Breathe A Sigh by Def Leppard

Let me down slow and easy
Cause there ain't nothin' I can do
I hope and pray my faith won't leave me
When it comes down to me and you

Try a little tenderness
I die a little
For a long lost sweet caress

You lyin' next to me
Fulfilled some destiny
I wanna cry
But I breathe a sigh

Just a little bit of letting go
I don't want you to know
I wanna cry
But I breathe a sigh

Overflow of emotion
And a hurt that'll never heal
If you close the door forever
The fate of pain is sealed

Try a little tenderness
I die a little
For a long lost sweet caress

[Repeat Bridge]

[Repeat Chorus]

I more than long for your affection
I tell you know that ain't so
Not even gentle persuasion
Is ever gonna let me go
Won't you let me breathe

[Repeat Bridge]

[Repeat Chorus]

She came to him for the first time that night, and he welcomed her with open arms, an open heart.  An open bed.

He watched her walk over to the large bed and start unbuttoning her nightgown.  She noticed him staring at her and smiled a little, but it was... off.  He couldn't put a finger on it, but her behaviour, her walk, everything she was doing wasn't in character.

But she was Rogue, the woman he loved, and he wasn't about to turn her away, so he dismissed the idea that something was wrong and walked over to her.

She smiled at him, a strange half-smile that was merely a little quirk of her lips, and her eyes glittered in a way he didn't understand.

"I can control it," she whispered, touching his face with her bare hand.  He started in shock; she'd only touched his bare skin a few times with hers, and every time it was to save her life.

"When," he managed, grasping her hand in his and the significance of the announcement at the same time.

"Today."

"How?" he asked and she frowned and snapped,

"I just switched it off.  What is this, twenty questions?  We can talk later, now you're going to fuck me Wo-Logan."

He was more than a little taken aback at that.  She sounded... irritated?  And her language, she'd never used profanity before, a product of her Baptist upbringing he supposed.  And almost calling him Wolverine?  She *never* called him anything but Logan, knowing how he loathed his codename, at least when he was with her, in the presence of purity and goodness.  There was something else, something that he couldn't quite put a finger on, but it would come to him later he was sure.

Why was she behaving so oddly, so very unlike the Rogue he knew, adored with everything he had and a few things he didn't?  It came to him as quickly as a bolt of lightning through the brain and it all clicked into place.  She was afraid, nervous, she knew that now that they could make love without fear, he'd want to - hell, he always wanted to, never pretended he didn't - and she wasn't emotionally prepared for sex, not yet.

"Hey," he said, tilting her face up to his.  "We don't have to do this now, you know.  If you aren't ready..."

And she wasn't.  He knew that, knew it because she'd told him, because he could see it in her eyes every time he kissed her.  He expected her to smile, to say that she *wasn't* ready but she loved him and soon enough they'd be together in every way. But she surprised him by reaching up and dragging his head down to hers.  Her lips crushed his, her tongue thrust into his mouth forcefully and he kissed her back, startled by her show of aggression, and once again feeling that tingle at the back of his skull that whispered of falsity.  But she was here, in his arms, and while her behaviour did nothing to fan his ardor, he was willing to continue, until she relaxed.

They had kissed so many times, more than he could count, but it had never been like this - and not because it was through thin gauze or a silk scarf.  Their kisses had been carnal, loving, sweet, playful, but never... disturbing.  As he realized what was bothering him, she pulled away and stripped off his shirt, running her hands salaciously over his chest.  He was given no time to think when she pulled his belt off and unzipped his jeans.  She stared in shock and disappointment at the flesh which hadn't responded to her touch, and glanced up at him worriedly.

At least he thought it was worry; for a second he thought he glimpsed annoyance, or anger, but then it was gone and he told himself he must've imagined it.  He gazed into her beautiful green eyes and felt a sharp stab of guilt and shame at the look in them, that pained look of inadequacy.

And he berated himself, because she was with him, she could touch him, and he'd never had any difficulties with arousal around her before.  Why was tonight so different?  Why was *she* so different?  Again, a twinge of uneasiness rolled through him, but he ignored it.

Perhaps, he thought, if he saw her, the beautiful body he'd imagined and dreamed of for so long, he'd be able to get over this strange feeling of discomfort, of being with someone he didn't know, didn't love, didn't desire.

He finished unbuttoning her mint green nightgown and pushed it off her shoulders, found he was left breathless by the magnificence before him.  She was everything he'd ever wanted, everything he'd ever fantasised about, and he loved her more than life, more than his own, or anyone else's.  He would die to save her, kill to protect her, and he had her in his bed, for the first time.  Her first time, their first time.

He ran a hand over her full breasts, over the soft perfection of them, and instantly hardened.  He could feel her nipples erect against his palms and he was surprised, because he'd barely touched her.

Then she shrugged out of the rest of the gown and pulled him on top of her.  She wrapped her legs around his waist and arched her hips against his and he gaped at her, because she couldn't possibly be aroused enough to take him in, not yet, but he reached down and touched her and she was wet and again he was surprised.  He vowed not to let himself go with her, not to actually consummate their relationship, not until they'd spent more time together, touching and kissing and caressing.  But the feel of her in his arms was his undoing, and he was almost crazy for her, and when she whispered that she wanted him, he was lost.  He wondered, while he still could, why he felt such disquiet with her, why only her body could arouse him, and only half-arouse at that.  But he brushed the thought away and thrust into her body.

And as he broke through the fragile barrier he knew something was wrong, definitely wrong, and at last he remembered what had been bothering him before; that when she'd spoken, her accent had been missing.  But she wrapped her legs tighter around his waist and kissed him, and every thought in his head flew away like soft flurries of snow.

He wanted to go slow, to make it good, good and gentle for her, but that proved impossible and he found after she'd come and then he had, that instead of making love to her, it had been fucking, casual and unemotional and unsatisfying.

It wasn't what he'd expected, wasn't what he *wanted*, not for them, and he felt a disappointment so vast it was an ache in the region Rogue had reserved for his heart.

Then her eyes fluttered open and she stared at him questioningly, and for the first time that evening he felt secure and aroused and in love.  She smiled so sweetly that he felt a flood of warmth, of genuine happiness wash over him, and he knew, that no matter how disappointing this first time had been, they would be okay.  Because he loved her and she loved him and *this*, this quiet moment of everything wonderful was what their relationship was really about.

"Logan?" she whispered.  "What's going on?"

Confused, he gazed down at her, and he opened his mouth to talk but then his body began to shiver slightly and he'd experienced it enough times to know what it meant.

The pull began, and her eyes widened in horror and he knew she couldn't speak and he couldn't either - neither could during the absorption. He could feel himself draining away, watched the essence of who he was pour into her, and he knew that whatever had happened tonight, it hadn't been her, not really.
But he loved the person she was, right now, with her skin that soaked him up like a sponge soaked up water, and her eyes frightened and her hair wild.  Because this was real, this was the Rogue he knew, a part of her that he loved, and she wasn't perfect as she had been before, and oh God, more than anything he wanted to brush the tears away from her cheeks and remove that terrified look from her eyes and kiss her, one last time.

His head dropped to her neck and he willed her to know one last thing.  That he loved her, now and for eternity, and then his thoughts weren't his own anymore and his body collapsed onto hers, trapping her to the bed and she, shaking from her grief and the tears that choked her, could finally use her voice again.

There was silence for a moment, broken only by her harsh breathing and the sound of her shattered sobs.  And then there was a sharply in-drawn breath.  And she screamed.

A few doors down, Jean lay naked and spread-eagled on her bed.  She licked her lips and ran a hand over her relaxed body languidly.  Ever so slowly, she released the girl's mind, then quickly dressed and combed her hair.  She stared into the mirror, looking beyond it, remembering.  A small smile played about her lips.

She had done it.  She had fucked Wolverine without cheating on Scott, and hopefully destroyed the little princess Rogue in the process.

Jean focused on her reflection and practiced looking shocked while she touched up her make-up.  It was almost time... wait for it...

Nothing.  But then... a sharp, piercing scream of agony and despair.  She allowed a full-fledged smile to grace her lovely face, then smoothed her features and prepared to give her best performance yet: that of the bereaved and compassionate Dr. Grey upon discovering Logan dead and naked in a distraught Rogue's arms.

She stepped outside after one last check in the mirror.  Perfect, absolutely perfect.  And no-one would ever know it.
 

END
 
 

A/N II:  This was inspired by Terri and Deejay's fic 'Asserting Control' (again, don't ask me how I got *this* from something that good), and blamed once again on my Jean-issues.  Hey, they're serious!  And you can't escape them... believe me, I've tried, they follow you *everywhere*