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Fic: Mortal Fear (8/10) - NC-17 - Logan/Rogue

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  • karen_feigenbaum <kfeigenb@hotmail.com>
    Title: Mortal Fear Author: Karne-age Pairing: Logan/Rogue Rating: NC-17 Series: 8/10 (end of 7: Logan bolted awake and sat up with a loud roar…Rogue was so
    Message 1 of 1 , Feb 18, 2003
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      Title: Mortal Fear
      Author: Karne-age
      Pairing: Logan/Rogue
      Rating: NC-17
      Series: 8/10 (end of 7: Logan bolted awake and sat up with a loud
      roar…Rogue was so startled she made a choked sound and jumped
      backwards. Unfortunately, it was neither soon enough nor far enough
      away to prevent pain from slicing through her)
      Feedback: yes please
      Warnings: language, sex, violence
      Archive: by all means e-mail me if you would like to post on your site
      Disclaimer: Naturally, I do not own the Marvel characters - the story
      and characters and their histories are a blending of Movie-verse and
      Comic-verse lore mixed in with a big old heapin' helping of my own
      imagination (Karne-iverse) that totally brutalizes existing histories
      wherever I felt it made my story.
      Summary: Logan and Rogue meet; end up on the run from the Friends of
      Humanity. Interesting twist to Rogue's mutation.



      Logan came awake with a start to find himself staring into Rogue's
      dark eyes. His heart was pounding like muted thunder in his chest,
      and he had to blink a few times to clear his vision of sweat. He'd
      been having The Dream again – the one he could never remember upon
      waking. "Marie?" he asked in confusion.

      Rogue's eyes were bulging wide – panicky, almost feverish – and her
      mouth hung open stammering out staccatos of air. Logan's brows
      crushed together. He was still in a half-stupor of sleep. What the
      hell was she doing here?

      The deluge of terror pouring off her skin finally caught his nose,
      and Logan realized something was weighing down his arm. His gaze
      broke from Rogue's huge eyes, dropping to his hand raised in front of
      him. The long blades usually tucked behind his skin were extended
      and looked to disappear into Rogue's body. Logan blinked a few
      times. Understanding finally clicked in his brain with a sobering,
      adrenaline surge.

      "Shit, no!" Horror ripped through his body and made his insides go
      cold. "Fuck! No!" Logan retracted the claws and Rogue's legs
      buckled and folded beneath her. He caught her under her arms. A
      sense of helpless desperation gripped his stomach in an iron clamp,
      and his gaze locked on her face again. Those deep, nearly black eyes
      rolled white and her body became a deadweight hanging in his hands,
      like an immense sack of grain. "Come on, baby, no. Shit, Marie,
      quit fucking around," he pled in frenzied distress.

      Dark, inky fluid soaked through the front of her nightgown and began
      spreading across her right breast. An earthy smell tainted the
      air. "Oh fuck," he croaked. Rogue's head lolled forward and she
      swallowed hard. Her eyes swayed and focused on him again. "That's
      it, sweetheart," Logan coaxed, brushing her hair back. "Come on back
      to me." Liquid gurgled in her lungs when she rasped in a deep
      breath. Logan couldn't seem to get his mind to function properly –
      some notion danced just beyond comprehension, swimming in the gray
      miasma of his thoughts, but his brain was too frantic to grasp it.

      Rogue's chin dropped to her chest then bobbed back up; her dazed eyes
      settled on Logan's once more. Moisture rattled in her chest when she
      tried to wheeze in oxygen. Terror and dread and an overwhelming
      sense of futile desperation streamed through Logan's brain and sank
      his chest. Rogue's fear was so thick he could taste it, sharp and
      bitter on his tongue, as if he'd been sucking on pennies. Her
      sorrowful eyes glowed softly in the bright moonlight, and she
      breathed across a wet whisper, "I-I'm…so-sorry."

      Logan's forehead furrowed in puzzlement, but then Rogue's bare palm
      settled on his cheek and instant pain obliterated his nerve endings
      like a hot blast of radiation. His body began ripping, his cells
      tearing in two, the very molecules of his organs being shredded into
      jagged pieces, as if by a rusty blade. Battery acid ate away at the
      inside of his skin. It was burning and slicing and hacking and
      scraping all rolled into one. Logan's gaze bore into Rogue's horror-
      filled eyes and he pushed out the words, "Do it!" right before
      falling down, down, down into dark oblivion.





      Life blasted through Rogue; undiluted rapture all but split her in
      two. Logan's energy poured into her like a drenching downpour to a
      dehydrated mouth. The stabbing ache radiating out from her chest
      subsided and power whipped through her. She'd never ridden the knife-
      edge separation between pain and pleasure so tightly, and the
      division was becoming increasingly unclear. Rogue's fingers dug into
      Logan's face with an orgasmic flex. Somewhere in her brain, she knew
      she had to stop, but her thirst was so great. She felt as though she
      were drowning in brilliant, sparkling euphoria.

      Their contact broke only when Logan collapsed backwards into the bed
      in depletion. Rogue jolted forward and rocked unsteadily on her
      feet, jarred by the loss of chaotic influx. She felt pulled taut,
      vibrating with the power of potential, like a strung bow desperately
      longing to loose an arrow. Her eyes dropped to Logan on the bed and
      every wired up cell of her body jumped to full attention. His skin
      had actually ripped open in large, bloody gashes that were now
      emptying out onto the white motel sheets.

      I did that to him! she realized in echoing dread.

      Rogue slipped the sleeve of her thin nightgown over her hand, and her
      fingers flew to Logan's throat to find his pulse. Oh my God! her
      brain screamed in silent accusation. He's dead! Her hand flitted
      frantically over his skin, detecting no faint beat of blood. Then
      she found it, weak but present, and she sighed in desperate relief.
      As long as Logan was alive, he'd heal. A hard pulse of anxiety
      drained out of her.

      Rogue sank to a seated position on the bed beside Logan and exhaled
      raggedly. Her head dropped into her hands, as if her neck were
      suddenly incapable of supporting such monumental weight. She'd
      almost killed him. Her lusty greed had pushed her to take far more
      energy from Logan than she'd probably ever needed. Rogue raked an
      unsteady hand back through her hair.

      I have to get out of here! The thought sprang to life within her
      accelerated body. She'd been right – she was a mutant among mutants
      and no one had any business trusting her. Least of all Logan, with
      his energy that poured through her like golden magma. For three
      years Rogue had eluded her would-be captors without Logan's help; she
      could keep it up for another six or eight months, right? Just until
      she could afford to build her protective home. Her prison cell.

      Rogue felt her chest squeeze and her eyes fell to Logan's face. She
      didn't want to run again. But she couldn't stay with Logan, and
      she'd known that from the very beginning. Isolation was the
      dominating theme of her life. Why the hell had she stowed away in
      his truck in the first place? Loneliness rolled through her in waves
      and fisted her throat. A choked sob whimpered out before she could
      swallow back the painful knot of emotion and threatening tears.

      There was no time for this! Rogue ground the heels of her palms into
      her stinging eyes and shook her head free of nonsense. She was a
      practical woman…it was time to start behaving as one. She rushed to
      her room to begin packing, neatly arranging her belongings within her
      sack. When she was done, she made the bed and tidied up the space.
      Activity and order were almost tangible concepts, and her mind
      grabbed feverishly onto them. She found a piece of motel stationary
      and jotted down a quick note to Logan, finishing up by folding the
      paper into perfect thirds. Then she pulled out her wallet and left
      money tucked inside the folds of the letter. She placed the paper
      bundle on the bedside nightstand.

      She was officially tapped out of money now; she'd have to stop at an
      ATM. Rogue's eyes burned and prickled from lack of sleep, but her
      brain was bouncing in hectic rhythm. She pinched and massaged the
      bridge of her nose and clenched her eyes tightly. Without a doubt,
      this was the least planning she'd ever put into *anything*.
      Normally, Rogue was good about choosing a destination, mapping out an
      intended route, chartering transportation, and basically leaving
      nothing to chance. But she wanted to be well and gone by the time
      Logan awoke, so she had to move quickly. Her mind spun out of
      control. Rogue had done some research the night before, and
      unfortunately knew that this rest stop exit had neither train nor bus
      service. She'd have to traipse alongside the highway that rolled out
      of town – in the middle of God only knew where – and hope she'd
      happen upon another town from which she could hop a train or bus to
      anywhere. She sighed. Spontaneity was *definitely* not her forte.

      Rogue looked to the blinded window; soon, the pre-dawn light would
      begin frosting the sky in bubblegum taffy hues. As much as she hated
      to do it, her first stop really did have to be a branch of one of the
      bank chains in which she held an account. She'd need money to buy a
      ticket. That was, assuming she found a town with mass transit. The
      landscape around her looked pretty barren, but there were walls of
      trees blocking her view of the horizon, and she put her hope in the
      unknown.

      Rogue wished the tree line extended to the freeway, but
      unfortunately, it was many, many miles off. She had no idea where
      she'd be going, and her only guide would be the road. Still, she
      would have preferred some form of cover under which to walk while she
      followed the highway. Instead, she had only open, snowy plains. She
      took a deep breath, hitched her bag up on her shoulders, and decided
      they'd have to do as she stepped out into the bitter morning cold.
      She refused to allow herself to look back.





      Logan woke up with a pounding hangover. Splinters of bright sunlight
      streamed through the blinds and stabbed his eyes. Squinting in pain,
      he sat up and drew a palm to his throbbing head. Through slitted
      eyes, he saw the motel room around him, and memories immediately
      oozed back into his brain.

      Logan bolted upright and jumped out of bed, momentarily wobbling on
      his feet. When he regained his equilibrium, Logan dashed to the
      adjoining door and into Rogue's motel room. What immediately struck
      him was its unlived in appearance. The bed was made to perfection,
      the counters bare of any personal products or belongings…except for
      the bedside dresser, which had a folded up piece of paper resting on
      top of it.

      Logan walked over and picked up the thirded note. Tucked inside were
      a bunch of bills. The paper had only a brief message:


      Logan:

      Here's the two fifty we agreed upon plus another fifty to reimburse
      you for the cost of the rooms. I can't express how sorry I am. It's
      just safest if I stay away…

      Marie


      Red-hot rage burned through Logan's blood system. The sound of paper
      crumpling caught his attention, and he realized he'd unconsciously
      fisted the sheet of stationary. He looked at the wadded up letter
      and twenties in his hand.

      How fucking magnanimous of Rogue to take all the blame for last
      night! For Christ's sake, he'd stabbed her through the fucking
      chest, and somehow she'd decided everything was her fault? Son of a
      *bitch*! A tornado of mad emotions whirled through Logan, and he
      stormed back to his room to get dressed. Her back must be killing
      her from dragging that fucking cross around!

      Logan packed his stuff and checked out of the motel as quickly as
      possible. He drove out to the main road and stopped the truck,
      cranking down the parking brake. A fast movement hoisted him out of
      the cab and down to the asphalt pavement. Standing in the middle of
      the deserted highway, Logan lifted his nose and sniffed rapidly in
      both directions, his nostrils flaring in and out. The faintest
      thread of Rogue's sweet scent captured him and he began following it
      like a cartoon character ensnared by the aroma of hot apple pie. The
      ribbon of odor flitting through the air hooked his olfactory senses,
      growing more substantial the farther he walked in one direction.

      Logan strode back to the truck and jumped in. The day was well into
      afternoon, which meant Rogue had probably been hiking for hours now.
      Logan rolled down the window, smelled her in the wind, and began
      driving.

      After an excruciating hour of pursuing Rogue's sweet scent, the smell
      simply vanished like mist in the sun. Logan pulled over to the side
      of the road and backtracked on foot, but further inspection merely
      confirmed his initial findings. Rogue hadn't left the road in either
      direction…it was as if she'd simply stepped off the face of the
      earth.

      Then the other scent hit him: vehicle exhaust. It was nothing that
      would normally have alerted his attention on an open highway, but
      Logan realized that this car seemed to have materialized at the exact
      spot where Rogue disappeared. Logan walked to the other side of the
      road and inhaled deeply. No – the car hadn't just magically
      appeared, he determined; it had come from the opposite direction and
      then turned around. The likelihood of it being a coincidence that
      these two occurrences happened at the exact same location was pretty
      fucking slim. Logan's blood boiled. He took his leather jacket off,
      stalked back to the truck, climbed in, and started tracking the new
      smell. There was little doubt in his mind what he'd find at the end
      of the trail.
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