Shadows of Sin: A Mutant Sue Virus Sequel, Chapter Thirteen

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Title: Shadows of Sin:  A Mutant Sue Virus Sequel

 

Chapter Title:  How long...

Fandom: X-Men, Comics Universe, Earth-6916

Rating: 18+
Warnings: Violence, rape, anal, oral, drug use, captivity, abuse, angst, pregnancy.  M/F, M/M, M/M/F…Read at your own risk.
Disclaimer: The recognizable characters and the setting used here are the property of Marvel Comics. Those characters described as “Mutant Sues” or “Mary Sues” are the property of Ladydeathfaerie, Nanaea, Dazzledfirestar, SilverFoxChan, and Ginevra.

This story is a fic-in-trade for Ladydeathfaerie and is intended as a sequel to The Mutant Sue Virus.  The story begins approximately six months after the events of Mutant Sue.  This is a dark fic as requested by the Lady.  The darkest I’ve written to date in my opinion.  Enjoy.

Missed something and need to catch up?  Shadows of Sin:  The Index

 

Chapter Thirteen:  How long…

 

It was a letter.  Small and white, completely innocent looking.  So why did she feel like it was going to bite her?

 

“When you and Gambit were abducted, I took the liberty of contacting your family.  I have not told them your location.  Only that we found you and that you are recovering.  I agreed to give you this.”

 

The Professor watched her with that neutral expression of his.  The one that reminded her of the therapist she used to see.  The one whose desk she’d set ablaze to prove that her pyrokinesis was real…

 

Did he expect her to open it now?  Or ever?

 

“I made no promises that you would answer.  Only that I would deliver it.” 

 

Shit.  She hated when he did that.  Answering questions before she actually asked them.  It creeped her out to know he could read her thoughts.  Was he scared of her, that she’d start burning something?

 

“I don’t know if I will.  Or if I’ll even read it.  Pretty fucking lame for them to send it now.”

 

“Your mother did seem very concerned.”

 

“Yeah.  I bet.”  She stopped in the doorway.  “Anyway, thanks Professor.  For everything.”

 

“I only wish you would allow me to do more, Dare.  I am certain I could help you deal with your trauma if you would permit me to try.”

 

“Nobody’s fucking around in my skull.”

 

“The offer remains.”

 

“Answer will be the same.  Bye.”  She didn’t slam the door.  A year ago, she would have.  But a year ago might as well be a different lifetime.

 

She made the mistake of leaving the letter out where Logan would see it.  He’d wanted her to open it.  He couldn’t seem to understand why she wouldn’t.  She’d tried to explain.  She’d tried to tear it up.  She even threatened to burn it in his fingers when he took it from her.  But she didn’t.

 

She just couldn’t stand the idea of burning him.  Her control was shot and she might burn more than she intended.  So she let him take it, to put it somewhere safe.  He thought she’d want it someday.  She didn’t think so.

 

They didn’t want her.  They hadn’t even come looking for her.  They had even paid that damned therapist to try to convince her she wasn’t a mutant, wasn’t pyrokinetic, and wasn’t seeing Morgan’s ghost…Or Faye…Whatever.

 

Shit.

 

“Ya need yer family, sweetheart.  I’m sure they got their reasons.  And how do ya know they didn’t try and find ya?  There’s thousands and thousands of runaways out there, lots of ‘em got parents looking for them.  And lots of ‘em ain’t never gonna get found.”

 

“My dad’s military.  He’s got connections.  He could have found me if he really wanted to.”

 

“What do you think woulda happened if he used them connections?  If he told ‘em his little girl was a fire starter?”

 

“What are you talking about?”  What Logan was suggesting shocked her.

 

“I'm just sayin’ mebbe you were safer on the streets than in good old Uncle Sam’s arms.  Their track record with us mutants ain’t so good.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Sure ya don’t want to read it?”  He offered one last time.

 

“No.  At least…  Not now.  Not yet.  Maybe later.”

 

“All right.  I’ll just keep it safe fer ya.”

 

“You’re my family now, Logan.  You and Morgan, and Remy…and the baby.”  Dare put her arms around him, leaned her head on his shoulder.  It was the first time she’d offered to touch him on her own.  He wrapped his arms around her carefully, almost holding his breath.  “I don’t need them.  I’m not sure I even want them.  Ok?”

 

“OK, sweetheart.  OK.” 

 

~*~

 

Dare was slowly warming up to him again.  Starting to act more like herself, little by little.  Her friends were sticking close to her.  The rest of the Purple Team had raised hell about being left behind and had been the first ones on the spot when the rescue had finally happened. 

 

Roxxy had been helping both Dare and Morgan play catch-up on all the classes they’d missed.  Haley had been dragging them to the mall at least once a week and Dare’s roommate, Jehnna, had even made an effort to be sociable.

 

She let him kiss her last night.  Just a quick touch of the lips.  It was more than they’d had, but so painfully small a step that he wondered if they would ever have the sort of relationship they had before.  He wondered, too, if they would lose even this much if the baby growing in her belly turned out to be Creed’s.

 

Shit.  He’d promised her it wouldn’t change anything.  And he was damn well doing his best.  But already her body was changing.  A few more curves, the way she moved, the smell of her.  Fucking crazy that he was praying it was the Cajun’s kid.  He was afraid of how she’d react if it wasn’t.

 

Speaking of the Cajun, he was still worried about the kid.  His color was better and he was working out again.  It showed in the way he moved now.  Some of that quickness and catlike grace had returned.  But he was still very quiet and jumpy as all hell around Logan.  Not so much around anyone else.  Just him, Logan.

 

It was starting to bug him.  That jumpiness.  It made him feel like he’d done something wrong.  Kid looked like a dog that had been kicked one too many times.  He was tempted to ask Morgan about it.

 

And he would have, except she was looking pretty strained these days.  She was almost as pale as she’d been on the road.  There were dark circles under her eyes.  Was she just straining herself, trying to be in two places at once?  Or was she having those fits again? 

 

He’d woken to find Faye in his room a couple of times.  Always when Dare was thrashing around in some nightmare.  She called out for Remy and Morgan at night in her dreams.  Begged them not to leave her alone.  Faye would watch Dare from the shadows, never speaking.  He’d tried speaking to her, but she didn’t answer.  She didn’t even seem to see him.  But, the few times he’d left Dare alone at night, he’d returned to find his bed still warm.  Faye’s scent clung to the sheets and the girl’s skin. 

 

Shit.  They were all being so damned careful around each other.  It was enough to set his teeth on edge.  He could tell how badly Dare wanted to be close to them.  Not just Morgan, but Remy too.  But she was holding back.  For him, probably.

 

Fuck.  Something had to give here or someone was going to break.  Even odds on which one it would be.

 

~*~

 

This was hard.  Even harder than it had been during that frantic chase across country to find them.  Harder than when Dare had been on the streets and Morgan had been powerless to help her.

 

Remy wouldn’t talk to her.  He’d touch her, but that was it.  Snuggling was fine.  Sleeping in the same bed was fine.  Holding each other after a nightmare was fine.  A kiss on the cheek or on the forehead was fine.  Holding hands was fine.

 

But that was it.  All of it.  She’d forgotten once and reached for him in the dark.  Ran a hand down his arm, smelled the spicy scent of his cologne and the faint scent of his skin.  Felt his warmth.  Wanted him.  And he’d frozen under her touch.  Not speaking, not pushing her away, just frozen.  He was so quiet and still for so long…

 

“I’m sorry.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to…”  She started to pull her hand back.  Then he’d moved to catch it in one of his own.  “It’s too soon.  I’m sorry.”  The tears had started.  Tears of guilt and worry and fatigue.  She was so terribly tired.

 

“Don’t cry, cher.  Don’t cry.”  He’d pulled her close.  “It Remy dat sorry.  You don’ do any ting wrong.”  He held her, but it was stiff and awkward.  It made her cry even more.  She made up her mind that she wouldn’t do it again.  Not until he was ready.  Not until he touched her first…

 

~*~

 

Running.  He was running from a fucking ghost.  Running from something he couldn’t touch.  Couldn’t hurt.  Couldn’t kill.  Weeks of this shit and still running.  He’d tried hiding, but no matter where he holed up, she found him.

 

He was exhausted, groggy, and mad enough to kill the next fool that crossed his path.  Tonight he’d stopped in a cheap motel, too tired to run anymore.  He showered and scrubbed to get rid of three days worth of grime and sweat, reopening some of the cuts that traced angry lines across his chest and stomach.  He growled at the stinging of soap in his wounds.

 

They should have fucking healed by now.  The one below his navel had been almost deep enough to gut him, but still, it should be nothing more than a scar.  Instead it was weeping blood to mix with the scalding hot water.  He leaned wearily against the tile, letting the spray beat down across his head and shoulders.  He had to sleep.  If he didn’t lie down soon, he’d damn well fall down. 

 

Fucking bitch. 

 

He pulled himself out of the shower and dried off, not caring that he left blood stains on the towels.  He padded to the bed and stretched out on it.  Even though his body was begging for sleep, begging for rest, his heart was racing.  Exhaustion was reaching for him with strangling hands to drag him under.  He ached, feeling every year of his long life, every old wound and scar.  Still he fought sleep.

 

But, in the end sleep won and he was sucked under a heavy blanket of unconsciousness.  His dreams were confused and frightening.  Filled with blood and pain and girlish laughter.  He fought them, fought for consciousness, fought to be released from the paralysis of sleep, the helplessness.

 

Pain woke him.  Burning lines of pain crossed his chest.  Before he could focus his sleep-fogged eyes on his attacker, a second series of slashes drew blood from his belly, low enough that he grabbed instinctively for his crotch.  The third strike caught him high on his chest, just below his collarbone.  He howled in pain and frustration.

 

Laughter, high and girlish floated through the air.  He searched the dimly lit room for her amongst the unfamiliar shapes of the motel room’s furniture.  Neon lights flickered through the gap in the heavy drapes and she stood bathed in the flickering orange light.  It painted her snowy nightgown the color of flames, except where drops of blood had spattered the fabric.  Those looked black in the strange light.

 

“What’s the matter, Victor?  Having trouble sleeping?”

 

“Goddamned bitch.”  He snarled, but he didn’t bother going after her this time.  She always faded just before he could touch her.  If he lunged for her she’d just melt away, then laugh at him when he fell on his face.  “Kill me or get the fuck out.”

 

She laughed at him again and raised bloody fingers to her lips.  He watched her lick the blood from her fingers slowly.  She looked human tonight, which somehow made the feral look on her face even more disturbing.  She smelled of shampoo and perfume.  And the coppery tang of blood.  His blood. 

 

“What the fuck do you want from me?”  He slowly unfolded himself, forced himself to pull his hands away from his nuts.  He squared his shoulders and rose from the bed.  He towered over her.  He should have looked menacing.  But she just watched him with glittering green eyes and sucked his blood from her fingers.  She pulled one finger from her mouth with a faint, wet pop.

 

“Blood.  Flesh.  Pain.”  Her face changed before his eyes, becoming sharper and less human.  The pupils lengthened, becoming slitted like a cat’s.  He advanced slowly on her, but she didn’t move, didn’t flinch.  She just smiled wider, flashing white teeth in the darkness.

 

He couldn’t take it anymore and made a grab for her, knowing even as he did it that he wouldn’t be fast enough.  His claws passed harmlessly through her and she stepped into him.  For the briefest of moments, she was warm and solid against him, pressed against his bloodied skin like a lover.  Then she stepped through him.  He whirled and she stood staring at him, her face and dress painted with his blood.

 

“Sweet dreams.”  She vanished then, leaving him alone in the darkness again.

 

But, for how long?

 

~*~

 

How long could this go on?  How long would she live with this?  Remy was stalling, staring at himself in the bathroom mirror.  He ran nervous fingers through his hair.  She was waiting for him.  In his bed.  And he was terrified of her, of her desire for him.

 

Sex had always been a big part of their relationship.  He’d always needed that physical connection.  He needed to touch and be touched.  And she seemed to share that need.  He could feel it pulling at him.  Why was it he was able to force himself to pleasure the monster but couldn’t bring himself to touch the woman he loved?

 

He was weak.  A coward.  He was hiding in the bathroom because he couldn’t face her.  It was her birthday.  Her friends had thrown her a little party.  Amidst the presents had been the silky green nightgown that she was wearing right now.  Something meant to be seen and touched.  By him.  He’d been a fool and asked her to wear it tonight.

 

He’d all but promised to make love to her.  And the idea was enough to unman him.  He sighed and gave himself one last look in the mirror and gathered his courage.  If he could not do this, she would leave him.  Not today, not tomorrow, not even next month.  But some day. 

 

He stepped into the room and found her huddled on the bed, looking more like a frightened child of twelve than a woman of twenty.  Her skin was pale against the deep green of the gown and her eyes were large and startled at his sudden appearance.

 

“You look beautiful, cher.  Dat color bring out your eyes.”  He crossed the room slowly, deliberately, to join her on the bed.

 

“You look pretty good yourself.”  She looked him over, taking in the way his hair hung loose around his shoulders, the lean lines of his body.  He was naked to the waist, dressed only in a pair of burgundy silk boxers.  She looked, but made no move to touch him, though he could feel her desire hanging between him.  And fear, too.

 

“You havin’ a good birthday so far?”

 

“Yeah.  Pretty good.  Any day I’m with you is good.”  She leaned a little closer and he met her halfway, pulling her against him, letting his fingers slide across the fabric of her gown.  He buried his face in her neck, smelling the mingled sweetness of perfume and shampoo.

 

“I want to make love to you, cher.  End dis day right.”  He murmured against her skin, placing a kiss there.  She shivered in his arms.

 

“Are you sure?”  She whispered, arms circling his waist, returning his embrace.

 

“Remy’s gift to you.”  He pushed aside the fear and was pleased that his hands didn’t shake as he stroked her back and her sides letting the silky fabric slip beneath his fingertips.  He kissed her face, tracing the curves of her brows, the lines of her cheeks and jaws with his lips.  When he reached her lips, they opened for him.  So too, did her shields.

 

It was almost too much.  Desire, love, fear, nervousness, he struggled to shield against her, dampen it down a bit.  The desire helped and he clung to it as he touched her, concentrating on how his touch gave her pleasure.  She reached for him, mimicking his caresses, but he pushed her hands away as gently as he could.

 

He could touch her, but he couldn’t bear to be touched.  Not that way.  Not yet… And it hurt.  He felt the hurt echo through her and he hastened to chase it away with hands and lips and mouth.  He pushed away the images of Dare and Creed and tried to think only of the girl in his arms.  He concentrated on each shiver and sigh, the feel of her skin, the scent of her hair, and the taste of her lips.

 

He stripped the nightgown from her, dragging the softness across her skin as he pulled it over her head.  She moaned as he kneaded her breasts and cried out softly as he suckled at them.  He let his fingers trace her curves, exploring as if it were the first time he’d ever touched her, replacing memory with newer, more vivid impressions.

 

She reached out to him, digging her hands into his hair, letting it slip through her fingers again and again.  He let her; the touch was soothing and brought no unpleasant memories with it.  He kissed his way down her body, noting the peaks and valleys, listening to her sighs and moans.  Her breasts, her stomach, the soft skin below her ribs, even her navel.

 

He moved lower still, kissing and biting gently at the slight curve of her belly.  She gasped, rising up a little to look at him with wide eyes.  He ran his tongue teasingly across her skin as he met her gaze.

 

“Rem?”  She sounded uncertain, a little confused.  “I thought…”

 

“Lay back, cher.  Let Remy do dis for you.  You don’ worry ‘bout him tonight.”  He slowly worked his way back and forth across the soft skin until he reached the first wisp of hair.  Then he moved further downwards, kissing and nibbling a trail down her legs, teasing, putting off his goal just a little longer.

 

He reached her feet and brushed his lips across the arches before beginning the slow return upwards.  He parted her legs slowly as he went, nibbling and kissing his way along.  He could feel her trembling by the time he reached the soft flesh of her inner thighs. 

 

He lay between her legs and circled her hips with his arms, loosely at first.  He rubbed his cheeks against the tender flesh of her thighs, dropping light kisses as he went.  He could smell her arousal now, could almost feel the moist heat of her.  He made a sensual show of teasing her, building the anticipation. 

 

She whispered his name.  He was stalling, waiting for the sick trembling in his stomach to fade.  With each kiss he told himself he could do this much for her.  With each stroke of his cheek and each scent filled breath he reminded himself that this was her, Morgan, the woman he loved.  That she loved him.  That this was nothing but loving her.  Nothing else.  She whispered his name again, and he felt her unease growing.

 

No more stalling.  He tightened his grip on her hips, pulling her closer.  He brought his face close enough to her center to feel the moist heat.  A single teasing lick across her sensitive bud made her hips twitch and she gasped.  Her taste spread across his tongue and he dipped his head lower.

 

He nibbled and licked at the tender lips, already swollen and wet with dew-like drops of moisture.  With lips and tongue and teeth he teased at her folds before returning again to her clit, licking and sucking at the engorged flesh.  She moaned and writhed in his grip.

 

The nervous tension in his stomach eased as he began to lose himself in the simple act of pleasuring her.  Nibbling and sucking, teasing and thrusting as deep as he could with his tongue, he brought her to the quivering edge of pleasure.  He held her there for a timeless moment.

 

Then he released one arm from around her hips to bring his hand between her legs.  He sucked at the little bundle of nerves as he slipped two fingers inside her.  Tight and hot and dripping, he plunged his long fingers into her again and again, twisting and massaging as he stroked.

 

Morgan was moaning now, her hips grinding against his hold on them.  Her fingers stroked aimlessly through his hair as if she was uncertain what to do with them.  She cried out his name and he redoubled his efforts, tongue flicking against the little nub, fingers driving and writhing inside her.

 

Her moans fell silent and she strained against him, back arching, raising her hips from the bed.  She went rigid and shaking as she climaxed, her pleasure echoing through him and threatening to sweep away his shields.  He shivered under the onslaught.

 

He waited until it passed, until her body collapsed limply against the bed.  Then he began again, working steadily to bring her to another peak.  Again and again, he brought her to that peak, letting her pleasure wash over them both until she lay exhausted and shaking.

 

Then he slowly kissed his way back up to her mouth.  He let her taste herself on his lips and tongue, rubbed his damp cheeks against her face, leaving her scent there.  She returned his kisses with a sort of dreamy detachment and let him pull her against him to rest her head on his shoulder.

 

Slowly her hands began to caress him, and for a few moments, he let her.  But when she touched the silk of his boxers, he caught her hand.

 

“Non.”  He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it gently before laying it back on his chest.  “No cher.”

 

“But you didn’t…”

 

“Shh…It all right.  Dere other nights.”  He kissed her again, projecting his love for her.  Covering up the trembling fear that one touch had brought rushing to the surface.  She was tired and sated.  Sleepy.  It took only the slightest push to send her tumbling into slumber. 

 

He sighed and tucked the blankets around them both, drawing her body close to him.  There would be other nights.  But how many nights would it take before he could bear her touch again?  Make love to her again as a full man?

 

Weak.  He was so weak.  He clutched her sleeping body to him as he cried silently, letting the tears fall damp and hot against his pillow.  When sleep came for him, he surrendered gratefully to its embrace…