A Divided Mind

A Divided Mind - The Bittersweet Promise


Title: A Divided Mind - The Bittersweet Promise
Completed: August 15, 2003
Rating: NC-17 for content.
Disclaimer: Not mine, none of it; the characters, the environments, nada. Only thing that's mine is the storyline, and whatever I make up to go along with it. I make no profit off of this.
Pairings: Kurt/Marie, sort of. Eventually becomes Marie/Logan.
Summary: X-Men, Post-X2. Inside the mind of a potentially psychotic Kurt Wagner aka Nightcrawler, and his solution to satiate and calm his unsteady mind through the use of one Rogue and her newly developed ability to control her fearsome mutation. darkfic, non-con.
Author's Notes: I don't know if the summary makes sense or not, but I wanted to write something along the l of of Kurt's mentality and how it could become undone from his time in the circus, all the way through to joining the X-Men. I don't know a whole lot about Kurt and what he's been through, but one can gather enough to understand and speculate.

A Caution... this is a darkfic, and Kurt won't really turn out to be a good guy in the end. Meaning, it's probably OOC, but that's one of the finer aspects of fanfic, isn't it? To explore every possibility?
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It started not too long after his second year at the mansion. He was given Jean's old room, which was near the end of the hall where the girls' dormatory room was. He had no objections, and everyone thought he was only grateful to have a bed to sleep on, but no one really knew the psyche of the once pious mutant who carved by hand the angelic symbols for every sin into his blue flesh.

Many mutants were lucky enough to have the outward appearance of humans, but there was the handful of those who looked too extreme, too beastly, to even show themselves in public just to get something to eat. If this was nature's way of improving on the human race, she had a pretty cruel way of doing it.

He was especially introverted from all those years his "talents" had been exploited for the gain of others, with very little reward or payment in return. The un-afflicted humans figured he was foreign, and a mutant to boot, why should he receive an income like a normal person?

A man, mutant or not, could only take so much abuse, whether self-inflicted or induced by others, mentally and physically. He maintained pretty good control on his mental instability, and it wasn't deteriorating rapidly, more like a slow tattering... like his much weathered and worn jacket.

He was afraid to touch others, he realized some time after, afraid he might scar them much like he had scarred himself. And he wasn't the least bit ashamed of his scars, but it was a matter of tangent pain and the understanding of what it was like to come in contact with someone, and be burned with the memory of the sins he had so painstakingly cut into his skin. No one bothered to show care or interest or sympathy in his intense fear of touch.

The negative influences from the antagonist mutant who was against Charles Xavier's movement affected him more than any would think, and he struggled to keep his mind together, while at the same time rationalizing. Drawing within himself, he swore to lock away the madness within his mind, for the safety of others.

Meeting with the X-Men threw off everything, righting the wrongs that had been implanted in his head, and showing him that positive influences could come from fellow mutants, too. Mutants who wanted to help him and not to use him. The chains and the locks remained firmly in place-- he could not hurt these people.

Then he met her. With her two-tone tresses and the ever-present gloves. Watching her, beside the weather witch within that large jet, he felt that she would understand what it was like to keep a part of yourself locked away and trapped, never to be seen or even touched by anyone else. Her mutation was unique amongst mutants, and as intricate as it was, it tore away at her. Touch was the most wonderful sense of the body, sensual and sensuous at given times. She never would know the simple pleasure of the dance of fingers along her spine, or a chaste kiss upon her cheek.

Until, of course, late in the year he had arrived there and had settled in. Xavier and Jean Grey both counseled with her, discussed with her the possibilities of her being able to walk freely without her gloves, without the fear of accidentally brushing arms with someone and knocking them unconcious.

The idea delighted her, and she agreed right away, eager to have the part of her that had been gone ever since she ran away after putting a boy in the hospital from just one kiss. Through grueling sessions, they worked at controlling the stimulants in her mind and her body that triggered the mutation to go into effect at skin-to-skin contact.

The end of every session would conclude with a test, in which Logan would agree to being subjected as the guinea pig, a touch to his cheek from her bare finger tips... and for two months and fifteen days, he had always found himself short of breath and weak in the bones, whereas she would be sporting painful bone claws, protruding from betwixt her knuckles for no more than three minutes, before sliding back and healing, in which her absorption of his powers would have worn off.

For a while, they were afraid that the sessions were enticing the mutation and making it stronger, for it was making her weaker, tired more often. He had noticed the change, the way the premature lines at the corner of her eyes appeared whenever she gave a trying smile. So many times he wanted to stand up straighter rather than hunch over, reaching the height of Logan, of whom she paid most of her attentions to, and embrace her. But the dual fears of hurting eachother held him still, kept him slouched in his posture and his eyes averted, casting only furtive glances.

Two months and fifteen days later; a breakthrough. Her eyes were brighter, and she was getting more rest when she slept and stayed active throughout the day. It relieved and overjoyed everyone. She went around putting her hands against others' cheeks, foreheads, touching their hands, hugging their arms. He waited for the moment she would come to him, wrap her five digits around his three, but it never came.

The moment she was finally able to touch without fear, and she still yet feared to touch him. He ached for her touch, he ached to touch her... he still had his fear, but the absence of hers, he thought-- or perhaps hoped-- would diminish his and he could once again be free of the ties in his mind that held over his body.

He remembered, that one day, when the end of the jet had blown off and she was yanked through the giant hole, plummeting down towards the earth. He remembered phasing out, wrapping his arms around her leather-clad form, holding her close, and returning to the front of the jet. Such a feeling, but it didn't last as long as he would have wished. No one knew of the whispered promise he breathed into her ear during those fleeting seconds flying through the air with her;

"I will show you how to feel."

Of course, with the wind whistling in their ears, and the fact that he spoke it in German, she barely heard it at all. But she did hear it, and had strained to grasp the syllables, the words, and the meaning. That was fruitless, she didn't speak German, neither did any one else within the mansion, and if she had approached him about it, it would make them both uncomfortable for different reasons.

The first occurance of his odd behavior--that which were the chains loosening themselves, taking advantage of the relaxation he was experiencing at having a place to call home and everything in between--happened around midnight within the den.

Sitting perched on the back of the couch like a large bird of prey, he stared at the silent television set, his mind a blank and yet many thoughts racing through his mind. She had been unable to sleep at the time and wandered in, stopping at the threshhold at the sight of him. She spoke.

"Kurt?" a hand tentively smoothing across the wall. He jumped as he was jerked away from his thoughts, withdrawing one of his arms from the space between his legs to grasp the couch shakily, turning his neck ever-so-slightly to gaze at her, in her white cotton night gown. She clasped her bare hands in front of her, "Did I interrupt something?" one foot placed behind the other, ready to turn if he wished to be alone.

"Ja," he replied truthfully, continuing before her reflexes could react and make her turn away, "but you may join me. Some company would be nice." his tail hung limply behind him, the tip twitching every so often. Her eyes traveled along its length, wondered what it would feel like, following it to look at his feet gripping the couch, then to the couch itself. Nodding, she took a seat next to him, so that when she looked up over her right shoulder, he would be there.

"Are you here often at this time?" she asked, fidgeting with the wrinkles in her gown.

"I am often awake at night, it's part of what I am." his voice was soft and far away.

"Don't you mean 'who'?" she wondered.

"I am not 'who', I am 'what'. I can't be a 'who' looking like this." he stared down at the couch cushion, settling down within his perch to rest his chin on his knees. It looked awkward, but as limber as he was, it wasn't all that uncomfortable.

"That's not true," she looked up at him slightly, caught off-guard at the bright yellow eyes that met her gaze.

"Why don't you touch me?" he asked in a curious and sad tone, his eyes flickering to her hands in her lap, moving up to pause briefly at her chest, before looking her in the eyes again, narrowing his own slightly. A twine of mental stability tremored within him.

Stunned by the question, she couldn't answer right away, her lips parted as she tried to think of a viable answer, "Well, I... I don't know, I didn't think-" she was cut off by a low rumble that came deep within in his throat, and he was gone in a burst of his trademark smoke.

He reappeared in the blink of an eye in front of her, straddling her lap, with his arms on either side of her head, trapping her against the couch. She gasped and moved to look at him, yanking her hands to her chest, peering into eyes narrowed into almost razor-thin slits. He breathed through his mouth, his voice suddenly deep and husky, a tone she had never heard before,

"You didn't think--*what*?" he sneered viciously. The twine was taut within his mind, but it hadn't snapped yet. He could still take control if he wanted to, he could apologize and back away... but first, he wanted an answer.

Choked with a sudden fear, she couldn't find words, she could only stare wide-eyed at him. What was happening to him that would make him become so menacing? He was known for his quiet playfullness, never a threat to his fellow housemates before, but here he was looking at her with undiscernable emotions in those eyes.

He decided to give her a little help, perhaps maybe kick start her brain for her, "Maybe you didn't think I should be touched. Maybe you are scared to touch me, is that it? I am not human enough for you to want to embrace me as you would the Iceman, or the Wolverine...?" he craned his neck down so that their noses almost touched, "Am I close? What is it, tell me?" he said, falsely sweet yet still malicious.

"Th-that's not it at all!" she said disbelievingly at his paranoia, her hands pressed to her sternum as if to still her heart.

He reared his head back, once again his eyes flickering to her chest, at the swell of her still-developing breasts. When he returned his gaze to her face, his eyes were open so she could see the black pupils contracting wider to gather in light source.

"Why won't you touch me?" he repeated, his voice clear and curious.

When the malice was gone from his voice and countenance, she was able to think clearly, looking at his face and reminding herself that this was still the man who saved her life over a year ago, saved her from crashing down into the earth. She remembered again those words he had said, mingled with the deafening roar of the wind around them.

"What did you say to me, back then, before you transported us back into the jet?" she lowered her hands to her stomach, her lap was out of the question since it was he who was occupying it at the moment.

"It's not what I said, it's what I promised." his tail curled up behind him, snaking underneath his arm to lay in his lap, settling on top of her resting hands. The thick cord of skin and muscle was warm and she unconciously curled her fingers around it, a wry smile creeping up his face at the touch.

"What did you promise?" she tried to ignore the unsettling appearance the smile gave him.

"I would show you how to feel. Better than the Iceman or the Wolverine."

"I don't know what you're talking about, I haven't gotten involved with either of them in any way like that. Before now, I couldn't..." she lowered her eyes, running her fingers along his tail, feeling the ridges leading up to and on the pointed tip. She wondered how much of his mutation she would absorb if she allowed herself to. What would a Nightcrawler Rogue look like?

"I will show you." he moved closer, tilting his head slightly, coming within inches of her lips before swerving to talk quietly in her ear, "let me show you."

"I-I don't know about that. I can't, I mean, I'm not..." how could she tell him that she wasn't attracted to him in that way? The way he looked had nothing to do with it at all.

He growled, and for a fleeting second she thought he would bite her neck and snap it, she had the vivid imagery of him ripping the flesh out from her jugular, the blood gushing out irradically from her dying heartbeat. But what he did, instead, was potentially much worse than an instant death.

He transported them to his room, and he raped her.

It started out in a wild frenzy, his hands pulling off his clothes as he alternately yanked up her nightgown so it bunched at her neck, exposing her underwear, which he also tore off. Shock had gripped her and she didn't know what to do besides stare at him in horror as he gripped his semi-hard member in his hands, giving it quick short strokes to make it more erect. Spitting on his palms and rubbing it, he pushed her legs opened with his knee, and thrust inside of her.

It was only average size, five and a half inches or so, but to a virgin like her, it was enough to make her gasp loudly, the pain increasing as he thrust in and out of her roughly, his hands wrapped around her thighs as he pulled her to meet his hips at the same moment he would thrust forward. The pain increased, and she was sobbing between gasps, her hands covering her face after she saw the wild look in his yellow eyes.

"Look at me," he rumbled deeply, clawing at her hands to tear them away from her face, drawing small cuts along her knuckles as she dropped her hands instantly to either side of her, gripping the bedding tightly. She refused to look at him, instead squinting into the darkness through blurry vision.

A look at her face brought him to his senses somewhat, and he slowed down his pace, releasing her legs as he bent down close to her, his arm lowering to the mattress to support his weight, the other raising a hand to grasp her chin and turn her face to look at him.

"It can be nice if you let it. Please, look at me." his voice was gentle, and she reluctantly slide her eyes to meet his,

"Why are you doing this?" she whispered hoarsely.

"I am keeping my promise. How does it feel?" he asked innocently.

"It hurts," her voice cracked from the tears.

"It'll go away, I promise." he kissed her softly, pressing his lips against hers as he pumped inside of her slowly, her body providing sufficient lubrication through instinct rather than what she was truly feeling. She was scared out of her mind, and angry at her body for betraying her.

He pulled away, but not because she wasn't responding to the kiss, but because he could feel his orgasm growing. He lowered his mouth to her bare breast, taking most of it into his mouth and sucking on it, his tongue circling the aeriole and the nipple before closing in to suck hard.

He felt something give away inside of her, and a sticky warmth surround his prick as he strove to reach his climax. It faintly occured to him that he had just broken her hymen, and she was no longer a virgin. The thought made him smile, and she thought he was sick and delusional.

The blood from the broken hymen made his erection slick, the smell heightening his pleasure all the more, and he shot his seed into her with a grunt.

Panting, he slid his spent member out of her, hurrying to a drawer beside his bed for a small bottle and syringe. When the needle was filled with the strange, clear liquid, he took her arm, searching for the right vein, and sticking the needle into her skin, emptying the container into her blood.

She cried out from the pain of the needle, looking over at him with wide, clouded eyes, "Wh-what is that??"

"Birth control syrum I have taken from the lab. Little Nightcrawlers isn't something we need right now, don't you agree?" he smirked, placing the items back into the drawer.

"You... you've been planning this all along?!" she asked, incredulous. He was really sick in the head if he had mapped this entire thing out.

"Yes and no. Not like this, but it was very quite convenient and almost better than what I had in mind."

She struggled to sit up, ignoring the pain and the sudden trickling of blood and semen from between her legs. "Why? Why would you do this?"

He climbed onto the bed once again, into her lap, holding her down by the shoulders, "I wanted to be the first to show you how to feel. And when I do this, the fear that holds me that keeps me from touching and being touched... it will disappear. Don't you see, you are my angel, you can make things better for me." his hand lifted to gently caress her cheek.

"Kurt... don't..." she looked up at him pleadingly, she had to make him see that this wasn't the way, it wasn't right, "There are other ways, better ways, I can't save you-" she tried to make him understand, but he growled impatiently, smacking her.

"Don't say that!" he shouted, "You don't know, you don't know what I've been through, you don't understand how these things work. You couldn't know, you are still a child. A beautiful child." she flinched when he kissed her cheek where he had slapped her, tears spilling down her cheeks.

"Now, you will get dressed, and you will go to bed. We will tell no one of this, ja? This is our little secret. Don't anger me by telling." he said the last sentence sternly, making sure she understood.

She didn't really, but all she could do was nod slowly.

"Gut..." he moved off of her and pulled on his pants, then waited for her to finish gathering her clothes and putting them on. He was careful not to rip them. He followed her out the door and down to her dormitory room.

"Pleasant dreams, meine engel." he said to her, stealing a good look of the inside of the room and her bed through the opening. She looked at him blankly, closing the door, and collapsed onto her bed, burying herself beneath the blankets, biting the pillow as she cried into it, eventually falling asleep from exhaustion.

When he returned to his room, he yank the stained blanket off and layed down on the sheets, curling up into a ball in the center, and falling asleep peacefully. He was feeling better already.