A series by November

Chapter 62: On A Birthday Party

“Wise on a birthday party,
In a world full of surprising fireworks,
And sudden silences...
The new day breaks, like a speeding train
Or an old friend, Ever expected, but never knocking...”
--Duran Duran

She asked Logan what he wanted to do for his birthday. After the crowded festivities of the holidays he didn’t feel up to a big party. However, Rogue called Logan's friend John behind his back and invited him to come down for dinner that Sunday. She made dinner for the four of them. At five when there was a knock on the door, Rogue said “can you get that, hon?”

He did, and he was shocked. “Johnny! What the hell are you doing here?" Logan was clearly delighted to see his friend.

She came out into the living room, wiping her hands off on a dish towel. Logan didn’t have many friends and she was dying of curiosity to see what kind of man was his closest one. He had sounded friendly on the phone, with a deep voice.

The two men were engaged in a bear hug. Maggie came out, also curious. “Well, I hear you finally got a birthday so I couldn’t miss it.”

Then they parted and Johnny punched Logan’s arm.

Johnny was 5’3”, all of it muscle. He appeared to be in his early fifties and his face and bald head were tan. The hair that was once on his head was redistributed to his face. His beard was white. He had tattoos on his wrists and a stud in his ear. He did not look unlike Santa Claus.

“You look good, man. How come you don’t age?”

“Lucky, I guess.”

“Happy Birthday, man!”

“Thanks. Johnny, this is Marie.”

“Hey there, darlin’. I’ve heard a whole lot about you.”

“Likewise.” She shook his hand and smiled. “Thanks for coming. I’m glad you could make it.”

“Me too. Who’s this little one?”

“This is our daughter Maggie.” Rogue said. Logan was already somewhat flustered by Johnny’s sudden appearance and this threw him, albeit in a very pleasant way.

“Hi.” Maggie said. The reference was not lost on her either.

“Hi honey. You have such pretty blue hair.”

“Thank you.”

Dinner was warm and wonderful. Marie made veal piccatta with fettucine, an asparagus viniagrette salad, and homemade bread. It was without a doubt the best dinner she’d ever cooked. Johnny brought a very expensive bottle of wine and they shared it. They told her stories about Baja and Tijuana. After dinner when Maggie went into her room to play the stories turned raunchy.

Johnny was a bit thrown by Marie’s age. Logan was, he thought, in his early thirties, and she appeared to only be 21. He was reserved about telling her some of the stories, but he reasoned that she wouldn’t be with Logan if she hadn’t been around the block a few times. She wound up telling them a few stories, however, and he was at ease, laughing his rattling emphysematic cough.

“Y’all stay put and I’ll bring out desert,” she said, collecting their plates. She considered herself a feminist and would never admit that she enjoyed being a southern belle at times. She liked taking care of him and of Maggie.

She had made a triple chocolate cake and in the kitchen she lit the candles. “Go turn down the lights, Mags.”

Logan looked surprised when the lights dimmed and Marie walked in, singing “Happy birthday to you...” Maggie and Johnny joined in. Logan looked somewhat flabbergasted.

Johnny was surprised at the number of candles on the cake. “Damn, man, how old are you?”

“Forty seven.” Logan said. It was younger than he’d suspected he was, but sure enough, 1958 was on the birth certificate Mariah had sent him. A few weeks before, he had opened his first bank account in twenty-four years, putting his life savings into a joint account.

“Forty seven? No way.”

“It’s the healing factor.”

“You lucky bastard.”

Logan blew out all forty-seven candles in one strong breath, one wish foremost in his mind, and they ate cake.

Maggie gave him an elaborately decorated cigar box. Marie gave him some CDs and a Borders gift certificate. Johnny gave him a subscription to a monthly import beer thing where they would send him a different six pack every month for a year.

After, Logan called Scott over. It was amusing to see him and Johnny size each other up and then shake hands warmly. The three guys went down to the garage to play with their bikes.

Logan and Johnny came back with dirt under their nails. Marie fed them more cake and Johnny said he had to go.

After Johnny left and Maggie was in bed Rogue was working at the computer. He came in close behind her and bit the flesh where her neck met her shoulder. She moaned.

“Thanks for dinner,” he whispered damply.

She looked up at him, eyes shining. “You’re welcome sugar.”

“You outdid yourself.”

“Damn straight. That was good, huh?”

“I love you.”

“Me too.” She saved her database file and stood up and kissed him.

“Happy birthday.” Suddenly full of desire, she ran her hands all over him.

“I have a surprise for you,” he said.

“For me? But it’s your birthday.”

“It’s for me too, come on.” He lead her to the bedroom and pressed her up against the wall, locking the door. She could feel his hardness and she pushed against him rhythmically, watching his reaction, knowing it made him crazy.

“God, Marie, you’re making me so fucking hard.”

“I know,” she said, eyes slitted, feral. “Do you like this shirt?”

She traced her finger along its collar. It was an old flannel one. He had changed into it to go work on the bikes. “Eeh.” He shrugged.

She grasped each side of the shirt and yanked. Buttons flew. He hissed. She pressed her face to his chest, kissing, nipping, nuzzling. She stopped.

“Logan, what is this?”

He just grinned. She gently parted the shirt and turned on the light.

Over his heart he had a tattoo. Four letters were encased in vinelike lines. Her initials over his. MD over LC. She traced the line that held their names. It was like a ribbon, a celtic knot, eternal.

“You wanted to mark me.” he said. She looked up, smiling, tears in her eyes.

“That’s so cool, Logan. Where did you get it done?”

“Place in Westchester.”

“When are they open? I want to get mine too.”

“Don’t you dare spoil this perfect cleavage.” He ran his finger across the skin just above her neckline.

“Spoil, or enhance?”

“Don’t. Get it here.” His fingers ghosted up the small of her back, making her shudder. “This is my favorite part of you.”

“Okay. You need to fuck me now.”

She was on him then, scratching at his back and pulling him toward her. She bit his lip and he pushed her roughly to the bed. But on the bed there was too much noise, so he pushed her to the floor and they made love on the carpet. She hissed with the sensation of her building orgasm, his teeth hard on her nipple, his hands all over her, dirty from working on the bikes, and the rug burn flaring on her back.

They grappled for dominance, his swollen cock never disengaging from her. She made him weak by clenching her internal muscles and flipped him. She held his wrists above his head and nipped at his face and lips. His ear, and she felt him twitch within her. She ground in to him and then stopped, teasing.

“You little bitch.” he growled, light in his eyes.

She grinned.

He rolled her over, lightning quick, and she moaned with the force of it. It took her breath away. She submitted to him as he started moving fast in her wet body. His arms were longer than hers and he had them stretched out to her side as far as they would go. Pinned this way, she came and bit her own lip so hard she bled. He watched the blood come out and when he smelled it, it trigged an animal orgasm so deep that he slammed into her, coming again and again and again.

“Damn, baby,” he whispered, breathing returning to normal as they lay side by side on the carpet. He could see the dust bunnies under the bed. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

She smiled happily. “You don’t get it, do you?”

He looked baffled. “I guess I don’t.” He carried the burden of years of pain somewhere in his memory and he didn’t understand why anyone would welcome it.

She sighed. “You like holding me down, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I dunno.”

“Yes you do. Why.”

He sighed, knowing she wasn’t going to let him off this hook. “I like ownng you. I like controlling you.”

“And?”

“That’s about it.”

“What makes you think I don’t like being owned?”

He shrugged.

“You know what I like?” she said, honey voice just slightly accented. Her tone alone made his flagging cock throb again.

“What do you like, baby?” he whispered.

“I like it when you lose control and get rough. When you bruise me. When you slam into me. When all of your animal comes out and takes over and you come so hard inside. I love it. It gets me off to no end to know that it’s me who makes you lose control like that.”

He was having trouble keeping his breathing even. “And I have this rug burn on my back.” She turned over briefly, letting him see the irritating redness. He couldn‘t help but wince. “And tomorrow, when I’m in class, I’ll lean back against the chair, and feel this, and remember. And I’ll sit there while the prof drones on about the analysis of variance or something and I’ll remember you, your skin, your mouth, and I’ll get wet. And I'll probably want to come right home and fuck you again.”

He pulled her close, digging his fingernails into her side. She hissed, stood on wobbly legs.

“This time in the bed.”

He obliged, crashing down on to her. “But beware, Logan, because even though you’re stronger than me you know I’ve got moves, and one of these days it just might be me losing control and ravishing you.”

“Oh my fucking god, woman,” he said, letting her pin him.

His fingernails were scratching the length of her back. She wiggled from side to side. The sensation was hightened where the rug burn was the worst. The smarting made her think of the metal there just under the surface and that turned her on. She wished for the millionth time that she was a telepath so that she could show him what she was feeling.

Finally, just before two in the morning, they sated each other. They slept in peace.