The first time was an accident.

She was out dancing with Jubilee and Kitty. He'd followed because --well, someone had to look out for her, and he knew what men wanted from girls like her. And he'd been right.

After dancing most of the evening with one guy, Rogue had followed him upstairs to the balcony, which consisted of cozy little private areas with soft couches and very little lighting.

She was too dizzy to realize that he'd put something in her drink. He pressed her back into the seat and his hands roamed her body roughly. She realized then that this was not what -- who -- she wanted, and she fought him off, her coordination and reflexes impaired by the rohypnol he'd given her.

She struggled and screamed, but either no one could hear her, or no one cared, because no one showed up to help.

But Logan was there, and he saved her.

He grabbed the guy who'd dared to lay hands on his Marie, and knocked him out with one punch. Broke the punk's jaw.

Marie was crying and panting. Logan grabbed her shoulders and shook her lightly. "Kid, you okay?"

She sniffed and nodded, wrapping herself around him and rubbing up against him. "You saved me, Logan. You saved me. Thank you so much." He smelled the change in her, from fear to arousal. He felt himself get hard.

He knew it was wrong, but when her hands wandered down his chest and stomach and then over his erection, he couldn't resist. She pressed her lips to his collar, where his shirt protected him, and he pulled on the gloves he always carried for emergency Marie situations.

Lowering her down onto the couch that had just been the scene of the attack, he pressed kisses to her neck through her scarf before bringing the sheer material up to fall over her face so he could ravish her mouth with his.

She gasped and moaned as he kissed her, no gentleness in him now -- he was driven strictly by the desire to mark her as his. His hands kneaded her breasts and she arched into them, wanting more, wanting whatever he could give her. His mouth followed his hands. Pushing her shirt up and ordering her not to move, he sucked at her nipples through the lace of her bra, drawing first one and then the other hard little bud into his mouth, relishing the way she writhed and moaned under his ministrations.

Her hands were not idle. She unzipped his jeans and freed his cock from its confinement, stroking him hard from base to tip. He remembered the condoms in his wallet, and retained enough vestiges of common sense to put one on before he slit her tights and entered her wet heat.

She gasped as he thrust into her the first time, and part of him realized he'd just taken her virginity with all the class and care of an animal, but she was so tight and hot that he didn't care. He just moved in her, instinct driving him to finish what he'd started.

After the initial pain, which was blurred because of the drugs in her system, Rogue moved with him. She wrapped her legs around his waist and dug her heels into his thighs. There was nothing loving in that first embrace -- it was hard and rough and amazingly good.

When they were done, they stood awkwardly, no cuddling, no tender words exchanged. She smoothed down her skirt and he redid his pants, and they walked downstairs silently. They grabbed Kitty and Jubilee and left.

---

They didn't speak of it. No one knew that something had started which could only end in blood.

---

Her room became redundant, unnecessary. She spent the nights in his bed, trying to recapture the heady savagery of that first time.

For a while it was good. Very, very good. But after a few months, it became less so. There was something missing, some edge of danger or pain that couldn't be summoned in the safety of his bed every night.

She never told him. She knew he cared, knew he wanted it to be tender and loving, and she would never hurt him by saying that wasn't enough, that it was from him that she'd picked up the taste for pain and the fantasy of being taken hard in a dark alley, under the yellow glow of a streetlamp.

So she went out again, one night, alone. She knew he would follow. He always did.

After throwing her body around on the dance floor, dressed in a tight black vinyl skirt that resembled a belt more than a piece of clothing, she found a willing victim. He bought her a few drinks, which she tossed back with abandon, knowing Logan was always there to protect her, rescue her.

When the guy took her gloved hand and led her to the alley behind the club, she followed willingly. She let him press her up against the brick wall, his hands roaming her stocking-clad legs as his lips pressed against the hollow of her neck through the ever-present scarf.

"I like it rough," she murmured, her lips dangerously close to his ear. He complied, suddenly grabbing her shoulders and slamming her into the wall, her head connecting with the brick hard enough that she saw stars.

And then Logan was there, pulling him off her and throwing him into the wall, his eyes wild with anger. He beat the man senseless for touching what was his, while Rogue watched intently, her eyes dark with passion.

When Logan was done, she pulled him close. "Marie, baby," he whispered. "It's okay, I'm here." He kissed her, hard, and lifted her up against the wall.

She wrapped her legs around him, saying, "You saved me, Logan. You rescued me," as she ground her heat into his groin.

Moaning, he sank his teeth into her shoulder, just hard enough to leave a mark as his hands traced the path the other's had, moments before. "Let's go home, kid," he said, not wanting to hurt her, knowing that if he fucked her now, it would be hard and fast and everything she made him want to forget he was.

She grabbed one of his hands and pressed it to the juncture between her legs. "Logan, please," she hissed, and he was lost.

He took her hard against the wall, after her hands helped slide the rubber on, and as he pounded into her, she recognized what was missing from their daily lives. She came with an intensity that shocked even her, and it didn't fade, but rocked her body for several minutes as he went over the edge and climaxed with a growl that sent another thrill through her.

---

He never asked her why she did it -- why she sought out other men, at first every once in a while, but with increasing frequency as the months passed. He knew she was testing him, making him prove his love, honor his promise to protect her in the most basic way. The animal part of him thanked her silently for allowing him to fight, for giving him a reason to enact violence on the men who looked at her with lust in their eyes.

---

It was a dangerous game, and one that was bound to come to a bad end. He knew it. She knew it. But it was intoxicating and addicting. The more they did it, they more they wanted it. Needed it.

And the violence escalated. He used the claws for the first time about three months later, sliding them into the guy who'd been stupid enough to try and fuck his Marie in the parking lot behind the local bar.

She'd cleaned them for him, afterwards, with an eagerness that startled him, and the smell of her arousal was overwhelming. After that, he made sure there was bloodshed -- it seemed to drive Marie to new heights of ecstasy.

---

The others knew about their little game -- it was hard not to, even with Logan's excellent clean-up skills -- but they were unaware of how far it had gone, until it came home to roost.

---

Remy LeBeau was good-looking. Rogue had to give him that. He was also sweet-talking and persistent as all hell. He didn't seem to get that she was with Logan. At first, this was annoying, because she couldn't go anywhere in the mansion without the new guy popping up.

He showed up in the gym when she was training, in the library when she was reading, even in the locker room once when she was changing.

She liked him, but she wasn't interested. She had Logan and she had their little game, and she was happy with that.

Remy didn't get the message, though.

She'd just come back from a long ride. She loved spending time with the horses Xavier kept stabled on the estate.

She was watering the horse and combing its mane when Remy made his presence known.

"Petite," he said, "why you keep runnin' from me? Remy give you t'ings your hairy man can't, chere."

She cocked her head, willing to hear him out, the plan already forming in her mind. Leaning back against the wall, she said, "What things?" She put her hands behind her and looked up at him coquettishly through her lashes.

He moved closer. "Like dis," he breathed, gently kissing her through her scarf. It was sweet; he tasted of cigarettes and cinnamon. But it wasn't Logan and it wasn't what she wanted.

When he freed her mouth and feathered his lips along her neck, she said, "I won't break, Remy." And she captured his lips in another kiss, this one fierce and hard, where the first had been soft and tender. She pushed, and they switched positions, so that she had him pressed against the wall.

"Remy don't like the rough stuff," he said raggedly, when she allowed him to breathe.

"No?" she mocked, grinding her hips into his. "It sure feels like little Remy does."

"I don' wanna hurt you, petite," he said, reversing their positions again and pushing her against the wall.

"Maybe I want you to, sugar." She hooked a booted foot around his legs and rubbed herself against his growing erection.

"Petite, I--"

"Hurt me, Remy."

His hands tightened on her shoulders and his hips banged into hers. She moaned and gasped, all the while picturing Logan in her arms, after he'd dealt with Remy; picturing Remy on the floor of the stable, bleeding from his wounds.

And then Logan was there, just as she'd imagined. He flung the Cajun into the door of one of the stalls, frightening the horses.

But Remy wasn't some stranger, some boy toy she'd picked up for the night. He was a mutant, an X-Man, and he fought back. He was no match for Logan, though, and after a few minutes in which Logan allowed him to think he might have a chance, he went down, breathing hard. Logan unsheathed the claws and growled, "Stay the fuck away from my girl, bub. You hear me?"

Rogue watched, her eyes glittering in the dimness, hoping Remy wouldn't give up, that Logan would have to hurt him for what he'd done to her.

"Stay away from her?" Remy gasped. "She's the one who begged Remy to hurt her!"

Logan kicked him. "Don't lie to me. You attacked her," he growled.

"Non. She attacked me," the Cajun insisted, one hand slipping into his pocket to grab hold of his cards.

"Shut up," Logan snarled, though deep inside he knew it was the truth. "Marie wouldn't do that."

He hauled the red-eyed man up and threw him against the wall, moving in for another round. That gave Gambit the opportunity he needed -- he charged the cards and flung them at the approaching Wolverine, knocking him back and singeing his shirt. The horses neighed and reared at the smell of fire, and an angry predator in their midst.

Logan howled, the beserker rage overtaking him. He lunged, claws extended, but Remy was quick. Logan feinted and Remy ducked, rolling under his arm.

Logan was dimly away of Marie, the scent of her arousal, as he finally pinned the Gambit against a stall door. She was behind him, running her hands over his shoulders, murmuring, "Go ahead. Finish it, Logan. For me. Do it for me." The blades flashed as they slid through Remy's body like a hot knife through butter.

And something in him snapped.

"Oh, God, no!" he shouted, retracting the claws and grabbing at the man he'd just run through. He stumbled back, knocking Marie to the floor. "Help! Somebody, help!" he screamed. He ripped his shirt off and pressed it to the wounds in Remy's abdomen.

"Logan, sugar, what are you doin'?" Rogue cried. This hadn't gone the way she'd imagined. He wasn't holding her, loving her. He wasn't playing the game anymore.

Jean and Scott rushed in, shocked at the scene before them. With help from Jean's telekinesis, Scott and Logan carried the gravely wounded man into the med lab, leaving Rogue behind, shouting for Logan.

Storm came out to collect her shortly, murmuring to her as if she were one of the frightened horses.

"Don't you see?" Rogue whispered. "He was doin' it for me. To protect me. Always to protect me."

"Rogue--"

"To show me he loves me. He should have killed him to prove that he loved me." She sank down into the dirty straw, crying. "He doesn't love me anymore. He doesn't."

Storm sat with her, and stroked her hair as she cried.