|Rogue (nosouthernbelle) wrote in no_good_deed,|
@ 2011-04-13 13:39:00
|Entry tags:||complete, rogue|
What: There's an incident after work. It doesn't end well.
When: 1 am
Where: Out back behind the bar she works at.
It had been a few days since Logan had come to stay with Rogue. So far things were going well. Her control slipped every now and then but for the most part, Logan being around was the only thing helping her have a good handle on her own senses. As he promised, he was helping her with meditation skills, ways to gain more mental strength and awareness. She hadn't felt so at ease in such a long time, despite the constant worry she'd get lost in all the voices in her head. Logan had always had that effect on her, though. it was just different now that she was no longer a teenager with a crush. Those feelings were still there of course. They probably would always be.
At home she was relaxed, happy enough to laugh, and honest in her sharing of things that had happened in the past seven years. She liked the more adult relationship that was between she and Logan now. It was stronger than when she was seventeen, more mature. It was a comfort to have such a constant friend.
Work...well, work was another story. The first few nights weren't so bad; there were drunks and smooth talkers just as usual. Tonight the crowd seemed a little more rowdy than usual. It must have been a full moon or something. Attitudes were easier to be spotted, people who thought they were better than everyone else. People who thought they deserved more and were held to less of a moral code than the rest of the world. It was mostly men, though a few women needed a good swift kick as well.
They were shorthanded tonight which meant Rogue was doubling as the bartender and a waitress. It didn't bother her too much, after all, it was what she'd been doing for two years before moving up. Her smile was easy, her chatting a mixture of polite small talk and flirting. The usual. It was even pretty normal to have somebody touch her where she didn't want to be touched. Before Rogue had her powers back it hadn't been that big of a deal. She knew how to get rid of people. Now? Now it was a completely different story.
Her smile faded and her jovial tone hardened slightly in warning. She told him not to do it again. She was covered enough but as a precaution, no one touched her. He was already halfway gone, hanging out with his buddies, and on a bet, he reached out and slapped her rear end a second time she she passed by. Rogue delivered what was meant for another table before coming back and leveling her gaze with him. If he touched her again, he was going to be thrown out. it seemed like that was that, though the entire table erupted in laughter when she left.
It was close to one in the morning by the time everyone was gone from the bar and the place was cleaned. Rogue was tired and ready to go home to crash for the night. There was only one other person left, a waitress who was just out of high school and milking every minute of every shift she could. Together, she and Rogue locked up and headed out the back door. She didn't expect to see the man from the bar passed out by the dumpster. Walking over to him, Rogue gave him a gentle kick to make sure he was still alive. When he moaned and turned away to throw up, the waitress bid Rogue a good night and left for her car.
Crouching, Rogue tilted her head and smirked. "Get up. I'll call ya a cab." She reached into her jacket pocket for her cell phone but he stopped her by flopping his hand on her wrist. He was lucky she'd put her gloves on. "Boy!" she growled, yanking away from his touch. "What did I tell you about touchin' me? Don't."
"You have pretty skin."
Rogue tried dialing again, casting him a measuring glance. "Calm down there, cowboy."
"Maybe you should take me home. Tuck me in."
It was hard not to laugh at his drunken forwardness, but that quick allowance made room for him to move a little too quickly and take her face in his hands. It didn't happen right away - it never did. But Rogue was too shocked by his quickness that she didn't know what do do for a second. it was a second that cost both of them dearly.
It began with the feeling of the muscles in her face falling asleep, that pins and needles electrical feeling. Then the pull came and his eyes widened in frozen shock. Visions and memories swam into her mind in a quick invasion. For seconds that seemed forever in length she didn't know the difference between the man holding her and herself. She knew him. She was him. She understood he'd only initiated contact to prove his friends wrong. they were all saying he was gay, couldn't get a woman because he didn't want one. It was true, but he didn't want them to know.
He was Catholic. He shaved his chest. He had brown eyes but wore blue contacts. He was afraid of dying alone. He was abused, and abused in return. And he had the power to change someone's thoughts with a simple suggestion.
Rogue wanted to pull away, to push the man down. In her moments of panic, there were other forces within her that were stronger. Forces that wanted the feeling of power that came with this absorption. So she kept his hands on her face, felt herself peel her gloves off and press her naked hands over his, strengthening the contact. His eyes bulged, the veins in his exposed skin darkening as his skin sank into the crevices of his muscles, tissues, and bones.
The climax of the draining was as euphoric as an orgasm. She cried out, tears on her face, when the last of his life drained away and soaked into her psyche. The contact broke only when he fell away, no longer alive and capable of holding himself up or run away. He fell into his own vomit, and Rogue panted, trying to catch her breath.
This was a feeling beyond description. It was terrifying and wonderful. She looked at her hands and laughed. It wasn't her laugh. The desire to feel that power again wasn't her own, either. She wanted more. She needed more.
This would change her forever.