Spin the Bottle

Author’s Note: This came to me one night when I was brooding over one of my other stories. Hence, this one-shot was born. No Antarctica, no Sinister, no Ororo or Rogue. Trashy slash and plenty of it. Be warned.


“Uh-uh. No way.”

“C’mon, no do-overs. That’s cheating!”

“House rules, Bobby. Wherever it lands, ya gotta pucker up!”

“Geez…here. Have a breath mint, at least.”

“Don’t I get a say in this?”

“No.”

“Aw, man. Geez.” Fumbling ensues. The proffered TicTac is grudgingly passed across the circle of friends and taken just a reluctantly. Giggles around the room underscore the crunch of the mint between sharp teeth.

“Just tell me that you’ll respect me in the morning. And that you’ll never mention this after tonight.”

“Hank…MMMRMPH!”

Fur. Fangs. Hot breath, scented slightly (but not enough) with mint, and a vestige of Twinkies. Bobby cringed and swallowed back revulsion as Hank’s massive paws fisted themselves in his collar and yanked his forward. The kiss was brief and hard, but it lingered…

Humiliation knotted his gut and made heat bloom in his cheeks. He was euphoric. He was disgusted. Cat calls and howls of surprise and laughter grated on his nerves.

His only consolation in the midst of his torment was Who’s the next victim?

He recoiled, wiping his mouth several times on his sleeve, trying to wipe the taste from his tongue. “BLEAH!”

“I should be insulted,” Hank murmured, “but the feeling’s too mutual.”

“Ah didn’t think ya’d do it,” Anna Marie marveled, grinning wickedly.

“You called me a cheater!”

“Ah still figured ya’d chicken out.”

“WHAT?”

“Fine, then,” Jean decided smugly. There was too much mischief in her green eyes. It didn’t bode well. “We’ll change the rules.”

“Here we go,” Scott sighed, throwing up his hands. He had little to worry about. Jean’s telekinesis ensured that the bottle would point to her whenever he spun, but she accepted the random landing for each of her turns, each with amusing results.

They’d emptied an indecently large bottle of tequila (Hank ate the worm, causing every woman in the room to gag). Bobby’s suggestion of a game was only half-serious.

The last person he expected to warm to the idea was Ororo.

“Everyone, gather into a circle,” she ordered imperiously. It wasn’t the first time she’d treated them like a class of kindergarteners.

“Woo-hoo!” Anna Marie crowed.

“Anna, you can’t even kiss anybody,” Kitty pointed out.

“Ah can kiss anyone on the top of the head. That’s the beauty of hair,” she sniffed, then stuck out her tongue.

“Just don’t kiss me,” Kitty retorted.

“Ah don’t know where yer mouth’s been!”

Kitty growled and lobbed a pillow at Anna Marie, who easily deflected it. She flung it back through empty air as Kitty phased. As Kitty stood and thumbed her nose, Bobby took advantage of her distraction and successfully bopped her in the head with the cushion.

They arranged themselves into a large, crooked circle, some lounging on the floor, and some sprawled on the furniture. Following the usual rules, they sat boy-girl-boy-girl. Some of them sat across from the object of their affection, while some chose to sit side by side. Scott and Jean chose the latter; hence, Jean’s little parlor trick with the bottle continued on through the night.

It started safely enough.

Warren took his turn first. It landed on Jubilee, who blushed to the roots of her hair, then pouted when she received a chaste kiss on the cheek.

“Sorry, kiddo, yer still jailbait,” Anna Marie whispered.

“Am not!” Then “Barely.”

“Relax, short stuff, I’ve seen your driver’s license,” Jean said. Jubi took her turn next and pecked a smiling Scott on the cheek. Jean didn’t mind.

The next six spins yielded mixed and raucous results. Ororo suffered a Fred Astaire-style dip from Remy and a positively sloppy kiss that, surprisingly, she didn’t wipe off.

“Y’know ya liked it, Stormy.”

“For the last time, Remy, quit *hic* calling me Stormy.” She didn’t tell him to keep his lips to himself.

Remy was enjoying himself, taking a rare moment just to enjoy his friends’ company, some alcohol, and time in the warmth and comfort of the house instead of living on the grift or by the cards. His ruby red eyes were faintly glazed from the tequila, but his body was relaxed and still graceful where he lounged on the couch.

Over the din of laughter he heard the front door slam and heavy footsteps coming down the hall. Jean turned toward the doorway.

“Logan!” She cupped her hand around her mouth. “Come on in here! We’re having a blast!”

“Not for long,” Warren muttered.

“Be nice.” Betsy threw back the last of her tequila shot and bit deeply into a lemon wedge.

“I’m not kissing him, and neither are you.”

“Spoilsport.”

After a long pause, they felt Logan enter before they met his eyes.

He smelled their wariness, mingled with the tequila fumes, and Logan smirked at the bottle laying on its side in the middle of the circle.

“I don’t even wanna know.”

“What do you think? Come and spin, big guy. Or are you chicken?”

“Buck, BOCK!” Kitty crooked her elbows and flapped her arms in a tell-tale gesture.

“Don’t get ahead of yerself, Half-Pint. And how much of that shit have ya had ta drink? Ya haven’t even been in college that long, and they’ve already turned ya into a lush?”

“Ha-ha,” Jubi muttered.

“And don’t ya make me turn ya over my knee, either, kid.”

“I’m not jailbait!” She folded her arms sullenly. Then hiccupped.

“C’mon. Sit down, Logan. Join us.”

“Ya’ve gotta be kidding. Uh-uh, Jeannie. No way.”

“Oh, come on. It’s fun. You’re such a party pooper.”

“So sue me. I’m gettin’ a brew.”

“There’s still some tequila at the bar,” Hank said.

“I’m in the mood for a beer,” he sneered, already fishing in the small fridge for a Molson. “And ya bought the cheap shit.”

“You don’t have to eat the worm,” Jubi offered.

“I don’t need ta explain to ya all the reasons why that’s true, punkin’. Ain’t it about yer bedtime?” Logan checked his watch, cocking his brow and looking stern at her, Anna Marie and Kitty.

“Mebbe it’s yours, homme. Awful cranky tonight, non?” Logan paused in taking a gulp of his beer and treated the voice’s owner to a stony look.

Punk. Logan’s dark eyes bore deeply into Remy’s gleaming ones over the rim of his drink. His firm lips pursed around the bottle and he swallow long, thirsty gulps of beer, working it noisily down his throat as he finished it.

“Sure we can’t tempt you to jump in?” Betsy teased. He smirked again and rolled his eyes, even as he looked her up and down.

“Nah.”

“Going once, going twice…” Ororo chanted. He looked at her in surprise, not expecting her to look glazed, bleary and slightly tousled. She was usually so uptight…it was odd to see her, well, letting her hair down. And her silver tresses were tumbling down her back, stray tendrils falling into her eyes. She turned to Remy and shot him a wink. He winked back.

A seed of irritation planted itself in Logan’s gut and unfurled the longer he listened to his friends’ heckling.

Enough was enough.

He thunked the empty bottle down onto the wet bar and exhaled gustily.

“Let’s get this over with, fer fuck’s sake.”

They were shocked into silence.

Nothing else from the peanut gallery?

The gruff loner plunked himself down on the ottoman, hovering over Ororo’s shoulder where she was perched on the floor, hugging her knee. She bumped his knee and grinned at him.

“Nice of you to join us,” she murmured.

“Got healin’ factor, darlin’. When the rest of ya are hung over and huggin’ the porcelain tomorrow morning, I’m gonna be fresh as a daisy and remindin’ all of ya how stupid ya acted tonight.” He shoved her tequila shot glass into her hand. “Drink up.” She blew a piece of her hair out of her eyes and shook her head.

“Don’t be shy,” Jean nagged. “Take a spin!” Scott elbowed her to be silent.

They parted for him to enter the circle. Logan grasped the bottle and gave it a sharp, deft flick. It spun, and spun, and spun some more, so fast that the label blurred…

It scraped to a stop against the hardwood floorboards. Its neck pointed toward the couch.

All eyes were pinned on Remy.

Remy’s gut dipped, along with his smile, just for a moment, before he turned up the wattage and flashed his brilliant white teeth.

“Not on yer life, Gumbo.” Logan’s back was up and his scowl was dark.

He looked cute when he was mad…

“I don’t bite, mec.” Then he added, “Much.”

“Neither do I, since I got these.” SNIKT. He raised a single claw in warning. Remy’s smile only widened.

“Aw, come on, Bobby kissed Hank,” Jubi complained. Logan snorted in disgust.

“Don’t remind me,” Bobby tsked. “And keep it to yourself!”

“She’s got a point,” Ororo mused. “You play the game, you follow the rules, my friend.”

“Darlin’, when have ya ever known me ta follow the rules?”

“You’ve never backed away from a bet, either, or a game.”

“What bet?”

“I bet you a case of Molson that you won’t kiss him,” Bobby blurted. Everyone had been grinning and enjoying the show of Logan looking pissed off and talking his way out of his turn.

They froze. All eyes swung on Bobby.

“What?”

“Are you out of your freaking mind?” Kitty squeaked.

“C’mon. Who doesn’t wanna see him do it?”

“I don’t.” Warren raised his hand. He made a face.

He wasn’t fond of either man, for myriad reasons, and a kiss between the two of them, no matter how chaste or unwilling, was likely to make him throw up everything he’d drank over the last two hours.

“Ya got a problem, Blondie?”

“You didn’t even want to play. Save the beer, Bobby. The runt hasn’t got the balls and never follows the rules.”

“I ain’t the one who’s gonna be missin’ a pair of balls…”

“This isn’t any fun anymore,” Kitty complained.

“Way to ruin the game, Wings,” Anna Marie chimed in.

“Perhaps it’s time to play something else,” Ororo sighed. “I’ll go get the Jenga from the upstairs.”

“Uh-uh,” Jean argued. “Sit! We’re fine where we are. Logan, new rule: If anyone else votes to take Remy’s place, then you kiss them, and it’s their turn.”

“I dunno if I’m offended,” Remy said, “or just pissed off because I’m gonna be missin’ a turn if Short Stuff changes his mind.”

“You haven’t exactly been starved for affection tonight, Remy.” Jean guessed that Remy’s power affected probability, as well as the strength of his charm on people. So far he’d kissed every woman in the room. Twice. She smacked her lips when no one was looking, please at the memory.

“Kiss him, Logan!”

“C’mon, lay one on him!”

“Smoochy-smoochy!”

“I’ll go get my Carmex, it makes your lips nice and soft!”

“There’s nothin’ wrong with my lips, damn it!’

“They look a little dry…”

“Bobby has TicTacs!”

“I’m not trading places with Remy.”

“No one asked ya too, Blue! Butt out!”

“I haven’t even had a turn yet, tovarisch. Make up your mind.”

“I ain’t layin’ one on you, either, Petey, so just wipe that thought from yer mind.”

“That wasn’t what I meant.” Kitty rolled her eyes and whapped him upside the head.

“I could trade places with Remy,” Ororo soothed. Jean snorted. Ororo had ulterior motives. They’d kissed before. Jean still caught snatches of those moments in Ororo’s daydreams whenever her friend projected. They were merely friends, but Ororo nursed an addiction to Logan’s mouth.

“Shit.” Logan was good and worked up at this point, and the dark, solitary comfort of his room called to him. He craved a cigar and Law and Order reruns. More beer would’ve been great, even better with Popsicle paying the tab…but the cost was too high.

There he was.

The Cajun.

Looking all smug and pretty. Yeah, he mused. Pretty.

All slick and disheveled.

Sprawled like a man who just fell out of bed.

Unshaven.

Riding a buzz from tequila and completely unashamed. Shuffling that infernal deck of cards with long, dexterous fingers that never did a lick of hard work, but picked more pockets than he could count.

Sin was written all over that face. Sweet, dark, decadent sin.

He had the nerve to yawn…

“Gettin’ late, mec.”

“I’m getting bored,” Jubi whined.

“Me, too,” Anna admitted around a yawn of her own. Briefly, futilely, she wished she were in Logan’s place, without her own flaw. A tequila-flavored kiss from the Cajun was exactly what she had on the menu, but…it wasn’t in the cards.

Logan’s eyes scanned the room. Their faces – except Warren’s – were expectant and anxious. He mulled it over.

A kiss from Ororo, or a kiss from the Cajun.

Saving face, or drinking a case of Molson that he didn’t have to buy himself.

The decision was easier than he thought.

Before anyone could react, he was up in a flash and striding over to the couch. Remy’s head snapped up when Logan stopped before him. His grasp was rough as he hauled him up by the arm, jerked him against him, closed his beefy hand around his nape and crushed his startled mouth.

“Yeek,” Kitty cringed.

“Eeew,” Bobby added, wincing.

“That’s it. I’m going to be sick…” Warren stalked out of the room, feathers rustling behind him. Jean, Ororo and every other woman in the room just stared openmouthed. Scott did a double take while he was pouring himself another shot at the bar.

The clear liquid was missing the shot glass and splashing all over the counter.

Logan’s heart pounded and he was wrapped in a hot flush.

The Cajun’s scent was killing him. He could feel him projecting triumph and amusement at his expense. His buzz was obvious.

But the lust!

Holeeee shit…

The Cajun wasn’t supposed to be enjoying it. He smothered a low groan of surprise, then arousal as Logan sucked his lower lip between his teeth. Their breath mingled, beer with tequila as Logan swallowed what he’d been about to say.

Logan’s lips weren’t dry; Kitty’s suggestion about the lip balm had been unwarranted, thanks to Logan’s healing factor.

They were smooth and firm. Succulent. A hint of stubble grazed him, burning him and adding a sensual texture to his kiss.

Then it hit him.

How did he have so much time to analyze the kiss?

Because it hadn’t stopped, yet. That was how.

Logan broke the kiss before Remy could ponder it any further.

His eyes were dilated and wild, and his nostrils flared when he realized how close they were standing, chests still touching ever so slightly. Logan shoved him back; Remy lost his balance and fell back on the couch.

Logan whirled on Bobby. “Pay up, Popsicle.”

“Okay,” he said meekly.

With that, Logan stomped out of the den.