14: Unpredictable
“Wolverine. What am I going to do with you?”
Just the thought of it, the possibilities, sent her heart hammering. Rogue licked her lips, and took a deep breath to calm herself. She wasn't the student here – it was he who had a lesson to learn. And she could be a harsh taskmaster, if she had to be. Something must have shown on her face, because his hungry leer faltered, then vanished as he stared down at her. She was crouched on the floor at his feet, but she felt powerful, not submissive.
Suddenly, he looked wary.
Well then. She rocked back on her heels to survey him. Her territory, by conquest. Brand new running shoes, pristine and white, where she remembered steelcaps, or those disreputable cowboy boots. Thick terry cotton on his upper half, concealing that wondrous chest; thinner poly cotton below, hiding calves she knew bulged with muscle. They had lost the battle with his thighs, though, and she could see the muscles there clenching and releasing as his body fought the stillness he had imposed.
The moment before fight or flight, she realised, and nearly cursed aloud. He had been a prisoner more than once, confined for days and weeks, and tortured. He might have forgotten the nightmares, and buried the memories, but she hadn't – and she had cuffed him to a chair?
Rogue hauled the key out of her pocket, and her mouth was open on a babble of apologies, when his agonised growl stopped her short.
“Fuck, Marie. Don't make me beg.” His eyes were full of conflict, and yes, every muscle in his body was taut. Beg for what, Logan? But something told her he didn't want to discuss this, didn't want to be complicit.
But he wanted.
She tucked the key away, and stretched to her full height in front of him. Reached back, released her hair from its tight ponytail, and watched his eyes heat as it swished down to caress her ass. She hid her smile – oldest trick in the book, Logan – and leaned forward, her hands over his as they gripped the arms of the chair, their faces just inches apart.
“Marie wants to make you beg, Logan. All that time in the cabin, wanting you so badly, and not being able to touch you. She wants you to beg. And so do I.”
She dropped lower, pressing her lips to his neck. Tasted the sweat rising salty from his skin, and etched a teasing circle with her tongue. Sealed it with a sharp nip, and watched it blossom purple. A chain of bites, she thought, one for every time he had refused to touch her. Unbreakable, like the bonds he had forged the night he decided not to abandon her, shivering in the snow. And the the night they had killed her father, releasing her soul. And another night, testing the boundaries of newfound control, tangled together on a hidden patio in Havana.
Even as she sat back to admire the line of bites, dark against his skin, she knew they'd be gone before they left this room. But she'd know. That chain of bruises would be the last thing she would think of, every night of her life. The beauty of them, raw against his throat, and his submission. To Marie – and to Rogue.
But he wouldn't be the Wolverine if he went down without a fight.
“Fuck Rogue. You are Marie. And you damn well know you can do anything to me.” His voice broke. “You always could, kid. You just didn't know it then.”
She slapped him. As the flat of her hand stung against his cheekbone, she tangled the other hand in the nape of his neck, dragging his eyes up to meet hers.
“Marie wouldn't know what to do with you, sugar. She was broken, and she was scared, and she was a kid. You gave her the strength to get past that, and you can say what you like, but I know it wasn't because you wanted to fuck her!”
Her voice gentled. “Marie got a raw deal, sugar. She got a shitty father, a weak mama, and the sort of mutation that was always gonna ruin her life. But here's the thing – YOU happened. And you helped her take what she had and do something useful with it, become somebody who could actually survive that fucked up life.”
“I ain't apologising for Rogue, sugar. She ain't Marie, but she's not a dead loss, either. And here's the thing.”
She bent forward to grab the trackpants either side of his hips, dropping them to his knees with one quick yank. She nearly smiled at the tighty whities, but she had a point to make – and he was already making it for her. “See that? You're so fucking hard, you're halfway out of those jocks already. That's for me, sugar. Because I know Marie used to get you hot and bothered, but she ain't here now, and you didn't come here looking for her.”
She stared at him for a moment, daring him to disagree. When he remained silent, she raised her hand to her mouth and licked her fingers one by one before slowly, deliberately, dropping her hand down to trace around the head of his unruly cock. He didn't say a word, but the strangled noise and wild eyes made her smile. And dip her hand deep inside to grasp him tight, and stroke. And when his cock swelled even further under her hand, the sheer heft of it demanded she adjust her grip. And the feel of him in her palm demanded she close her fist around him and pump.
“Oh my fucking God. Rogue!” Her name became a howl as he threw his head back as if in agony, his hips pistoning upwards and knocking her backwards onto her ass. She tried not to crow with triumph, but the laugh came anyway, and when she finally stopped laughing, he was watching her with a strange light in his eyes.
“That's the first time I've heard you laugh.”
“Don't be silly, sugar! I laugh all the time.” Never like that, though, a little voice that might have been wholly her own whispered.
“Never with me. Marie smiled and giggled, but she never really laughed much. I've heard you chuckle, and make lots of wisecracks, but not let go like that. Not ever.”
“Well sugar, no one's ever knocked me on my ass quite like that before.” And she must look like an idiot with this Cheshire Cat grin, but fuck it, she was Rogue, and she was about to have her wicked way with Logan, and that, ladies and gentlemen, was enough to make any woman squeal with glee.
Not that she had any intention of squealing. Not before he did, anyway.
*
Mystique stared at the mysterious stains on the wall of the latest safe house, and told herself to bide her time. Be patient. Fight the good fight. But really, if she never had to live in another broken down, smelly, too small, too crowded safe house, it would too soon.
So many years of her life, sacrificed to this. It wasn't that she didn't believe in the cause, but to have to live like this, to be reduced to rats in the sewers … it was unnecessary. Misguided. Like so many of the Brotherhood's dilemmas. Misguided.
She had been a loyal lieutenant, to a degree. She had upheld Magneto's aims, and fought for his glory, and manoeuvred to his advantage. She had loved, and lost, because of him, and chosen the Brotherhood over her own blood.
Marie, of course, had never known. Adoption records were so tightly sealed, and even if her adoptive parents had thought to tell her, the papers had never held her real name anyway. (Slave name, his voice echoed in her head.) Would he have been less cruel if he had known who she was? Their child, conceived in love, early in their years together? When the cause had burned like a holy crusade, and a child was a mere inconvenience?
She knew why she had never asked. Because she knew him, and she didn't want to hear his answer. The greater good, he preached. And a true zealot would willingly sacrifice his own child, easily betray a loyal comrade, happily send them all to their deaths, if he thought it right.
Magneto no longer knew what was right. Their mission to unite mutants behind the Brotherhood flag had failed, falling into a morass of criminal activities and terrorist actions that won them more enemies than friends. Xavier had won the march, his insistence that they were all human – still human – winning the hearts and minds of moderate humans and mutants alike.
Easy for him, with his smooth white skin and easily hidden abilities, Mystique thought bitterly. Easy to hold to those wishy-washy politics when no one wants to lock you up, or steal acres of your skin, or kill you simply because you are too dangerous to live.
She tried to remember the days when the three of them had worked side by side, towards the same goals, but decades of bitterness had dulled their lustre. Pushed them too far apart to ever reconcile.
And reconciliation was vital with the changes that were coming, Mystique told herself as her conscience began to clamour once again.
She had unleashed her weapon, and he would make the kill for nothing less than the future of mutantkind.
*
Rogue pushed herself to her feet, and stalked towards his chair. Spun him around to face the monitors, and stood behind him to watch. On the screen, her face was contorted in a paroxysm of bliss, and her mouth grew slack as she remembered what it meant to be in that moment. His tongue, delving its way in between the folds of her sex, and his lips, closing around her clit, first to tease, and then to tug unmercifully as the wave took her. She forced herself away, out of that liquid state, and back to the locked room, back to watching. Only to find that had its compensations, too – the line of his back, muscles bunching as he lifted her high, and the breathtaking tightness of his ass, and the way her fingernails scored long lines down his back, to drip blood for a moment, then vanish as if they'd never existed.
She realised that she wanted to see his face as he came. She'd been too far gone in the moment, but the camera was paying attention where she had not, and the vein that throbbed at his temples, the grit of his teeth, and the tremendous, full body convulsion as his hips slammed deep into her waiting centre …
“You breathing?” His eyes were fixed to her face, and the smile was far too wolfish for a man handcuffed to a chair.
She blushed. “Don't like the movie, sugar?”
“I like it plenty, girl.” He flicked his thumb at the monitor, and tapped the screen to rerun the footage. “Now that girl, who let me go down on her in the garage, I figure that's Rogue.” He fastforwarded a few moments, and she saw her head fly back, and tears flowing down her face. He had stopped, just inside of her, and stilled for a moment, despite her kicks and protestations. That fraction of a second had lasted millenia, she remembered, and the sensation of it, the pleasure and the completeness and the knowledge that finally he was there, present, in her reality, after so, so long …
“That's Marie. My Marie.” He growled, half arousal, and half warning. “I'm actually pretty damn impressed with Rogue. But don't you go giving up on that girl, either. I think she's stronger than you realise.”
He might even have been right, Rogue conceded, as she stared at her own face, frozen in a moment of tenderness Rogue would have otherwise denied. She frowned, and hit fast forward again, only to find herself being thoroughly fucked on the back stairs. Her hands were white knuckled as she braced herself on the guard rail, and her entire body shook to the power of his thrusts. They seemed lost in a world of lust, those two … and then the dark-haired woman looked straight into the camera and sent them a slow, lascivious wink, even as the Wolverine loomed over her, balls deep on his way to another climax.
“And that, sugar, is Rogue,” she said as he spluttered beside her. “Question is, who's here now? And what, pray tell, is she going to do to you?”
“Think I'm past caring,” he grunted, eyes fixed to the screen as her mouth opened wide in what she knew had been a scream of pleasure.
“Well, sugar, I'm not, and you ARE going to beg me. You are going to beg me to touch you, and suck you, and let's see if I have this right … play cowgirl on your cock?”
He flinched at that but she was getting sick of their past crowding into the room. Rogue swatted both screens into silence, and hoisted herself up onto the console to examine him. He was too beautiful, really, straining against the bonds like that, half pissed off and half sorry. Still horny, though, and it was time he lost that ridiculous underwear, she decided. Poor man might do himself a damage, locked up like that.
She slid down and hooked her fingers into the elastic, then tugged, making sure her hair fell forward to pool in his lap. She felt his shudder as the long strands floated over his now-exposed cock, and shook her head a little to stroke him once more. Later, he would beg for her hands, but this was a time for taking it slow. She would wear him down like water on a stone – drip, drip, drip – and when she was done, there would be no more room for Marie.
“Marie would have been too scared to look, sugar. She didn't know what she was missing … because you have the most beautiful cock I've ever seen. Not as long as some, but so thick, like a tree. Blunt and powerful.” She bent her head to whisper the words over him, warm puffs of air, and her lips so close … but not touching.
A moan ripped out of him, a needy sound she would have never expected from the Wolverine. “Ro.. Ma.. uugh. Uh.”
“What was that, sugar? Touch you? Marie can't touch you, sugar ...”
Rogue dragged her fingernails up the outsides of his thighs, shamelessly tracing the huge muscles as they bunched and clenched under her hands. Used her fingertips as she reached his groin, dancing them over him, tormenting the tender skin then tangling her fingers in the proud bush of hair that framed his heavy cock. Tugged, and blew, and teased. But didn't touch.
“Rogue!” His shout echoed inside the room, and she drank in the desperation on his face. But …
“Touch me, Rogue. Please.”
She sent up a prayer of thanks and dropped to her knees, flicking her hair back behind her as she sought her prize. Slipped her lips over the silky soft tip, then slid her mouth down the fullness of his length, before dragging her teeth the full way up. The taste of him blindsided her for a moment, and she forgot all about teaching him a lesson as she chased down every fragrant molecule with her tongue. His hips had begun to heave before she came back to herself, and released him with a last, reluctant suckle.
“Don't stop. Don't, please ...”
“Now sugar, let's not get ahead of ourselves. I haven't made you cry yet.” And for that, she needed more skin, she realised, and bent to retrieve the tiny knife sheathed inside her boot. He stilled, and she saw the trust they were building stretch thin and taut. She held his eyes, then lowered the knife to the neckline of his sweatshirt, and cut through to the hem with one swift motion. Climbed into his lap, and brandished it in front of his nose.
“Whatcha think I was going to do with it, Logan? Cut you?”
He shrugged, the twitch of his shoulders pulling one muscle after another into sharp relief. She tried not to salivate, but really. Acres of naked Wolverine, handcuffed to a chair. She shifted restlessly, and felt his cock hit the sweet spot on the seam of her jeans. Control!
“Nah. Not really.” His smirk told her he knew exactly where her focus was. Bastard.
The blade flashed under his chin, and suddenly a line of blood bloomed across his neck.
“Don't take Rogue for granted, Logan. She's an unpredictable bitch.”
Rogue punctuated the warning by leaning forward to kiss along the fast-disappearing cut. It was gone by the time she moved to her mouth down to the hard swell of his pecs, kneading them with her hands as she sucked one flat nipple, and then the other, into her mouth. Used her teeth to worry them hard, then moved on to the delicious ridges that sculpted his abdomen. They, of course, demanded she trace them, one by one, with lips, teeth and tongue.
She felt like a supplicant at the temple of Logan when she glanced up and saw confusion and suspicion warring with arousal and awe. Trust me, Logan, she prayed. Let me fucking worship you. Then she lost herself in the smell and taste of him, nearly missing the answer that came wrapped in a long groan.
“Yeah. But she's my fucking unpredictable bitch.”
*
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Author's Chapter Notes:
This chapter seemed to write itself. *whistles innocently*
NC-17 for sexual content, sexual language, and oh, explicit sexual talk.
NC-17 for sexual content, sexual language, and oh, explicit sexual talk.
Chapter End Notes:
Let me know what you think, please.