Title: Sharing
Author: Terri
E-Mail:  xgrrl26@yahoo.com
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own them. Darn.
Archive: Dolphin Haven, Peep Hut – anyone else, please ask ;)
Feedback: Please? With some good luck for Christmas on top? Good, bad, and ugly welcome…….
Summary: Logan. Marie. Sharing. Not the emotional kind, the clothing kind.
Comments: My house needs major repairs to the main support, my furnace broke this morning, and I had a huge fight with my Dad. You know that country song – 'If It Weren't For Bad Luck I'd Have No Luck At All' – yep, that's been my month. Things have got to get better, right? Right? Anyhow – on to the fic. In the midst of waiting for contractors to show up to tell me how many thousands of dollars it'll cost to fix my house, I went through some old started-but-never-finished fics, and this one caught my eye. We all know that Wolverines don't like to share, but I thought Logan would make some exceptions for Marie ;)

The next to go was my buckle. Now, there's two kindsa men in this world – those who can pull off wearin' a big-ass belt buckle 'cause what they got right below it is just as big, and those who look nothin' but silly wearin' a buckle like that 'cause they know it's bigger than what's between their legs. Naturally, I'm in category number one, and I don't mind sayin' so.

Well, I'd never really given much thought to women and belt buckles – my little theory don't exactly translate to the feminine side of things, ya know? - but one day, Marie asks me, nice as pie, if she can borrow my belt. She was standin' in the doorway and wearin' these real low-cut jeans that showed off a little bit of her stomach. I thought right away – what if those jeans fall down? This was right after I came back from Alkali Lake, back when she was still on the too-skinny side of Marie perfection, and I seriously thought she might lose those jeans. Honest. That's the only reason I loaned her the belt. It wasn't to mark her, like the tags were meant to. Really.

So she slides it on, wigglin' every which way in the process, and like I said, this was a while ago, when she was still seventeen and in school, and when I had no business thinkin' the thoughts that those wigglin' little hips produced. Today, I can let loose with a 'damn, she's got a nice ass' to myself, but back then I hadta kinda censor my thoughts so I didn't get too carried away and ruin this good thing we both had goin' at Chuck's. I mean, if they kick me out and I can't be one of the X-geeks, so what? Only downside to that is I can't be close enough to keep an eye on Marie if she stays. But I was pretty sure she wouldn't stay if they kicked me out, and even a dumbass like me knew she'd be better off finishin' school. So, there she was, wigglin' into my belt and there I was, tryin' not to think about that whole general area of her body.

Finally, after, like, *forever*, she gets it on but she's havin' trouble bucklin' it. Belt's too long for her, even though she is wearin' it more on her hips than that little waist.   While she's still fussin' with it, I get up and head over, takin' a good look (but not too good of a look if ya know what I mean) at the situation. "Hey, darlin'," I say, "You want me to put another hole in there so you can buckle it?"

She nods at me like I'm some kinda genius for suggestin' it and I let one claw out to make a little hole at just the right spot. But when I look back up, she looks kinda sad, and before it registers with me why, she grabs my hand and then all thinkin' stops. I could feel how warm her hand was, even through the gloves. "I didn't mean for you to use the claws," she says. I put the damn thing back in, and she starts rubbbin' my knuckle, right where it was. "I don't mind, but I know it hurts you." Finally, I get it, and it's just about all I could do to let go of her. God, I coulda kissed her right then and there – standin' there all sweet and soft and with my tags and my buckle lookin' back at me from that curvy little body……ahem. Anyhow. I let go, and she gives me a smile and heads off to go do whatever she was doin' before borrowin' my belt.

The belt became a regular fixture, just like the tags. She wore it with damn-near everythin', even dresses. Somehow, she always made it look good. Not that I know shit about fashion, and her little girl friends gave her a lotta grief over wearin' it so much, but I know somethin' that looks right when I see it, and that belt definitely looked right laid over her hips. But the belt wasn't the end of it, oh no, far from it.

The next thing to go was my jean jacket. Now, you gotta remember that Marie's from Mississippi and that New York is one helluva lot colder than she's usedta. So, as soon as the summer was dyin' down and the first nip of fall got in the air, she started getting' a little chilly when we'd go out at night. And fall was about when we started goin' out together. Now, by this time she'd graduated, so I didn't much care what people thought 'bout me bein' interested in her. She got what she needed – a diploma – and if Chuck booted me or her or both of us, so what? Not such a big deal after she had that little piece of paper.

Anyway – when we'd go out, she'd get a little chilly, and I'm fuckin' Canadian, you know, so what the hell do I really need a jacket for? I mean, we might put a coat on when it gets below zero, but hell, a little fall breeze ain't nothin'. So, I decide on givin' her my jacket. She slips into it, like whatever, that's nice, thanks Logan, and we keep on walkin'. But here's the thing 'bout that jacket – when we get back inside the mansion, she don't take it off and don't give it back. I kinda don't mind, and I'm standin' there thinkin' it looks pretty good on her – goes with the belt, definitely – so I don't say nothin', I just let her keep it. After that, anytime we went somewhere, even in the winter, Marie wore the jean jacket.

Next came my hat, the beat-up old cowboy one I've had for what seems like forever. Wore it out with Marie one night 'cause we were headin' to a real live country bar – can't find too damn many of them in New York, I tell ya. Anyhow, we're dancin' and she's wearing the buckle and the jacket and the tags and in the middle of the dance, she grabs the hat and plops it down on her own head.

Now, cowboy hats – I've always liked 'em on women. And I like damn near anythin' on Marie to begin with, let alone anythin' of *mine* and anythin' I already got a thing for. I just 'bout exploded on the spot. So really, when you think 'bout it, it was actually pretty damn restrained that I just grabbed her by the hips and bit her on the shoulder right there on the dance floor.

I think it surprised her pretty good. I never know how much of me she has in her head, what she knows 'bout what I like, what I don't like, and what pushes my buttons, but she sure as hell didn't realize how much I was gonna like her in that hat. In hindsight, I guess the bite was kinda surprisin' by itself – I'd barely been kissin' her and here I go bitin' at her. But after a second, she ground those curvy hips right up against me and I knew that even though she mighta been surprised, it wasn't a *bad* surprise.

We did a little more than kissin' on the way home and she didn't take off the hat until she got to her room so I didn't mind losin' the beat-up old thing. Besides – by this time I was gettin' a pretty good idea that she just liked havin' stuff of mine on her. Like I said, no complaints here 'bout that, but it wasn't until the hat that I really got that she likes wearin' my stuff as much as I like seein' it on her, and that's a helluva lot.

Next thing to go was my boxers. Now, I know what you're thinkin' – guys like me go commando. No briefs. No boxers. Just au natural. Well, sometimes. But mosta the time I do wear boxers – it's a comfort thing, ya know? I let everybody think what they want but I wear 'em most of the time.

Marie and me were just gettin' to the point where she'd have cause to realize that I *did* have somethin' on underneath my jeans mosta the time when outta the blue she goes over to my dresser and gets inta my underwear drawer. For a second I thought she was lookin' for a condom and part of me jumped for joy (not hard to guess which part – heh) and part of me started wonderin' if I missed somethin' damn major 'cause she hadn't said anythin' or done anythin' to indicate she was ready to have sex yet. But then she turns around and she's got a pair of plaid boxers in her little hands, and one of my tank tops. "Mind if I wear these?" she asks me, and she doesn't wait for an answer 'cause I'm pretty sure she already knows it'd be 'hell, no.'

She changed inta my clothes – no buckle, no hat, no jacket this time, but she still had the tags, she always has the tags – and crawled under the covers in my bed. We'd been foolin' around pretty hot and heavy and certain parts were still thinkin' about the possibility that she'd been goin' for a condom, so I wasn't sure what kinda signal she might be tryin' to send me. I mean – yeah, her changin' into underwear - *my* underwear – and gettin' in bed with me - *my* bed – is a signal of some kind, even I know that, but what, exactly, was she tryin' to say?

She musta noticed my damn confused look 'cause she smiled and said she was wonderin' if I minded her sleepin' over here tonight. I said no – 'cause it was no big thing, she'd done it before, only with many, many more clothes on – and then those parts that were stuck on the condom thing spoke up and asked if she meant sleep over here or have sex with me.

Much to my disappointment she said she kinda wasn't ready for sex plus 'cause of her skin we'd have to have do some preparation – you know, get somethin' to cover more of her than was currently covered. While I was glad to hear she'd given some thought to sex with me and how to do it, I guess I musta let some of that disappointment show through too 'cause she frowned then and said 'sorry.'

Well, I tried to make it up some to her, to tell her it was OK if she wasn't ready, that it was okay if she needed more time. I understood how big of a deal it was to her, but I don't think any of that got through real good 'cause she just looked and smelled sadder and sadder. So finally I blurted out that I was only a little disappointed 'cause I wanted her so damn bad, 'cause when I even *look* at her I get excited, and that put a little bit of the smile back on her face. I still think she was feelin' like she let me down though – she insisted on satisfyin' me a coupla times, once with her mouth, and we'd never really done that before that night. She kept insistin' that she was OK with it, that she wanted to, but I caught her lookin' a little shaky in the mornin'. She was up and outta my bed before I got outta the shower.

I dunno much 'bout relationships, but I do know enough to know that that's a sign of trouble. Question was – what the hell was I supposedta do to fix it? That, I didn't know. Findin' out where she went might be a good start, though, so I went off lookin' for her. Found her in her room, right off, and that was a little bit of a comfort but the way she looked up at me with those big brown eyes wasn't. Before I could get a word out, she started apologizin' for last night and sayin' she was sorry she was makin' me wait and all, but that it was scary for her, even with me, 'cause if she ever hurt me with her skin, especially in my, uh, private manly places, she'd never forgive herself. By the end of it all, she was goin' on 'bout how she knew she was flirty and all with me 'cause she knew that was the kinda woman I liked – confident, sexy – but that deep down sometimes she felt like a stupid little kid who didn't really know what she was doin'.

And right then, it hit me. I knew exactly what I needed to do to fix it, or at least to start fixin' it. I went over to her dresser, not sayin' a word, just diggin' out one of her sheer little scarves, one of the white ones she won't lemme use to kiss and touch her with 'cause she saves it for special occasions. I showed her what I had in my hands, then winked at her, then put the scarf in my pocket. I wanted her to know – hey, I want you all over me just like you want me all over you and how I want me all over you – well, you know what I mean.

And, apparently, so did Marie 'cause a little smile came over her, and she never said nothin' – hasn't to this day – just lemme keep the scarf. And I kept it with me since then. Oh, sure, that wasn't enough to fix it – I sat down on her bed and we talked for a long time 'bout all kindsa shit, but that was a way to show her, and to keep on showin' her, that there's no way, even if she tried her damnedest, she could disappoint me anywhere near as much as she can make me love her and want some part of her with me every minute of the day, all without even liftin' a finger.

So ya see – this sharin' thing, it ain't so bad after all. Well, it's not so bad as long as it's Marie I'm doin' the sharin' with. Cyke just better keep his grubby eye offa my new bike. After all, there are some things the Wolverine just don't share.