DISCLAIMER: X-MEN CHARACTERS ARE NOT MINE.
IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT AT THE BOTTOM!
RISE ABOVE
AN X-MEN FANFICTION
BY ANGELWINGZ21
"Reality is something you rise above." Liza Minelli
Contrary to popular belief, Rogue did not go straight to one of the Cure clinics in New York. She did arrive at the city sometime around midnight, though.
All the voices in her head had a general consensus that a bit of liquid courage was in order before going ahead and changing her life forever. She happened to agree.
And she was a lady, goddammit. She wasn't about to spend her last day as a mutant in one of those sleazy, cheap bars. No, she was going to a good bar, like those chic ones she had seen in the movies. And she was going to splurge. A bottle of Grey Goose. A pack of Du Mauriers. No one to bother her until she decided to drop her ass in a line to shoot poison up her veins, just so she could touch again.
And that was when everything changed.
The scent was the first thing she noticed. A heavy musk that took over the senses, until it was the only thing she could concentrate on. And then there were the hands, bracing the man against the bar as he climbed up the stool. Strong hands, long fingers, tanned skin, calloused. He was dressed in black. Black suit, black shirt, black tie, little black handkerchief on his breast pocket. But he had a brown leather duster coat over everything. And then there was his face. Tanned, chiseled, with strands of hair getting in the way. Aviator sunglasses hid his eyes.
Somewhere, deep inside her, she felt like Sin had arrived.
Rogue threw back another shot of vodka.
Marie had been taught that talking to strangers was bad. But now she was Rogue.
And she wanted to flirt. Because she never did flirt with Bobby, in the beginning. Because she always refused to look at other men, because that's not what proper ladies in relationships did. Because she had let her mutation control her for far too long. Because she would need the practice for after tomorrow. Because she had wanted to feel like a woman.
She kept on refilling her shot glass.
The man smiled a smile that reminded her of devils. Of Blues, and Jazz, and Crimson Red Lights. He poured Wild Turkey bourbon on his glass and drank it like water. How fitting. His voice and his accent could only be bourbon. He was obviously raised a gentleman. Playful, charismatic, respectful. He would push boundaries, but only if she let him. She let him. He was South, he was Home.
He drank more bourbon. Rogue threw back another shot.
She didn't want to be miserable. Tomorrow would be the first day of the rest of her life. He laughed, told her that life should be enjoyed every single moment. One never knew what could happen next.
They should celebrate life, he offered. Rogue accepted.
She wanted to celebrate life.
And she had gone through a whole bottle of vodka.
Sunlight filtered through curtains and heated the thick, burgundy bed sheets. The Rogue's eyes fluttered. She was waking.
And when she did, her mind was slow to understand what was in front of her. There was a chest and an abdomen full of perfect muscles. Her bare hand rested just under his navel.
There were flashes, then. Flashes of her and the man from the bar going into an apartment, kissing and undressing, and stroking, and grabbing greedily at flesh.
The piercing shriek that escaped from Rogue's throat was panicked and hysterical. What had she done? This couldn't be happening. If she screamed even louder maybe he won't be dead anymore. And then a pair of eyes snapped wide open in surprise.
Red beacons in pools of black. Staring at her. Moving towards her.
Sharp nails clawed at the sheets, feet kicking wildly for purchase. She had to scramble away. The dead had risen. It was trying to take her soul as punishment.
Rogue fell off the side, landed on the floor with a soft thud, in a mess of sheets, limbs, and black and white hair.
"Cherie?" The man's voice was low, still rough from sleep. Her wild breathing stopped.
Long, warm fingers wrapped around her forearms softly. Her green eyes followed their movements, absolutely captivated, as her whole body broke out in goose bumps.
The fingers belonged to hands, that belonged to arms, that belonged to shoulders, where there were the curves of a neck, and then a strong square jaw, lips, nose, cheeks, and then those black and red eyes.
'Mutant!' someone said in her mind. Her eyes snapped back to his hands.
"Are you alright?" His voice was full of worry and curiosity. He still held her arms. She wanted to cry.
"I thought you were dead…" She sounded so weak, breathless. His thumbs stroke her skin.
"M'not. It was just a bad dream." Tears nearly spilled down her cheeks. Just a nightmare. Just a nightmare. Just a nightmare. "Come back to bed, oui? Let me show you just how alive I am…"
And then there was bare skin, and kisses, and stroking, and grabbing greedily at flesh, and moaning, and gasping, and cursing, and every nerve on fire, over and over and over again.
ANNOUNCEMENT: This pretty baby is up for adoption! At some point in my life I wrote this with intentions of making it a multi-chapter story, but then I left it to gather dust in my computer and now I can't remember the plot. Anyways, thought this piece had a lot of potential for anyone who is willing to give it a chance. If you're interested please contact me through PM. If I get no response, then at least there's another ROMY one-shot out there for the enjoyment of the fans.
Please review!