He wasn't the first person she had touched.
Rogue was not as unfamiliar with touch as much as everyone likes to think. No she was quite use to it in fact and all its rewards. The sensation of skin to skin contact was something she didn't wish for, surprisingly. No these allegations have somehow come about from what she believed was thin air. Anne Marie Darkholm did however have dreams of touch, she calls them nightmares.
After all the missions and all the targets she had acquired from being under Mystiques' wing she had come to terms of what touching really meant for her; Pain, confusion, numbness, inability to control herself, and in most cases death. Death being her least favorite since most people battle with when causing death is their own conscience. Rogue however can live with her guilt just fine, but the hatred from within her own mind and from the mind of the one she's taken is something she could never get rid of. Their voices being molded into her own as if creating its own home in her mind. Not something she could ever rid of or shake out of. A permanent bond with a mind that knew in its core that she was the reason for its own demise.
Rogue has never found herself longing for touch the last five years; in fact she has avoided it beyond all cost.
After the dozens of lives she had stolen and stored away, after all the lives she had shattered with her kisses and the pain she dealt with her embraces, she knew all too well what the sensation of touch brought her and she had welcomed those full body suites, gloves and scarves with open hands. Not just for the protection of others but to protect herself from those around her.
He wasn't the first person she had touched, not at all. But he was the first to remember how it felt.
Shattered lives and tainted dreams.
