Jean Grey (greymatter) wrote in thedoorway, @ 2013-07-15 18:29:00 |
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At least Russian vodka managed to pack a much stronger punch than american booze, so when Logan started on the bottle well before Jean had even arrived in his apartment, the slightly muddled feeling was seemingly on par with her as soon as she’d had her first shot. It didn’t take long for his brain to start clearing, which only gave him the urge to keep drinking. But ever the gentleman (ha), he held the bottle out for Jean to refill her glass if she had the desire. The stuff tasted freaking wood stripper, but it was sure as fuck smooth wood stripper. Logan didn’t require sleep, but he operated better with it, and with the last week he had been pushing that to it’s limits and it was just starting to show. His hair was mussed and he had the workings of pre-beard scruff that needed to be shaved. But he wasn’t cranky or grumpy. The frown that had been on his face a few days earlier had drifted away and he just stared at Jean with a relatively passive gaze that turned longing when he didn’t think she was looking. They’d accomplished their goal, which had him in a better mood than he’d been all week, even if the flying still bugged him, but he was content to just sit with his back against the coffee table, legs sprawled out in front of him. “Been one hell of a week, ain’t it, Red?” In a bizarre twist, Jean was fairly sure her mood was worse off than Logan’s. Putting her powers to good use the night before and the first glass of vodka had done some good, but between the recent tension in the tower, everything that had happened in the last two weeks, and her own personal reasons for being moody, Jean envied the level of relaxed he seemed to have working for him. Tucking one leg under her thigh, she took the offered bottle and added a few fingers worth into her glass. She was going to have to cut herself off sooner than she would like, but a bit more wouldn’t get her into dangerous territory. She hoped. “That’s one way of putting it. I’m crossing my fingers this helps me get at least a few extra hours of sleep tonight,” Jean grimly smiled, lifting the glass in a lazy toast and then taking a swig. “But if I start to slur or say anything ridiculous, I have to insist you send me packing.” It was on the tip of his tongue to make a lewd joke about knowing an activity that’d help her sleep, but Logan clamped it down before it emerged - but it didn’t stop the thought from floating in his brain loudly. Couldn’t win them all. Instead, he took the bottle back and refilled his glass before thumbing his finger at the door behind him. “Bobby’s room is still free. Can’t say it don’t smell like gremlin but you start slurrin’ and you’ll be sleepin’ there.” He tipped back the drink and let the slow burn ride down his throat, head falling back for a second while he briefly closed his eyes. It was damn good having the real shit again. With his eyes still closed and head still back, Logan kept on talking. “You talked to Chuck about puttin’ up some extra barriers? Lock people out?” Jean’s eyes followed the direction of his gesture from over the rim of her glass. Even without the gremlin mention, that idea was bad for about a dozen different reasons, none of which she was going to say out loud. Instead, she bent her other leg and rested her chin on top of her bent knee, her scrunched nose the only response she was willing to give at the moment. Luckily, he changed the subject quickly enough. “I...you know, I think I’ve already got as many walls in there as I’m willing to take,” Jean grimaced. The fact that she had to have them at all was a constant source of vexation. She couldn’t trust herself without them...but she still longed for the days when her powers were ramping back up to full strength. It wasn’t something she was proud of, by any means. “Anyway, It’s not normally a problem. With the blocks in place, most days are quiet without effort on my part. It’s just been all the heightened emotions lately. I’m sure it’ll settle down.” He couldn’t exactly blame her, never having been one that liked someone in his head. Too many people had been in there, messing with memories, taking shit out, putting shit in. It took years for him to get it all back, and even then it hadn’t been a cost he liked. He’d built up his own shields easily enough over the years, enough to block the lower level telepaths out, but his luck was always that he was around somebody like Xavier, Jean, Emma, Rachel. Fucking lot of telepaths. “Suit yourself, Red.” He tipped his glass her way, a wry grin forming. “Sounds to me like you need another drink. Or somethin’ little more distractin’ to get your mind off of it.” Fuck, he’d been doing well, keeping himself distanced. He knew it wouldn’t last long, not with his track record. But he’d been attempting some kind of arm’s length deal and it just wasn’t holding. He grumbled out a reply before she could give him one of those damn looks that made him feel bad, “Just’a dumb joke, Red. Don’t get your back up.” The remainder of her glass was drank in one go, but not without giving him a raised eyebrow first. He was so quick to apologize this time around that it did the opposite of get her back up. It made her skin warm down to her toes. Admittedly, some of that was probably the liquor, but she wasn’t anywhere near intoxicated enough to blame most of the feeling on vodka. Instead, she slowly swivelled to sit facing him, her long legs unfolding just enough to nudge him in the hip with a bare foot. “My back’s just fine, thank you,” she murmured in a teasing tone, leveling a narrowed-eyed gaze at him as she held out her glass for a refill. “Can you help me out with the former? I mean, if you’re done making assumptions, that is.” He was far more relaxed than he had been in weeks, which was the excuse for lazy grin and long look that lingered over her face. “Demandin’.”The grin widened a little with her insistent nudge, and he brought the bottle up to refill her glass, not bothering to stop until it was several fingers full. Logan didn’t skimp on the vodka. He also didn’t skimp on the lingering looks, which he kept up until he was sure it was getting obnoxious, and his eyes drifted down her legs before finally deciding a spot on the sofa was the best option for his brain at the moment. A hand reached up to run through his messy hair and over his face, the frustrated groan that emerged was barely contained. “Fuck.” The word wasn’t directed at her, and held no heat, it was simply the first thing that came to mind after the realization that this was nothing but trouble. Jean was nothing but trouble. Between the looks and the grin, Jean was pretty sure the heat in her face had tripled and her pulse had kicked up a notch. She should’ve taken her refilled drink and bolted for the door. But she didn’t. Because she didn’t want to, and it was as simple as that. If she’d been snatching his thoughts up at the moment, she probably would have agreed with him. She was trouble. Or in trouble. Same thing, really, considering she rolled to her knees and sat on her heels, leaving her closer to him than she’d been all night. “Strong language there, Logan. I thought you liked it when I’m demanding,” Jean smirked, taking a sip of her drink with considerably more caution than the last glass had been gulped down. Maybe she subconsciously knew she was moments away from making an impulsive move and didn’t want to be able to blame the alcohol. The grin didn’t die down when the flush on her face became visible. If anything, it only gained momentum as he appreciated the flush on her cheeks. It could’ve been easily written off by the alcohol she was drinking - it was the good, strong stuff - but Logan could tell. At least, he could until he got a whiff of something fruity. Citrus. Her shampoo, probably. It was difficult not to reach out and run a hand through the silky red locks, especially now that she was leaning in close. But he managed, by tightening his free hand into a fist, muscles flexing and adamantium shifting slightly with the movement. “Think I’d like it better if you were demandin’ about somethin’ else, darlin’.” He remembered her threat from before about calling her ‘darlin’ but it clearly hadn’t phased him enough to stop. Even if it was a slip up, he wouldn’t have admitted it. Instead, he just had the briefest of hopes that she didn’t remember the threat, and that she similarly didn’t think about using his head as a rebound board for her glass. Instead, he focused his attention on her, his eyes not bothering to look away anymore. Fuck it. He was unabashedly glancing at her lips now, even with it being difficult to draw his gaze from her striking eyes. Jean’s eyes fluttering closed as she stifled a laugh. “Well, I suppose that’s more like it. I was worried about the quick apology earlier. Very unlike you.” Her gaze shifted back to his face as she lifted her glass, and the lack of subtly she found there brought that withheld laugh to the surface. “Jesus,” she murmured, before taking a quick drink and slowly setting the glass down on the coffee table behind him. There was a moment of hesitation as Jean let the courage-boosting warmth of vodka warm her throat. The thoughts that filled that moment were brief and to the point. Scott was gone. He could come back. She’d just had an awful week. Logan was here. He made her week feel less awful. He made all her weeks feel less awful. And God, if she didn’t just want this. What exactly this was, she wasn’t sure, but that problem seemed distant as she shook her head and laughed once more. “You know what? Screw it.” With that announcement, Jean reached to curl a hand around the back of his neck, leaning forward on her knees, and pulled him into a none too gentle kiss. If Jean was hoping for someone who would pull away and second-guess what was happening, she was in for a disappointment. Logan was too bull headed, impulsive and smart to give her a second to back out. Jean was giving him an opportunity, and he was taking it - without hesitation. His drink was immediately set aside - and possibly spilled on the carpet, he didn’t care - and one of his hands curled into her hair, fingers taking the opportunity to glide through the silky texture before settling on the back of her head. Logan wasn’t holding back, his other hand opened and slid to her hip, gently yanking her in a little closer while his mouth opened under hers. He didn’t question about Slim, didn’t wonder if this was a mistake she was going to regret. He just jumped ahead, giving into something that he wanted. That he’d thought she had no interest in. Hell, even if she was using him ‘cause he was lonely - Logan didn’t give a shit, he took what he could get. With Jean Grey, anything was better than nothing. She shouldn’t have been surprised by the lack of hesitation, but she was, to some extent. All of her baggage should have given him some pause. But, this was Logan, and Jean should have known better. Not that it mattered. It would, later, but right then, the only thing at the forefront of her mind was giving in and getting closer. Which is exactly why she let the momentum of his tug on her hip carry her into his lap. With one knee on each side of him and her arms circling his shoulders, any space between them was erased. Between that and his mouth, his hand in her hair, the pounding rhythm of her pulse, it was a wonder she paid any attention to the alarm bells that started going off in her head. “I--goddamn it,” she muttered, barely disengaging enough to be audible. “I don’t know what I’m doing. We’re doing. What are we doing?” “Jean,” It wasn’t often he used her real name, and this time it was almost desperate sounding. Strained. Logan had been dreading her pulling away and stopping this, but he figured it could still be salvaged. She hadn’t completely jumped away from him yet, just pulled back enough to ramble against his lips. His hand had traveled upward from her hip and calloused fingers slipped under the edge of her shirt to just barely touch skin. “We’re,” He paused to lean in and chase her lips, hoping to lure her back in. “Doin’ what the fuck we want.” It wasn’t a particularly romantic response, or introspective. But Logan was simple, for all his baggage and complications. There weren’t a lot of things he’d felt as strongly about as he did Jean Grey, and losing that now after finally having her in his lap was enough to make him desperately cling to the hope that she wasn’t going anywhere. Even if he knew that was a nearly impossible wish. For a moment, it seemed like he was getting his wish. The way he’d said her name sent a shiver down her spine and Jean arched against his touch on her skin as she dove into one last kiss with abandon. Because she knew that’s what it was. One last kiss. At least for now, her conscience added unhelpfully. The thought caused her to frown against his mouth and she pulled away with a sharp breath, exhaled loudly as her hands shifted to press against his shoulders as a barrier between them. “I can’t--I have to go. I told myself I wasn’t going to...I just have to go,” she grimaced, even as her hand moved to brush her fingertips along his bearded jaw line. Mixed signals, who her? God, she was an awful person. Her eyes dropped shut as she forced herself to shift off his lap and then glanced towards the door from her position on the floor. “I’m sorry, Logan.” It was a near whisper and she barely mustered up the courage to look him in the eye. Logan’s hands were both fisted at her hips when she pulled away, and he didn’t want to let go. The groan that emerged from his lips when she shifted off his lap was almost feral, eyes darkening as they opened to meet her eye for eye. He got it. He knew it was coming. It still didn’t make it any easier to let go of her. But he did, he stretched away and leaned up to rub his neck, head ducking down to avoid looking at her for too long. But goddamn. Logan didn’t avoid things for very long, and her apologies went straight to his heart. Looking up, his eyes were still dark as he stared her down. Without any warning, he leaned over and cupped her head, pulling her in for one last open-mouthed kiss. Pulling away after a second, he lightly bumped his forehead to her own, “Ain’t goin’ nowhere, if you change your mind.” He wasn’t making this easy. Jean kept her eyes closed as he spoke, a small, helpless smile lifting one corner of her mouth. Changing her mind implied she’d made it up in the first place, but she didn’t figure admitting that out loud would do either of them any good. Besides, wasn’t it obvious that she was torn? Worse, she couldn’t use the excuse that she was lonely with Scott gone because she’d been torn ever since the moment she met him back home. This version of him had only made her more conflicted. Pressing her hand against the side of his face, Jean pulled herself away and rolled to her feet. “Thanks for the drink,” she quietly said by way of goodbye as she turned for the door. If she said anything else, she was going to have to face the fact that she didn’t want to leave, and she just wasn’t ready for that. |