to trace her lips as the
other slid down to the warmth between her legs.

Her hips bucked and he raised his head and grinned. She dragged his head up
for another kiss, her tongue thrusting against his in a way he found all too
arousing. He was going to keep control, make this all about her and how good
she could feel.

He stroked her through the material of the bikini, but soon it wasn't good
enough. Pushing aside the scrap of fabric, he stroked her from front to
back, driven by her moans and gasps of pleasure.  He found her clitoris and
rubbed it gently, causing her eyes to fly open and her breathing to become
even more ragged.

Pulling the scarf downward, he licked her through the thin material as he
slid a gloved finger into her tight, wet passage and flexed his forearm
skillfully.

She moaned loudly as intense pleasure rippled through her and she found her
release. "Oh, God, Logan. Logan!" Over and over again she called his name
and he growled in response.

"That's it, baby," he said, straining to control his own desire as she
clenched around his fingers and her taste was in his mouth. "It's all about
you, Marie. All you. Only you," he murmured, moving back up to kiss her
gently as the shudders running through her faded.

"What about you?" she asked huskily, feathering a hand down his body,
enjoying the feel of his muscles as he tensed in response.

"You don't have to," he murmured, as her hands started working on his belt
buckle.

"But I want to," she whispered, pulling the belt off and dropping it on the
floor. Her hands worked on his jeans next, and she muttered, "Damn button
fly," making him chuckle.

"Let me," he said, undoing it quickly. He knew, even if she'd forgotten in
the daze of passion, he had to keep his pants on. There was too much of her
skin exposed for it to be safe, and while he didn't care so much what
happened to him, he didn't want this to turn into a bad experience for her.

She freed him from his jeans, muttering, "I knew it!"

"What?"

"That you didn't wear underwear," she said, and again, he laughed
delightedly. He couldn't ever remember laughing at all during sex -- it was
always grunting, straining, moaning and goodbye -- and it was wonderful.

He was done laughing, though, as she slid her hand down his hard length. She
bit her lip in concentration -- a look most of her friends knew was one that
heralded the search for a specific memory among the jumble in her head. Then
she cupped his balls and squeezed lightly and she continued moving her hand
up and down his shaft, a little harder than most women did, and much better
than he expected. If he thought about, and he did, later, he'd realize she
was accessing his memories about what he liked and wanted, and even how he
did it himself.

But he couldn't think with her eyes so intent and her hand on his cock. His
hips jerked and he knew he wasn't going to last much longer. He pulled her
hands away, not wanting to come all over her.

She looked stricken. "What's wrong? Oh, God, did I do something wrong?" she
asked breathlessly.

"No, Marie, you did perfect," he managed. "I just don't want to ruin your
pretty gloves." She blushed at the implication and watched as he pulled a
condom out of his wallet. She took it from him and rolled it on. "How do you
know how to do that?" he asked, jealous.

"Hank taught us in health class," she replied, smiling wickedly and dipping
her head down, following her hand with her mouth. He slid his fingers
through her hair as he came, jerking his hips and grunting her name. She
knotted the condom and threw it out when he was done.

Satisfied for the moment, he hauled her up, kissed her deeply through the
scarf, and wrapped his arms around her. "Sleep, baby," he whispered, and she
did. He stayed awake and watched her.

***

When Kitty and Jubilee got back to their room later, they heard the grunts
and moans, and wandered back down to the rec room, their plans to shower and
change shot.

"Damn," Jubilee muttered, "I didn't think they'd be shagging like crazed
minks within a day of his return."

"St. John wins the pool," Kitty said disgustedly. "How does he always manage
to do that?"

Jubilee laughed. "Hell if I know. But damn, chica, that bathing suit was the
best sixty bucks we ever spent."

Kitty laughed and agreed.

End

***