Fic: Mortal Fear (8/10) - NC-17 - Logan/Rogue
- Title: Mortal Fear
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,
"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
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:
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
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
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
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.