Fan Fic: UXM: Weapon X, Rogue and Creed
Title: UXM: Weapon X, Rogue and Creed
Author: resolute
Fandom: Ultimate X-Men
Character: Rogue, Jean Grey, and Creed are all involved in the story.
Rating: Oh My God, this NC-17. Jeezum, yes indeed.
Warning, Spoilers, Caveats: Oh, for the love of god, this is a dark, terrible, twisted, downright icky fic. Rogue has sex with Creed during the Weapon X program. Is there any way that this could be nice, or sane, or CONSENUAL? No, of course not.
Rogue and Creed
When the door at the end of the hall banged open, Jean jumped. The guards prodded Rogue down the hall. She walked on her own, no collar. Her clothes were hanging off her body in tatters. The guards opened the door to Jean's cell and motioned Rogue in.
Fuck. Rogue had that crazy-grace, the fluid walking that meant she wasn't in control. Jean stood up. Backing away from Sabretooth made him charge. She waited to see the girl's eyes.
Rogue walked up to Jean. She looked up. Her eyes were their normal warm, rich brown. Not Sabretooth's yellow.
"Rogue?" Jean said. "You in there?" The younger girl had blood . . everywhere. But she didn't look injured. Anymore, Jean thought. Not injured anymore.
Rogue looked puzzled. "How'd . . . how'd you get here?" she asked.
"This is my cell, Rogue," Jean answered cautiously. "They put you in with me again."
"Oh." Rogue walked over to the bunk and looked at it. She sat down on the floor next to the frame, pulling her knees to her chest. Thoughtfully, she started chewing on her knuckle. She stared at the floor.
*Rogue?* Jean carefully projected at the girl. *Hon? Do you need something? Do you need help?* No reply. Jean crossed the room to where Rogue sat and crouched in front of her. Phew. Rogue stank. Blood and ... Jean wrinkled her nose. Blood and other fluids were drying on Rogue's body. Jean sat back on her heels, thinking fast. She stood.
"Hey! Wraith!" Jean shouted at the mics and cameras she knew were everywhere. "Wraith, dammit, get me a new roommate!"
The hidden speaker came on with a soft click. "And why should I do that?" Wraith asked.
"This one stinks. She's pissed herself, for one thing, and she's got, I don't know, Creed-spit and gunk all over her."
"So give her a nice sponge-bath, Jeannie. We'll watch from up here."
"Fuck you, Wraith," Jean answered. Never show fear. "Can I at least take her to the showers? And can she get some clothes? I don't want to touch her accidentally."
There was no reply. After a couple minutes a set of four guards walked up to Jean's cell. They escorted her and the now-stumbling Rogue to the locker room. Handing Jean a set of fatigues and a pair of gloves for Rogue, they took up positions around the room and settled in to watch the show.
Fucking animals, Jean thought savagely. She pushed the thought away. If she dwelled on it, thought about how angry she was, it didn't go away. The rage just sat there, pressing on her, and she was afraid of what she might do to make the anger go away.
Jean made sure all of her skin was covered and pulled Rogue into the shower. Rogue flinched when the water hit her. Jean looked as best she could. Rogue didn't seem to be physically hurt. She led the younger girl out and dressed her. As she worked the gloves onto Rogue's hands Jean looked up. Rogue was staring at her, hard. Trying to say words just for Jean. But nothing came out. Silent.
Back in the cell Rogue walked back to the floor next to her bunk. She started chewing on her knuckle again. Jean watched for as long as she could. When Rogue's knuckle started bleeding Jean got up and walked over. She sat next to Rogue on the floor.
*Rogue.*
Nothing.
*Rogue!* No reply. Jean sighed. She closed her eyes and went in.
---------------------------
Wraith keeps her waiting for two days. She didn't know her request for a meeting had been approved until the guards come in with the collar on the pole. She straps the end around her neck and obeys, walking out of her cell and through the hallways. She keeps her head down and eyes lowered and caused no trouble for anyone.
Outside the elevators she hears the guards behind her whispering, snickering. No warning, not even a "watch this," and she goes to the floor. The soldier holding the pole twists it, forcing it over. The rigid metal collar around her throat twists, forcing her head to the side and her body to its knees. The edge of the collar clips under the jaw, at her ears, it hurts. But that's okay, okay, it's just pain. The dark patterns across her eyes are more of a problem. The collar is cutting off the blood to her head. She's going to black out and then she can't ask Wraith for what she wants.
Rogue kneels, bent sideways, silent. If she begs they will hurt her more. If she fights they will hurt her for days. She waits. She slips further over, balance going, lands on herforearms and she's half-lying on the tile.
The elevator doors open in front of her. The collar loosens.
Blood rushes back to Rogue's head. It hurts. She takes a breath. A deep breath. She scrambles to her feet and steps into the elevator.
Rogue stands in front of Wraith's desk. He sits back, feet up, cigar in hand. He is still laughing.
"Sure," he says, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "We'll set up a live feed, give the boys a Christmas present." Wraith leans forward, elbows on the desk. "Honey," he says conversationally, "you'll remember this day every time you think about kissing a boy. If you ever think you're not mine, you think of this. Right here." he tapped his finger on the desk between them. "Right now."
Rogue doesn't look up at him. Wraith doesn't like it when the animals look at him. She nods. She knows she will remember.
-------------------------
Jean pulled back. *What did you do, Rogue?* Rogue shrugged. Jean felt like whooping. That's the best response she'd gotten. Jean went in again, the headache forming behind her eyes, the one that always comes when she tried to read Rogue's mind.
--------------------------
Creed stands back from the doorway when they bring Rogue in. The techs are just leaving, new cameras stuck up in the corners, new mics to pick up all the noise. Creed looks up at the cameras. "You gonna tell me now, Colonel?" he growls.
"She asked for it, Sabretooth," Wraith replies over the loudspeakers.
"Wha'th'fuck?" Creed replies.
"Yes," Wraith says. He giggles. "The fuck. Girl doesn't want to die a virgin, believe it or not. Thinks you might live through fucking her."
Creed looks at Rogue. The guards exit and remote-release her collar, pulling the pole and metal circlet quickly through the doorway. They shut the door behind her. Rogue watches Creed.
"How the hell am I supposed to do that, Colonel?" Creed asks. Huh. Rogue didn't expect him to be sensible.
"I can answer that, sir," Rogue tells the cameras. She walks up to Creed. Looks up at him. Up. "I figure we have foreplay until you just can't stand it, and then you try to fuck me before you pass out."
Creed leans forward, smiling at her. "Bitch, you know what I call foreplay? You won't live to second base."
Rogue stands on tiptoe, placing one gloved hand on Creed's chest for balance as she whispers in his ear. "I'll take whatever you can give me, Creed." Rogue grabs Creed's nipple through the thin white t-shirt and twists it.
Creed starts and stands up, yowling his outrage. He swings at Rogue. She doesn't move. His open hand catches her on the side of her head and neck, along the jaw. One of his claws cuts her. Blood flows out of her neck as she falls to the floor. He's right, she thinks, dizzy. Iwouldn't'a lived to second base. Except her power siphons off Creed's healing even as he damages her. The cuts heal. A deep, throbbing, itch of a hurt. Cuts itch, bruises itch, broken bones itch like fire. Rogue giggles.
Creed pauses in the act of kicking her. "Th'fuck is funny, bitch?"
Rogue snorts, standing, blood already tacky and clotting. "Nothing. Try for second base?"
"You're trying to die."
"Nope."
"Shut up. You are."
"Nope." Rogue pauses. "You really are stupid."
Creed's eyes narrow. "Not stupid enough to not notice you ain't playing with a full deck. Th'fuck is your problem, bitch?"
Rogue walks up to him. She places her hands on his shoulders and, with Creed's own grace, jumps. She wraps her legs around Creed's hips. "My problem is that you aren't starting. 'F'you know what I mean." Rogue begins shifting, pushing and flexing her legs around the man's waist, grinding her crotch against his pants. She wraps her arms around his neck and tilts her head to one side, showing her throat. "Don't think you're one forkissin', Creed," she says. "So what do you have in mind?"
---------------------------
Rogue's knuckle was bleeding, still. Jean reached up and gently pulled it away. Rogue didn't resist. *What were you thinking, hon,* Jean asked.
Rogue sighed. *I was thinkin' I didn't know. If. When I'm him, I didn't know if I, if he. I didn't know how he felt. Whether I felt the same. About things. Like what happened in the locker room? You remember?*
Jean put her arm around Rogue's shoulders. *I remember.*
*I thought I could see, could prove I didn't think the things he did. That it was him. That the things that I think, in my head, that they're his things.*
*Did you figure it out?*
Rogue didn't answer.
*Hon?*
"Why do you call me that?" Rogue whispered.
Jean paused. She hadn't thought about it much. "I don't know. I am trying to show you I like you, I guess."
Rogue didn't answer that. "I can't tell. I can't tell what's me and what's him."
"Do you . . . do you want me to help? Again?"
Rogue gave the briefest of nods. She's not crying, Jean noted. She hadn't cried since she walked in. Jean wished, vaguely, that Rogue would cry.
--------------------------------
Creed snarls but he doesn't toss her away. His hands wrap around her waist and he digs his claws in. They pierce her sides, through skin and muscle. Rogue chokes, the pain is sickening. She's pretty sure Creed's claws -- shorter than Wolverine's sure, but plenty long -- are cutting things that are important. That she might need later. The sides of her shirt are shredding. Creed's fingers rub against her skin and she feels his confusion and lust. With Creed's power she begins healing almost immediately. Creed snarls and jabs his fingers into her sides. Rogue loves the feel of hot blood on her hands, the iron and spice and sweet thick heat of blood and she wants to taste it. Needs to taste it. She reaches down to Creed's hands, grabs one wrist with both her hands and pulls his fingers up to her mouth. Rogue licks at Creed's fingers, sucking the blood off with lips and tongue, pulling his fingers deep into her mouth. She loves the taste of the bitch's blood, loves the warm salt and the smaller bits of flesh under her claws.
Rogue hits the wall. She blinks, then puts the events in order. Creed threw her into the wall. "What the fuck didja do that for, bitch?" she asks him. "I was just getting all wet and interested."
It's a race now.
Creed shakes his head, a little dizzy. He glares at her. Then he takes off his belt. The belt is longer than it needs to be to hold up her pants, she likes to wear it wrapped around twice. She thinks it looks extra tough, the thickness of the leather strap wrapping just above her cock. Rogue watches him take off the belt. Watches his pants. He's not hard yet. Rogue knows why. She turns, stands, puts her hands against the wall. Puts her back to Creed. Rogue looks over her shoulder. "Take your time, hon," she says. "I ain'tgoin' anywhere."
The belt wraps around Creed's fist. He's holding the buckle end, the tongue hanging free. He swings it a little. Rogue smiles at him.
It's a race, now.
-------------------------
Jean broke out of Rogue's head. She looked sideways at Rogue. Rogue rested her head on her knees, her arms wrapped around her legs.
"That's confusing," Jean whispered.
"I know," Rogue muttered. Jean sat for a minute, trying to remember everything Charles has taught her, had taught her about how to keep her own head in order. Keep her own goblins at bay. She almost missed Rogue's next whisper. "Help me?" Jean took a deep breath and went into Rogue's head, trying to sort through what belonged to the girl sitting next to her and what belonged to a monster. Though, she thought to herself, that may not end up being the most accurate distinction.
--------------------------
Creed swings the strap. The length of leather slices across her back, the tip wrapping around the top of her shoulder and catching her cheek. Her face welts immediately. Creed swings again, backhand. The end wraps around her arm before the strap cuts across her shoulders. Creed keeps pulling through after the strap connects. It is all going to be like this, she knows. Careless. The end catching her in unexpected, tender places. The length of the strap like knives, sliding and slicing. Rogue starts laughing. The bruises aren't itching as much.
It's a race now.
Her laughter makes things worse. Creed goes faster. He's incredibly strong. The blows drive her into the wall. She has bruises on her neck, shoulders, back. Welts on her arms, her ribs. Welts on her ass, her thighs. Creed stands right behind her now, hitting her over and over again. Rogue smells his lust. He hits her faster. She is starting to bleed. The blood is trickling across her back. It's not itching at all.
It's a race now.
It hurts. It hurts. The tip of the strap wraps around the inside of her thigh and she screams. It's the first noise of pain she's made and Creed jumps. Rogue can't smell anything anymore except her own blood. Creed snarls and doubles the strap over his fist. It's a club now. Like a police nightstick, thick and heavy.
It's a race and Rogue is losing.
-------------------------
"That part's all you," Jean said.
"Uh-huh."
"I don't understand. Did you think getting Sabretooth to kill you would prove something?"
Rogue turned to face Jean, suddenly. "I ain't tryin' t' die, Jean!" she yelled. The shout was loud in the cell block. Both girls fell silent, waiting to see if anyone will respond. No footsteps came down the hall. No lights glared on. Thecell block remained dark, dim.
*Tell me then, Rogue -- you tell me what you were doing!* Jean said.
Rogue shook her head.
----------------------------
Creed wraps his hand around her neck and throws her across the bed. She's in too much pain to catch herself and falls badly. Creed kneels on her legs, pinning her back with his hand. Her shirt is torn. Torn.
It's a race and Rogue pulls back ahead with his hand on her skin. Creed hits her with the doubled belt. Hits her ass over and over again, the same spot. He's twisting his whole body, arcing back with his arm all the way up, whipping the blow through from the stomach, twisting his body and pulling his arm in to hit her. The same spot over and over.
Rogue is starting to heal, Creed's hand on her back. It still hurts. The fact that it heals doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. She can't breath very well. She's half-choking trying to get a breath between blows. Creed's leaning on her back which doesn't help. She can't breathe.
Creed stops hitting her. He's snarling constantly now, and Rogue gasps as he lifts off her for a moment. She can smell him again, his heat and lust. He's hard now and he rips the ruins of her clothes off her body. Every contact, however small, heals her. Creed shoves down his pants. No underwear. She knows he never wears any because he thinks tough guys don't.
He grabs her hips and pulls her to him. He's ready. More than ready. The blood splashed across her back, running down her thighs, it's all he needs to get ready. To get hard and tight and ready. Rogue can feel how hard she is. When she pushes into the little bitch it's the same as pushing into blood, and feels as good. Rogue screams. This hurts inside. In places she's never been hurt before. This hurts and she feels sick, nauseated, and it feels so good around her cock, the girl is squirming in front of her, the bitch is screaming and struggling and her blood sprays across Rogue's lips.
Rogue's back is healed now and she's on the edge, nearly there. She wraps her hands around the bitch's throat and pulls, crushing her windpipe. Rogue can't breath, she thinks she might be hurt real bad. She can't see, all dark whorls and flashes of bright light. She struggles against the hands on her neck, reflex, she doesn't mean to, and her fists tighten in rage and fear that she might be so close, this close, and the bitch might try to get away. Rogue pounds the girl into themattress , the girl is trying to scream, Rogue hurts deep inside she knows this is hurting her and now her throat heals and she sucks in air and screams and she comes when the girl screams, comes hard and fast shoving into the fragile body in front of her, comes hard and wet around the pain between her legs while the psycho tries to kill her.
Creed pulls out before he passes out. Rogue stands. Her claws are sharp and perfect. Her teeth razors in her mouth. She is naked and covered in blood. Every part of her body aches.
Rogue falls to her knees and pukes across Creed's unconscious body.
-------------------------
Jean sat, her arm around Rogue. She couldn't think of anything to say.
"I didn't want to die," Rogue whispered. "I just wanted to know it was him. Not me. Wantin' those things. I had t'see how he felt. What it felt like to want that." Rogue paused. Long enough that Jean started to worry. She started to take another look in the girl's mind when Rogue spoke. "I wanted proof we were different. That I wasnothin' like him."
Jean pulled Rogue against her in a tight hug. "Good. See? It's better now, right?"
Rogue turned her head until her lips were barely separated from Jean's ear. Jean could feel Rogue's breath and she froze, unsure of what the girl intended. "No," Rogue breathed. "It ain't better at all."
Author: resolute
Fandom: Ultimate X-Men
Character: Rogue, Jean Grey, and Creed are all involved in the story.
Rating: Oh My God, this NC-17. Jeezum, yes indeed.
Warning, Spoilers, Caveats: Oh, for the love of god, this is a dark, terrible, twisted, downright icky fic. Rogue has sex with Creed during the Weapon X program. Is there any way that this could be nice, or sane, or CONSENUAL? No, of course not.
Rogue and Creed
When the door at the end of the hall banged open, Jean jumped. The guards prodded Rogue down the hall. She walked on her own, no collar. Her clothes were hanging off her body in tatters. The guards opened the door to Jean's cell and motioned Rogue in.
Fuck. Rogue had that crazy-grace, the fluid walking that meant she wasn't in control. Jean stood up. Backing away from Sabretooth made him charge. She waited to see the girl's eyes.
Rogue walked up to Jean. She looked up. Her eyes were their normal warm, rich brown. Not Sabretooth's yellow.
"Rogue?" Jean said. "You in there?" The younger girl had blood . . everywhere. But she didn't look injured. Anymore, Jean thought. Not injured anymore.
Rogue looked puzzled. "How'd . . . how'd you get here?" she asked.
"This is my cell, Rogue," Jean answered cautiously. "They put you in with me again."
"Oh." Rogue walked over to the bunk and looked at it. She sat down on the floor next to the frame, pulling her knees to her chest. Thoughtfully, she started chewing on her knuckle. She stared at the floor.
*Rogue?* Jean carefully projected at the girl. *Hon? Do you need something? Do you need help?* No reply. Jean crossed the room to where Rogue sat and crouched in front of her. Phew. Rogue stank. Blood and ... Jean wrinkled her nose. Blood and other fluids were drying on Rogue's body. Jean sat back on her heels, thinking fast. She stood.
"Hey! Wraith!" Jean shouted at the mics and cameras she knew were everywhere. "Wraith, dammit, get me a new roommate!"
The hidden speaker came on with a soft click. "And why should I do that?" Wraith asked.
"This one stinks. She's pissed herself, for one thing, and she's got, I don't know, Creed-spit and gunk all over her."
"So give her a nice sponge-bath, Jeannie. We'll watch from up here."
"Fuck you, Wraith," Jean answered. Never show fear. "Can I at least take her to the showers? And can she get some clothes? I don't want to touch her accidentally."
There was no reply. After a couple minutes a set of four guards walked up to Jean's cell. They escorted her and the now-stumbling Rogue to the locker room. Handing Jean a set of fatigues and a pair of gloves for Rogue, they took up positions around the room and settled in to watch the show.
Fucking animals, Jean thought savagely. She pushed the thought away. If she dwelled on it, thought about how angry she was, it didn't go away. The rage just sat there, pressing on her, and she was afraid of what she might do to make the anger go away.
Jean made sure all of her skin was covered and pulled Rogue into the shower. Rogue flinched when the water hit her. Jean looked as best she could. Rogue didn't seem to be physically hurt. She led the younger girl out and dressed her. As she worked the gloves onto Rogue's hands Jean looked up. Rogue was staring at her, hard. Trying to say words just for Jean. But nothing came out. Silent.
Back in the cell Rogue walked back to the floor next to her bunk. She started chewing on her knuckle again. Jean watched for as long as she could. When Rogue's knuckle started bleeding Jean got up and walked over. She sat next to Rogue on the floor.
*Rogue.*
Nothing.
*Rogue!* No reply. Jean sighed. She closed her eyes and went in.
---------------------------
Wraith keeps her waiting for two days. She didn't know her request for a meeting had been approved until the guards come in with the collar on the pole. She straps the end around her neck and obeys, walking out of her cell and through the hallways. She keeps her head down and eyes lowered and caused no trouble for anyone.
Outside the elevators she hears the guards behind her whispering, snickering. No warning, not even a "watch this," and she goes to the floor. The soldier holding the pole twists it, forcing it over. The rigid metal collar around her throat twists, forcing her head to the side and her body to its knees. The edge of the collar clips under the jaw, at her ears, it hurts. But that's okay, okay, it's just pain. The dark patterns across her eyes are more of a problem. The collar is cutting off the blood to her head. She's going to black out and then she can't ask Wraith for what she wants.
Rogue kneels, bent sideways, silent. If she begs they will hurt her more. If she fights they will hurt her for days. She waits. She slips further over, balance going, lands on herforearms and she's half-lying on the tile.
The elevator doors open in front of her. The collar loosens.
Blood rushes back to Rogue's head. It hurts. She takes a breath. A deep breath. She scrambles to her feet and steps into the elevator.
Rogue stands in front of Wraith's desk. He sits back, feet up, cigar in hand. He is still laughing.
"Sure," he says, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "We'll set up a live feed, give the boys a Christmas present." Wraith leans forward, elbows on the desk. "Honey," he says conversationally, "you'll remember this day every time you think about kissing a boy. If you ever think you're not mine, you think of this. Right here." he tapped his finger on the desk between them. "Right now."
Rogue doesn't look up at him. Wraith doesn't like it when the animals look at him. She nods. She knows she will remember.
-------------------------
Jean pulled back. *What did you do, Rogue?* Rogue shrugged. Jean felt like whooping. That's the best response she'd gotten. Jean went in again, the headache forming behind her eyes, the one that always comes when she tried to read Rogue's mind.
--------------------------
Creed stands back from the doorway when they bring Rogue in. The techs are just leaving, new cameras stuck up in the corners, new mics to pick up all the noise. Creed looks up at the cameras. "You gonna tell me now, Colonel?" he growls.
"She asked for it, Sabretooth," Wraith replies over the loudspeakers.
"Wha'th'fuck?" Creed replies.
"Yes," Wraith says. He giggles. "The fuck. Girl doesn't want to die a virgin, believe it or not. Thinks you might live through fucking her."
Creed looks at Rogue. The guards exit and remote-release her collar, pulling the pole and metal circlet quickly through the doorway. They shut the door behind her. Rogue watches Creed.
"How the hell am I supposed to do that, Colonel?" Creed asks. Huh. Rogue didn't expect him to be sensible.
"I can answer that, sir," Rogue tells the cameras. She walks up to Creed. Looks up at him. Up. "I figure we have foreplay until you just can't stand it, and then you try to fuck me before you pass out."
Creed leans forward, smiling at her. "Bitch, you know what I call foreplay? You won't live to second base."
Rogue stands on tiptoe, placing one gloved hand on Creed's chest for balance as she whispers in his ear. "I'll take whatever you can give me, Creed." Rogue grabs Creed's nipple through the thin white t-shirt and twists it.
Creed starts and stands up, yowling his outrage. He swings at Rogue. She doesn't move. His open hand catches her on the side of her head and neck, along the jaw. One of his claws cuts her. Blood flows out of her neck as she falls to the floor. He's right, she thinks, dizzy. Iwouldn't'a lived to second base. Except her power siphons off Creed's healing even as he damages her. The cuts heal. A deep, throbbing, itch of a hurt. Cuts itch, bruises itch, broken bones itch like fire. Rogue giggles.
Creed pauses in the act of kicking her. "Th'fuck is funny, bitch?"
Rogue snorts, standing, blood already tacky and clotting. "Nothing. Try for second base?"
"You're trying to die."
"Nope."
"Shut up. You are."
"Nope." Rogue pauses. "You really are stupid."
Creed's eyes narrow. "Not stupid enough to not notice you ain't playing with a full deck. Th'fuck is your problem, bitch?"
Rogue walks up to him. She places her hands on his shoulders and, with Creed's own grace, jumps. She wraps her legs around Creed's hips. "My problem is that you aren't starting. 'F'you know what I mean." Rogue begins shifting, pushing and flexing her legs around the man's waist, grinding her crotch against his pants. She wraps her arms around his neck and tilts her head to one side, showing her throat. "Don't think you're one forkissin', Creed," she says. "So what do you have in mind?"
---------------------------
Rogue's knuckle was bleeding, still. Jean reached up and gently pulled it away. Rogue didn't resist. *What were you thinking, hon,* Jean asked.
Rogue sighed. *I was thinkin' I didn't know. If. When I'm him, I didn't know if I, if he. I didn't know how he felt. Whether I felt the same. About things. Like what happened in the locker room? You remember?*
Jean put her arm around Rogue's shoulders. *I remember.*
*I thought I could see, could prove I didn't think the things he did. That it was him. That the things that I think, in my head, that they're his things.*
*Did you figure it out?*
Rogue didn't answer.
*Hon?*
"Why do you call me that?" Rogue whispered.
Jean paused. She hadn't thought about it much. "I don't know. I am trying to show you I like you, I guess."
Rogue didn't answer that. "I can't tell. I can't tell what's me and what's him."
"Do you . . . do you want me to help? Again?"
Rogue gave the briefest of nods. She's not crying, Jean noted. She hadn't cried since she walked in. Jean wished, vaguely, that Rogue would cry.
--------------------------------
Creed snarls but he doesn't toss her away. His hands wrap around her waist and he digs his claws in. They pierce her sides, through skin and muscle. Rogue chokes, the pain is sickening. She's pretty sure Creed's claws -- shorter than Wolverine's sure, but plenty long -- are cutting things that are important. That she might need later. The sides of her shirt are shredding. Creed's fingers rub against her skin and she feels his confusion and lust. With Creed's power she begins healing almost immediately. Creed snarls and jabs his fingers into her sides. Rogue loves the feel of hot blood on her hands, the iron and spice and sweet thick heat of blood and she wants to taste it. Needs to taste it. She reaches down to Creed's hands, grabs one wrist with both her hands and pulls his fingers up to her mouth. Rogue licks at Creed's fingers, sucking the blood off with lips and tongue, pulling his fingers deep into her mouth. She loves the taste of the bitch's blood, loves the warm salt and the smaller bits of flesh under her claws.
Rogue hits the wall. She blinks, then puts the events in order. Creed threw her into the wall. "What the fuck didja do that for, bitch?" she asks him. "I was just getting all wet and interested."
It's a race now.
Creed shakes his head, a little dizzy. He glares at her. Then he takes off his belt. The belt is longer than it needs to be to hold up her pants, she likes to wear it wrapped around twice. She thinks it looks extra tough, the thickness of the leather strap wrapping just above her cock. Rogue watches him take off the belt. Watches his pants. He's not hard yet. Rogue knows why. She turns, stands, puts her hands against the wall. Puts her back to Creed. Rogue looks over her shoulder. "Take your time, hon," she says. "I ain'tgoin' anywhere."
The belt wraps around Creed's fist. He's holding the buckle end, the tongue hanging free. He swings it a little. Rogue smiles at him.
It's a race, now.
-------------------------
Jean broke out of Rogue's head. She looked sideways at Rogue. Rogue rested her head on her knees, her arms wrapped around her legs.
"That's confusing," Jean whispered.
"I know," Rogue muttered. Jean sat for a minute, trying to remember everything Charles has taught her, had taught her about how to keep her own head in order. Keep her own goblins at bay. She almost missed Rogue's next whisper. "Help me?" Jean took a deep breath and went into Rogue's head, trying to sort through what belonged to the girl sitting next to her and what belonged to a monster. Though, she thought to herself, that may not end up being the most accurate distinction.
--------------------------
Creed swings the strap. The length of leather slices across her back, the tip wrapping around the top of her shoulder and catching her cheek. Her face welts immediately. Creed swings again, backhand. The end wraps around her arm before the strap cuts across her shoulders. Creed keeps pulling through after the strap connects. It is all going to be like this, she knows. Careless. The end catching her in unexpected, tender places. The length of the strap like knives, sliding and slicing. Rogue starts laughing. The bruises aren't itching as much.
It's a race now.
Her laughter makes things worse. Creed goes faster. He's incredibly strong. The blows drive her into the wall. She has bruises on her neck, shoulders, back. Welts on her arms, her ribs. Welts on her ass, her thighs. Creed stands right behind her now, hitting her over and over again. Rogue smells his lust. He hits her faster. She is starting to bleed. The blood is trickling across her back. It's not itching at all.
It's a race now.
It hurts. It hurts. The tip of the strap wraps around the inside of her thigh and she screams. It's the first noise of pain she's made and Creed jumps. Rogue can't smell anything anymore except her own blood. Creed snarls and doubles the strap over his fist. It's a club now. Like a police nightstick, thick and heavy.
It's a race and Rogue is losing.
-------------------------
"That part's all you," Jean said.
"Uh-huh."
"I don't understand. Did you think getting Sabretooth to kill you would prove something?"
Rogue turned to face Jean, suddenly. "I ain't tryin' t' die, Jean!" she yelled. The shout was loud in the cell block. Both girls fell silent, waiting to see if anyone will respond. No footsteps came down the hall. No lights glared on. Thecell block remained dark, dim.
*Tell me then, Rogue -- you tell me what you were doing!* Jean said.
Rogue shook her head.
----------------------------
Creed wraps his hand around her neck and throws her across the bed. She's in too much pain to catch herself and falls badly. Creed kneels on her legs, pinning her back with his hand. Her shirt is torn. Torn.
It's a race and Rogue pulls back ahead with his hand on her skin. Creed hits her with the doubled belt. Hits her ass over and over again, the same spot. He's twisting his whole body, arcing back with his arm all the way up, whipping the blow through from the stomach, twisting his body and pulling his arm in to hit her. The same spot over and over.
Rogue is starting to heal, Creed's hand on her back. It still hurts. The fact that it heals doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. She can't breath very well. She's half-choking trying to get a breath between blows. Creed's leaning on her back which doesn't help. She can't breathe.
Creed stops hitting her. He's snarling constantly now, and Rogue gasps as he lifts off her for a moment. She can smell him again, his heat and lust. He's hard now and he rips the ruins of her clothes off her body. Every contact, however small, heals her. Creed shoves down his pants. No underwear. She knows he never wears any because he thinks tough guys don't.
He grabs her hips and pulls her to him. He's ready. More than ready. The blood splashed across her back, running down her thighs, it's all he needs to get ready. To get hard and tight and ready. Rogue can feel how hard she is. When she pushes into the little bitch it's the same as pushing into blood, and feels as good. Rogue screams. This hurts inside. In places she's never been hurt before. This hurts and she feels sick, nauseated, and it feels so good around her cock, the girl is squirming in front of her, the bitch is screaming and struggling and her blood sprays across Rogue's lips.
Rogue's back is healed now and she's on the edge, nearly there. She wraps her hands around the bitch's throat and pulls, crushing her windpipe. Rogue can't breath, she thinks she might be hurt real bad. She can't see, all dark whorls and flashes of bright light. She struggles against the hands on her neck, reflex, she doesn't mean to, and her fists tighten in rage and fear that she might be so close, this close, and the bitch might try to get away. Rogue pounds the girl into themattress , the girl is trying to scream, Rogue hurts deep inside she knows this is hurting her and now her throat heals and she sucks in air and screams and she comes when the girl screams, comes hard and fast shoving into the fragile body in front of her, comes hard and wet around the pain between her legs while the psycho tries to kill her.
Creed pulls out before he passes out. Rogue stands. Her claws are sharp and perfect. Her teeth razors in her mouth. She is naked and covered in blood. Every part of her body aches.
Rogue falls to her knees and pukes across Creed's unconscious body.
-------------------------
Jean sat, her arm around Rogue. She couldn't think of anything to say.
"I didn't want to die," Rogue whispered. "I just wanted to know it was him. Not me. Wantin' those things. I had t'see how he felt. What it felt like to want that." Rogue paused. Long enough that Jean started to worry. She started to take another look in the girl's mind when Rogue spoke. "I wanted proof we were different. That I wasnothin' like him."
Jean pulled Rogue against her in a tight hug. "Good. See? It's better now, right?"
Rogue turned her head until her lips were barely separated from Jean's ear. Jean could feel Rogue's breath and she froze, unsure of what the girl intended. "No," Rogue breathed. "It ain't better at all."