Fic
Title: Corpusants
Author: Expected Aberrance
Rated: Heavy PG-13 to light R, I suppose
Summary: Beauty lies in unchained power.
Pairing: Rogue/Magneto
Notes: X3 spoilers within
The sky darkened quickly over their small patch of sea, this eve drawn over the metal and rock ahead of the sunset by the gathering clouds. The wind gusts, harbingers of the coming storm, salted the first drops of rain with sea spray as the waves licked higher on the rocky beach. Back at the Institute, Rogue had loved the odd occasion when Ms. Munroe would conduct thunderstorms such as this from the rooftop or a balcony, occasionally lofting herself skyward to direct the chaos from above. The prospect of witnessing such again sans conductor had drawn her out of the fortress to stand barefoot on the wet gravel of the shoreline. The ashen clouds grew to tower over her, filling the horizon as the first rumblings of thunder rolled across the water. Flashes of light danced among the uniform gray, and the precipitation began in earnest. She knew Erik enjoyed observing the tempest as much as she, and was not surprised to be drawn back into a wiry frame, his approach masked by the crescendo in light and sound.
Shifting her attention from the skies momentarily, she took in the familiar harsh features of the man studying her intently, his silver hair reflecting the pulses from the broiling clouds. He certainly looked less distinguished than usual, being almost as drenched as she was, and she grinned at him before turning her gaze again skywards. She felt him kiss her beneath her left ear and pull her against him firmly. Pain for pain for pleasure, the sensation of his lips on her neck gave way to his teeth and tongue as he bit her fiercely in time with the first needle-pinch of her powers, the former with nearly enough force to draw blood. Then she could feel as he did, a confounding of sight, sound, touch, smell, and taste in the world alight around her definable only by experience, like a new color.
The scattered ghosts of her mind drowned beneath his voice, his will subduing them more effectively than the Professor's telepathic compartmentalization had. Though Bobby had been sweet enough to look past her curse, gingerly embracing the part of her that ached for that sharp-sweet pull along with the girl who only wanted to be normal, it had been Erik who'd forced the two together, finding what he desired, dare she say needed, only in the reconciliation. The others informed her self-righteously that there was nothing wrong with her, but shied away from her uncovered skin when it most mattered. Erik sought it out, devouring and consuming every inch of her he could, whether it be fucking her mercilessly against a wall or passing the salt across the table at dinner. He seemed to love the pain accompanying her caress, the submission that was dually an act of dominance, for they both knew all too well what he could accomplish by touching her.
She closed her eyes, collapsing the overlaid images down to field-lines and waves; the separated charge
concentrations in the firmament connected intricately to the metal architecture behind them, the electric ebb and flow of the saltwater all around, the deep groan of the liquid iron fathoms beneath them, even the complex ribbons outlining the hands now taking divergent paths from her waist. Lightning struck one of the arrestors he'd constructed further down the beach close enough that she could taste each of the dozen or so bolts, quick drops of menthol on her tongue.
He'd been the first to deliberately touch her knowing the consequences since her skin had turned on her, and it seemed that horrible night on Liberty Island portended the sequence of events that brought her here. If she were to be completely honest with herself, the problems in her and Bobby's relationship extended far beyond the inconvenience of limited skin-to-skin contact, and had not resolved with her temporary cure. Not that she regretted taking it, nor the experiences with Bobby the ability to freely touch had facilitated, but she'd grown beyond both. She didn't wear gloves anymore unless it was absolutely necessary, as it was here with the Brotherhood that she'd learned to recognize the difference between fear of and respect for her capabilities in the reactions of those around her. Now she had a curious blend of team, army, and family to call home, where she'd been welcomed after leaving the Institute as a disillusioned misfit among outcasts.
His right hand traveled upwards underneath her shirt in careful strokes, his left curling down between her legs over the thin barrier of her underwear.
He had a unique gift for being utterly sincere in both appreciating what she was and using her dependence on his affection toward his own ends. He also had a knack for effectively demonstrating desirability in those who'd convinced themselves of their own ugliness, though some of his methods were far more carnal than philosophical. She knew exactly what he was, and better than anyone else that of which he was capable. Proof lay before her daily, whenever she looked in the mirror, or had training with Mystique. She'd seen the warnings in the older woman's eyes, noticed the way she and Erik barely spoke outside of mission planning or execution, past betrayals put aside but not forgotten. If it became necessary, she would heed them.
He broke skin contact for a moment to tug her head to the side by her hair, distinctly aware, because he was, of the four neat puncture wounds aligned parallel to his collar bone, marking his third imprisonment as a consequence of the fear of those labeling him other, that time inside his own body. She remembered the first time she'd inadvertently touched him there. He'd held her bare hand over the scars until she was afraid he'd pass out from the transfer to prove to himself and her that the humans hadn't destroyed that essential part of his being, merely repressed briefly. His strength had come back slowly but steadily until was once again the unforgiving force of nature willing to bring humanity to its knees.
“Open your eyes.”
And as he brought the wrath of the heavens down around them, through them, light and heat and pure energy twisting over and beneath skin, it was the safest she'd ever felt.
Author: Expected Aberrance
Rated: Heavy PG-13 to light R, I suppose
Summary: Beauty lies in unchained power.
Pairing: Rogue/Magneto
Notes: X3 spoilers within
The sky darkened quickly over their small patch of sea, this eve drawn over the metal and rock ahead of the sunset by the gathering clouds. The wind gusts, harbingers of the coming storm, salted the first drops of rain with sea spray as the waves licked higher on the rocky beach. Back at the Institute, Rogue had loved the odd occasion when Ms. Munroe would conduct thunderstorms such as this from the rooftop or a balcony, occasionally lofting herself skyward to direct the chaos from above. The prospect of witnessing such again sans conductor had drawn her out of the fortress to stand barefoot on the wet gravel of the shoreline. The ashen clouds grew to tower over her, filling the horizon as the first rumblings of thunder rolled across the water. Flashes of light danced among the uniform gray, and the precipitation began in earnest. She knew Erik enjoyed observing the tempest as much as she, and was not surprised to be drawn back into a wiry frame, his approach masked by the crescendo in light and sound.
Shifting her attention from the skies momentarily, she took in the familiar harsh features of the man studying her intently, his silver hair reflecting the pulses from the broiling clouds. He certainly looked less distinguished than usual, being almost as drenched as she was, and she grinned at him before turning her gaze again skywards. She felt him kiss her beneath her left ear and pull her against him firmly. Pain for pain for pleasure, the sensation of his lips on her neck gave way to his teeth and tongue as he bit her fiercely in time with the first needle-pinch of her powers, the former with nearly enough force to draw blood. Then she could feel as he did, a confounding of sight, sound, touch, smell, and taste in the world alight around her definable only by experience, like a new color.
The scattered ghosts of her mind drowned beneath his voice, his will subduing them more effectively than the Professor's telepathic compartmentalization had. Though Bobby had been sweet enough to look past her curse, gingerly embracing the part of her that ached for that sharp-sweet pull along with the girl who only wanted to be normal, it had been Erik who'd forced the two together, finding what he desired, dare she say needed, only in the reconciliation. The others informed her self-righteously that there was nothing wrong with her, but shied away from her uncovered skin when it most mattered. Erik sought it out, devouring and consuming every inch of her he could, whether it be fucking her mercilessly against a wall or passing the salt across the table at dinner. He seemed to love the pain accompanying her caress, the submission that was dually an act of dominance, for they both knew all too well what he could accomplish by touching her.
She closed her eyes, collapsing the overlaid images down to field-lines and waves; the separated charge
concentrations in the firmament connected intricately to the metal architecture behind them, the electric ebb and flow of the saltwater all around, the deep groan of the liquid iron fathoms beneath them, even the complex ribbons outlining the hands now taking divergent paths from her waist. Lightning struck one of the arrestors he'd constructed further down the beach close enough that she could taste each of the dozen or so bolts, quick drops of menthol on her tongue.
He'd been the first to deliberately touch her knowing the consequences since her skin had turned on her, and it seemed that horrible night on Liberty Island portended the sequence of events that brought her here. If she were to be completely honest with herself, the problems in her and Bobby's relationship extended far beyond the inconvenience of limited skin-to-skin contact, and had not resolved with her temporary cure. Not that she regretted taking it, nor the experiences with Bobby the ability to freely touch had facilitated, but she'd grown beyond both. She didn't wear gloves anymore unless it was absolutely necessary, as it was here with the Brotherhood that she'd learned to recognize the difference between fear of and respect for her capabilities in the reactions of those around her. Now she had a curious blend of team, army, and family to call home, where she'd been welcomed after leaving the Institute as a disillusioned misfit among outcasts.
His right hand traveled upwards underneath her shirt in careful strokes, his left curling down between her legs over the thin barrier of her underwear.
He had a unique gift for being utterly sincere in both appreciating what she was and using her dependence on his affection toward his own ends. He also had a knack for effectively demonstrating desirability in those who'd convinced themselves of their own ugliness, though some of his methods were far more carnal than philosophical. She knew exactly what he was, and better than anyone else that of which he was capable. Proof lay before her daily, whenever she looked in the mirror, or had training with Mystique. She'd seen the warnings in the older woman's eyes, noticed the way she and Erik barely spoke outside of mission planning or execution, past betrayals put aside but not forgotten. If it became necessary, she would heed them.
He broke skin contact for a moment to tug her head to the side by her hair, distinctly aware, because he was, of the four neat puncture wounds aligned parallel to his collar bone, marking his third imprisonment as a consequence of the fear of those labeling him other, that time inside his own body. She remembered the first time she'd inadvertently touched him there. He'd held her bare hand over the scars until she was afraid he'd pass out from the transfer to prove to himself and her that the humans hadn't destroyed that essential part of his being, merely repressed briefly. His strength had come back slowly but steadily until was once again the unforgiving force of nature willing to bring humanity to its knees.
“Open your eyes.”
And as he brought the wrath of the heavens down around them, through them, light and heat and pure energy twisting over and beneath skin, it was the safest she'd ever felt.