Loading ...
Sorry, an error occurred while loading the content.

FIC: Alter-Eighteen: Chateau Blanc - 1/2 - NC-17 [L/R]

Expand Messages
  • victoria_p@att.net
    Title: Alter-Eighteen: Chateau Blanc Author: Victoria P. [victoria_p@att.net] Summary: AU - Logan and Rogue meet over burgers Rating: NC-17 - sex, language
    Message 1 of 1 , Jun 26, 2001
    • 0 Attachment
      Title: Alter-Eighteen: Chateau Blanc
      Author: Victoria P. [victoria_p@...]
      Summary: AU - Logan and Rogue meet over burgers
      Rating: NC-17 - sex, language
      Warning: In keeping with Terri's tradition, there is a
      bitca!Jean here.
      Disclaimer: All X-Men characters belong to Marvel and
      Fox; this piece of fan-written fiction intends no
      infringement on any copyrights.
      Archive: Lists, Muse's Fool, with the Alter-18s
      Feedback: Is a million times better than a belly-burner
      Notes: Thanks to Dot, Meg, Jen, and Pete.

      Special thanks to Terri, for letting me play with in her
      sandbox. See, I promised no one would get hurt. No
      thanks to White Castle, which, if I never eat there
      again will be too soon. And Adam Graves lives in
      Windsor, right across the border from Detroit. I'm so
      upset the Rangers traded him. :-(

      To read the other Alter-Eighteens, go to:
      http://xgrrl26.homestead.com/au18s.html

      < > indicates thoughts

      ***

      Alter-Eighteen: Chateau Blanc

      He could smell them when he walked in. There were six --
      three boys and three girls -- all mutants. They were
      drunk. Well, hell, who else would be at White Castle at
      four am on a Friday night but drunk teenagers looking
      for munchies?

      He noticed the one girl, off to the side. The others
      were loud and obnoxious -- the one in yellow cracked her
      gum as she waited for her order -- but the girl in the
      green cloak was quiet. She hadn't ordered any food, and
      Logan couldn't blame her. White Castle was horrible
      stuff, but sometimes the craving hit, and you ended up
      there at four in the morning. Especially after a night
      of heavy fighting and drinking, and the only available
      woman looked liked she'd been around since the Trojan
      War.

      He picked up his ten-pack and, keeping an eye on the
      girl, sat at a nearby table. She smelled good. Really
      good. Like the first snowfall in the mountains or
      something. She was stealing quick glances at him around
      the edges of her hood, and he thought he might get lucky
      tonight after all. Then he looked closer. She was all of
      eighteen, he thought. Too young, too innocent -- she'd
      expect more than a good fuck and a kiss goodbye.

      He shook his head as the kids flooded around him,
      noisily pushing two tables together so they'd all fit.
      The girl, even in the midst of her friends, seemed like
      an oasis of calm. They left space between themselves and
      her, and he wondered at it. It made him angry, that her
      so-called friends would seem to be keeping their
      distance (especially since she smelled so nice compared
      to the onions-and-grease stink of the joint), and that
      made him wonder some more. Why should he care? He didn't
      care about anything but himself, and even that was
      questionable sometimes. So, what made this girl
      different?

      He shook his head. <I guess I drank more than I thought.>

      He didn't have to strain to hear their conversation.
      Drunken boasting from the boys -- and now the tall, thin
      one moved to put an arm around the girl. She made a moue
      of distaste and shrugged him off, her hood falling back
      to reveal an exquisite face with porcelain skin, large,
      dark eyes, and luscious, kissable lips. Her face was
      framed by two shocking bolts of white, a stark contrast
      to the mahogany waves falling down her back.

      Logan growled low in his chest when the girl said, "Cut
      it out, Remy," and the boy didn't stop.

      "Petite, d'is t'ief show you a good time. All you have
      to do is let go."

      "You know what happens when I let go, Remy," she said
      with peculiar urgency.

      "Ah, chere, Remy not afraid of your skin. De coma be
      worth a taste of your lips."

      The others at the table laughed, but the girl in green
      was serious, her dark eyes sad, as she said, "That isn't
      funny."

      "It ain't supposed to be," Remy replied, leaning in and
      blowing in her ear.

      The girl flinched away. "Remy, be careful! Life-sucking
      skin, remember?"

      Logan had seen enough. He stood and towered over the
      auburn-haired boy. "Leave her alone."

      "Whoa, hairy-man got a problem with de Gambit?" the boy
      said, unfolding himself gracefully from his chair.

      "The lady asked you to stop."

      "De lady is ma chere," the Cajun responded, which made
      the girl jump up.

      "I'm not your chere, Remy. I'm not anybody's chere," she
      said. There was an edge of hysteria in her voice and she
      rushed away from the table.

      She was at the door when it was flung open and a huge
      blond man strolled in.

      The kids gasped. Logan smelled their fear and hate, as
      well as something familiar from the beast in the doorway.

      "Sabretooth," one of the boys muttered.

      The one they called Sabretooth grabbed hold of the
      girl's arm. He leered horrifically at her. "I didn't
      think it would be this easy," he growled. "But I shoulda
      known you couldn't resist me." He ran a taloned hand
      through her hair, careful not to touch her skin.

      Logan could hear her ragged breathing and racing heart.
      He stood still, his eyes the only part of his body in
      motion, assessing the situation and the layout of the
      restaurant.

      After a few tense seconds, Rogue finally found her
      voice. "Let me go!" she said, vainly trying to pull away.

      Sabretooth laughed. "Why would I do that? You're exactly
      what I ordered."

      "Let her go, bub."

      "What are you gonna do if I don't, runt?"

      *Snikt*

      Meanwhile, the kids had moved to flank him in a
      semicircle, with the auburn-haired boy who'd called
      himself Gambit on Logan's immediate right. He was
      shuffling a deck of cards and his body was coiled
      tensely, with none of the nonchalance he'd shown
      previously.

      Sabretooth's hand tightened around the girl's neck,
      through the material of her cloak.

      Gambit launched a card at him, which exploded on impact,
      singeing Sabretooth's fur and causing him to loosen his
      hold on the girl.

      With his opponent distracted, Logan lunged, aiming for
      Sabretooth's right side, so he wouldn't hit the girl.

      Unfortunately, Sabretooth anticipated him and brought
      the girl up to shield himself from the razor sharp claws
      protruding from Logan's hands.

      They slid into her as easily as a hot knife through
      butter.

      Time stopped as everyone froze in shock.

      Then things began moving very quickly. Gambit and the
      kid in yellow started shooting sparks and cards at
      Sabretooth. One of the blond kids hit the shaggy mutant
      with a fireball. In his efforts to put out his flaming
      fur, Sabretooth dropped the girl.

      She was upright only because she was impaled on Logan's
      claws. His world narrowed to himself and her as he
      stared in horror at what he'd done. He snapped the
      blades back into his arms, and cringed at the wet,
      sucking sound they made as they exited the girl's body.

      She stumbled back, and blood trickled from her slightly-
      parted lips. He reached a hand out to wipe it away and
      she jerked her head. He heard one of the kids
      scream, "Don't touch her!"

      He couldn't blame either of them. Look at what he'd
      done. Even when he tried to help, he fucked things up.

      "My skin," she whispered, and he recalled her earlier
      exchange with the auburn-haired kid and wondered if he'd
      be able to help her after all.

      Her hands were gloved, her body swathed in clothing, but
      her face was bare. He gently drew her close and pressed
      his lips to her forehead, murmuring, "I'm sorry, kid.
      I'm so sorry." She tried to pull away but he wouldn't
      let her; he kept a firm hold on her. The connection
      opened and he felt a jolt, felt himself flowing into her.

      Then everything went black.

      ***

      He woke suddenly, but kept his eyes closed, allowing his
      other senses to pick up as much information as possible
      about where he was.

      Cold metal underneath him, the smell of antiseptic,
      lights bright enough to blind, even with his eyes shut.
      <Shit. Not again.> He was in a hospital or a lab of some
      sort. Maybe he was in the morgue and he wasn't really
      alive anymore. Maybe this was what death felt like.

      But he knew it wasn't. He'd seen death as he'd looked
      into the girl's eyes when he'd touched her.

      He wondered if he'd been able to fix what he'd so
      grievously broken.

      He heard the sound of heels and smelled a light feminine
      scent mingled with a flowery perfume. He opened his
      eyes, squinting against the brightness of the lights.
      <Definitely a lab. And hello, nurse,> he thought as the
      woman came into view.

      She was a tall, angular redhead with legs to her face.

      "You're awake," she said softly.

      <No shit, Sherlock,> he thought. "How's the girl?"

      "She's a little shaken, but she's fine. That was a very
      brave thing you did."

      He sat up and shrugged. "Can I see her?"

      The redhead looked at him intently and then the door was
      flung open and the girl came bursting into the lab.

      In the bright light, she was even more beautiful, if
      that were possible. Her hair had been pulled back and
      her skin shone with a fresh-scrubbed glow. He revised
      his estimate of her age downward, even as his eyes swept
      over her ripe figure. He changed his mind again. Maybe
      not that young after all.

      "Logan," she said breathlessly, and it wasn't a
      question.

      "How--"

      "Rogue's mutation -- her skin -- drains people's energy
      and life force," the redhead explained. "With mutants,
      she also gains their powers for a short period of time,
      which is how you were able to heal her."

      "But--" He was still confused. The doctor hadn't really
      answered his question.

      "Along with your powers, I got your memories and shit,"
      Rogue said. She sounded different than she had the night
      before. Brasher, more confident. "What there is of 'em,
      anyway."

      The doctor got a faraway look in her eyes, then glanced
      from one to the other. "I'll be right back," she said.

      "We'll be okay, Red," Rogue replied, smirking. And
      that's when it hit him. She sounded like *him.*

      "What kinda name is Rogue?" he asked, to cover his
      surprise and confusion.

      "What kinda name is Wolverine?" she shot back.

      "You already know my name."

      Her faced softened. "Marie," she said, and the Southern
      accent he'd heard the night before was back. "I think
      this belongs to you." She drew a chain over her head and
      handed it to him.

      His dog tag -- the only thing he had left of his past.
      It was warm from resting in the valley between her
      breasts. He could smell her on it, and it was ten times
      more arousing than the doctor's scent had been. He
      didn't stop to wonder why. "You keep it, kid," he said
      gruffly, handing it back before he could have second
      thoughts. "Looks better on you anyway."

      That won him a blush and a radiant smile. "You -- I know
      what it means to you," she began, but he held up a hand.

      "Someone's coming."

      Jean reentered the lab, followed by a man in a
      wheelchair and another man, wearing red sunglasses.

      "Ah, Logan, you're awake," the man in the wheelchair
      said genially. "I am Professor Charles Xavier. You are
      at my School for Gifted Youngsters. This is Scott
      Summers, also known as Cyclops. You don't remember, but
      he is the one who got you out of the restaurant before
      the explosion. He brought you here last night after the
      unfortunate incident with Sabretooth."

      He didn't remember, but he wasn't sure he liked the guy.
      He seemed awful cocky for someone so young. And he
      smelled like the redhead. He didn't take the hand
      Summers extended to him.

      "Yeah, what was that all about?" he asked, focusing on
      the Professor, who looked vaguely familiar.

      "Sabretooth is an associate of an -- enemy of mine. A
      mutant named Magneto. He once tried to use Rogue to
      mutate the world leaders--"

      "That thing at Liberty Island two years ago," Logan
      interrupted, remembering where he'd seen Xavier before.
      He'd spent a lot of nights watching CNN in dingy motel
      rooms when there was nothing else on at three in the
      morning.

      Jean smiled and nodded. "Yes."

      "Look, this is all interesting, but I got places to go
      and people to see," he said, jumping off the gurney,
      uncaring that he was naked.

      "Logan!" Jean said, stunned at his boldness.

      "What? You've seen it before, right, doc?" He leaned in
      closer to her, smelling her arousal. "Maybe you wanna
      get up close and personal, eh?"

      Scott cleared his throat. "Rogue--"

      "I've seen it, too," she responded cheerfully, though
      Logan had noticed her eyes widening and her scent
      changing also. She tapped the side of her head. "Got it
      all up here, sugar."

      "Yeah, so, my clothes?"

      Jean lifted a hand and they came floating off a counter
      toward him. <Another mutant.>

      ~We are all mutants, here, Logan,~ said Xavier's voice,
      inside his head.

      "What the hell is that?"

      ~You're not the only one with gifts.~

      Logan eyes darted from the Professor to the
      doctor. "You're telepaths." Xavier inclined his
      head. "I've heard about shit like that, but never
      believed it."

      "Believe it," the Professor said. "We'll leave you to
      get dressed, Logan. But please, stop by my office before
      you go. I'd like to discuss something with you."

      Logan nodded, and they all left, though not before
      Rogue, blushing slightly, squeezed his arm with a gloved
      hand, very deliberately keeping her eyes on his face.

      ***

      When he was dressed and about to walk out the door he'd
      seen the others use, Jean returned. "I'll take you to
      see the Professor now," she said.

      As they walked to the elevator, he found himself
      studying the hallway -- they were underground, he
      thought, and that lab hadn't been built to take care of
      a bunch of kids, even if they were muties with life-
      sucking skin or the ability to throw fireballs.

      "What kinda racket are you people really running?" he
      asked.

      Jean smiled mysteriously as they reached the elevator
      and she punched in a code. <Three two three one,> Logan
      thought, hearing the beeps.

      "I have no idea what you're talking about, Logan. This
      is a school for mutant children -- we help them control
      their powers and send them out into the world." They
      entered the elevator and Jean pushed one. He'd guessed
      correctly -- the lab was underground. There was also
      another level below them, he noticed, wondering what use
      the old man could possibly have for such an elaborate
      layout.

      The elevator doors opened onto a hallway paneled in
      rich, dark wood. A very different world than the sub-
      basement they'd just left, Logan noted. He saw kids
      rushing from one place to another and realized that they
      really were running a school, regardless of what else
      was going on.

      "And Rogue? Will she go out into the world when she's
      done with school?" he asked, trying for a casualness he
      didn't feel. Maybe the Chinese were right. Once you
      saved somebody's life, maybe you did become responsible
      for them. There was no other explanation for why he
      cared about the girl. <Marie,> he thought, and wondered
      if anyone else here knew that name. They all called
      her 'Rogue.'

      "Rogue has stayed on to help with the younger students,"
      Jean replied smoothly. "Her mutation is quite extreme,
      and it's highly doubtful she could function in the world
      as it is today, with all the fear and hatred towards
      mutants."

      "'Stayed on' -- you mean she's done with school?" he
      asked incredulously. "How old is she?"

      Jean smiled again. "She's twenty. She attends college at
      SUNY-Purchase, and teaches art to the younger students."
      They reached a doorway at the end of the hall and she
      said, "This is Charles's office." She knocked and opened
      the door.

      The Professor sat behind a large desk. He straightened
      the papers he was looking at into a neat pile and smiled
      at his visitors.

      "Ah, thank you, Jean." She inclined her head and left,
      closing the door behind her. "Have a seat, Logan."

      "I'll stand, thanks."

      Xavier nodded. "Of course." He looked at Logan for
      several long moments. "We owe you a debt of gratitude.
      What you did for Rogue -- not many people would have
      done it, even with your healing factor."

      Logan shrugged uncomfortably. "If I hadn't screwed up in
      the first place, I wouldn't've needed to fix it."

      "But you did." Xavier steepled his fingers and again,
      there was silence for a few seconds. Then, "You've been
      searching for your past for a long time, Logan. Perhaps
      we can help you with that."

      Logan eyed him warily. "Why?"

      The Professor shrugged eloquently. "It *is* what we do
      here. But if that makes you uncomfortable, think of it
      as a payment of our debt to you, for saving Rogue. She
      is very dear to us."

      Logan knew the man wasn't lying -- and he was getting
      tired of his hand-to-mouth existence, never finding what
      he was looking for.

      He sat in the chair facing Xavier.

      "Tell me what you got."

      ***
    Your message has been successfully submitted and would be delivered to recipients shortly.