Drabble: Negation (X-Men/X-Men: Evolution, Marie/Rogue, NC-17)
Title: Negation
Author: aphrodite_mine
Info: X-Men/X-Men: Evolution, Marie/Rogue, NC-17. Prompt by pattern_spider. Takes place pre-X3.
You're just getting acquainted, you'd like to say. The kind of getting-to-know-you that involves removal of clothing and fingers in tight, wet places. Rogue moans your name, and you feel strange, hearing the sounds fall from her lips, her accent far thicker than yours. You suck hard on her neck, reveling in the sensation of her pulse under your mouth, wondering if her blood runs the same as yours.
"Should we… ah… the bed?" She gasps out as you move your fingers within her, nearly overcome with the bliss of the heat of her, surrounding you. Her eyelids are half-lowered and you want to smear away the thick eye shadow and liner to see the color of her thin skin, to taste her there. To taste her everywhere.
Because she's surprisingly different from you. She's shorter, thinner. Gothier. Hair cropped short where yours is growing longer by the day. She arrived her in biker gloves, a leather mini and a mesh shirt. You're covered in scarves and cloth and your skin can hardly breathe. Except now, its doing more than breathing.
Your skin is consuming hers, without the risk of harm. Because there's a kind of negation when you're together, and so you're unafraid when you shove her down on the bed, and capture her full lips in a rough kiss. You want to fuck her with all of you, you want to exist within her, to make her scream. To hear her vocal chords grow hoarse and guttural. To feel her limp with exhaustion.
She whimpers as you add another finger, thrusting harder and biting down on her smooth shoulder. You want to mar her skin and mark her as yours. You want to mark her as you. It's been too long since you've made a move without fear, and its not fear you see in her eyes, but thrill, and so you don't ever stop.
Author: aphrodite_mine
Info: X-Men/X-Men: Evolution, Marie/Rogue, NC-17. Prompt by pattern_spider. Takes place pre-X3.
You're just getting acquainted, you'd like to say. The kind of getting-to-know-you that involves removal of clothing and fingers in tight, wet places. Rogue moans your name, and you feel strange, hearing the sounds fall from her lips, her accent far thicker than yours. You suck hard on her neck, reveling in the sensation of her pulse under your mouth, wondering if her blood runs the same as yours.
"Should we… ah… the bed?" She gasps out as you move your fingers within her, nearly overcome with the bliss of the heat of her, surrounding you. Her eyelids are half-lowered and you want to smear away the thick eye shadow and liner to see the color of her thin skin, to taste her there. To taste her everywhere.
Because she's surprisingly different from you. She's shorter, thinner. Gothier. Hair cropped short where yours is growing longer by the day. She arrived her in biker gloves, a leather mini and a mesh shirt. You're covered in scarves and cloth and your skin can hardly breathe. Except now, its doing more than breathing.
Your skin is consuming hers, without the risk of harm. Because there's a kind of negation when you're together, and so you're unafraid when you shove her down on the bed, and capture her full lips in a rough kiss. You want to fuck her with all of you, you want to exist within her, to make her scream. To hear her vocal chords grow hoarse and guttural. To feel her limp with exhaustion.
She whimpers as you add another finger, thrusting harder and biting down on her smooth shoulder. You want to mar her skin and mark her as yours. You want to mark her as you. It's been too long since you've made a move without fear, and its not fear you see in her eyes, but thrill, and so you don't ever stop.