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"Logan?"
There she stood, all smiles and holiday cheer; the first thing he noticed was the smile. Then he noticed the Santa hat perched atop her head. And then he noticed the wickedly-tight jeans and the soft green cashmere sweater that clung to all the places a dirty old man like him should not be noticing on a seventeen-year-old girl.
He dragged his eyes back up to her face through the force of sheer will. "Hi."
"Logan, Ah'm so glad you came!" She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him, pressing all those delicious and oh-so-illegal curves up against his front.
"Yeah." And later on, I'm gonna think about you in that damn sweater and come again.
She released him and stepped back to beam at him - he wanted to shield his eyes from the brilliance. "We're gonna open presents by the big tree in the front hall in a little while."
"Uh huh." He struggled to say something that sounded neither stupid nor lewd. "Nice hat." D'oh!
She beamed another megawatt brighter. "You like it?" Her long, gloved fingers ghosted over the faux fur trim along the brim. "Brings out the holiday cheeriness in me, Ah think."
She was cheery, all right. Logan was starting to wonder if someone had spiked the punch. And speaking of punch-- "There anything to drink at this shindig?"
"Tons. Eggnog, coffee, punch, apple cider..."
"Correction: there anything good to drink at this shindig?"
Rogue arched an eyebrow at him. "You mean is there anything alcoholic."
"Now you're gettin' it."
She sighed. "Yeah, Ah think there's some eggnog with rum or somethin' in it, and the red carafe by the stove has hard cider in it. Ah haven't tried any mahself, but Jean said it was pretty good."
"Great." He went to move past her, but she caught his elbow.
"Hey. You okay?"
"I'm fine, darlin'. Just not much of a holiday party person." He considered for a second or two before adding, "Not much of a holiday person, period."
She folded her arms, pushing those cashmere-covered tits right up to the front, and it was all Logan could do to keep himself from running a hand over them. "Can't you at least try to look like you wanna be here?"
"I'm here, aren't I? I don't do nothin' I don't want to, so that oughta be proof enough."
She cocked her head and looked at him thoughtfully; she was wearing a shiny lip-gloss that smelled of sugar cookies, and he was rather distracted by that sweet-scented, shimmery mouth drawing itself into a cute moue. "Ah know!" she blurted suddenly, and took off her hat.
For a split second, he thought she wasn't going to stop there, and he was so lost in the mental image of her peeling off that goddamn sweater and doing dirty things to him with those full pink glimmery lips that he didn't stop her when she plonked the hat right on top of his head. "What the-"
"There," she said, looking rather proud of herself. "Much better. Now you look at least a little bit festive."
He growled and reached up to remove the stupid fake-velvet hat with its dangling puffball. "Aw, hell no..."
She grabbed his bicep in an effort to stop him; if it had been anybody else, he might've been able to resist... but it was Rogue. And she was looking at him with those big brown disappointed eyes. And she was pressing up against him like a cat asking to be petted. "Please leave it on, Logan? Just for a li'l while? For me?"
Those last two words did it; he let his arm drop, and he wasn't entirely sure if the brush of his wrist against her left breast was intentional or not. Okay, it wasn't really intentional, so he wasn't going to beat himself up over it. Yet. "Yeah, all right. For a little while. And I don't want you poutin' at me when I get enough of this damn thing and take it off, got me?"
"Ah got it! No problem." She grinned at him, making him wish for a pair of sunglasses. "You go get somethin' to drink, and Ah'll meet you by the tree." She scurried off, giving him a nice view of her ass.
He loped into the kitchen, hating the twinkly lights and the garland and the tinsel and the puffball bouncing at his cheekbone. Well, okay, so the twinkly shit was kind of nice. And the garland, but only because it was real holly leaves, not that awful plastic stuff. But the puffball he hated with a passion.
He dug through the cupboards until he found a coffee mug the size of a small fishbowl and was pouring himself some hard cider from the carafe when Scott walked in. "Uhhh... Logan. Merry Christmas."
Logan tilted his head up a bit and tried to glare balefully at the other man, but the stupid puffball bounced into his eye and ruined the effect. "Yeah." He looked back down at the mug he was filling, which was only about three-quarters of the way full, and tried not to notice the smirk Scott was struggling to suppress.
"I see you've already talked to Rogue," Scott went on, valiantly managing to turn the smirk into a friendly smile. "She's been so excited about this party - she's been decorating like mad all day, Jean said." He paused to select a sugar cookie from a plate of them on the kitchen island. "Looks like she even managed to put a little holiday spirit into you."
Logan growled and knocked back half his mug of cider, then fixed Scott with a Look. "I'm wearin' a fuckin' hat. Seriously, do I look amused?"
Scott munched on the cookie and fastidiously brushed the green sugar crystals from his shirtfront. "Well, no, but then, you never do." He poured himself a cup of coffee and sipped it thoughtfully. "Do you even know how to smile?"
Logan gave him a wicked smile that was more a threat than a sign of goodwill, then presented him with the finger. "How's that?"
Scott laughed and headed back into the other room. "Good as we're going to get, I suppose."
Alone again, Logan walked around the kitchen, examining the various foodstuffs laid out: cookies, brownies, pumpkin roll, candy canes, fudge, some white powdery cookie-ball things, saltwater taffy in totally unnatural colors, bowls of punch and eggnog (in varying amounts of alcohol content), carafes of coffee and cider, and right in the middle of the island, a huge gingerbread house. The thing was creeping up on two feet tall, held together with the usual insane amounts of icing, decorated with hard candies and gumdrops galore, and liberally sprinkled with powdered-sugar snow.
He paused to admire the culinary marvel, swigged his cider, then broke off the peanut-brittle chimney and ate it, grumbling. Last fuckin' Christmas party I'm goin' to...
END.