Summary: Rogue- a prostitute, forced to work for money by her addict mother. Remy- a friend, and Rogue's new client? What will happen? Sex, maybe? Rated for mature themes: slight drug abuse, rape, and Yay for sex! A Romy One-Shot. AU.

Disclaimer: If anything sounds familiar, I do not own it. I do not own X-Men: Evolution or any of its affiliates. If I did, do you think I'd still be living in a crap-pile-of-a-town? I would be off in some happy place, like the Bahamas, Malibu, New York… Tokyo Disney? 'Nuff said… Also, I'm not responsible if you're under a mature age and your parents catch you reading this. It's their fault for not monitoring you, and it's your fault for not being able to hide the evidence. xX

Painful Pleasure

The young girl took a drag from the cigarette hungrily. She looked around obtrusively from her corner at times with a silently fluttering heart, keeping her head and eyes hung low. The cold nipped at her bare flesh; winter's New York weather wasn't messing around. She took warming drags upon drags until the burning cigarette butt burnt her skin; she hastily tossed it to the pavement and fished in her small beat up purse for another. It was her fourth cigarette that night; she expected to keep them coming. Placing the stoid in her mouth, she lit it with one hand, keeping it protected from the breeze with the other. She breathed in heavily, filling her lungs with the toxic fumes, burning her throat, and then exhaling through her nose. The fag kept her anxiety at bay; at any moment she could be caught and locked up. It made her look like she was doing something productive, like a simple smoke while waiting for a friend- waiting for a friend near midnight? She made herself look as unsuspicious as possible.

An involuntary shiver escaped her toned body as she tapped her foot impatiently. It was intolerably cold outside; yet, what could a girl do when she wasn't allowed a jacket when she left the house? Wearing something that covered her torso would detract from her customers, so she was told; winter wear was out of the question on work nights. So she stood in the cold winter almost every night, dressed similarly as she was now: close fitting black mini skirt, black fishnet garter stockings that not-too-subtly connected up to her black lace lingerie, lace up knee high boots, black lace-up corset, the gothic works. Her make-up was done elaborately, she reminded herself of a gothic geisha. Her make-up was extensive with its white powder, exotic black eyeliner and shadow, and voluptuous purple-burgundy lip-stick. Her emerald eyes stood out dramatically against the black, clashing beautifully with the purple lipstick staining her lips. Her hair was straightened down to her back; her trademark white strips shone out against the rest of her auburn hair. She had always loved her hair; it was as unique as her. As of late, she was beginning to hate it; it was what her customers knew her by, and so even when she was walking the streets during non-business hours, she was easily noticed and winked at by old customers. Despite this, she was a picture of perfected beauty. She was the one who you'd see on the streets and which you could look like her, steal her style, possibly know a little bit about her. She allured you with sly eyes and a sauntering walk, hips swaying tauntingly. She was the Rogue.

Another burning cigarette jolted her back to reality. She cursed in surprise and angrily threw the butt away. It was nearing midnight and her latest customer hadn't come yet. She had gone through five cigarettes within the last half hour, anxiety slowly ebbing away with each new one lit. She supposed she's rather be out in the cold all night than spend another couple of hours with another drunken customer. Then she reasoned she wouldn't be able to go home until she picked up another hundred or so bucks so Raven wouldn't get suspicious. If she arrived home without her money, Raven would certainly give her a beating of the year. She remembered last time she went home without the money. She had been sore and bruised for almost a month after that night, and then was worked twice as hard for her work nights after to get back the refused money. She had learned that to survive the night of customers was better than to not go at all.

She wanted to argue that fact with the last customer she had come from. He was horrible; a middle-aged business man who had never enough time to pencil in sex to his work schedule. He was painfully obvious a virgin; Rogue even doubted he had ever been properly kissed by anyone but his own mother. He was jittery and nervous- fumbling with the condom, laughing nervously when it slipped between his fingers, claiming condoms had never been that hard to use before. Yea, whatever. To her relief, he hadn't been over-weight, smelly, or over-the-top nasty. She had just gotten an older man, that's all. She wanted to laugh when he couldn't get his penis in correctly, and when he did, it kept falling out like a limp noodle. He was too nervous he hadn't even gotten a correct hard-on. Rogue thought she should help him, but it wasn't in her job description to help someone get turned on; it always came naturally to her customers somehow. She figured the man didn't know how to get turned on, and it would be a lost cause to help.

In all honestly, she had been with worse men, but what made this man more unpleasant than most was his meager attempt in conversation. From the moment he had picked her up to the moment he had dropped her off was a half assed excuse to get acquainted through conversation, as if they'd be seeing each other sometime after this one night. He picked her up in his fancy businessman car at around 7 o'clock, only a few hours ago, and from then on began as if they were on a proper date, a proper fuck. He began politely introducing himself, telling her about what he did for a living, about his living situation. After a while of talking about himself, he began on her. By that time, they were almost at his apartment. He gave her compliments on how beautiful she was, how she'd "go far in life if she gave up this lifestyle" and she had potential.

She wouldn't look at him, immediately deciding he wasn't good enough to know what she was actually capable of. She could be enrapturing, alluring; a vixen if you may to those who could handle her goods. This man she decided couldn't handle anything than a casual conversation. She was uninterested in everything he had to say or ask. She gave him the bare minimum response; she refused to give him any more information about herself than needed. She knew he didn't care; he was like the rest of those she serviced- try to be polite and act intriguing so that she wouldn't feel like the common prostitute. She gave him her name, Rogue, which then he promptly asked her real name. She gave him the same name. He didn't deserve anything. They went into his apartment and he got them comfortable with a glass of wine and they sat on the couch. He would talk to her lightly, softly, and stroke her awkwardly, on her cheek, on her thigh, her arm, any place of visible skin.

After minutes of antagonizing conversation, where he'd try and pry conversation out of her, something a little more about her maybe. She kept her responses to a minimum, trying to hide her southern accent. She realized early in her career that if people heard her Mississippian accent, they'd ask questions and assume she was a runaway trying to make the glamorous life in New York. When she talked she tried to incorporate the New Yorker accent she had picked up, but most times she forgot. She lived by the quote "Ask no questions and I shall tell no lies." She found herself often lying about herself, her life, her choices; she presented always something better than the shit life she was presented with. Everything she made up was never really about herself.

Within his worthless conversation, she figured him out. His nervous reaction was talking. Talking and talking and talking. Everything she told him went nowhere in his mind. In his nervousness, he was listening and forgetting just as quickly as he comprehended. Ask him tomorrow and he would tell you nothing. He couldn't tell you anything. If he was really that interested, he wouldn't have been nervous, he would have made an effort to remember; he wouldn't have been so damn nervously eager to get her on her back. He didn't care and that's what pissed her off. Nobody cared. There was someone beyond the breasts, the ass, the lean body, the gothic clothes, the gothic fetish- yet nobody cared. He was just one in the same; somebody who would never know beyond fucking the girl of torment. She hated him and his act of caring. Oh and the fact he had told her to stop smoking, because it would "ruin a girl like her."

After a while, he took her to his room. It was a barren place; he spent no time there as there was nothing decorated. She sat on the bed primly, as she was taught and had practiced. He sat next to her then scooted closer and started kissing her neck. That's how it always started with her. Nobody had the balls to kiss her lips. They always started somewhere else. Rogue wasn't the type to initiate it either. He knew that obviously through his nervousness. He began slowly kissing her, then somehow managed to get her undressed. She lay stark naked on his bed while he tentatively gazed at her, unable to do something. She felt shamed, as she did ever time she got naked for a man. His gaze only furthered her shame. Then he finally snapped out of his gaze and took off his pants.

She almost laughed at him. She expected that with so much foreplay, or as much as she got from him before jumping into the deed, she would have expected him to be more turned-on. He was limp; as for size, she had seen smaller, she had seen bigger. He was the same. He grabbed a condom from under the bed's mattress and clumsily rolled it on. He entered her and humped erratically. He was poor at it and couldn't figure out the rhythm. He kept pulling out farther and father, it kept falling out like a wet noodle. She was embarrassed for him. Although, he didn't seem to be embarrassed, for he collapsed next to her after a "hard fuck" as he so crudely put it. He promptly fell asleep after, a hand on hers as if to congratulate a "winning" fuck. As soon as he was out, she grabbed her clothes, threw them on and used his bathroom to reapply her make up. She went to his pants, where she knew the wallet was at and grabbed her amount and a little extra, for conversation fees, as she so quaintly told herself. She left his house indifferently; another face, another fuck.

She assumed she could have done more, as someone of her status was supposed to. She specialized in everything: blow jobs, Kama sutra, three-somes, orgies, anything you asked (since she was paid) she could do. She never initiated anything; she was usually asked to perform. Usually her customers were impulsive (although she did get those teenagers who didn't know what they were doing) and knew what fantasies they wanted acted. She performed well, as always, because she numbed herself to it. She was brainwashed; she was there for the customer not herself. And she never was pleasured, not by oral or regular sex. Mainly, nobody offered oral sex, and she always felt dirty when having sex. Needless to say, she was always uninterested in sex. She felt dirty, infected, diseased.

Maybe she wouldn't be this way; the way of feeling impure whenever something was shoved inside her. Maybe, had her life turned out differently, she would have regarded sex as wholesome or satisfying. 'But life didn't turn out differently,' she constantly thought. 'My life is one constant downhill joyride to hell.' These thoughts tormented her with constant replays of the horrors of her life gave her nightmares at night, writhing in pain and anguish.

"No Papa, don't!" she squirmed back into the room's corner, trying to escape the drunken wrath of her father.

"Ya stupid bitch, git yer ass back over here." He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her hard towards him. He smacked her with a closed fist over her head, then threw her against the other wall. His breath reeked of beer and his balance was unstable. His eyes wavered and his hands clumsily reached for her arm. He yanked hard, a sickening crack filling the air with a wail piercing the silence.

"Ya stupid whore, ya made ya mama leave!" He hit her, bruised her small battered and tired body, and threw her across the room. "Damn worthless child, don't know why I put up wit' you!" She sobbed, closing her eyes tight and praying the hurt would stop. Her arm was dislocated from the elbow, hair was falling out of her head and a gash littered her forehead. She curled up in a ball, muffling her sobs as her father left the room; sobbing often lead to more beatings. She bit her lip in grimacing pain as she tried to hold the tears and wails of pain inside. A loud thump from the other room signaled to her, telling her that her father had passed out somewhere. She cried out in pain, holding her limp arm. She lifted herself shakily and walked towards the door.

She remembered that day. She was seven years old. Her father had been beating her since her mother walked out on them. One day, something clicked and she up and left. She roamed the streets for weeks, living out of garbage cans, making a makeshift sling for her dislocated arm. She lived like that until she met Raven.

"Come out, there little one, nobody's going to hurt you." The small girl came out of the shadows, dirty and smeared with dried blood and dirt. She looked down, ashamed. The lady in front of her was a business woman, with the typical prim and proper skirt with dress jacket, a briefcase, the perfectly shined shoes, glasses and quaint jewelry. The woman gasped when she saw the little girl in the light. She was gaunt, straggly, and mal nourished. She immediately brought her home with her, made a few phone calls. The girl didn't remember much of that time, only good food, a place to sleep, and warm water. Before she knew it she was adopted.

Life was too good to last, she realized later. This Raven that had taken her in was in fact a business woman, with a prosperous career and a bullshit husband. Rogue didn't remember what Raven's original job was. All she could remember was the severe fighting that started when she lost that job. Every night was the same thing…

"Fucking asshole! Why don't you get a job then? Make yourself useful! I'm sick and tired of carrying your ass around!"

"Well guess what Raven! I'm sick and tired of hearing your goddamn mouth always complaining!"


Raven further became agitated at her husband. He did nothing all day, had gotten fired from his job years ago, and constantly drank. One day, she grabbed Marie, took some clothes and what was left of their savings and moved them to New York.




From then on, Raven and Marie lived the best they could. They went house hopping, never having enough money to pay the rent and were constantly kicked out of their apartments. Young Marie hardly understood what was happening around her, why her adopted mother cried at night, why she looked bleary eyed in the morning, why she would shake and jump around for no reason. She was only a child of twelve. She had lived on the streets long enough to know her mother was one of the people they roamed with. They would talk to themselves, cry, stare around unfocused on anything, and have seizures. She didn't know the cause of them, only that it happened. When she first saw them, she had asked Raven…

"Mama, what is he doin' over there?" the tiny girl pointed at a man in torn rags who was bobbing his head around and warbling to himself. His leg would twitch and his head would lob around. He would outstretch his hand and pet something invisible in front of him.

"Nothing, baby, he's just being crazy," came Raven's saddened reply as she looked towards the pointed finger.

"What's wrong with him, mama? Is he sick?"

"Yes, Marie, very sick."

Within a year's time, Raven had become sick as well. Clearly, she had all the symptoms: she yelled at things in the air, she would jump when nobody was around, would start laughing at the ceiling, would start twitching uncontrollably… the list went on. Marie would be there every morning as her mother woke up, asking if she felt better and if they could go do something today. The answer was always no; they couldn't do anything today and no, she wasn't feeling better today. Raven would get up and lock herself in the bathroom for hours. Marie could hear the sounds of muffled sobs coming from the crack underneath the door. Occasionally there would be smoke seeping from the cracks or when Marie went in, there would be powder on the floor. Everyday things got worse. Every month there was a new apartment.

Every year there was less care for Marie.

The abuse restarted when she was fourteen. As far as Marie knew, her mother dearest was an addict. She had tried every kind of drug and done it progressively. She was always hopped up on something. The abuse came in small steps. First, there was the sarcasm, the snide comments that hurt Marie at first. It was about her clothes, her looks, her attitude- anything that Raven could hit. Then there would be the yelling. She'd holler about stupidity, how she was just around doing nothing all day, like her stupid worthless ex-husband. Nothing Marie could think of would win back the adopted mother she had remembered. This went on for months, the yelling, the comments, the lack of care.

And so the withdrawal began. Everyday she'd become a bit more quiet, a bit more reserved, a bit more sad. Sad enough so that one could call her depressed. Her home life grew progressively worse. It was a common story of the American dream which couldn't make it. Raven was the single mother who was trying to make a living, yet had gotten caught up in her own problems and mentally stopped her dreams. Each night was a repetition of drugs, yelling, and tripping hard off of something. Her job was mediocre, barely enough to get by with her and her daughter. So she took on another job. Selling. By sixteen, street-wise Marie knew exactly what her "mother" sold, who she sold to, how she got money, and even who the men that came home at night with her. They weren't her boyfriends or a prospective husband, that was for sure.

After a while, Marie began to not care. About anything. She was failing high school, almost guaranteed no graduation, was the school loner, and had never had a boyfriend. Of course, she wouldn't dare, for fear Raven would find out and something horrible would happen. She was gorgeous, had filled out in all the right places, yet she hid, hid so she wouldn't get attention. She hid behind her make-up, her baggy clothes, her glares, her gothic exterior. She sat alone at lunch, in class, everywhere and silently died inside. She wouldn't respond as people talked to her, she wouldn't talk back when she was made fun of. Raven made fun of her in her doped state, calling her stupid, useless and worthless. In her depression, she saw nothing around her, only the shit in front of her. And because of it, she didn't see the salt to her wounds coming.

She was at the park, standing, staring blankly at the night sky forming above her lonely form. The grassy area protected her from the night-time joggers, the children on bikes, the teens getting through the park to head to the mall. She sat down, closing her eyes, wishing for a way out. She didn't know she had only gotten herself deeper into her shit by withdrawing into herself. She didn't hear the booted footsteps come behind her. She didn't see the owner of the hand that covered her mouth, only the park's diminishing greenery as she was whisked away into the thicket of trees.

She screamed. She knew what was happening. She would read about these sorts of things in the newspaper. Girl gets taken away into a secluded area. Girl gets raped. Girl commits suicide. So she screamed. She didn't stop screaming until she was slapped across the face. She cried for help and was slapped mercilessly again. So she sobbed and cried as she felt herself be tossed upon the ground. She scrambled to get away, but someone grabbed her hair. It was dark but she could feel multiple hands and breaths upon her body. She was held down by her arms as hands fondled her, grabbing her breasts, stroking the insides of her legs.

"Put the blindfold on her, moron!" came a voice. Just as she got her vision back, it was taken away. Someone kissed her lips forcefully, sticking a tongue in and moving it around in her mouth.

"You taste like candy, baby," the voice who kissed her spoke into her ear.

"Take off her shirt!" commanded another voice. Off came her sweater, then her top, then her bra. Cold hands fondled her round breasts as she felt something cold and slimy caress the tips. She squirmed and screamed, only to have something placed in her mouth. She bit down hard, emitting a scream from someone.

"STUPID WHORE!" She was smacked again. "Now take it and lick it, bitch!" She did as she was told. What ever she licked pressed inside her mouth and moved in and out faster and faster. Her sobs came faster and faster. She didn't want to be taken like this. After what it seemed like hours of something stuck in her mouth, something salty was poured in her mouth, and down her throat. She gagged, about to throw up as a hand covered her mouth and commanded her to swallow. She did, more tears pouring out of her eyes.

She felt hands up and down her legs, slowly unbuttoning her pants. They fingered her panties, a pretty black thong, before they pulled it off. Someone pushed her legs apart and laughed.

"Looks like someone's on their period!" came a snicker. She felt her tampon being pulled out and something else being stuck in. It moved around quickly, then the pressure increased. She knew it was initially a finger, then a second. Something pressed on her body and whispered in her ear.

"Do you like that baby? Does that turn you on?" She sobbed in return. "Well baby, I hope this gets you horney." She heard a zipper being undone and she went insane, squirming around like crazy. She was held still and her legs were pried open again.

"Get ready, baby, here I come!" Something was shoved inside her, some guy's dick, and she screamed. The pain was unbearable and she felt like throwing up.

"Well, well, looks like someone's a virgin after all. Opps." The guys laughed. Their laughter rang inside her head, over and over again. She was passed around to each of the guys, one by one, giving them head, and being raped. They kissed her, caressed her, fondled her.

It was perhaps the longest night of her life. When they were done, she ran home, sobbing and clutching her abdomen in pain. She told her mother, and she was called a liar, a whore, a slut. Her mother smacked her upside the head, told her to shut up and stop lying. When she didn't stop babbling, her mother took her by the hair, dragged her to her room, and locked the door behind her.

"Stop lying, you fucking slut!"

"But mama, they raped me… they raped…me…"she banged on the door, sobbing and screaming at her mother. She had spent that night curled up at the foot of the door, with blood covering the insides of her legs, some from her period, some from her brutal rape.

It was a miracle she didn't get pregnant. She figured she was undernourished and nothing would be able to live inside her if she was pregnant. From that night on, her mother believed her to be a slut, calling her a cunt, a whore, anything degrading. She would hit her, call her names, refuse to feed her- anything that could get to her. Raven continued to be high, but she moved on to deadlier drugs. Her tracks could ride a train and the reek of booze off her could get anyone drunk. She would break things and throw them at Marie, calling her worthless and she'd better start cleaning up her act (which consisted of nothing) and help out around the house. Marie didn't know what she could do- Raven refused to let her get a job, wouldn't let her out of the house, and was mind controlling even in her intoxicated state. She slowly closed herself off, numbing herself to her formerly known life, closing her mind off from human contact. She was now Rogue.

It was barely a month after her rape when her mother started Rogue's career. After months of bitching to her about getting a job, she finally found one for her darling daughter.

The doorbell rang loudly throughout the apartment. It was unexpected. It was barely nine, and most of her mother's "visitors" didn't present themselves until 11 or 12. Rogue got up quietly, an unsettled feeling creeping in her bones. She looked out through a slit from her door, to see a man in his late twenties come through the door. Raven smiled primly at him and shook his hand. They made small quiet talk as every once in a while Raven's eyes would dart towards Rogue's room. After a short minute, the man took out a wallet and placed a few pressed bills into Ravens outstretched hands. She shook his hands again, pocketing the cash and taking him by the arm towards the inner part of the house.

"Oh Rogue sweetie, you have a guest," she sing-songed, pushing open the door to Rogue's room. Rogue moved towards the back of her room. The sickened feeling in her stomach increased. Her mother smiled sadistically.

"Now Rogue, we all know how you like to play host to men, so be good and show this nice young man a good time, okay?" With that, she winked at the man, and closed the door behind her. Rogue stared horrified at her mother, hearing the door's lock click from the outside. The man, semi-handsome, smiled at her.

"So, Rogue, is it?" he crooned, walking towards her. He had her cramped up into the room's corner. Her mind was spinning, black dots were forming in front of her. He came closer and closer, breathing into her ear, grinding against her. "They say younger is better. Guess we'll find that out tonight, won't we?" He nuzzled her neck as she protested, pushing him away anxiously. He got her hands, pressed them against the wall and spoke into her ear softly, threateningly.

"I paid a pretty penny to fuck a beauty like you. I don't think your mother would be too happy to refund the money. She might take it out on you. So you'd better do what I say, or else you'll pay." Rogue froze, unable to move. He was right. She would pay if she didn't do what he commanded.

He grinded and dry humped against her; she was frozen. He licked her, groped her, squeezed her; she was frozen. He played around with her, her breasts, her ass, even her crotch; she was frozen. He took off her shirt and her bra, licking her every where; she was frozen. He unzipped her pants, yanking them off, sticking his fingers in her holes and licking them clean; she was frozen. Silent tears fell down as she let him have his way. He fucked her long and hard that night, with no condom, nothing. She silently cried all night. He fell asleep on her, head on her breasts, holding her crotch, fingers still inside. He left, a satisfied smile on his face as he gave her tip to Raven.

"Come again," she called out to him, waving as he left. When Rogue looked at her, she started sobbing again.

"Oh get used to it, it wasn't that bad. Suck it up." Raven rolled her eyes.

And the days progressed. Raven forced her into prostitution, keeping her money, finding her customers. Each fuck numbed her thoroughly. She eventually stopped crying each time, and just endured with a blank look on her face. Raven finally grew tired of being her manager; she dressed Rogue up every night at around 7 p.m. and told her to wait on the corner. She did as she was told; whenever she didn't, she'd get beat and starved; Raven went so far one night as to order a guy to brutally fuck her as punishment. So she did as she was told.

And so Rogue waited on her corner, finishing another cigarette. Her eyes searched sullenly at the pedestrians. They looked at her for a split second, then looked away just as quick. Rogue understood. To them, she was a nasty, some gothic fetish sex toy that sucked people's blood for fun and dripped candle wax down their back as bondage. She was the kind of girl to them who would pose online in some nude or vinyl bondage outfit with something dripping onto her mouth or some "come-hither" or "beware" look on her face.

She looked abashedly away from all people. She was ashamed. She was used. Nobody wanted her and she couldn't help but feel depressed. She was only alive as a fuck toy and nothing more. She felt no love, no happiness, nothing good. She wasn't cared for. She couldn't help but yearn for some kind of pang in her heart whenever something good happened. Some kind of feeling to let her know she was alive and something was about to change.

The only reason she yearned the feeling of love or compassion was because she felt it once. Or more, depending on how you looked at the situation. It had been a fleeting spasm in her chest, making her gasp for air. She knew it had to be something good, because she smiled after.

She had been walking home from one of her mother's errands. Actually, it had been picking up some food, which in actuality wasn't needed. Raven needed any excuse to get her out of the house while a few of her friends and her got fucked up. She had a small bag of groceries locked in front of her chest. She was looking down, avoiding any eye contact with people. Lost in thought she didn't notice the tall figure in front of her until it was too late. She bumped into a man and nearly fell backwards until he caught her neatly in his arms. He held her safely for a second before setting her upright again.

"Y' okay?" he asked, hands still on her arms. She looked up at him, almost wishing she hadn't. He wasn't a man, he was a guy no older than she. He was gorgeous. His auburn hair was almost the same shade as hers, a little less red and a shade lighter maybe. His face was beautifully chiseled, a strong jaw, perfect nose, and a perfect goatee. His eyes were squinted down at her in concern and she could see the etchings of his beautiful eyes. She gazed up in awe and softly gasped. He adverted his eyes away.

"Ah- Ah'm sorrah, Ah didn't mean ta stare, they're jus'… so beautiful…" she admonished, forgetting about hiding her accent. The man in front of her smiled.

"No where as belle as y'," he charmed, taking a step back to stare at the girl in front of her. "Remy," he took a hand into his half gloved one and kissed it lightly. She smiled slightly, something arising within her. "Mar- Rogue," she corrected herself before he could hear.

He picked up the groceries next to them and handed them to Rogue; she grabbed the sunglasses that were by her feet and handed them to him.

"Well, den Rogue," he bowed, "Remy hopes t' see y' 'round," he acknowledged.

"Same, Swamp Rat," she teased him, immediately recognizing his accent. He laughed. "River Rat," he called back. She walked away with the first smile to grace her features in years. Her heart was pounding somewhat after the encounter.

She saw him a few more times after that. Each time she would leave a bit happier, a bit breathless. Each time though, he would look at her, he scared her. With his eyes it seemed he was able to actually see her, past the make-up, past the mental shield, past everything and see the little girl who barely lived. And she was scared.

Hands covered her eyes as she was sitting in the park one morning. She gasped and held those hands. She could feel memories of her rape coming back.

"Guess who, River Rat," a voice started. Her racing heartbeat slowed down as she recognized the voice. She smiled.

"Ah can only guess, Swamp Rat."

He took off his hands and looked at the book she was reading. "Now, what is dis, some fantasy romance novel?"

She shrugged. "'s jus' a book Ah picked up."

"Fair 'nough. Mais, jus' passin' t'rough 'n Remy t'ought he'd just say hi t' his favorite River Rat."

"Well, hey y'self," she replied back. He saluted her, and turned around to walk away. He stopped after a few steps, then turned around.

"Hey, Rogue," he began, getting her attention. "Would y' like t' go out on a date avec moi?"

Her eyes widened momentarily, then saddened, looking down miserably. "Ah…Ah don't date, Remy, Ah'm sorry," she apologized softly. He continued to look at her, then nodded. "D'accord, chère, Remy'll be seein' y' 'round, then." With that he turned around and walked away, hands in his trench coat pockets. As she watched, she felt something inside her break. The first guy to ever ask her out and she had to decline. Something wasn't right.

And she did see him around. And each time she would smile around him and no one else. Her heart would beat so sound for him for hours after each encounter. She laughed at him as he walked her places, accompanying her, but fell back into her depression rut when she was at home. Each time he would ask for a date, each time she had to decline miserably. Each time he would ask why, each time she would reply the same. "Ya wouldn't understand, Rems, it's jus' too complicated."

She thought of this man as she fished inside for another cigarette. She was out. She sighed exasperatedly. The guy she was waiting for was late, extremely late. The night was getting colder, and she was getting antsy. Police usually roamed the streets around this time, looking for those past curfew, those druggies who wreaked havoc, those prostitutes who sold themselves to anyone who walked on two feet. She was one of those they looked for. Without her ciggs, she felt vulnerable, like they could see who she was.

After a while of shivering with her arms clamped in front of her, she heard footsteps behind her. She waited to see if they'd pass by, but a figure only stood next to her.

"Well, fancy seein' y' here, chère," came a familiar voice. She smiled and turned to look at him.

"What are y' doin' here, Rems? It's late."

"Could ask y' t' same question." He put his hands in his trench coat pocket and looked at her. She looked at him and took off his sunglasses, something she always did when she saw him. "Ya ain't allowed ta hide them in front of me, ya know that." She pushed them into his pockets, then resumed her cold stance. He looked at her closer and saw the goose bumps up her arms.

"C'mon, chère, let moi take y' back t' his place. Y' look cold."

She shook her head. "Sorrah, Ah'm kinda waitin' f' someone." He raised his eyebrows, looking at her attire. "In d' cold wearin' dat? Dis must be an important someone," he told her. She looked forlornly off, unable to meet his gaze. She blankly stared down the street, shivering slightly. Remy couldn't help but notice.

"Y' cold, chère, why don't y' go home?" he asked again, after a moments silence.

"Cuz Ah have t' meet this person," she told him again. He was quiet for a minute.

"Well, Rogue, I'm sorry I made y' wait so long, mais…I be the person y' waitin' for."

Rogue felt her stomach drop quickly. Her head became woozy as she whipped her head to stare at him, hoping to find some kind of amused joke lying in his eye. But nothing. His eyes were dead serious with its red orbs looking intently back at her. She felt light-headed; her world seemed to darken and brighten right in front of her as she looked at him. Her jaw went slack as her breathing shallowed. No, this wasn't right. This wasn't supposed to happen. The one man who made her smile wasn't supposed to pay her for a fuck.

He pitied her as he looked into her eyes. She looked torn and miserable. He had to look away. "C'mon chère, let's go back to my place."

She followed numbly. What could she do? Refuse a man who was going to save her a beating, even though she may have grown a soft spot for him? She walked behind him a bit, contemplating this matter. She told herself miserably that there was nothing she could do; she had to get the money. She mentally reprimanded herself for liking another human; things never turned out well for her and socializing.

They walked silently through the streets, turning every once in a while, with only Rogue's heeled shoes echoing in the night. She stepped slightly behind him, staring at the back of his head in anguish. Her heart fluttered in dread as his hair did. He was looking straight ahead; she saw the edges of his crimson eyes. Icy blood ran through her veins feverishly; her body felt like shutting down. But she couldn't. Again, she would just resort to closing herself off like she always did during sex. She found it ironic, that the man that made her feel alive again would give her the most emotionally painful fuck ever.

Most of the walk she didn't remember. Her mind spun heavily as her breathing ragged. The night stars swirled above her head sporadically, as she looked anywhere by him. Before she realized it, she had followed him inside an apartment complex, up a flight of stairs, and was now waiting in front of a door as he fished out a key and opened it.

Her movements never seemed so finalized, so dreaded, like one false move and she would die. She felt no cold from the outside world, just cold from her inside darkness. Her body was numb and disjointed. She was led into a dark room and snapped her head up when she heard his voice call far away.


"Remy said, make y'self at home," he repeated, gesturing to the couch.

Rogue walked into the dimly lit room and sat quietly and slowly on the edge of the middle of the couch, carefully taking a look at the apartment. It was respectable from what she saw: couch, entertainment system (full with DVDs and CDs), a nice TV, DVD player, table, chairs, usual for a one manned apartment. The couch she sat on was of black leather. The carpet looked new; the white she saw was clean and bright, without any sole markings or spills, there were a few picture frames littering the top of the entertainment system and stands. In front of her was a black coffee table. As expensive as the room looked, it was scarcely decorated beyond that, but from what she knew about Remy, it suited him.

Off to the right was a small hallway, with the door shut. She assumed it was his room. 'Wonder why he left the door closed,' she thought bitterly, 'I'll be spending most of the night in there.'

Remy walked in, carrying a bottle of champagne and two wine glasses. He handed her one and poured her a glass. She couldn't keep from staring at him, mainly at his eyes, searching for any emotion. She looked away quite suddenly, sipping her champagne every so often. She refused to think like a small, love-ridden child. Despite her frantically beating heart, her head felt dead. The feeling resembled the same feeling before her rape, mainly her second rape. Again, she didn't want to be taken again like this. Again, she felt betrayed. That day she met Remy, she felt something special; that special something made her heart beat faster, made her smile upon thought, made her daydream about other possible meetings in the future. It was a first connection that she had read in so many fantasy books before.

Served her right.

So she continued sipping her champagne, eyes fixed to the ground now. She knew guys like Remy must have girls lined up at the door for even a word. Her breather fluttered every time his eyes would cast over hers. His eyes were enrapturing; any woman who didn't find them truly amazing was truly stupid. She had a god in front of her: the eyes, the body, and for what Rogue thought, the personality. Most girls would love to say, "Oh yea, I fucked that hottie. He's great in bed." For Rogue, that was worthless. Such a man with such a face… she figured she would be lucky to even have half of that whenever she let herself love, but when Remy kept talking to her, stopping on the street and saying hello and asking for a date, she hoped she would get something like him and soon.

Now she had him, an arms length away, but it was so wrong.

"Rogue?" came his voice clearly. She snapped her head towards him, with startled eyes.

"Ah'm sorrah, what was that?" she asked quietly.

"Is it true?" His eyes outlined her soul. She took another sip, playing with the glass stem.

"Is what true?"

"Everyt'ing dey say on d' streets," he replied.

"Ah wouldn't know what they say," she calmly replied.

"Dat y' d' most in-demand gothic prostitute who does anything an' everyt'ing on command."

She focused her attention on the closest picture frame on the coffee table. A sad smile couldn't help draw itself crudely on her features. It was going to be a hard night.

"Look at meh, Rems," she spoke softly. "Take a guess. As foh bein' in demand, Ah wouldn't know."

He fiddled with his glass for agonizing seconds, swirling the beige liquid, then took a small gulp. He chuckled satirically into his reflection.

"When m' friend told m' that he hired a prostitute one night, I didn't t'ink much o' it. He told me she was wonderful in bed and was great eye candy. Den he told me her name. Didn't believe him, until he started describing her. Tall, slender, beautiful, white streaks, emerald eyes, an' a bit of Goth in her. My friend told m' I'd like her. I knew I already did."

Rogue's heart fell with every word. He had spoken in reference to himself. He had used I in a sentence, instead of Remy, like she was used to. The heat she had retained from the cold night finally aroused on her skin, with every new wave of shame and urge to pass out.

"If ya knew, then why did ya call me here? Just to see for ya'self? See what the big fuss is? Ah can assure you, Ah'm nothin' special," she shook her head with a forced chuckle.

"Non," he shook his head, peering into his glass with elbows on his knees.

"Then what? Y' gorgeous Rems, Ah doubt ya've run out of girls ta have ta come to a prostitute."

"I didn't want y' t' come so I could get some, I wanted y' t' come s' I could find out why!" His head whipped towards her.

"Why what?" she challenged.

"Why y' out there sellin' y'self t' anyone on two feet!" his eyes flashed. She sighed shakily and looked away. His eyes were piercing.

"It's complicated, Remy," she repeated.

"Y' say that every time, and I always let y' off. I want answers."

"Rems, it's really nothin'. Ah'm just y' common street whore," she declared to him, attempting to convince him.

"Says th' girl who always looks sad. Rogue- don't lie. With even th' little I know 'bout y', y're not th' type. I know th' type."

"What makes ya think Ah'm not the type? Ya said it ya'self ya don't know much about meh," she retorted.

"B'cause, Rogue. I overheard her," he rushed.

Her heart froze.

"Overheard who?" she spoke dangerously quiet. He froze as well. He had too much.

"Y'…mere, I think. I- I overheard her."


"I followed y' home one day. I… heard yellin'."

"Why did ya follow meh home?" She annunciated every word precisely and deadly quiet.

"Rogue, I swear it's not like that. I saw y' go into an apartment by chance one day. I came back later that week, t' surprise y', s' maybe y'd go out wit' me somewhere."

"So ya have been stalkin' meh," she concluded.

"No!" he responded quickly. "I told y' it's nothin' like that!"

"Then what is it?" she drawled desperately.

"Rogue," he began slowly, "I find out where y' live, I meet y' randomly on the streets, I ask y' out on dates. I t'ink it's obvious that I-"

"Remy, ya don't know meh," she flustered. No, he couldn't be going there. She wouldn't let him go there.

"But I want to."

She stood up, placing the champagne glass on the coffee table. She gave him a small sorrowful look, downcast.

"Remy," she began softly. She knew what he was about to say. Even still, she didn't believe him. How could she? She had to save herself. This man in front of her just didn't know.

"Ya're a really great guy, Rems. Ya've been nicer to meh than anyone else. Ah thank ya foh that." She turned around, and started walking towards the door. She reached for the door knob, flipping the lock with the other hand. "Ya shouldn't get ya'self caught up in the shit Ah call mah life."

She yanked open the door. It shut in front of her almost as quickly. A strong hand was in front of her face, against the door. He was quietly fast, she'd give him that.

"Non," he began just as softly.

"Remy-" she protested desperately.

"Y've made too much of an impact f' me t' just let y' go." He grabbed her small wrist and led her back to the couch. He sat her down by the shoulders and sat close. She could smell the spice he called cologne on his body. His towering presence made her feel safe, even as he was sitting down. He fiddled with his hands, his back hunched over. She sat primly, withdrawn and poised, as she was forced. She didn't know what to say.

"Why do y' do it?" he finally asked. She scoffed bitterly.

"C'mon. Outta every whore ya've met, even ya know there's something more than a simple answer to that."

"Do y' even realize what ya doin' t' y'self?"

She whipped her head, eyes flashing, fists clenched.

"Of course Ah know what Ah'm doin'! What whore wouldn't? Ah know what's happenin' every second of this gawddamn job! Don't ya think Ah've analyzed this enough ta make a person's head explode?"

"An' still? Y' have t' realize a job like this is a dangerous one f' a girl like y'."

"Ah know, Rems! Ah can't do anythang 'bout it!" she yelled exasperatedly. His hands stopped fidgeting. His body went rigid.

"What d' y' mean, chère?" he implored quietly.

"Ah mean, Ah have no fuckin' choice in doin' this fuckin' job," she half-sobbed. She hung her head in shame. Shame in the truth. Shame in revealing herself so pitifully in front of the man whom she adored. Her hands started shaking in their death grip. Her body was clenched tight on the edge of the couch; her head hung low in the opposite direction of Remy. Everything was closing in to her. He was so close to her.

"Rogue." His voice was laced with worry. Concern. Why did it seem so wrong? So weird? His voice was so quiet, yet it was the loudest sound to her. She had never heard one word so adamant before. From anyone. It captured her attention. It was said so sadly, so longingly. She had never heard her name so filled with emotion

He placed a finger under her chin and forced her to turn her head towards him. She wouldn't open her eyes; a tear would fall from her watered eyes. She didn't do this; she was the Rogue. She must gain composure. Nobody saw behind the Goth mask. She preferred to keep it that way. No, there was no way he'd see a tear. The minute he did, there would be attachment. Attachment was something she kept to herself; it was against the client and employee contract signed at appointment setup. He was quickly breaking the barrier of the contract. He wasn't breaking it; he was smashing it to bits with every gesture, look, word.

She must gain composure. He must not gain the upper hand. He must not break through her shield.

Shaky breath. She was okay. The tears evaporated. She opened her eyes.

"What's goin' on? Are y' in debt? Do y' need money? Is that it?" He bent down to meet her unfocused gaze. She forced back another oncoming sob and gave a shaky laugh.

"If only it was so simple," she countered wistfully.

"I'll give y' money, anyt'ing y' need," he offered appealingly. She shook her head out of his grasp.

"No. It's not lahke that. Doin' this… it… just means Ah won't get beaten ta death at home," she murmured. "Piece it tagether, Rems."

"Y' mere," he struck a moment later. "Mais, pourquoi?"

"Mah adopted mothah. Tha one who so lovin'ly took meh in when Ah was 4 and beaten bah mah actual fathah. She took meh in, gave meh a home, until her an' her husband divorced. She took meh away from mah hometown down South, up here foh a new life. Some new life," she mocked bitterly. "She took meh t' get away from tha abuse. The irony."

It was progress. He placed his hand on her shaking one and began to stroke it lightly in comfort. "What happened next?"

"We spent the next few years jumpin' apartments, lookin' foh money. She became addicted. Ta everything. Started abusin' drugs. Abusin' meh. Lost every job she eva had. We ended up with no money, about ta be kicked out again. Bah that time, she had become pretty popular with all the drug lords. She started sellin' everythang an' started makin' money again."

"Mais, 'f she was s' popular, why are y' doin' this?"

"When ya doped up on five different things, all ya can think 'bout is where ya find tha money ta shoot up wit' next. She got tha idea Ah was a slut, so she'd use me ta her advantage." She narrowed her eyes angrily.

"Why'd she think dat?"

Her body gripped. She didn't expect that question. She didn't expect to have to explain. She didn't want to. Why couldn't he just accept things as they were?

She opened her mouth in a strangled reply. Nothing came out. Was she supposed to be reliving the memory in her head? Were the images supposed to be flashing in front of her eyes again? Was she supposed to remember every excruciating sensory detail after they blindfolded her? Was she supposed to remember the hands groping her, feeling her insides? The tongues that soiled her, the salt that dirtied her?

/Ya taste like candy, baby./

The pain unleashed inside her? The cum, the zippers, the cold? The salt on her tongue, her cunt, her face? Every finger pressed inside her, moving faster and faster, leaving her raw and bleeding? Was she supposed to remember every scream, every laugh, every death of her shattered soul? Every tear, every dick, every rip, every sob?

She had done so well to forget in regular life, or so she thought. It didn't matter at night she felt everything the same, when some man was fucking her brains out. It didn't matter she awoke with nightmares of her hellish life. So long as in her real life, she wouldn't remember anything.

"Rogue?" he gripped her hands a little harder. His voice sounded worried, far away. "Rogue, what's wrong?" he shook her gently a little more, trying to get her eyes back on his. They were focused elsewhere. "Rogue?"

She stared at the ground. Her hands clenched and twitched. Tears rolled down her cheeks; her mouth was slightly ajar. She blinked, drawing a sobbing breath as she plummeted back into her reality. She felt the pangs of pain all over her body. Was it still supposed to hurt?

Human touch shook her body. Remy's hands were at her face, wiping the tears away from her cheeks.

"Please tell me," came his low, whispered plead. He cradled her head in his hands, forcing her to look into his eyes. She choked. Her heart raced and more tears fell.

"Ah… Ah was at the park one night, after Ah turned 16," she choked out. She closed her eyes, the tears were blurring her vision. "Then… these guys… Ah… they took meh… into tha forest, blindfolded meh… undressed me…" she sobbed. She shook, her chest heaving, making it unable for her to breathe. Remy caressed her face, made calming noises for her. The tortured girl tried with holding it, tried to stop the tears, calm her breathing.

"Just let it all out, Rogue," he soothed. And she did. She started shaking uncontrollably, sobbing, trying to choke out words.

"They did it, Rems… they all… they… raped me… all of them… Ah screamed… nobody came foh meh… nobody believed meh… She called meh a slut, she didn't believe meh… Oh gawd… Remy…"

He enfolded her, taking her small body into his, holding her as she shook uncontrollably. For once in his life he didn't know what to say. He understood completely and felt his heart break. This girl had been through more than he had in life, and it was continuously getting worse. She needed to be saved.

He wanted to save her. Keep her from the horrors of her world. Protect her.

He knew it wouldn't be someone like her to chose such a job. Such a beautiful, enchanting girl. Such a horrible life.

He hugged her closer, placing a subtle kiss on her hair.

"Ah'm sorrah, Rems.." she resigned minutes later. Her chest had stopped heaving, she stopped shaking, and had calmed her tears. He lessened her hold on her as she sat up straight.

"F' what?" he inquired.

"Foh becomin' a mess. Bet ya didn't expect this tonight, did ya?" she mused.

He chuckled sadly. "None of it. Mais, I'm glad y' came."

"So am Ah," she revealed. "Even if Ah did become a sobbin' mess." She heaved a sigh. What else was she supposed to say? She couldn't possibly explain anything anymore. He knew, basically, the inner workings of her job, the reasons. Sure, there was some relief in telling someone, but it didn't change anything. Tonight, she would go home and get thrashed. Tomorrow she would wake up, hopefully, and do the same thing, the same people. Nothing ever would change. One night's blissful company couldn't possibly change the hell that had been ablaze for almost a year and a half. What could he do to help her? Only she could help herself, and that was barely.

"So y' mere used y' so she could buy drugs," he shook his head and scoffed in anger.

"At first she would lock meh in mah room and send in the guys foh some money. Whenever Ah used ta refuse, she'd send them in ta abuse meh, to rape meh wit' anythang. Aftah a while, she'd just dress meh up and send meh ta a corner. Th' men were all the same. So long as they got what they wanted, Ah didn't matter."

"Have y' ever not gone home?" he asked gently.

She leaned back on the couch and blew back a chunk of hair. "Plenty of times."


"Her thugs would always find meh," she spat. "Always. Ah'd come home, kickin' an' screamin' ta mah mother grinnin' wit' four or five guys in mah room. Afta they were done, she'd beat meh. Ah guess Ah've learned that it's bettah just ta endure. If Ah come home wit' tha money, life isn't as bad."

"The cops?"

She sneered. "Ya'd be amazed how fast an addict could clean up when she knew a cop was comin'. She'd just get one of her men ta pose as mah lovin' father."

"An' nobody b'lieves y' still…" He slumped back on the couch beside her.

"Ya believe meh, right?" Her voice was soft, despairingly sad. He looked at her beautifully melancholic face.

"Ev'ry word," he swore. "Can't help but feel like I need t' help y' in some way," he admitted.

"It's not ya problem. It's somethin' Ah gotta deal wit' all on mah own," she assured him. She was strong, wasn't she? She had gone through life alone, she didn't need anybody now. And anyways, it was better this way. Neither party got hurt. She had gotten hurt too much as it was, betrayed by all. Yes, it was much better this way.

"Thank ya foh listenin', but it's time foh meh ta go back," she apologetically stated. She stood up, only to have his grip embrace her arm again.

"What are y' gonna do?" She paused.

"Ah dunno. Wait it out a few months until Ah turn eighteen. Ah'll just leave."

"Can y' even last a few months?"

She looked despondent.

"Ah hope. If not…Ah dunno. Ah'll have t' leave New York. Raven'll probably have the cops out after meh, sayin' Ah stole some worthless shit. Anythang ta keep meh here. But Ah'll leave."

He stood up next to her and took a hold of her shoulders.

"Y' can't live like this. All of this is killin' y'. I see you around. Y' look s' sad. If y' mere doesn't kill y'…if these men don't take it too far…I have a feelin' y're gonna kill y'self. I can't loose y', Rogue." He took the wistful look in her eyes and a sudden pang hit his heart. He grabbed her and enfolded her in a strong, crushing embrace. She was so small, encased in his arms, almost undernourished. Her body was toned from all the sexual exercise, yet she border lined on underweight. She almost crumpled in his deep hold.

"Ah can't do anythang, Rems," she whispered. "Ah've tried. Ah dunno what t' do anymore." Her breathing heaved as she tried to suppress tears.

"Stay wit' me," came suddenly. She lifted her head away from his broad chest.


"Live wit' me," he asked pleadingly. The shock only increased.

"Rems, Ah can't! Ah'm too much of a burden. You'll have the cops out afta ya- Ah care about ya too much ta let y' throw away ya life foh meh!"

"An' I care too much t' let y' throw y' life away like this."

"Remy, Ah-"

Her protests were cut short. He placed a thumb over her mouth, his other hand intertwined in her hair. He leaned down, breathing softly on her lips. He hesitated, hitching his breath. "Je t'aime, Rogue," he confessed breathlessly.

"Oh Remy…" she mouthed silently.

His lips, smooth as silk, caressed hers softly in a chaste kiss. He backed away as gently, looking deep in her eyes. Her eyes were watering and almost looked fearful.

"Rogue, I'm sorry, I didn't mean f' dat t' happen an'-" his voice was silenced by her slender finger.

"Stop it," she reprimanded carefully. "Ya… ya're the first one ta eva kiss meh lahke that," she disclosed wanly. "An' on th' lips. No man has eva tried ta kiss meh lahke that."


"Don't ya dare apologize," she whispered accusingly. "Ah'm not sorrah an' neither are ya"

"I don't want y' t' t'ink I'm usin' y'."

"Ah know." she leaned up on her tip-toes, barely meeting his lips. "Ah love y', too," she murmured against his lips. She stroked his face with a soft hand and ran her other through his hair, pressing her lips into his. He placed his hands on the small of her back and pressed her closer. She flung her hands and embraced his neck.

Never had she become so heated with a simple kiss. She felt her cheeks flush and heart race with excitement. He started out slow, but Rogue wanted more. He was intoxicating. He sent shivers down her spine with every soft nibble. She opened her mouth more, tongue licking the curvature of his lips. He returned her challenge, meeting tongue with tongue. He sucked on the end of her tongue playfully, inviting her for another challenge. She danced around his for a moment and went in for the kill, biting his lip sensually, running her tongue on the bottom of it. Her breathing hitched as he lightly stroked the small visible patch of skin between her corset and skirt.

Her breathing ragged. All she could try and stop herself from doing was pressing him closer to her, specifically towards her nether regions. She was excited, or aroused? She wouldn't know. His soft touches were driving her mad. She wanted him. She needed him. His kisses were all too much. And all too little. His light touches and strokes were tantalizing, moving his fingers in graceful patterns on her skin. She drew his head in for more, unable to stop her pleasure from him. She wanted more.

"Remy," she whispered, pulling him for a kiss. She looked into his eyes. "Let's take this to your room," she murmured against his lips. She was met with solemn eyes.

"Y' sure?" he stopped her.

"Positive," she assured. She kissed him again. He stooped down and gathered her bridal style, her arms still secure around her neck. He paused at the closed door, fumbling with the door knob and kicked it open. He closed the door behind him with one foot and made his way over to his bed. He laid her gently on the bed, kissing her lips softly, and laid down next to her. He held her close to him, hands placed on her sides. Her fingers made their way up to his hair, combing through it passionately as she tasted him thoroughly. One of his hands massaged her sides as the other cradled her head. She positioned herself so that she became almost directly underneath him. One of his legs was in between hers, pressing into her. She drew him closer, pressing her hips closer to his. The feeling of his body on top of her gave her a burning desire.

His lips left hers open and wanting as he trailed kisses down her neck and back up towards her lips. Her breathing hitched as he left a lingering shiver down her back as he caressed her sides, drawing her into him, pressing her into him. Her heart lurched with every kiss, every stroke.

She grinded against him, feeling his hardened manhood against her leg.

"Y' teasin' meh," he mumbled against her warningly. She smiled back in response.

"It's not teasin' if Ah want ya," she murmured back against him. She took him in more, pressing her bottom half into him.

"Is it teasin'?" he inquired. She shook her head slightly.

"No. Ah want ya, Remy. Now," she replied breathlessly. He led a trail of supple kisses down her neck, trailing it up to her ear.

"Y' sure? B'cause, I want y' too," he admitted huskily.

"Take me," she consented, "Ah'm yours."

"Then, tell me if y' want t' stop," he requested, kissing her more. She felt his hand move farther under her back and pull the zipper of her corset. She arched her back, giving him better access. He pulled it off of her, taking a glorious look at the lace she wore as lingerie. He reached a hand to his shirt and peeled it off of himself, then settled himself down and continued to run a hand over the smoothness of her skin, trailing over her abdomen, reaching up towards her breasts, then to her shoulders, only to come back down again. He reached behind her and undid the two small clasps that held her chest together so perfectly. He threw it off the bed and ran his rough hands over the sides of her torso. He pressed his own torso into her, feeling the heat radiated off of her body.

Rogue took this opportunity to feel up his chest with her hands. His chest was finely toned and sleek, with abs. His torso branched out into strong arms whose muscles slightly bulged. From what she could tell, he had the body of a god. She arched her back against him as he led another trail of kisses down her neck. His arms wrapped around her back, one hand reaching down into her lower back, pulling against the zipper tag.

"May I?" he asked, stopping his movements to wait for her response.

"Do it." She squirmed slightly now. The lack of his touch was killing her. He pulled down the zipper to her skirt and shimmied her out of it, taking off her boots on the way down. He led his hands up her legs languidly, drawing designs on her visible skin. He kissed up her belly button up to her face. Just as he was about to kiss her lips, she put a finger on his lips.

"What about your pants, sugah?" she asked sweetly. He smirked beautifully and shook his head, undoing his zipper and shaking his pants off. He resumed his position nearly on top of her, feeling the lace of her beautiful lingerie on his fingers. She felt every agonizing stroke as he languidly slid his hands all over her body. She felt her body give in to his touches, leaning in and quivering at each one. She pressed in more, her leg coming into contact with his harder member. She reached down with one hand and stroked it lightly. His body jerked towards her, eyes playful. He took her hand away, giving a mock disapproving sound.

"Tsk. Dis is y' night, Rogue," he simply said, capturing her lips with his again. His hands resumed their place on her body, one by her head, the other running up and down her side. He reached down with that one hand and started caressing her leg. He found the clips that held her lingerie and stockings together, and dislocated them. He slid the stocking down her legs sensuously, letting his fingers linger on the inside of her upper thigh. She sucked in air. The touch surprised her momentarily. He found a sweet spot, she knew.

He ran his hand up her stomach, twirling circles, then lowered back down to her leg. He lingered up, drawing small and large circles on the inside of her thigh. She fidgeted a bit, with small gasps of air. His circles were getting closer and closer to her opening. The pressure as it was down there was increasing for her. He trailed back up again, this time going for the underside of her breast.

"Ah think ya the tease," she breathed. He smiled coyly.

"I just don't know if y' want it," he commented, massaging her side. She narrowed her eyes.

"Ah want y', Remy," she confessed gaspingly. He smiled. "An' I want y'."

He trailed his hand down to her thigh, making trails up and down, each time reaching further and further towards her panties. He reached up finally, and played with the panty's hem. He rubbed his fingers on the genital part, putting pressure on it. She was warm and wet. Her hips jerked up to him, pressing the fingers in further. He rubbed a bit more, and stopped kissing her for a moment. Her eyes regarded him coolly and became unfocused when he slipped his finger between her panties and stroked her nether lips. Her hips jerked up again. He stroked again, running a finger up and down, flicking her clit then running down her lips. He slipped his finger back out, only to reach up to the top hem.

"May I?" he asked quietly, fingering her panties.

"Yes," she choked out. He proceeded in pulling her panties down and off her legs. He trailed his hand back up, playing with her inner thigh, then proceeding back up. He traced her nether lips with his fingers, going up and flicking her clitoris. He rubbed her clit softly, knowing it would stimulate more. He watched her; he knew exactly what he was doing to her, making her squirm. Her breaths were short and clipped. He rubbed her clit faster and faster, watching her hips twitch in excitement. He slipped two fingers inside of her, causing her to gasp in surprise. He pressed them in and out slowly at first. As her hips softly moved up to greet his fingers, he started pressing in faster, gripping her insides. She clenched her eyes in silent prayer, as she clenched her walls around his fingers. He smirked while breathing softly down her neck and kissing the pale flesh. He slowly took them out and started fondling her clit again. She was already warm and moist, but he wanted more. And he knew how he could get more.

He took his face away from her neck and kissed her, gently sucking on her lower lip. He proceeded in kissing her lower and lower, a procession of marks trailing down the front side of her torso. He reached her belly button and began back down towards her leg, starting with her ankle, and kissed the inside of her leg. When he reached the uppermost part of her inner thigh, he started on the other thigh and back down.

"Rems, what are ya-?" Rogue moaned.

"Shh," he quieted her, sensually peering up at her from between her legs. His eyes glimmered. "Don't worry," he told her, a smirk on his face.

He held the outside of her thighs and stroked them. He leaned his face in and started suckling her clitoris. She gasped. This had never happened before. He ran his tongue around the small nub, making small circles around it, then gave a hard suck. She felt her hips buck and her knees quiver as she grasped the sheets next to her. She threw her head back as he flicked his tongue over and over again on her gist. She felt herself clench.

"Oh gawd…" she moaned.

He took this as the okay to go further. He watched her with pensive eyes and saw her squirming. He left her core and slowly let his tongue drop down towards her opening. He licked up and down, playing with the underside of her clit and the outside of her opening. Every time he reached the outside of her opening, he felt shiver and clench down her body. He internally smiled and plunged his tongue into her. She arched her back and a small cry was emitted. She could feel his tongue grazing everywhere in her insides and involuntarily clenched around him. He took himself out and sucked her clit again.

She moaned again. She wanted that pressure between her legs again. She needed it. She felt empty without something of him in her. And he knew it. As he was dancing with her clit, he replaced his tongue and slid two fingers into her, twisting them around and pushing as far up as he could. She gasped again; it was getting harder not to make any more noise. She shook as she clenched the sheets around her and threw her head back. Something was further erupting within her. She couldn't tell if she was clenching hard or if the pressure build up between her legs was too great. He sucked harder and harder, pressing in faster and faster.

"Oh Rems," she managed to breathe out. "Take meh." She felt some of the pressure of her lower half give away.

"Are y' sure?" he coaxed, still sliding his fingers in and out. She begged to him silently with her eyes.

"Ah need ya now, Rems," she pleaded.

She felt his fingers leave her body and a pressure on her body. He took off his boxers quickly; Rogue was panting and still grabbing the sheets. She felt him lay down between her legs and onto her torso, felt his manhood knock against her thighs. Her heart pounded and her lower half pulsed with anticipation.

His face hovered over hers and she felt his eyes on hers; he kept his eyes unwaveringly as he slithered into her. She gasped as he did; a new kind of pressure built up inside her heat. He kissed her softly and started off with slow thrusts, molding his lower half into hers. She received him gratefully; every thrust in her sent a new wave of rapture up her body. She wanted more. She clenched around him and pulled him more towards her. She felt him jerk above her and sink in harder.

"Rems," she breathed. He pumped faster; she met him with the same vigor. He ran a roughened hand down her body and pulled her legs closer to him. He couldn't think beyond the intoxicating silk of her skin and how small she was beneath him, beyond the heat and friction they were creating between them. He slid his hand down her hour glass curves, down her chest, her hips, reaching behind her and grabbing her ass. He pulled her up for every thrust; he wanted more of her around him.

"Oh Rogue," he murmured in her ear.

"Gawd Remy, don't stop," she breathed back. Her hands were tangled in his mane, her head thrown back in bliss. Her lower half was pulsing and firing a wave of pleasure throughout her whole body. He slammed a bit harder into her and she visibly bit back a moan.

Her body was betraying her, surrendering herself to him. She could feel it, the slow capitulation with every nibble on her neck, with every long digit molding itself in her hair. She was loosing herself to the pleasure. Was she gripping tighter and tighter? No, it was him who was coiling her rigid with undulated ecstasy. She wanted him, more of him.


Did she say it aloud? He complied with her thoughts. Could he go faster? She was on breakneck speed. She was about to break. Did he feel it too? He gripped her harder. She gripped him, nails grazing down his back, about to fall off the edge. Did he know what he was doing to her?

Maybe he did, as he plunged one last time. Something snapped in her, sending her mind numb. She moaned and with her head thrown back let the feeling overtake her. Her world shifted, her body changed and clenched around him, making him release with her. Was this the feeling she had been missing out on? The feeling of an ocean washing over her and sweep her away in the current of bliss? Love?

They lay together seemingly forever, intertwined and breathing hard. Remy lay on top of her, one arm holding her body, the other reaching down and holding her hand. He leaned up to kiss her forehead, and then settled back down. His breath whispered on her neck, his deep voice reaching up to her ears.

"Je t'aime, Rogue."

"Je t'aime aussi, Remy." Her soft voice hummed back to him with fluttering eyes and a soft sigh.

And she awoke suddenly. Her head waved up and down to the breathing of the man she lay on. It was quiet. The apartment was silent and still. She was naked still, a blanket covering her unmentionables, yet naked nonetheless. So was Remy. Their hands still knit together on his chest, she lifted her head up to see his face. The man under her was sleeping peacefully. His auburn hair fell over his eyes in tufts; his mouth was slightly ajar. He was peaceful.

She couldn't wreck that. She couldn't come as a burden and crash his life. She was just a common prostitute. It wasn't her place to be here. Her time was up. She must leave

She slowly lifted her hands and body off of the man regretfully. How could he be having such a powerful effect on her? All that she had fought to build her mental walls only to have this man and his emotions break them completely down in one night. She never imagined the thought of not being able to stay with a man would hurt so much.

She placed the blanket over him and slowly hung her feet off the bed. She searched the floor with her foot for the clothes discarded freely in their love fest. She found an item and reached down for it.

She was stopped with a grip to her wrist.

"What are y' doin?"

She stopped. How was she to explain this?

"Ah figured it was time ta leave." Maybe he would buy it.

"Non," he simply stated. He sat up to sit next to her and took her hand.

"I wasn't kiddin' when I asked y' t' stay wit' me."

"Ah can't."

"Why not?"

"Ah'm a burden. Ya know it. There's too many skeletons in mah closet. Mah mom'll send cops after ya. Ah'm still a minor."

"But I don't care. Y' not a burden. Y' m' life."

"Ah love y', Rems. Ah couldn't live wit' mahself if anythang did happen ta ya. Ah'm sorry." She began to pull away

"Non," he began softly.

"Remy-" she protested desperately.

"Y've made too much of an impact f' me t' just let y' go." He lay back in bed and pulled her down with him. "I won't hurt y', I promise."

She felt herself surrendering to him, the pleasure, and every little formerly pained part of her.

Author's Note: Woooweee! Well then. How bout that for a lil first time one-shot lemony Romy? Mmm. Well yea. I didn't exactly like how it turned out. A lot of it was clichéd. And kinda weepy. Maybe I should change the weepy ness. Or not. Again, it's late at night. I've had this story on the brain since Febuary. That's about 5 months of writing in math and physics class. Dedication, again, right there. But nevertheless, it is just a one-shot. For all those who may ask for more, there is nothing more I can do. My boyfriend told me once that writing is never finished, only abandoned. I looked it up, only to have Paul Valery tell me a poem is never finished, only abandoned. Eh, whatever. In my case, it works.

For all those who do not have a clue what any of the French words are… well… find an online translator and translate them? Or look on one of the chapters of my other story Tormented Sanity. They should all be there. I didn't use anything too… complicated.

I actually don't think I have really seen a story like this before. Well. One, maybe. But mine's more indepth. Kinda. And angsty. And rape and all that crappy life stuff, abuse, drugs, then Prince Charming Remy comes in and saves the day! So clichéd, I know. But now everything in the world is becoming clichéd. We need more of those random stories people!


So I was on the corner –teehee- with my boyfriend on the inner section of one of the shopping districts of our town one twilight afternoon and I started thinking. How, because I was wearing a skirt and all over my boyfriend's arm, I guess I could kind of look like a prostitute hanging off her pimp. Cuz my boyfriend's pimpin like that. Werd. Yea. So, inspiration from a street corner, a lil sex and BAM! Painful Pleasure. It took a long while to get this out. Especially the sex part, for some reason. (Heh, I'm listening to "Not a Virgin" by Poe. Listen to it. It fits kinda.) I was also listening to "The Glamorous Life", sung by Sheila E. (then Eden's Crush did an interesting take on it. oO) But I thought it would be a good song for it. But enough about me rambling.

So yea. This is dedicated to those who haven't seen your boyfriend in weeks. Or those who love to read anything with the word sex in it. Heh. Review me. Ramble to me the inner workings of your mind. Tell me if you loved it. If you hated it. Etc. But who knows. So R&R, please?