A Lack Of Restraint

By Diebin
Email: diebin@hotmail.com
Rated: PG-13 'cuz I say ALL the bad words a whole lot.
Archive: If you have before, you can again.
Pairing: Rogue/Logan
Setting: Rogue is 21.
Excuse: There IS no excuse for this. It violates everything I am as an AngstGrrl. :) It is total, inexcusable fluff with no purpose or plot. Heck, it's pretty sad, really. But damn, don't they deserve to just be HAPPY once in a while?
Summary: Scott puts on his matchmaker cap.
Dedicated to: The wonderful ladies at PETS. See how nice Scott is? Hug him! HUG HIM NOW! And to Nanciwan and the monkeys. You have done a beautiful thing. Go Misty go!

Scott is a fucking hypocrite.

I'd just like to make that very, very clear. He is a two-faced, obnoxious, irritating hypocrite who merrily says one thing and goes off and does the exact opposite. Repeatedly. And just because he's all soft and mushy, no one cares, because he's Scott and he's so sweet and he's so sensitive...

He's a fucking pansy-assed hypocrite. And he meddles way too much in everyone else's lives. If I had my way, I'd nail him to the wall. With thumbtacks.

Very dull thumbtacks.

Having gotten that out of the way, I can honestly say that he did me the biggest favor anyone has ever done me. He's still a hypocrite and an incredible pansy -- but at least he's a useful one.

Because it's him I have to thank for the armful of gorgeous brown hair and deadly skin I'm clinging to right now.

Even if he did have a fucking odd way of going about it.


"You're kidding, right?" Dear god I hoped he was kidding.

Scott smirked. "You've been loafing about and saving the world on weekends for almost a year, Logan. You really need to make yourself useful."

"I'm useful," I muttered, fighting the urge to do something really unmanly and perhaps drop to my knees and beg him to take it all back. "C'mon, Scott. You know better than this -- I'm no kind of teacher."

"Which is why I'm starting you off with private lessons. We have a few older students who are in their last few years of preparation for joining the team. They're not the young ones -- I'm not going to let you scare them into running away. They just need some combat lessons, and you are qualified to do that." Scott looked so damn smug about the whole thing that I wanted to hurt him.

Even more than usual.

"Who am I--" He didn't even give me a chance to ask the question I needed to know the answer too -- and in hindsight, I can see why. I was terrified that he was going to say Marie, and I was pretty sure that the last month I'd spent trying very very hard to avoid her would go down the toilet there.

Why was I avoiding her? The way she smiled at me, the way her sad eyes would brighten at the sight of me, the way her hair fell over her shoulders, the way her shirts never quite came up far enough so that she wasn't flashing me an eyeful of -- well, take your pick. I was avoiding her for a lot of reasons.

Including the fact that she was barely twenty-one and I would get castrated by the rest of the team if I did half the stuff to her I wanted to.

"Just do it, Logan. You're not going to be able to wiggle yourself out of this one."

And I couldn't. Which was how I ended up teaching a class I ended up calling Restraint 101.

I failed, by the way. Big fucking "F" on my report card. Couldn't care less.


I had a sinking suspicion of what was going on, but I just couldn't believe Scott would go through with it. After all, he is a tight-ass who supposedly disapproves of me and adores Marie. How on earth was I supposed to know that he'd gotten the twisted notion in his head that her attachment to me was "healthy."

And that the fact I was flailing like a landed fish was funny.

Oh well. I should have seen it coming, but I still jumped when she pushed open the door to small combat practice room the next day.

Her mouth dropped open and she flushed bright red, dropping her bag and raising her arms to cross them over her chest.

And then I actually looked at her chest, and every irrational possessive manly instinct in my body went on alert.

Most people practice fighting in as little as possible -- because it's easier to jump and bounce around and pick yourself up off the floor if you're not wearing all kinds of clothing.

That doesn't excuse her. Nothing excuses her, as far as I'm concerned -- she didn't know it would be me in here. She was all set to go prancing around in practically nothing in front of someone else -- and that just pisses me off.

It has no right to, but it still does. So I'm irrational, and I don't care.

She had one of those little sports bras on, and a pair of tights...and a nearly transparent little long sleeved leotard that showed pretty much everything she's got off.

Damn if it wasn't worth the showing. Damn if I'd ever let her wear it in front of anyone else.

"Oh god Logan--" Marie was still blushing, and she slapped one hand over her mouth before her eyes narrowed. "Oh I'm going to kill Scott. I'm so sorry--" She had her bag in her hand and was backing towards the door before I knew what hit me.

Okay, it was probably because I was still staring at her chest.

"Now wait a second--" No, I didn't just say it because I wanted to keep staring at her, although I have to say it may have influenced me a little. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Oh, come on Logan." She sounds a little put-out. "This is about as transparent as it gets. You're telling me this setup isn't turning your stomach?"

It's turning something, and it sure as hell ain't my stomach. "So what?"

That pulls her up short. "Scott's just meddling, Logan," she falters, but she's blushing again. I think I like that. I haven't really done much, and I'm managing to make her blush.

Then I notice a small detail. Her eyes aren't exactly meeting mine dead on. They seem to be looking down a little farther...

That's when I remember I'm not wearing a shirt.

Oh well, turnabout is fair play, and all that shit. Stare and be stared at. I was starting to actually warm to the idea -- because suddenly things were looking a whole lot less dangerous.

Well, let me rephrase that. Wanting to get it on with someone who can kill you by touching you is always dangerous. But there were ways around that. There weren't too many ways around the piece of my hide I thought would get nailed to a wall if I went ahead and did all those things I could to get around her little problem.

But if Scott was going to throw her into my goddamned arms--

Well, fuck it. Time to start getting around some things.

"Drop the bag, Marie."

She dropped it.

I jumped at her.

Okay, so it wasn't exactly fair. I tried to tell myself this was a lesson to her -- that fights weren't going to be fair...but really I just loved the startled gasp she gave and how good she felt under me after I managed to pin her to the floor.

"If you're going to be my student, Marie, you're going to have to do a hell of a lot better than that, or I'll let Bobby teach you."

She kicked me in the head and flipped me over, and the first session of Restraint 101 was officially called to order.


Okay, I'll admit it right now -- I don't think either of us were really planning on using our "lessons" for fighting. We didn't even bother to make a pretense of it. Pretty much the so-called lesson was Scott saying, Okay, I know you're a pathetic loser and have it bad for some slip of a girl. Go ahead, I won't kill you.

So we made an effort to at least pretend for the first two days -- but more because I think we both came to the mutual understanding that it was really fun to roll around on the ground together with the minimal excuse of learning personal combat.

Minimal excuse indeed. I'm pretty sure three-quarters of the moves we were using would be less than helpful in a fight. I could think of a few other places they'd be useful in...but I wasn't planning on using them in that context.

Yet.

At least, not on the floor of the practice room.

The third day she showed up in jeans and I pulled on my sweatshirt, and we didn't even pretend we were there for any kind of lesson. It was Personal Combat Does Lunch.

The next day was Personal Combat takes in a Movie.

I think Personal Combat Learns To Ride A Motorcycle was my favorite. I really did enjoy the feeling of Marie tucked up against my back, her arms twined around my waist and her legs squeezing my hips.

So I'm a sorry excuse for a teacher. But it's not like that was Scott's intention to begin with.

At least I hope not. Maybe he's just a really pathetic loser who actually hadn't noticed the fact that Marie and I had shared more than a few memories. Maybe he actually thought I was teaching her to fight.

Oh well. His loss. Our gain.

A few weeks into our suddenly sanctioned relationship, Marie showed up in the middle of the night.

In my bed.

Well, she woke me up first -- I think we've all learned that lesson, and I doubt she'll forget it any time soon. But I was just barely awake enough to realize who was in my room before she bounced up onto the bed and smiled at me.

"Uhh -- Marie?"

"Hey." She just kept staring at me, her eyes a mystery.

"Any reason for this visit?"

"Nope."

Well, she was being pretty unhelpful. Oh well, I didn't know what else to do, so I rolled my eyes and growled.

She was silent for a long time, and then when she did speak, my eyes just about bugged out.

"So, when are you going to stop being a pansy and do something about the fact that I'm throwing myself at you and Scott's helping?" A small hand ran up my leg over the sheet and gave my hip a friendly pat.

Then she moved her hand over a little and gave me another one.

"Unnnhh--"

"How eloquent," she drawled, and stood up. "Hurry it up, Logan. I'm getting impatient." And she tossed off a grin and sauntered right out of the room.

I found out the next day that she was sloshed, something I should have picked up on since I do remember her smelling faintly of alcohol. Turns out it was Kitty's twenty-first, and in honor a few of the younger girls got a few bottles and celebrated.

One of them dared Marie to do something to me -- she never would tell me the specifics, but as soon as I find out which girl it was -- I'm takin' her out for a drink.

Marie turned out to be entirely embarrassed by her drunken outburst, and spent the next two days avoiding me.

Poor Marie. A gentleman might have respected her need for privacy.

I broke into her room the next night and ambushed her in bed. And I wasn't drunk.

I told her I loved her. Not in so many words -- I think I managed to pare it down to only one swear word though, and she must have appreciated the effort, because she threw her arms around me and just about climbed into my lap and hugged me crosseyed.

She told me she loved me, and she's a damn sight better at it than I am.

Or maybe I was just distracted by the way she was squirming about in my lap. I let out a nice unmanly little moan and told her all about Restraint 101, and how I was trying so very hard to pass this most difficult test, and that she wasn't making it easier with all the bouncing she was doing.

She leaned forward, and whispered two words into my ear. Just two little words, but what she was doing with her hands at the same time -- that gave it a little more weight.

"Fail it."

Oh well fuck. I'm a man, after all. And I guess I'm pretty proud that she was screaming my name within about ten minutes. Could make a man damn cocky.

I think I rather like it.


Scott ambushed me in the hall yesterday and gave me a perfectly serious look and told me he was pleased with the work I'd done and that he'd keep me in mind for tutoring future students, but that everything was under control now.

And then he winked at me.

I think I actually liked the man at that moment, which is why I'm currently trying to be such a bastard to him. Can't let him know how much I appreciate what he's done for me.

Marie rolls over and swats at my face. "Stop thinking so loudly," she mutters, squirming back around and pressing her body against mine.

Now I like that.

"Don't even think it," she mutters as my arms tighten. "C'mon, Logan -- a girl can only scream your name so many times in one night before she gets a little tired. Practice your Restraint 101 there and let me sleep."

I have to chuckle as she looks up and gives me a sleepy smile. She's gorgeous, she's mine, and I owe it all to Scott.

Well, to Scott and to my lack of restraint.


Okay, okay, I know. It was fluffy. :) Just be glad and remember this when I finish my next story, okay?

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