Ecstatic Transformation

Ecstatic Transformation

I'm only going to say this once, so pay attention you in back!

I don't own the X-Men in any way, shape or form. As you might say 'I didn't build the calf, I just worship it'. Hail Stan Lee as the creator!

The title of the story and the lyrical extracts are taken from the band Sigh, and the lyrics were written by Mirai Kawashima, so hail them for the story title and the lyrics. But, the chapter titles are my own, so there you have it.

I'm not making any money off this, just in case your wondering. I'm probably losing money, somehow, but that's beside the point.

Oh, and strangely enough, this'll contain sexual situations of varied forms. How odd…

I- A Mark and a Trace of Taste

"Dancing to the ancient rhythm midnight
Come with me and I
Start to create a new life
It requires another death
Seeking pleasure through pain
Secret pleasure I gain
Nothing sane, nothing insane
Life requires another death"

Outside, frost coated the leaves of the trees and the dew froze in the grass. The lake in the grounds, small as it was, was covered in ice, broken only where one of the students had fell through a thin section of the sheet of ice, putting an end to the skate marks across it's area. Snow had been trampled to and from the doors, and beyond into the grounds as the younger and the carefree took on the Jamie's in a massed battle of snow.

Inside, radiators threatened to melt off their coats of paint in an effort to keep the old house safe from the older winter. Windows fogged up on the inside as frost gathered on the outside.

Wiping away the condensation with her bare hand, enjoying the feel of smooth glass on skin, Rogue peered out at the scene on the grounds. The dozen or so Jamie's, infinitely better co-ordinated than the motley crew that faced them, were being held back by total victory by the teleporting figure of Kurt Wagner, so well covered that the blue wasn't visible from here.

Typical, really, Rogue thought with some slight amusement. A dozen ten year olds, the same person over, held back by a teen who acted like he was ten more times than he acted like he was sixteen.

Absently picking up a thumbed copy of a Poppy Z. Brite that had been glanced at and rejected part way through by the majority of the house at some point or another, Rogue turned from the view outside, bored by it as quickly as she was intrigued by it a moment ago.

Skimming through the pages, Rogue couldn't read again about the teenage boys, the glow in the dark Jesus and the salmon pink Lincoln with it's scarred paint and the chemical brother of blood.

Slowly, Rogue got to her feet, pulling on her gloves absently, automatically. Lethargically, like everything in this weather, she made her way out of her shared room, to find sustenance, entertainment, warmth.

Letting cupboard doors stay swung open, Scott Summers searched through the kitchen, looking for something, anything. A box fell out half way along his search, bouncing off his head and landing on the lino floor, where the tiles had been broken and not yet replaced.

Scooping up the box, Scott glanced at it, raised an eyebrow.

"Toasty pops? Who eats these?" Looking back at the open cupboard doors, he shrugged. "Guess I will, then."

Tearing them out of their shiny silver packaging, Scott put them in the toaster, and started his search for a plate, and mayometomething more nourishing than pre-prepared food.

"You sure you've been living here longer than ah have?"

Looking up in surprise, Scott bashed his head inside the cupboard. Then, rubbing his head and cursing quietly to himself, he said,

"Well, I haven't memorised the kitchen, unlike Kurt seems to have."

"I'm sure." Rogue deadpanned, walking further into the kitchen, looking into the open cupboards.

"Then you tell me why we only have toasty pops?" Scott answered back, holding the box up as proof.

"Toasty pops? Who eats those?" She replied, her nose wrinkling slightly at the thought.

"Other than Bruce Willis, I don't know."

"So long as you shoot the Elf when he's comin' out of the bathroom, I don't mind."

"He'd probably steal your bed if he heard you say that."

"I'd like to see him try."

There was a pause, filled by the springing up of the cooked toasty pops.

"Ba" Ro" Rogue said quietly to herself.

"You say something?"

"No." Rogue lied, looking into a cupboard, seeing only a half empty biscuit packet. "Doesn't anyone ever buy any food round here?"

"You'd better ask Kurt that one. He has appetites beyond ours."

"Says you."

"Says Kurt, too." A pause later, Scott asked, "What book's that you got?"

"What?" Rogue asked, glancing down at the book she still absently held. "Oh, this. A Brite. Nobody else here likes it, I think. Don't know how it got in Xavier's library, though."

"Maybe he bought it."

"And left it for the kids to read, and all the teens to put down in disgust?" Rogue asked with a derisive laugh.

"I liked it. What I read of it." Scott replied, searching the recesses of one of the open cupboards, his words part muffled by the food in his mouth.

"You've read it?" Rogue asked, incredulously.

"Not all of it. I kept reading pieces of it in the library, but it disappeared a couple of weeks ago."

"That was me. Didn't know anyone else liked it." There was another pause, and Rogue asked, "How far did you get?"

"Steve and his baseball bat." Scott replied, turning away from the cupboard, and stepping into uncomfortable closeness.

"Do you want it back? I've read it before already."

"Doesn't matter. I'll get it eventually."

"Who says you have to wait? Sometimes, you just have to take."

Scott's blank eyes were on her, and Rogue, knowing her slip of the tongue, knowing the proximity, hoped and feared his thoughts. Fear won, and she turned and fled from the kitchen.

Scott absently chewed a mouthful of food, swallowed. Bit another chunk out of the toasty pop, and took a step forward.

Casting Lost Souls aside, the multitude of greens on it's cover contrasting against the pale blue carpet it fell on, Rogue sat once again on the window sill, looking out through the window, fogged up once again. Wiping it clean, the damp seeped through her gloves, against her skin faintly.

Kurt was being snowballed into submission, most of his allies deserting in the face of General Winter ans trs troops, falling back to the warm and brooding hen that was the old mansion.

Leaning back against the hard brick covered by plaster and wallpaper, Rogue closed her eyes and remembered sneaking out of the room, sneaking away to another room…how long ago was it?

Didn't remember. Didn't matter, either way.

It had been dark. Everything had been asleep. Except her, gloveless and silent. Pushing open her shared door, pushing open another door. In the dark, she'd brushed her fingers against the sleeper.

She shuddered in memory, remembering everything that had ended up ins fas faint thoughts, flitting through her skull, had been enough to destroy her balance. It was a remembered taste, from a day where they near froze to death on a mountainside.

She'd staggered back, fell into her bed. Her longing fantasies had been replaced in that stolen touch by lustful ones. That night, muffling her cries with her pillow, fearful of waking Kitty and the awkward questions that would come, she'd came to the first of her lust filled orgasms.

Glancing at the shut door, Rogue remembered the dying days of November, and these new days of December. The album she'd left playing seemed to be the only sound nearby. Distant voices in other parts of the mansion were clouded by the calm guitar and trumpet intro of the Ironical Communion.

Her gaze flitting back and forth, Rogue pulled a glove off and slid her hand up her skirt, memories and dreams coming back to the fore.

Scott hovered around in the corridor, listening as the song played faintly fthe the shared room.

Did she mean what he thought she meant? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Was he misinterpreting a glance, a phrased word, an expression?

The song was exploding into force, as Scott turned and walked into his own room, clicking it shut behind him. He was reading too much into her, as he too often did. He was desperate, maybe.

Desperate? Scott thought to himself with some scorn. Horny, more like. He could feel his hard-on pressing against the fabric of his jeans, throbbing with want and demand.

Leaning against the door, Scott unzipped his jeans and slid his hand down his boxers, wrapping his fingers around his cock, and started to pump his hand up and down with increasing speed.

A sigh of pleasure escaped his lips as Scott continued his atavistic act, relishing each taste of pleasure as his fingers slid over his cock, as his foreskin slid over the head of his cock. If he had discarded his boxers, he would have been able to see the redness of the head as he pleasured himself further and further.

With a last sigh, and with minutes past, Scott came, his semen staining his boxers, and he slowly withdrew his hand, wiping it on the side of his leg, pulling up his trousers from where they now lay, around his ankles.

She can't have meant what she said, Scott thought as he did up his trousers. Can she? Could she?

He turned to the door and opened it.

There were footsteps, and the door knob was turning.

A moan murdered in her throat, Rogue leapt to her feet, withdrawing her right hand from up her skirt, while the other slid her breast back under cloth and fabric.

"Scott? You could've knocked." She said, trying to keep a scolding tone, but the life of it was leached away by what she had been thinking and doing a bare second ago.

"I just came to see if I can truly take instead of waiting." He replied simply, clicking the door shut behind him. His expression was strange, foreign. He advanced on her, grasped her right wrist and pulled it away from her body, his face inches from hers.

He kissed her, roughly, strongly, forcefully. She thrust herself against him, tried to reach out for him with her free hand, but he held that one back too, gripping her wrist tight.

She felt Scott shudder against her in that forceful, broken and resealed kiss, and Rogue could not but see herself through his eyes, and then again reflected in his blank visor of an eye.

He pulled her bare hand, the fingers still slick, down past he waistband of his trousers, and groped blindly, feeling him shudder wildly next to her. Her hand was soon slick with Scott's own fluids, before he pulled away, pausing only to whisper in her ear,

"A taste for later."

The door clicked shut behind him as he left, and Rogue licked their mingled fluids from her index finger, licked it again.