Partying With Marie

Title: Partying With Marie Author: Terri Email: xgrrl26@yahoo.com Rating: PG-13 Summary: Sequel to Vacationing With Marie. Marie goes to a party. Logan has some issues about that. Series: With Marie #5 Disclaimer: They're not mine. Even though I'm really, really nice to them.<sigh> Archive: Ask, and I will gladly provide. Feedback: Please! Pretty please? Author's Notes: OK, foofiness ahead. Lots of foofiness. And JealousLogan. CuteJealousLogan. Cute Logan is good :) -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- OK, I know that I'm not the easiest guy to live with. But I do like to think I have some redeeming qualities. I do put the toilet seat down, I don't hog the covers, I don't snore - well, not too loud. I let Marie have the remote control sometimes, I don't piss and moan when she takes forever in the shower, and I tell her I love her every day. That's pretty good, right? Well, I thought so too. But it was called to my attention today - by Scooter, of course - that I was apparently the Worst Boyfriend Ever. All because I won't do one little thing. "You have to go. You can't make her go to the fund raiser by herself." "I'm not wearing a tux, Scooter." "All right. A - stop calling me that. B - it won't cause you any physical pain to wear a tux. You have one. We all have one." "That doesn't mean I have to wear it." "In this case, yes it does. You can't let Rogue go by herself. It's just not done." "But it's a stupid party. And, beside, it's here. You'll all be here. It's not like she'll be by herself." "Yes, it's here, and, yes, we'll all be here. And so will you. Wearing a tux.." "But she said she doesn't care if I go or not. If she doesn't care, I'm not going." "Really, do you know nothing about women at all? Of course she wants you to go. Heck, she still gets nervous around us sometimes, let alone a whole room of strangers. She just doesn't want to make you go." Now, I'll admit that did sound a little like Marie. She might do something like that. "Well, how the hell am I supposed to know what she wants if she won't tell me?" "You're supposed to Just Know. Trust me, it makes no sense, but there's not a woman alive who doesn't expect her man to Just Know some things, and this is one of them." "Well, what did Jeannie say when she asked you to go?" "She didn't ask. She said she'd be happy to go on her own if I didn't feel like it." "See?! She doesn't care either." "Oh no, oh no, my friend. That's not the case at all. What she meant by that is 'You're going and you'll like it.' Trust me, I have learned this the hard way." "Well, I'm going to talk to Rogue. I'm sure if I just tell her to tell me what she really wants, she will. She's not like most women, Scooter." You know I hate that sigh he heaves at me at times like this. That sigh that says I'm so stupid it's not even worth wasting more words to try to explain to me. But I'm sure I'm right about this. She'll tell me. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Uh, hey, Marie?" "Yeah?" You know, she looks really cute today. I like her in that sweater - hugs her curves in all the right places. She's wearing the earrings I bought her, and she's got her hair up, exposing that long, soft neck. And those jeans - "Logan?" "Um, oh yeah. Did you want me to really go to this stupid fund raiser with you? I mean did you want me to go but not want to tell me to go or make me go and think I should just know that or something?" "What?" Aw, she looks all cute when her eyebrows knit together like that. "Do you want me to go to the fund raiser with you?" "I thought we talked about this. I said I didn't care." Now, I know my girl pretty well. She didn't answer the question, not directly, and that can mean one of two things. One - she deliberately avoided answering it because she thinks the answer isn't what I want to hear, or two - she deliberately avoided answering it because there's something about the whole situation that's upsetting her, and she doesn't want to think about it. "But do you want me to go?" "Logan, you'd have to wear a tux. It'd be a party with lots of rich, boring people. You would hate it." Still not answering the question here. "But what do you want?" "Logan...." Aha! Progress. That's the tone of voice she uses when she doesn't want to tell me something she knows I don't want to hear. Bingo. We have a winner - number one. "Well, what if I wanted to go?" "If you wanted to go? Well, in that case, I expect hell would freeze over or something like that. Maybe the heavens would fall. Maybe the apocalypse - " "Hey! I'm not that bad!" I'm not. Really. "Have you ever worn a tie in your life?" "Well, possibly. I mean, I can't remember my whole life. There's a distinct possibility that at one point I wore a tie. For something. Maybe. You know, once." Those cute little hands are on her hips and she's giving me the I'm-amused-but-technically-I-should-be-pissed-at-you-right-now look. "I'm not going to make you go. You don't want to go. I know you don't. I'm not even going to stay that long. Just an hour or so, as a favor to the Professor. Really, I'd have liked for you to go, if you wanted to, but it's perfectly fine if you don't go." "Are you sure? 'Cause there'll be lots of people there. What if you need me?" I'd put on the tux. Really, I would. There's a lot more I'd do for her if she needed it. But maybe...maybe she's thinking this could be a test, you know, to find out how she does on her own. Maybe that's part of it too. "Then I'll walk up one flight of stairs and jump into bed with you." Can't help raising an eyebrow at that. "I mean, you know, 'cause you'll be up here watching the Rangers game." "Uh-huh." "Logan....." Oh yeah, that's the flirty blush. I know what that means. "How long before that party, darlin'?" "Oh, there's at least three hours." That's the sexy voice. Natural companion to the flirty blush. Soon to be followed by the wandering hands. "Hmm...you have any plans for those three hours?" Here they come, wandering hands on my chest. Oh, yes, definitely like the wandering hands. "Well, it'll take me an hour or so to get dressed and ready...." "And the other two hours?" Those hands have picked a definite direction now. "I suppose I'm free. Did you have something in mind?" Oh, I know what I've got in mind, yes, I certainly do. "Let me show you." And there's the capper - the big smile. The big I-love-you-let's-have-sex-so-I-can-show-you-how-much smile. It's my favorite one. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "So you don't really care if I go or not?" "No, Logan, for the millionth time, no." She's spent a lot of time in the bathroom getting ready. A lot of time. More time getting ready than I've ever seen her spend before. I wonder if it's 'cause she's nervous. She usually doesn't really care that much how she looks. I mean, it's not like she looks bad or anything. She always looks good. But she just doesn't usually, you know, wear a lot of makeup or fuss with her hair too much. And she's been in there for over an hour. "OK, then. You need me, I'll be right here. On the bed. Right here on the bed." "Yes, sugar, I remember where our bed is." Aw, that's the sexy voice. And if I could see her, I bet she'd have the flirty blush. If I take her up on that, she'll definitely miss the party. "You almost ready? Doesn't the party start soon?" "It started fifteen minutes ago. I'm being fashionably late. You trying to get rid of me?" That's still the sexy voice. "Hell, no. You want to be a little later than fashionably late?" Maybe she's doing it on purpose because she doesn't really want to go alone. Maybe she knows I'll jump her if she keeps it up and - "No. I'm ready. I should get going." God. Good God. Good God in Heaven. That dress didn't look like that on the hangar. Holy God. That scarlet red goes perfectly with her skin, and it's got thin little straps that show off her bare shoulders. Definitely the kind of dress that makes you believe that there is a God. "Um, Marie?" She's wearing gloves, long gloves, but they only draw more attention to the skin that's showing above them. And the skin on her shoulders. And the skin on her back. Pale skin. Soft skin. Good-tasting skin. Skin that only I've gotten to see before now. "Are you - are you going to wear that?" "What do you mean? Yeah, I'm going to wear this. Oh God, I look stupid or something, don't I?" "Um, no, no - just......." Wait, something's wrong here. Something's off. She's wearing my earrings, that's not it. Her hair is all pulled up, nothing out of place there. Whatever lipstick she's wearing, I haven't seen it before. And dammit, I should have. Because it makes her lips look so full and so red.... "Logan?" "Uh..." It's not the dress, it's not the gloves, it's not the hair, it's not the makeup. What - oh hell. That's it. The tags. She's not wearing the tags. "Where's my dogtags?" She always wears them, everywhere she goes. Everywhere. Far as I know, she's never taken them off since I gave them to her. She can't take them off now, just for some stupid party. That's - that's against the rules. "Oh. I-I'm sorry. I should have mentioned it. I-I thought it'd be better to leave them off. You know, just because they don't really go with the whole, um, dress up thing. I've still got them on me." Damn skippy. The tags do not leave your body. I mean, I never take off the ring. Never. Not since she gave it to me. Not for missions, not for showers, not when I fix the truck. Never. "Where are they?" "Well....I, um, tucked them into my bra." "You're wearing a bra under that?" 'Cause that dress is skin-tight on top, and those straps are pretty thin. I would've guessed no bra, definitely. Not that I mind having the tags in that particular location. Oh, no. That's a prime spot, for sure. "Yeah. Why? Am I, uh, a little bouncy?" "Um, no, but those straps - where're you hiding the bra?" "It's a strapless bra. Seriously, Logan, do I look OK?" OK? OK? Shit, she looks fucking fine. "Yeah, but...." "But what? Come on, Logan, just spit it out. I've got to get downstairs." "I didn't think you were going to look this good." I mean, hell, she's all - I don't know, she's all fancy and she looks really, really good. I mean REALLY good. Any guy at that party downstairs is going to be all over her. Damn, I'm barely staying on the bed. "Gee, thanks." "No, I didn't mean it like that - " "Look, I'm going downstairs. You stay here. Watch hockey. Try to stop acting all weird. I'll be back in a little bit." Is she mad? 'Cause she should know that I just don't get things out right sometimes and - "Later." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It's punishment. That's what it is. Punishment. For not going with her. Scooter was right, damn him. She did - she wanted me to go, but I didn't and this is my punishment, knowing she's running around downstairs, looking like that, NOT wearing my tags, so that some asshole who looks at her might think she's single or something. Fuck. That's just not fair. All because I wouldn't wear a tux? That's not fair. The punishment definitely does not fit the crime. How am I supposed to watch the hockey game now? Shit, it's almost the end of the first period already, and I couldn't even tell you if they made a shot on goal. Just laying here, thinking about how she's probably down there, you know, walking around, and being all pretty and nice and good-smelling. She's probably got every guy in the place checking her out. I can just see it now. "Why you look very nice this evening, Rogue." "Why thank you, yes I do, and have you noticed that I'm not wearing anyone's tags or anything?" "Yes, I did notice that. How about a kiss?" Rrrrrrghhh. I should - I should go downstairs. I should just go down, and screw the tux.. Screw the tux. I'll just go down and take a peek. I'll just take a peek and make sure that she's handling it OK. I'll make sure that she's handling it OK and that there's no one hanging around her. Just, you know for her own safety. To make sure she's doing OK. Yeah, that's what I'll do. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- So far, so good. No one's seen me. Just hanging out by the doorway, mostly out of sight. Haven't seen Marie, though. Maybe she's outside, on the patio. Maybe she's in the other room, dancing or something. Wait - who'd she be dancing with? She wouldn't just dance with someone, would she? I mean, that's like, you know, holding her or something and that's just for me. I think - I think she knows that. I mean, we haven't discussed it or anything, but it's one of those things that she probably knows. Probably. Where the hell is she? She's supposed to be down here somewhere and I guess I'm going to have to go out there in jeans and a flannel shirt because - Shit. There she is. Over in the corner with her little friend Jubilee and the other one. And with guys. Five guys. Non-X-Men guys. What the hell are five guys doing over there? They can't all be Jubilee's boyfriends. Rrrrghhhh. Is she - she's talking to some of them. I can't make out what she's saying, not over all the damn party noise, but she's smiling. And so are they. Well, of course they are. I mean, they're looking at her and talking to her and shit. Of course they're smiling. Damn. Damn, damn, damn. Wonder what they're saying? Probably trying to make a move on her. Damn. She's probably trying to get rid of them or something. She's probably saying, "No, I can't make wild crazy monkey love with you, I already have a boyfriend." Yeah, that's right. "I have a boyfriend and I'm very, very happy with him." Yeah. "Except, you know, tonight, because he's being an asshole - wouldn't come with me to the party. So you know, maybe that crazy monkey love thing is a good idea. Yeah, let's do it." Rrrrgggggh. She - oh, oh-oh, she caught me. She saw me, or she heard that last growl. Oh fuck, and now she's headed this way. She doesn't look too happy. Nope. Not happy at all. "Logan? What're you doing down here? You're - you're not dressed." "I, um..." Oh, shit. Good one, Logan. What the hell are you supposed to say now? I came down because you looked really good and I'm not at all pleased that you're not wearing my tags with your floor-length evening gown. Yeah, that makes tons of sense. Sounds very rational. Not at all jealous-boyfriendy. Not at all caveman. Oh, no. "What's wrong with you tonight? You've been acting really strange." "Why didn't you wear the tags?" I didn't really mean for that to come out, but - "I have them on me, I told you that." She's looking around, all nervous and embarrassed now, blushing even. Doesn't she realize that only makes her look better? I'm going to have to kill every single guy here. "But - but - " "Logan, go back upstairs. You're - you're not dressed, and people will see you. It's a formal reception." "But - " "Logan, please." She's actually shoving me toward the stairs. Actually shoving. "I'll be up soon. A few more minutes. Go - go on." "But - " "Go!" -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Logan, just what is wrong with you?" She barely got in the room and shut the door. She must be pissed. Fuck. "Nothing. Nothing." "Oh, I see. You went downstairs to look for me and you're complaining that I'm not wearing your tags because nothing's wrong. I see." She looks real sexy right now, looking a little angry like that looks good. Real hot. And now she's back in our room. Where no crazy monkey love guys can get to her. Ha. "You look good." "That's what's wrong with you - I look good?" "I mean, you look really, really good. I didn't know you could look that good." "Not helping yourself here." Yep, pissed. At least a little. "I mean - shit - I mean you look all fancy. And elegant. And really, really hot." "And again, this is a problem how?" She's not completely pissed, though. Part of her face is smiling. Her eyes aren't that mad. "I, um, I guess I got a little nuts. You know, thinking about you walking around and looking all good and not wearing my tags." "You don't seriously think I'd be - what? Picking up guys?" "No, no, no." But I'm relieved that she said it like it was the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard. "Well then what?" "I know this sounds bad, and you know, un-sensitive or un-liberated or whatever, but I don't like other people looking at you and not knowing, you know, that you're mine." Because she is. And I know it, she knows it, but random people at a fund raiser don't. And I don't want them getting any ideas. "But Logan - " "Why don't you want a ring?" That came out of nowhere. Wait - "What?" "Why don't you want a ring? Why don't you want to get married?" I guess not out of nowhere, if I think about it. It's been bothering me, a little. But I thought - "That's what this is all about?" "No. I don't know. Maybe. Don't - don't you want that? To, you know, make a public thing of it, of us?" "We live together. It's not a secret. I wear your tags every day - even today. Just not - not where you can see them. And that's just for today. They go back on as soon as this dress is off. Everybody knows we're together." "It's not the same. It's not the same thing as a ring or getting married. I mean, you're mine. I feel like that. Don't you feel like that?" I think she does, I think she really does. I just can't figure why she doesn't want to do anything about it. "Yeah, sugar. Of course I do. You know I do. I-I couldn't do things, I couldn't be with anyone but you. I wouldn't want to be with anyone else, ever." "Then why?" "Sit down, OK? I should've - I should've explained this before. I just - there's so much about me that's already.......I just - you know my parents, they didn't have a good marriage, a good relationship. My mom got pregnant with me, and they had to get married. My dad resented her for it, and I just don't, I don't want to be like they were. We don't have to get married to be in love. It just - it just ruins everything sometimes. I don't want to take that chance with us. I'm - I guess I'm just scared." That's it. That's what's bothering her. She's being really honest. She is, I can tell. But she's not thinking about this right. "That doesn't make sense, baby." "I know. I know it's just irrational and emotional. But...." "Hey - we're not going to be like that. We're....we're different." "But how can you be sure? How can you know for sure?" "Look at me. Baby, I'm going to tell you something. You love me. You love me a lot. You've never, ever asked me for one single thing. You've never made me feel obligated to you. You just loved me. No strings attached. And I love you the same way. All the things we do for each other - that's out of love, not duty or responsibility or something. Hey, we're not them. We're us. I love you and you love me, and it's all good. There is no bad. That's us." "You know, maybe you're right." She's easing up a little. I'm not going to push her to get married or anything, but I want her to start seeing things like they are, not like she's afraid they'll be. "I'm always right, baby." That got me a little smile. Well, enough deep talk for now. I've got a beautiful woman sitting beside me on our bed. "Did I mention that you smell really, really good?" "No, you didn't mention that." "Did I mention that you look really, really good?" "Well, I think I got that from the previous conversation. You know - the 'I didn't know you could look that good' one." "You know, that didn't come out quite right." "I suspected." She's leaning in to me, nudging my arm a little like she does when she wants to snuggle up into me. "Did I tell you that I'd really, really like to go looking for those dog tags?" Happy to accommodate the snugglage. Very happy. "No, you didn't mention that either." Oh, yeah, flirty blush. Here we go. "You want to help me look?" "I think you'll do OK on your own." Sexy voice. Come on, come on, wandering hands. Come on. "I might need a little help." "Well, I suppose I could be convinced...." There they are. There they are. Wandering hands. Oh yeah, in those long scarlet gloves. Very, very nice. "Why don't you let me give that a try, darlin'?" Ah, the smile, the I-love-you-let's-have-sex-so-I-can-show-you-how-much smile. Still my favorite. "I love you. More than anything. Only you. You know that, right?" Wait - here's a new one - oh, my. Big soft eyes, chewing a little on that bottom lip. So much emotion, so much love in that look. That's it. That's my new favorite. "Yeah, darlin'. I'm pretty sure of that."