Annoying brat had been his first assessment of his unwanted passenger. Small, scared, reeking of old clothes, sweat and the road. The fact that she had tried to help him, had shouted a warning before he got gut full of cold steel did nothing to change the fact that she had basically forced him to take her with him. But as the hours passed and they traded words, another kind of feeling started to form in him. Something very familiar. And at the end of the day, high up among the stars, raw wind beating down on them as he held her, he had to accept the fact that he wanted her. Wanted her with every fiber of his being.

He didn’t get to act out his need and wanting. First he laid several days unconscious in the sub-level of Xavier’s mansion, then the good professor managed to dug up a lead to his past that sounded promising. He had been looking for his lost life too long to throw it away for the sake of a single fuck. Instead of going to her he went to garage to get reacquainted with motorcycle he had borrowed first time nearly a week ago and took off.

Six months later, frustrated, tired and beaten he decided to turn back from the path professor Xavier had pointed him at. It had sounded promising. Almost too good to be true. And too soon had he found out that if something sounded too good to be true, it most likely was exactly that.

Lust that had been roiling in him when he left had slowly ebbed during months he had been away. The road had eaten it, gobbled it up for good he thought. He found out just how wrong he was when he walked in to the mansion through wide front doors, and she was there, running towards him, hands wrapping around him and that curvy body pressing against his. He had to resist the urge to slam her against the wall and fuck her then and there. He had to, because they had an audience. Skinny, blonde boy who reeked off snow, ice and cheap cologne. And who presented himself as her boyfriend and tried to freeze his hand when they shook hands. Yet another obstacle on his way.

He had accepted the fact that it just wasn’t meant to be. Had slinked back, observing her and her life from the distance. Letting her live. Just because he had this insane urge to get his rocks off with her, didn’t mean that he should go and ruin her every possibility to have something resembling a normal life. He couldn’t give her that. All he had to offer was a half of a man he was, the cold road and harsh reality. At least in here with that whitewashed boy toy, safety and funding coming from Xavier gave her everything he could never provide.

One night of carelessness, too much booze, and poor timing changed it all.

He had been sitting in a small lounge, his feet propped to the coffee table in front of him, flicking through channel after channel, trying to find something, anything worth to watch. It had been late. Closer to dawn. He had heard the front door open. He had turned off the TV, hoping that the person that just entered hadn’t heard the noise. He had wanted to be left alone. Then, when he hadn’t heard the door closing, curiosity had gotten the better of him and he had ventured to see who it had been. Nobody except him usually kept these late hours.

It had been Marie. Utterly drunk, her long hair long ago escaped from the braid, hanging tangled mess around her face. Clothes put on backwards, shirt buttoned wrong and skirt hiking up high on her hips revealing silk stockings, and rather tantalizing amount of bare skin from her thighs.

She was lying on the doorstep, half in, and half out, completely unaware of the world around her and the state of herself. He had been able to smell the booze in her, as well as the fact that she had recently had sex. Scent of her boyfriend clung to her like a bitter cloud, covering her own, unique and alluring aroma almost completely.

He had done the unthinkable.

He had picked her up, fully intending to take her to the room she shared with her boyfriend. At the door he had stopped when she had opened her eyes.
“I don’t want to go in there…” She had uttered. He had hesitated only a moment before walking past the door he should have opened. He had taken her to his room, carried her over the doorstep, as he would have done years ago if the all odds hadn’t stacked up against him. Still fully intending just to help her out through what ever it was she was going through.

“I feel so dirty…” She had whispered when he had tried to lay her down on his bed. He had carried her to his bathroom instead and started to fill the bathtub, which what he hadn’t had the use up until that moment. While he had waited he had undressed her, careful not to touch her exposed skin. She hadn’t protested, but she had been too drunk to do it herself, let alone cooperate. It had taken him full minute to realize that he was in fact touching her bare skin and nothing was happening. He was holding her arm, trying to find the clasp of her bra, all that warm skin and flesh under his palm.

Surprised and baffled he had first let her go. She had fallen on the floor to a drunken, sobbing heap.
“Nobody wants to touch me… Nobody…” She hadn’t cried, just stated it as if it were the God Given Truth.

Bath forgotten he had grabbed her and carried her in to his bed. Stripped off his own clothes before sliding between the sheets, next to her, as close as possible, plastering his whole body against her fragile form. Drake’s scent had still been there, a disgusting and ugly reminder of that she didn’t belong to him. He had taken upon the task of getting rid of that mark.

He had gone through every inch of her skin, every nook and cranny, every orifice with his tongue. Laving and nibbling, scrubbing until he couldn’t smell even a trace of her earlier ordeal on her. For ordeal it had clearly been he had noticed. There had been bruises. There had been small tears in places there shouldn’t be if everything was done in full cooperation.

She had lain under him, warm and glowing, relaxed and almost unconscious. His own body had been almost painful hard and throbbing from places he had tried so hard to ignore for all these years. She had moved then, bringing her hips cradling his and granting him the passage he had been yearning, wincing from the intrusion.

He had tried to be careful.

She had cried through it.