FIC: The Pandora Predicament (1/2) NC-17
Title: The Pandora predicament (1/2)
Author: JaqofSpades
Verse: X3, Xmen Movieverse
Rating: NC-17
Summary: She respected his privacy enough to leave his memories alone. But tomorrow, she was taking the Cure. Tomorrow, they might be gone.
Authors notes: It's taken a long time for me to come to terms with X3. And then I started thinking about Marie, thinking about taking the Cure. And this bunny bit me on the butt, bigtime.
***
The Memory Room ...
Five caskets, in a half circle, in a locked room. Marie looked about, taking in the details her subconscious had built for this hidden vault, deep inside the recesses of her conscious mind. It was surprisingly comfortable, she noted. Beautiful, even, with the walls painted in rich dark colours, and a soft, thick rug inviting her to stretch out in front of the wood fire. She'd never noticed it, before, but then, she'd never even looked around, either. The Memory Room had never been a place to linger, before.
She was naked, in her mind-form, unable to bear even the touch of silk. She sank down onto the rug, folding herself into the perfect lotus she had never quite managed in the outside world, and considered this decision. Tomorrow, she would do it. She would walk away from everything the Professor had done for her, and every bit of self-respect she had scraped together since her mutation manifested. She would join the line, and tell the world there was something wrong with being a mutant. Take the Cure, and trade her gifts for 'normal'.
Touchable.
She was frightened, she had to admit. She was pretty sure Storm was right - the Cure had been rushed to the market, so who knew what might happen? It might have awful side effects. It might be a plot to infect them with something. It might not actually work.
It might work.
It might work, and she would be able to touch. Be touched. Be alone in her head.
She'd forgotten what that felt like, to be alone. Even with them locked away, she could always feel them. Magneto was always waiting, watching. His casket had thick leather straps circling it, and the padlock had no key. She had tried accessing his memories, once, desperate to end the farce that was her trig final.
The next morning, she opened bleary eyes to find a massive paperclip sculpture on her bedside table. It must have taken hours to create - hours when Marie was asleep, she realised with a chill. Hours when Magneto was in charge. She'd reinforced his casket, then, insulating it, slamming it shut, and shattering the key into a million useless pieces.
Bobby and John's caskets just had a small, single lock, and she'd kept the keys hanging nearby. Their skills came in pretty handy, and sometimes she just liked the company. Bobby in her head was nicer to her than her so-called boyfriend … and John might be a no-good traitor, but his sense of humour always had cracked her up. So they'd hang.
Cody was no more than a whisper these days, but she liked to keep his casket clean and shiny. Kinda like a memorial. He'd been her first, after all, and he'd done it hard, poor baby. So she gave him a lock and a beautiful jewels to decorate it, and every now and then, opened it up to say hi.
She'd worried about that, at first. When she and the Professor had talked about how to deal with the various personalities she'd absorbed, the idea of putting them in a box seemed … disrespectful. Mean, even. It wasn't until he explained that the boxes were as much for their benefit as hers that she actually warmed to the idea.
Because having another person's memories in her head felt wrong, sometimes. Felt like she was taking advantage. Logan had asked her, once, how much she'd got of him. She'd told him about the stray thoughts and the weird cravings, and he'd smiled when she confessed she kinda liked it. But then he'd gotten all antsy again, and asked about her dreams. And his memories. She'd assured him that she'd never looked. His memories were safe, in that box.
The fifth casket. She had shaped this one of fine cedar, and given it scent and texture and a raw beauty none of the others possessed. There was a lock, and a key, but mostly, it hung open. Sometimes she left the lid ajar. His voice whispering to her, his skills at her disposal, his thoughts in her head: these were not hardships. And she respected his privacy enough to leave his memories alone.
But tomorrow, she was taking the Cure. Tomorrow, they might be gone.
And tonight, her mind-self was crouched in front of Logan's box, reaching deep inside to pull forth a manila folder. It was fat with visual encodings of everything he had seen and thought and remembered … photographs, if you will.
Marie tripped over nothing, and scattered them across the floor.
A pretty girl, out of place in that hick bar ...
Rogue, she said, dark, dark eyes flashing with challenge ...
Logan, she moaned, as those fucking incredible lips wrapped around his cock and sucked him dry ...
*
“His what???”
Her own voice echoed in the dark bedroom as her eyes sprang open, her mindform dissolving in shock.
It hadn't been a dream, though. It didn't dissolve, or seem ridiculous in the light of day. Dark of night. Whatever.
Because it felt like a memory. Logan's memory. Of her. Except, you know, the part where it had actually happened.
Incredible lips? His cock? Holy Mother of God. She shuddered, and refused to analyse why. Forced herself to concentrate on what, and how. It had been soft-edged and less specific than others, missing the extraneous details of scent and feel and sound, and suddenly, it clicked. A fantasy. An image he had created, layering on the details he wanted (the shine of her lips in dim light, the feel of them around his … penis, the brush of her hair against his thighs, the gleam in her eye as she ….) Marie gasped, fleeing the Memory Room once more.
She had to be wrong. Had to be some random fantasy, some other girl. (It had been her voice, though, and his eyes had lingered on her lips the very first time he saw her. And in the camper. And pretty much every time she'd seen him since, that thorough appraisal that touched on the white streak in her hair, moved down to gaze into her eyes, and then to her lips. “Cocksucking lips,” his voice reminded her, helpfully.)
“He doesn't think of me that way,” she insisted, aloud, but she didn't sound convincing, even to herself. She sounded … intrigued, Marie realised. Curious.
She closed her eyes again, and this time, the other caskets in the Memory Room might not have existed. She conjured a chair, then grinned, and reshaped it. Picked up the file from where it had fallen on the ground, and then stretched out the bed, snuggling down into the sheets that smelled of Logan, and the pillow that held the dent of his head. Usually, she felt safe here. Protected. Tonight, it felt like a gamble, or the scariest of dares as his sheets sensitised every inch of bare skin, and the smell of him set her on fire.
It's not real, she reminded herself as she sank deeper into the mindform.
Strangely, it was his voice that answered.
“For us, kid, this is as real as it gets. You ready?”
*
On delicate wings ...
Where to start? Back to that fantasy, her hormones yowled, but Marie resisted. This was her first and last chance to know him, to see herself the way he did, and know - really know - what he thought. Of her. Of them. (Of Jean, her bitterest self whispered, refusing to be silenced, even here. Especially here.) Fantasy was nice - that fantasy made her feel all sorts of nice - but it was merely a distraction. She wanted something more solid. Something real.
From the beginning, then.
Time to go. Tide's turning in here. Fuckin' reeks of fear. Get the cash, bottle of Jack, get out. Huh. Tiny little thing hiding under a big green jacket. Way young. Too young to be in here. Those big brown eyes pack a punch though, darlin. And those lips.
Cocksucking lips. Wonder how they'd feel … nah, fucking pervert. She's a kid.
Still, bet they'd …
A fucking kid.
Huh. Brave fucking kid, though. Good on you, girl.
*
Brave? Try foolhardy. Fucking stupid, kid - could'a froze to death back here. Or worse - not the type of guy ya hitch a ride with, kid. Didn't your Daddy teach ya anything?
Leave ya here for the next truck. Not that there's a lot of trucks. Not that any of the truckers are safe either. Don't look in the mirror, see her standing there. Don't! Fuck. I'm fucked. Big brown eyes and she's fucking scared, standing there, just waitin'. I am such a fucking fucked fucker.
She's climbin' up and she smells really grateful and shit. Don't look at her. Don't think about her pretty eyes and pretty cocksucking lips and how grateful a girl that looks like that could be. Wonder how old she is? Sixteen's legal, ain't it? Bastard!
Oh, now girl, don't you be sassing me. Try and look young, and innocent instead. Stop puttin' those thoughts into my head. Jesus, that accent. Makes me hard just listening to her talk. Fuck.
Gotta get a grip here. Kid must be cold … I'll just lean over and …
“I ain't gonna hurt you, kid!”
Huh. She's worried about her skin. Worried about hurting me! Least of your worries, kid, let me tell you. Can think of at least five ways to get you off without killing myself. Much.
And I heal, darlin'. I heal.
*
“Every damn time”.
Hurts like a motherfucker. But that's a good thing - reminds me to try and keep it inside, ya know. Not to be the animal. Or whatever it was they wanted me to be.
Just a man. Not much of a man - can't keep my fricken mind out of the gutter - but I can do right by you. Leave you somewhere safe. Stop thinkin' about your untouchable skin.
Stop thinkin' about sheets. Thin enough, I could taste you through 'em. The way you smell - bet you taste good, girl. Wonder what innocence tastes like? Wonder if she even knows what it could be like …
Be like? Be like? Ain't gonna be like nothing, asshole. Not with this girl. She's not for you. She's not a hard fuck against the wall, or a blowjob in the back room. She's slow and sweet and takin' your time and makin her come over and over before you even get your zipper down.
Stop thinkin' about makin her come. Doesn't matter what she smells like when she looks at you. That age, she don't know what she wants. That age, you got no business wantin' her back.
*
It was unprecendented. She hadn't even known it was possible - not that she'd thought to explore the idea with the Professor, exactly. Sure, she'd appreciated the rug under her bare feet, the fire warming her hands as she'd inspected it, but the sheets, and Logan's pillow - she'd thought that'd been more memory than actual sensation. Wishful thinking.
But when the wanting suddenly became writhing and the writhing became long, low shudders that rolled through her and left her panting, she realised something. What happened deep inside her mind found its equivalent in the real world.
As real as it gets, he'd said. And suddenly, she was cold, and regretful, even as her sated limbs began to flush with the heat from the fire.
Because Logan might have wanted her, but he had fought it. Hadn't wanted this. And she had taken it anyway.
Marie stared blindly at her clock, miserable in her too-cold bed and too-soft sheets. 10:15pm. In 12 hours, she would leave here, and be rid of this burden, this knowing too much and feeling too much and wanting too much.
She begged for sleep to come.
*
… long red hair and long sleek body and here was a woman he could touch, was allowed to touch no matter what the boyfriend said. She was grown up and beautiful and why couldn't he stop wanting the kid? Her little boyfriend had seen it, musta been obvious he wanted to drag her away and mark her until everyone knew she belonged to him, only to him …
… take it, take it, take it, live, live, thankyouGodshe's alive, alive, take it all …
… Stryker knows everything I have to get through to him but Marie - she's calling me needs me. Gotta go. Running and running and into the car with the two little pricks and Marie. Marie in black silk. Marie in short black silk and turn towards me just a little more sweetheart so I can see right down the front of that and beautiful little rosepink nipples, and fuck you saw me seeing them and now they're hard and I can't take my fucking eyes off you right now, wanna throw you back against the seat and eat you alive darlin' ...
… fuck, it's Mystique, shoulda known Jeannie wasn't up for more than a kiss. Gut the bitch, Jean's face ain't gonna stop me, Ro now, huh, fuck, no, not Marie, not her, could have her, like this, so easy to pretend it's really her under me and jesus part of me thinks so, part of me is fooled, don't laugh bitch, nothing funny about this, they can't know, they can't know ...
*
Whirr. 2.34am. The numerals seemed to be taunting her, their green glow making a mockery of her sleeplessness. Marie heaved a sigh and crossed to her bookcase, succumbing to the inevitable.
Mama's favourite book had been a collection of myths from around the world, and they had worked their way through those from Australia, and Bolivia, and Cuba … all the way to Greece, just before she'd left home. She'd been pulling the teenager card, insisting she was too old to read stories with her mother, but really, she'd loved them too. And on the nights when she felt too far from home, too much the motherless child, she turned to her own copy of Myths and Legends from Around the World.
She found Pandora on page 134. Once, it had terrified her, this story.
Pandora, they said, was the first woman. The bearer of wondrous gifts from the Gods, she was a joyous, happy, marvellous creature. She was forbidden nothing … except to open the box. At first, she was able to igore it - she had gifts aplenty, and playthings to occupy her time. But not knowing, never knowing, began to torment her. So she opened the box she had been forbidden to touch, and out of it flew all the evils in the world.
Temptation. Greed. Selfishness. Lust.
She slammed the box closed, but it was too late. Evil was abroad, and only one last thing remained trapped inside.
Hope.
There was the predicament, though. Pandora hadn't dared to open her box again, and risk unleashing more sins on the world.
But Rogue was desperately afraid that somewhere, inside Logan's box, hope was beating itself to death on delicate wings. Trying to escape.
*
continues ... Part 2
Author: JaqofSpades
Verse: X3, Xmen Movieverse
Rating: NC-17
Summary: She respected his privacy enough to leave his memories alone. But tomorrow, she was taking the Cure. Tomorrow, they might be gone.
Authors notes: It's taken a long time for me to come to terms with X3. And then I started thinking about Marie, thinking about taking the Cure. And this bunny bit me on the butt, bigtime.
***
The Memory Room ...
Five caskets, in a half circle, in a locked room. Marie looked about, taking in the details her subconscious had built for this hidden vault, deep inside the recesses of her conscious mind. It was surprisingly comfortable, she noted. Beautiful, even, with the walls painted in rich dark colours, and a soft, thick rug inviting her to stretch out in front of the wood fire. She'd never noticed it, before, but then, she'd never even looked around, either. The Memory Room had never been a place to linger, before.
She was naked, in her mind-form, unable to bear even the touch of silk. She sank down onto the rug, folding herself into the perfect lotus she had never quite managed in the outside world, and considered this decision. Tomorrow, she would do it. She would walk away from everything the Professor had done for her, and every bit of self-respect she had scraped together since her mutation manifested. She would join the line, and tell the world there was something wrong with being a mutant. Take the Cure, and trade her gifts for 'normal'.
Touchable.
She was frightened, she had to admit. She was pretty sure Storm was right - the Cure had been rushed to the market, so who knew what might happen? It might have awful side effects. It might be a plot to infect them with something. It might not actually work.
It might work.
It might work, and she would be able to touch. Be touched. Be alone in her head.
She'd forgotten what that felt like, to be alone. Even with them locked away, she could always feel them. Magneto was always waiting, watching. His casket had thick leather straps circling it, and the padlock had no key. She had tried accessing his memories, once, desperate to end the farce that was her trig final.
The next morning, she opened bleary eyes to find a massive paperclip sculpture on her bedside table. It must have taken hours to create - hours when Marie was asleep, she realised with a chill. Hours when Magneto was in charge. She'd reinforced his casket, then, insulating it, slamming it shut, and shattering the key into a million useless pieces.
Bobby and John's caskets just had a small, single lock, and she'd kept the keys hanging nearby. Their skills came in pretty handy, and sometimes she just liked the company. Bobby in her head was nicer to her than her so-called boyfriend … and John might be a no-good traitor, but his sense of humour always had cracked her up. So they'd hang.
Cody was no more than a whisper these days, but she liked to keep his casket clean and shiny. Kinda like a memorial. He'd been her first, after all, and he'd done it hard, poor baby. So she gave him a lock and a beautiful jewels to decorate it, and every now and then, opened it up to say hi.
She'd worried about that, at first. When she and the Professor had talked about how to deal with the various personalities she'd absorbed, the idea of putting them in a box seemed … disrespectful. Mean, even. It wasn't until he explained that the boxes were as much for their benefit as hers that she actually warmed to the idea.
Because having another person's memories in her head felt wrong, sometimes. Felt like she was taking advantage. Logan had asked her, once, how much she'd got of him. She'd told him about the stray thoughts and the weird cravings, and he'd smiled when she confessed she kinda liked it. But then he'd gotten all antsy again, and asked about her dreams. And his memories. She'd assured him that she'd never looked. His memories were safe, in that box.
The fifth casket. She had shaped this one of fine cedar, and given it scent and texture and a raw beauty none of the others possessed. There was a lock, and a key, but mostly, it hung open. Sometimes she left the lid ajar. His voice whispering to her, his skills at her disposal, his thoughts in her head: these were not hardships. And she respected his privacy enough to leave his memories alone.
But tomorrow, she was taking the Cure. Tomorrow, they might be gone.
And tonight, her mind-self was crouched in front of Logan's box, reaching deep inside to pull forth a manila folder. It was fat with visual encodings of everything he had seen and thought and remembered … photographs, if you will.
Marie tripped over nothing, and scattered them across the floor.
A pretty girl, out of place in that hick bar ...
Rogue, she said, dark, dark eyes flashing with challenge ...
Logan, she moaned, as those fucking incredible lips wrapped around his cock and sucked him dry ...
*
“His what???”
Her own voice echoed in the dark bedroom as her eyes sprang open, her mindform dissolving in shock.
It hadn't been a dream, though. It didn't dissolve, or seem ridiculous in the light of day. Dark of night. Whatever.
Because it felt like a memory. Logan's memory. Of her. Except, you know, the part where it had actually happened.
Incredible lips? His cock? Holy Mother of God. She shuddered, and refused to analyse why. Forced herself to concentrate on what, and how. It had been soft-edged and less specific than others, missing the extraneous details of scent and feel and sound, and suddenly, it clicked. A fantasy. An image he had created, layering on the details he wanted (the shine of her lips in dim light, the feel of them around his … penis, the brush of her hair against his thighs, the gleam in her eye as she ….) Marie gasped, fleeing the Memory Room once more.
She had to be wrong. Had to be some random fantasy, some other girl. (It had been her voice, though, and his eyes had lingered on her lips the very first time he saw her. And in the camper. And pretty much every time she'd seen him since, that thorough appraisal that touched on the white streak in her hair, moved down to gaze into her eyes, and then to her lips. “Cocksucking lips,” his voice reminded her, helpfully.)
“He doesn't think of me that way,” she insisted, aloud, but she didn't sound convincing, even to herself. She sounded … intrigued, Marie realised. Curious.
She closed her eyes again, and this time, the other caskets in the Memory Room might not have existed. She conjured a chair, then grinned, and reshaped it. Picked up the file from where it had fallen on the ground, and then stretched out the bed, snuggling down into the sheets that smelled of Logan, and the pillow that held the dent of his head. Usually, she felt safe here. Protected. Tonight, it felt like a gamble, or the scariest of dares as his sheets sensitised every inch of bare skin, and the smell of him set her on fire.
It's not real, she reminded herself as she sank deeper into the mindform.
Strangely, it was his voice that answered.
“For us, kid, this is as real as it gets. You ready?”
*
On delicate wings ...
Where to start? Back to that fantasy, her hormones yowled, but Marie resisted. This was her first and last chance to know him, to see herself the way he did, and know - really know - what he thought. Of her. Of them. (Of Jean, her bitterest self whispered, refusing to be silenced, even here. Especially here.) Fantasy was nice - that fantasy made her feel all sorts of nice - but it was merely a distraction. She wanted something more solid. Something real.
From the beginning, then.
Time to go. Tide's turning in here. Fuckin' reeks of fear. Get the cash, bottle of Jack, get out. Huh. Tiny little thing hiding under a big green jacket. Way young. Too young to be in here. Those big brown eyes pack a punch though, darlin. And those lips.
Cocksucking lips. Wonder how they'd feel … nah, fucking pervert. She's a kid.
Still, bet they'd …
A fucking kid.
Huh. Brave fucking kid, though. Good on you, girl.
*
Brave? Try foolhardy. Fucking stupid, kid - could'a froze to death back here. Or worse - not the type of guy ya hitch a ride with, kid. Didn't your Daddy teach ya anything?
Leave ya here for the next truck. Not that there's a lot of trucks. Not that any of the truckers are safe either. Don't look in the mirror, see her standing there. Don't! Fuck. I'm fucked. Big brown eyes and she's fucking scared, standing there, just waitin'. I am such a fucking fucked fucker.
She's climbin' up and she smells really grateful and shit. Don't look at her. Don't think about her pretty eyes and pretty cocksucking lips and how grateful a girl that looks like that could be. Wonder how old she is? Sixteen's legal, ain't it? Bastard!
Oh, now girl, don't you be sassing me. Try and look young, and innocent instead. Stop puttin' those thoughts into my head. Jesus, that accent. Makes me hard just listening to her talk. Fuck.
Gotta get a grip here. Kid must be cold … I'll just lean over and …
“I ain't gonna hurt you, kid!”
Huh. She's worried about her skin. Worried about hurting me! Least of your worries, kid, let me tell you. Can think of at least five ways to get you off without killing myself. Much.
And I heal, darlin'. I heal.
*
“Every damn time”.
Hurts like a motherfucker. But that's a good thing - reminds me to try and keep it inside, ya know. Not to be the animal. Or whatever it was they wanted me to be.
Just a man. Not much of a man - can't keep my fricken mind out of the gutter - but I can do right by you. Leave you somewhere safe. Stop thinkin' about your untouchable skin.
Stop thinkin' about sheets. Thin enough, I could taste you through 'em. The way you smell - bet you taste good, girl. Wonder what innocence tastes like? Wonder if she even knows what it could be like …
Be like? Be like? Ain't gonna be like nothing, asshole. Not with this girl. She's not for you. She's not a hard fuck against the wall, or a blowjob in the back room. She's slow and sweet and takin' your time and makin her come over and over before you even get your zipper down.
Stop thinkin' about makin her come. Doesn't matter what she smells like when she looks at you. That age, she don't know what she wants. That age, you got no business wantin' her back.
*
It was unprecendented. She hadn't even known it was possible - not that she'd thought to explore the idea with the Professor, exactly. Sure, she'd appreciated the rug under her bare feet, the fire warming her hands as she'd inspected it, but the sheets, and Logan's pillow - she'd thought that'd been more memory than actual sensation. Wishful thinking.
But when the wanting suddenly became writhing and the writhing became long, low shudders that rolled through her and left her panting, she realised something. What happened deep inside her mind found its equivalent in the real world.
As real as it gets, he'd said. And suddenly, she was cold, and regretful, even as her sated limbs began to flush with the heat from the fire.
Because Logan might have wanted her, but he had fought it. Hadn't wanted this. And she had taken it anyway.
Marie stared blindly at her clock, miserable in her too-cold bed and too-soft sheets. 10:15pm. In 12 hours, she would leave here, and be rid of this burden, this knowing too much and feeling too much and wanting too much.
She begged for sleep to come.
*
… long red hair and long sleek body and here was a woman he could touch, was allowed to touch no matter what the boyfriend said. She was grown up and beautiful and why couldn't he stop wanting the kid? Her little boyfriend had seen it, musta been obvious he wanted to drag her away and mark her until everyone knew she belonged to him, only to him …
… take it, take it, take it, live, live, thankyouGodshe's alive, alive, take it all …
… Stryker knows everything I have to get through to him but Marie - she's calling me needs me. Gotta go. Running and running and into the car with the two little pricks and Marie. Marie in black silk. Marie in short black silk and turn towards me just a little more sweetheart so I can see right down the front of that and beautiful little rosepink nipples, and fuck you saw me seeing them and now they're hard and I can't take my fucking eyes off you right now, wanna throw you back against the seat and eat you alive darlin' ...
… fuck, it's Mystique, shoulda known Jeannie wasn't up for more than a kiss. Gut the bitch, Jean's face ain't gonna stop me, Ro now, huh, fuck, no, not Marie, not her, could have her, like this, so easy to pretend it's really her under me and jesus part of me thinks so, part of me is fooled, don't laugh bitch, nothing funny about this, they can't know, they can't know ...
*
Whirr. 2.34am. The numerals seemed to be taunting her, their green glow making a mockery of her sleeplessness. Marie heaved a sigh and crossed to her bookcase, succumbing to the inevitable.
Mama's favourite book had been a collection of myths from around the world, and they had worked their way through those from Australia, and Bolivia, and Cuba … all the way to Greece, just before she'd left home. She'd been pulling the teenager card, insisting she was too old to read stories with her mother, but really, she'd loved them too. And on the nights when she felt too far from home, too much the motherless child, she turned to her own copy of Myths and Legends from Around the World.
She found Pandora on page 134. Once, it had terrified her, this story.
Pandora, they said, was the first woman. The bearer of wondrous gifts from the Gods, she was a joyous, happy, marvellous creature. She was forbidden nothing … except to open the box. At first, she was able to igore it - she had gifts aplenty, and playthings to occupy her time. But not knowing, never knowing, began to torment her. So she opened the box she had been forbidden to touch, and out of it flew all the evils in the world.
Temptation. Greed. Selfishness. Lust.
She slammed the box closed, but it was too late. Evil was abroad, and only one last thing remained trapped inside.
Hope.
There was the predicament, though. Pandora hadn't dared to open her box again, and risk unleashing more sins on the world.
But Rogue was desperately afraid that somewhere, inside Logan's box, hope was beating itself to death on delicate wings. Trying to escape.
*
continues ... Part 2