FIC: Edge (1/?) [Logan/Rogue] R-ish
- Hi, my name's Charon and I'm a Logan/Rogueaholic. This is my first
post.. having joined about a day ago. From what i've seen you're all
great writers and i adore the stories!! I will start giving feedback
individually as well :) So, greetings all and tell me if i did this
* * *
Title: Edge Part 1/? (Alliance)
Author: Charon [email: charon_mmm@...]
Rating: R (language, sexual content, violence not entirely just
yet, but better safe..)
Summary: Logan returns to find someone nothing like his Marie.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. I intend to make NO profit,
actually decreasing the likelihood of good grades here, so please
take pity and don't sue me. *prostrates herself before the PTB*
Archive: Wherever you want, but let me know as a courtesy please :)
General Babble: Stupidity. I wrote this first section with
enthusiasm, a thrill and was exceedingly happy with the results. Then
I accidentally shut Word without saving it. So this is the second
time I've written this part and I still like the first attempt
:( Anyhow, all feedback wanted!
Edge by Charon
Part 1: Alliance
So much blood. Crimson and coagulating on latex and leather. This
wasn't how I imagined we would meet again and I curse myself for
not being here, not fulfilling the promise I made. A thousand times I
have vowed to protect her, in a thousand different places along this
destitute land of ashen dreams.
I will her to show some sign of life. But the only response is the
blood, pulsing from the wound along her torso. I cradle her awkwardly
in my grasp, her bodyweight slight and the warmth of the fluid
draining into my shirt sickens me.
"Is she bad?" Storm is suddenly beside me, her voice filled
with a passion I did not remember. Her eyes fade back into colour as
her mutation ebbs away and she looks pleadingly. I feel absurdly
detached by the situation, never having thought this would be the way
of my reunion. No `Hello, how are you Logan? Did you enjoy
wherever the hell you've been?' just an entreaty. I adjust my little
Marie's body and Storm is able to see the angry gash splitting her
torso. She pales as much as her dark skin will allow.
The X-woman's eyes meet mine again and I can see the tension, the
desperation and I know she'll leave it unspoken. It's not like she
has to ask anyway. I'd do anything for my Marie. I left her two
pieces of metal and a promise, five years ago, that I would return.
Granted that when I finally did I found the Mansion deserted and the
Professor stoically informing me where the battle was taking place,
should I choose to join. Of course I did, finding them here The
X-Men and Marie.. only finding her too late.
<Almost too late..> Jean's voice warms my head as Storm tugs me
towards the hoverboat. Further away the battle continues as X-Men and
Brotherhood rage against eachother, while Storm throws a blanket
hastily over a small expanse of floor. It's easier if we do it
here. Last time One Eye almost broke his back hauling my ass off
Magneto's damn contraption, not that I'm not grateful and not
that I'd ever admit that.
The fresh chill of the air outside is gone, the atmosphere in the
cramped craft impregnated with sweet iron as Marie's figure settles
onto the coarse blanket.
Then a realization hits me. It's a realization that I don't want to
have right now, and I certainly don't want to pass on to Marie, but
want has nothing to do with it. Or more exactly, want has everything
to do with it.
She's not a child anymore, wasn't even one last time I saw her. But
it's easier to pretend when those flowing cloaks hid her body. I
realize that the shrapnel that tore into her skin had to tear through
her uniform first. The metallic suit offered scant protection, it's X
shredded and the material almost nothing from what I can see now. The
sanguine stain contrasts acutely with her pale skin, lacing its mark
across unmarred ivory and the twin rises of her breasts. I fight the
red of my cheeks and the surge of an intense yet undefinable emotion,
as I see the scrap of metal that rests across the softness of her
left breast, hovering over her heart. The beaded chain attached to it
holds it to her neck and I wonder if she ever took it off. I angrily
suppress my thoughts, irritated that while I enjoy my voyeurism she's
getting just that much harder to save.
The stream of consciousness from my revelation only took as long as I
did to kneel by her, remove my glove, think better of it and brush my
lips gently across her lips.
The rush is immediate, like a rollercoaster, like every conscious
thought splintering, like your heart being torn out. And I know I'm
* * *
"You think, maybe I held on a little too long this time, O'?" I
drawl, sauntering past the mahogany door. The older woman breaks her
reverie of his face and looks up in surprise.
"Oh, you're here, Rogue," she smiles warmly and I return the gesture.
"Does this mean my vigil's up?" Ororo asks.
"Looks like," I shrug and usher her out of Wolverine's room with a
few more words. Jean thought he'd prefer to wake up here, this little
place of memories. Where he slept for the few nights he was here,
where he finally felt some comfort and rest.. even acceptance, away
from the sterile medlab and its connotations. Here where his
adamantium talons raked through my shoulder and I first tasted his
life. Though I doubt she was thinking of that last one. He's
asleep/unconscious on the bed and his face is as sedate as that other
"Five years.." I whisper, trying for apathetic but it only sounds
bitter. Five years ago he left.
"Five years " I can't help but whisper it again, sighing the words.
My hand is bound by a knot of chain, where his dogtags are tangled in
my fingers and I brush it past my thigh as I approach the bed.
Someone went to the trouble of removing his clothes, bathing my blood
off him, even trimming that wild hair of his, before bringing him
here. That's why he lies there elutriated, clean, echoing a moment in
the past. Only the moonlight is here now, spilling through the window
and accenting his bare skin, where the sheet about his waist hasn't
covered. I stopped hoping for his return, but I didn't stop wanting
it. Yes, there's a difference. From a childish expectation, fuelled
by the constant cool of his tags against my chest, it ascended to the
ethereal. Wolverine became a concept and an icon of my adolescence.
He was the intangible hero, as untouchable as my skin and though I
knew, I thought I knew, he would never return I let him continue
living in my mind. It fed my love for him and my lust. When his lips
brushed mine, the memory absorbed into my unconscious mind, I knew he
felt that too.
Time changes things, time changes people. It changed me and he had
noticed. That thought pricked a smile on to my face. Deny as I knew
he would in the future, I could hold onto that mental image..
watching my own body withering away and Wolverine trying to choke
At least this way there would be little need for conversation, having
his touch back in my mind. I knew where he'd been, what he'd
seen.. who he'd seen. And that his dreams were as plagued with me as
mine were of him. I remembered a night where I, no.. Wolverine, lay
sweating heavily in a cheap motel room, having made a transition from
thinking of me as sweet Marie, to Marie.. potential lover. He had
been disgusted and appalled and thrilled.
And his vision of more than a child was confirmed when he saved me. I
never even got to say hello, the copper sculpture had detonated in
front of me, instantly wiping out Glower who I'd been fighting.
Wolverine saw the metal fragments cut me down just as he arrived. The
rest is history. Or at least.. his story. And that's how we got
here to a time when he's within my touch again.
I lean further over the bed, breathing deeply.. every sense is acute,
still alive with his mutation. With a glance to the doorway I can see
it is shut and I reach a gloved hand across the bed to lightly slide
across his face. He does not react and I release a breath, only then
realizing I was expecting his claws to lance through me. With more
courage I trace the contours of his face, trailing my way down past
his throat, across the scape of his chest. I'm fixated by his
chest, the way the muscles expand and undulate with his breathing.
There's a chorus of girlish voices in the back of my mind, cheering
that Wolverine has returned. <He's finally here! He's really here!
Wolverine, Wolverine.. he's our man!> I smite them with vexation
and continue the exploration.
I trace along his torso, feeling each rib, each sinew. Our breathing
patterns merge, though I can feel mine escalating. There's hunger
too and I can't stand it anymore. Withdrawing one hand, I tug away
the glove with my teeth. An infinitely more careful caress I use this
time, my nails extending past my fingertips to grate along his skin.
He flinches slightly, as though tickled and I carefully waver my
fingertips away from his skin, careful to allow only my nail to
touch. People were surprised when I found this out, that my nails
have no touch of death. I don't know why. Hair and nails.. same
thing really. All dead.
But it's different with nails. They're connected to your
hands. When they're moved, the points where they connect to your
fingers can feel it, the vicarious touch. My nails lingered along his
body, the firm muscle dimpled beneath the white crescents. I turned a
digit over, pushing further, just above his navel. The skin of my
thumb almost contacting. Then a little closer. Turning, closer. Back
and closer. I wanted to lean a little further, a little too far.
Actually feel his skin, then his mind being enveloped into me. A
little further.. but not far enough. The slightest layer of air
separated my skin from his. And I almost pushed closer.
But my wrist was wrenched abruptly away. Wolverine had his eyes open,
an unreadable expression on his face, eyes darkly intense. He seemed
tired, but he had reacted swiftly, dragging a hand enclosed in the
bedsheet up to my touch before I could respond.
"Marie.." he whispered, questioning.
I shook my head, trying to regain my breath, "Rogue."
He tilted his head, cocking an eyebrow in a gesture of mock and
The sheet had pulled away from his waist when he had seized my hand
and I could see the bare skin of his hip, taught over the bone and
muscle. Suppressing a tremble, I unwound the chain of his tags from
my free hand and let them fall onto his stomach, where the chain
pooled at his navel. I raised my eyes back to his face, where his
eyes bore into mine, making me feel absolutely vulnerable. Feel like
"You might need these," I nodded to the tags and tugged my
wrist away. I strode to the door and quietly left the silent room.
I know Wolverine realizes I've changed, but he doesn't know how much.
(to be continued..)