Anna Marie was sitting on the bench in the garden, watching the teenagers play football on the lawn in front of her. The New York summer sun was scorching, and the heat pressed against her skin despite the shade the large maple trees behind her provided. She recalled the last time she sat out here, five years ago when she was with Gambit, just a week shy of Christmas Day.
“Remy can’t bear dis torture, cher.”
Amused, Rogue shook her head at the handsome mutant. “Ah’m not torturing you, Remy. Don’t you know Ah want to kiss you?”
He took her gloved hands and pressed them against his face, sighing deeply. “So, kiss me.” He pulled her onto his lap, moving his hand along her ribcage, slowly sliding upwards, his other hand pressed against her back. He shifted his body and breathed into her ear, “Dis one can make you feel so good.” His voice was a sexy rumble, sending shivers over her body. “You would enjoy it, cher. Very, very much.”
Rogue closed her eyes and leaned against him, wanting to touch him, for him to touch her, and a hell of a lot more. Upset, she stood up and stepped away from him. “We can’t, Remy. Please stop making this so hard!” and she sprinted back to the mansion, ignoring his shout for her to stay.
A football landed close to her, startling her out of her thoughts. An apologetic student retrieved it, a boy about the age of sixteen, maybe seventeen, and she bit down on the inside of her cheek. The poor kid was projecting his sexual attraction to her so loudly, she almost winced. When he ran back to his friends, they all slapped him on the back and ribbed him and with her enhanced hearing, they might as well have been yelling in her ear.
“Damn Tommy, didja get a good look at that rack?”
“Oh man, Rogue’s so fuckin’ hot, what a piece of ass!”
“Fuck ya, she is one sexy bitch!”
They paused to look back at her and waved respectively, before returning to their game and she waved back, trying not to laugh. Too cute.
A slight breeze ran along her skin and she lifted the hair off her neck to catch most of it. She looked at her arms, and the tan she achieved earlier at the pool which was already fading back to its natural golden glow, the translucence of her teen years gone forever. She stood up and stretched out her limbs, feeling the eyes of the young men latch onto her as she made her way across the field and back into the mansion. Oh geez. Now I need to cover up for other reasons, she thought as their scents and thoughts crowded her, their very vivid imaginations almost making her blush.
It was summer and most of the students were home with their families. She had spent the past week catching up with her friends and reconnecting with her former students. Bobby, Piotr, Jubilee and Kitty were back with the X-Men, returning to become teachers in their own right for the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters. Bobby and Kitty were engaged to be married, Piotr had come out of the closet a few years back and as for Jubilee, she was more than happy remaining single. Ororo and Hank remained a couple, and Kurt was spending time with the Avengers, having abandoned his pursuit of priesthood a few years back. Gambit returned to New Orleans almost right after she left, off to investigate the return of his once dead ex-wife Bella Donna. Anna Marie’s heart twisted a bit; she always thought of him as her “what could have been” and she was surprised by the amount of disappointment she felt learning he was no longer with the X-Men.
But she was especially grateful that no one mentioned him to her.
She missed the Danger Room, she missed the gardens; she missed the library and lake and forest. It had been difficult staying away, but she never regretted her decision to leave, not once. Being here for those five years had been a self imposed exile, for so many misguided reasons, she had been afraid to go out into the world and instead lost herself within the school’s cavernous rooms, clinging to a childish dream, a ridiculous fantasy. Now, she was free.
She walked into her old bathroom, turning on the taps and stepping into the shower, enjoying the temperature changing from cool to warm on her skin. Afterwards, she sat at her dressing table and as she began to comb the long tresses that fell thickly to her hips, she assessed her reflection in the mirror.
The last traces of adolescence had left her face long ago. Her green eyes were brighter, changing from dark forest green to the lightest shade of sea in reaction to her emotions and they had become more feline in shape, framed thickly with long, black lashes. Her perfectly shaped eyebrows were darker now, and so was the hair that fell away from a defined widow’s peak behind the still shockingly white strip that used to define her. Her cheekbones sat high on a heart shaped face, comprised of a small, yet haughtily tilted nose, cleft chin and red, full lips. She was beautiful. Very, very beautiful. It was a useful asset, one that she used to her benefit many times. She resented the forced modesty she endured all those years ago because of her once dangerous skin, so a false modesty didn’t sit well with her. Anna Marie knew she was beautiful, sexy and desirable, and it showed in how she carried herself.
Satisfied that her hair was tangle free, she stood before the mirror, and cast her eyes along her body, still moist from her shower, the lines and curves unmarred, unblemished, strong and lush. She ran her fingers over her skin, enjoying how soft and smooth it felt. Her body had changed. Her waist was tiny, especially in comparison to her rounded hips and her breasts were, in her opinion, a bit too big now, soft but firm enough that wearing a bra wasn’t a necessity. Her body was stronger, much stronger, but looking at her, all you would see is curves. She made her way to the bed and lay down, her skin breaking out in goose bumps from the cool air of the central air conditioning blowing through the large manor, sensitive and responsive to the smallest of stimuli. She had acclimatized to her heightened senses, but her sense of touch was electric and if she could, she would be nude all the time. Closing her eyes, her hands began their familiar dance across her body.
There were many, many men in the beginning, but when the relationships turned physical, something ultimately repelled her. She visited strip bars and watched exotic films in attempts to quell her fickle sexuality, even experimented with other women, but it always ended the same. Something always reminded her of him. She tried to not think of him, tried desperately, and it took many months before she stopped crying from the heartache, to stop reliving that night over and over in her mind. He had been so cruel, so heartless.
She moaned, cupping her breasts into the palms of her hands, pinching their hardened tips. She easily recalled the feel of his hands, the pull and tug of his lips and teeth and she began to writhe on the large bed, her breathing slowing, deepening.
You want only my touch.
It was frustrating as hell, for the men she became involved with, and for her. Over time she simply stopped trying and she threw herself into her vocal studies, taking over any time she might have had socially. She became known as a person obsessed by her gift, collecting hearts and breaking them, cold and unattainable. It couldn’t have been further from the truth. It was torture. Anna Marie D’Ancanto was an extremely sexual creature. She cried tears of frustration, wishing someone could crash through her barriers, but after a while, no one dared try, her reputation isolating her. So all she had left were the memories of him, touching her, tasting her, kissing her.
Every night, sometimes several times a night, she would close her eyes and imagine he was with her, pretending her hands were his hands, caressing her throat and shoulders, grabbing at her breasts and then plunging deep into the core of her. She was panting hard now, caught up in her memories; legs spread open, fingers of one hand deep within her, fingers of the other, rubbing, encircling. Faster and faster, she pleasured herself, biting her lip from making any noise and she could feel his powerful body pressed against her, effortlessly holding her shivering body down as his fingers worked their magic. She could taste the salty tanginess of his skin, smell the deep musk that was him and she could hear his growls, his moans, his gasps of pleasure as her name fell from his lips. Tears stung her eyes, the hurt remaining just as breath stealing, never lessening in its intensity, the constant ache that had become a part of her.
Say my name darlin’, I want you to say my name.
She bit harder down on her lip, drawing blood. She never said his name. She gasped as her deft hands brought her to orgasm and she arched her body off the bed, running her hands over her heated skin, wringing what she could from her virulent incubus. She lay there, quivering, dissatisfied, unfulfilled. It was torture.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000