(no subject)
X-Men: the movie
Title: Bloodless
Rating: R -dark themes
Summary: Spoilers from X2. Wolverine made Rogue into what she is, Scott pays the price. Rogue/Scott
Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with x-men, etc...
Notes: This is a dark, twisted story and I'm not really sure what to say about it. lol The POV (and sometimes tense) flops around a lot and that's on purpose.
10-06-03
_____________
He was chained and drugged. Flying so high, he could barely register the cold, steel needle sending shots of fire into his vein.
He belonged to them. They used him as their tool. Made him so fucked up, he couldn't even recognize the woman he loved. And he would have killed her. He almost did.
That sits on his shoulders and crushes his heart the most...when he thinks about it. But he doesn't think about it.
He can't.
Jean is dead and dwelling on it will not bring her back.
But it doesn't stop the nightmares.
Nothing does.
__________
She is an enigma to everyone, except herself. Because she knows she is just The Rogue, the one who has defied death more times than she ought to be allowed.
They still see her as the little girl she came to them as. The Southern Belle with the sweet accent and streaked locks.
She was never that young; never young enough to be called a girl. Her daddy made sure of that.
They don't know that at any moment she could break. Her porcelain skin should tip them off, because she is just a China doll sitting high up on a shelf ready to fall.
__________
How they came together still remained a mystery.
She was young and mysterious and she needed someone.
He was lonely and lost and needed to feel alive.
Although it could have been the other way around.
It could have been the way she smiled. She had a flirt's smile. A real, full sex mouth. The kind that looked perverse when words whistled through lips. It was probably the way she said his name with that Southern twang and bad-girl, black lipstick.
For her, it must have been his hands. Strong and thickly veined. Blue lines mapped his skin, just popping above the surface. It would be so easy to watch the blue turn to red. To watch a river of blood ooze over his knuckles and splash the ground. So pretty.
She'd tried to cut herself once. Just to see how much she would bleed. But, no thanks to Logan and his healing abilities, she'd cut and cut and no blood would come.
She damned him. Damned the Wolverine a hundred times over.
He made her this.
No one could explain it. The effects of that near-fatal night--when he scored through her ribs with metal claws and she touched away his life and then gave it back when she let go--should never have lasted...and yet they did. Maybe they always would. Maybe she would never bleed. But Scott could. Scott could bleed for her.
His jugular was particularly tempting and she often wondered if she'd been a vampire in a previous life. But how she'd like to bite into that vein and feel the rush of violence against her tongue, coating her palate in sweet, potent nectar. But she knew she couldn't touch him, not with her poison skin.
She didn't cut him. She didn't bite him. But she thought it. Dreamt it.
He's caught snippets of her fantasies when she slept but never commented. Maybe if he did, he'd give her permission. He'd let her give him another way to feel alive.
She must have known what he wanted from her, even if he had no clue. She came to him with that sultry pout and those eyes that have lived through Logan, and made him burn. Made him weak and alive. Made him feel.
She made him forget about Jean, if only for a little while, in the beginning and now he can barely conjure up her face without thinking of The Rogue.
Thinking of her thighs against his. The pressure on his groin from her weight. The way she bucked and mewed with each thrust of his hips. Those sounds. So soft and sweet without betraying the animal in her that the Wolverine had made her.
She could be the animal too. She could claw and whimper and keen until he thought he would break. She could gauge and scratch and cry, but she could never touch. Not really.
And he could never see. Not really.
Not the supreme white her skin supposedly was and not the flush she got when he made her come. He could only see red.
Red like the blood she longs to extract from him.
She is The Rogue. He is damned.
They are perfect.
Bloodless.
__________
end.
Title: Bloodless
Rating: R -dark themes
Summary: Spoilers from X2. Wolverine made Rogue into what she is, Scott pays the price. Rogue/Scott
Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with x-men, etc...
Notes: This is a dark, twisted story and I'm not really sure what to say about it. lol The POV (and sometimes tense) flops around a lot and that's on purpose.
10-06-03
_____________
He was chained and drugged. Flying so high, he could barely register the cold, steel needle sending shots of fire into his vein.
He belonged to them. They used him as their tool. Made him so fucked up, he couldn't even recognize the woman he loved. And he would have killed her. He almost did.
That sits on his shoulders and crushes his heart the most...when he thinks about it. But he doesn't think about it.
He can't.
Jean is dead and dwelling on it will not bring her back.
But it doesn't stop the nightmares.
Nothing does.
__________
She is an enigma to everyone, except herself. Because she knows she is just The Rogue, the one who has defied death more times than she ought to be allowed.
They still see her as the little girl she came to them as. The Southern Belle with the sweet accent and streaked locks.
She was never that young; never young enough to be called a girl. Her daddy made sure of that.
They don't know that at any moment she could break. Her porcelain skin should tip them off, because she is just a China doll sitting high up on a shelf ready to fall.
__________
How they came together still remained a mystery.
She was young and mysterious and she needed someone.
He was lonely and lost and needed to feel alive.
Although it could have been the other way around.
It could have been the way she smiled. She had a flirt's smile. A real, full sex mouth. The kind that looked perverse when words whistled through lips. It was probably the way she said his name with that Southern twang and bad-girl, black lipstick.
For her, it must have been his hands. Strong and thickly veined. Blue lines mapped his skin, just popping above the surface. It would be so easy to watch the blue turn to red. To watch a river of blood ooze over his knuckles and splash the ground. So pretty.
She'd tried to cut herself once. Just to see how much she would bleed. But, no thanks to Logan and his healing abilities, she'd cut and cut and no blood would come.
She damned him. Damned the Wolverine a hundred times over.
He made her this.
No one could explain it. The effects of that near-fatal night--when he scored through her ribs with metal claws and she touched away his life and then gave it back when she let go--should never have lasted...and yet they did. Maybe they always would. Maybe she would never bleed. But Scott could. Scott could bleed for her.
His jugular was particularly tempting and she often wondered if she'd been a vampire in a previous life. But how she'd like to bite into that vein and feel the rush of violence against her tongue, coating her palate in sweet, potent nectar. But she knew she couldn't touch him, not with her poison skin.
She didn't cut him. She didn't bite him. But she thought it. Dreamt it.
He's caught snippets of her fantasies when she slept but never commented. Maybe if he did, he'd give her permission. He'd let her give him another way to feel alive.
She must have known what he wanted from her, even if he had no clue. She came to him with that sultry pout and those eyes that have lived through Logan, and made him burn. Made him weak and alive. Made him feel.
She made him forget about Jean, if only for a little while, in the beginning and now he can barely conjure up her face without thinking of The Rogue.
Thinking of her thighs against his. The pressure on his groin from her weight. The way she bucked and mewed with each thrust of his hips. Those sounds. So soft and sweet without betraying the animal in her that the Wolverine had made her.
She could be the animal too. She could claw and whimper and keen until he thought he would break. She could gauge and scratch and cry, but she could never touch. Not really.
And he could never see. Not really.
Not the supreme white her skin supposedly was and not the flush she got when he made her come. He could only see red.
Red like the blood she longs to extract from him.
She is The Rogue. He is damned.
They are perfect.
Bloodless.
__________
end.