We all know how important the editing process is in writing.
We thought we'd share with you how one of our stories went from first
to final draft, including all the typos, errors and things that just
plain didn't work, along with the comments and corrections that made
the final story final and, we hope, good.
So here, without further ado, is Draft 1 of Victoria's
story, "Off the Corner" (you even get a sneak preview of the
next story in the Hooker!Rogue series).
Title:
Off the Corner
Author: Victoria P. [victoria_p@att.net]
Summary: Still AU. Logan takes Rogue home. Sequel to "First
Trick of the Day"
Series: Off the Corner - yeah, it's a series. Sigh.
Rating: R - language, sex, violence.
Disclaimer: All X-Men characters belong to Marvel and Fox; this
piece of fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights.
Archive: With "Angel of the Evening" and "First Trick
of the Day"
Feedback: You know you want to.
Notes: Thanks to my beloved betas -- Dot, Meg, Jen, and Pete --
who don't understand my hooker!Rogue fixation any more than you
do <g>. And to Dark Ferret for the lipstick idea.
<
> indicates thoughts
// // indicates dreams
~ ~ indicates telepathic conversation
Off
the Corner
Logan
unlocked the door to the dingy apartment he was renting on the Lower
East Side. His client -- [Vic here: should it be his employer?
He's a freelance assassin.] -- had booked a room for him at
the St. Pierre, all expenses paid, but that was too public, too
easy to trace. He hired a homeless guy to check in as Mr. Logan
and live on room service and champagne while he rented out an old
cold-water flat by the week -- in cash. Not traceable.
Rogue
took in the two rooms, which were strewn with the few clothes he
owned, empty pizza boxes, fast food wrappers and beer cans. "Suddenly,
my life doesn't look so bad," she muttered, picking her way
through the mess to the couch.
He
stood in the doorway, realizing what it looked like through her
eyes. "Hey, I can still get you a room --"
She
looked back at him, eyes wide, scared. "No, no. It's -- cozy."
"Cozy?"
"Cozy,"
she affirmed, pushing some junk onto the floor and settling on the
couch. "I kinda like it."
He
felt the goofy grin spread across his face before he could stop
it. He didn't let it linger, though. He was the Wolverine. He was
a badass. He wasn't at all nervous and happy because he had an eighteen-year-old
hooker in his living room.
"I'm
gonna take a shower," he said, jerking his head toward the
bathroom. "I'll be right out."
She
nodded, already absorbed in one of the newspapers lying on the couch.
He
shucked his clothes and stood under the hot spray gratefully. He
felt dirty, which was kind of funny, considering what he did for
a living. But just hearing that dickwad call Marie names made him
sick; it made him think of the times he'd used her, paid her for
sex. Was he really any better than the pimp?
His
thoughts were interrupted when she yanked back the shower curtain
and stepped into the tub with him.
"Marie!"
"Lean
back," she murmured, pushing him against the tiling. He noticed
that even though she'd removed her boots, she'd kept her latex suit
and stockings on. And she'd reapplied her lipstick. She pressed
those wine-dark lips to the sensitive spot just below his ear and
then dragged them down his neck and chest, leaving a waxy trail
behind. She stroked his cock with a sure hand as she pulled the
condom out of her cleavage.
"Marie,
what are you doing?" he choked out.
"What's
it look like, sugar?" she drawled as she rolled the condom
onto his hard length.
"You
don't -- we don't --" he sputtered, blinking and trying to
regain his focus as her mouth engulfed him.
She
stopped and he almost cried out at the loss of her warmth. "That's
what you like, right?" she asked softly, her eyes dark with
things he couldn't identify. No fear -- just gratitude, trust, and
was that desire? He nodded dumbly, but then shook his head.
"No,
not like this," he said, his voice rough. He didn't want her
to fuck him out of gratitude. But he did want to fuck her.
She
apparently didn't get it, because she swung them around -- he moved
unresistingly -- and wrapped one leg around his waist, bringing
her groin into contact with his. He gasped as he felt the metal
of a zipper brush against the sensitive head of his penis, and then
he grabbed her hips and pushed her up the wall, taking her other
leg and pulling it around his hip. Her hands were already between
them, one back to stroking him while the other unzipped the suit
and let the full, rich scent of her arousal loose inside the steamy
shower. He swallowed convulsively, breathing it in.
He
was poised at her entrance when he said, "We shouldn't-- You
don't have to--"
"I
want to," she whispered, guiding him into her wet heat and
dropping her head back. He leaned in to nuzzle her neck and she
snapped to attention. "Be careful!" she hissed. "My
skin --" He figured it was hard for her to form coherent sentences.
God knows, he could barely understand a word she was saying, so
submerged in the rhythm their bodies were creating was he. "My
skin is dangerous," she said.
"Okay,"
he replied, and then the time for conversation was past. He buried
his face against her hair, where it appeared to be safe, and reveled
in the feel of her gloved hands scraping down his back and her heels
digging in to the backs of his thighs as he thrust into her while
the hot water poured over them.
"Logan," she whimpered, her voice thready. He could feel
how close she was to coming; he could smell it. "Logan, please.
Logan!" she moaned and then she made these little noises in
the back of her throat as she climaxed. He thought it was the sexiest
thing he'd ever heard.
He
grunted and growled and cried out her named as he finished thrusting
into her and shuddering with his release. "Oh, baby, fuck,
Marie," he muttered when he could speak again.
She
trailed a gloved hand down his chest as she untangled herself from
him. "Thank you," she said, in the same sweet voice she'd
thanked him for dinner.
Then
she stepped over the edge of the tub and was gone.
He
stood under the water until it got cold, wondering what she was
thinking, and what he should do next. He hoped that what they'd
just done wasn't some sort of payment, or a mistake, because it
was damn near the best sex of his life, and he'd had plenty -- that
he could remember.
He
braced an arm against the wall and leaned on it after he turned
off the water. He tried to think of something to say when he went
out into the other room.
***
Scott
waited patiently as Professor Xavier finished up his phone call.
The professor had called him into the office for a reason, and Scott
had a feeling it had something to do with the fact that Magneto's
associates had been spotted a few days ago in Toronto.
Xavier
put the phone down and looked at his surrogate son. "Sabretooth
is in New York. Mystique is with him." He steepled his fingers
and sighed. "I'm afraid they are looking for the girl, Rogue."
Scott
looked up, startled. "Rogue?" He remembered the thin,
scared girl whose life he'd saved at the Statue of Liberty.
"Yes.
She remained in Manhattan after she left us. I've been keeping tabs
on her."
"What--
Why--"
"She
may not have wanted to stay here, Scott, but since we failed her
so grievously, I felt the least I could do was watch over her. She's
not had an easy time of it."
"No,"
Scott murmured, thinking of his own inability to control his gift,
and how bad it must be to never be able to touch.
"She's
currently in the company of another mutant. His name is Logan. His
thoughts are very confused, but I think he may be the Wolverine
we've all heard whispers about."
Scott
raised an eyebrow. "I thought Wolverine was a legend, a story
to scare children and keep mutants in line. I mean, a beast-man
with razor-sharp metal claws? What kind of mutation is that?"
"He
exists, Scott, and he's with Rogue. I fear that the metal claws
are the result of experimentation."
"But
how -- who would do such a thing?"
Xavier
sighed. "I don't know. I will keep an eye on the situation,
Scott. You should keep the team on alert, in case Rogue needs rescuing
again."
Scott
smiled grimly. "Of course. I'd like to avoid the mistakes we
made at Liberty Island. And get rid of Sabretooth."
The
professor nodded. "It was not your fault she was hurt, Scott.
And we did save her life."
Scott
laughed bitterly. "After what they did to her, I'm not so sure
she should thank us for that."
***
Logan
took a deep breath and swung the bathroom door open. Marie was curled
up on the couch, staring off into space.
"Hey."
He spoke softly, not wanting to startle her. She jumped anyway.
"Hey,
yourself." She swallowed and sat up, and he could see the mask
slipping into place as she schooled her features to friendly disinterest.
He
sighed internally. He wanted her to be comfortable and he had a
feeling that fucking her was not the smartest thing he could have
done. He knew she enjoyed it -- wanted it, even -- but still, he
didn't want her out of some misplaced sense of gratitude or pride.
The next time they had sex, he promised himself, it would be on
equal terms. She would come to him through her own choice, not because
he'd taken her in when she had nowhere to go. He decided that casual
would be the way to go for now.
"You
need a shower?"
Her
lips turned upward slightly, a hint of a smile. "Do you think
I need a shower?"
<Shit.>
"That's not, that's not what I meant. I just thought you might
like to, you know, clean up."
She
thought about that for a second and then nodded. "Okay."
He
reached into the closet, pulled out a towel and handed it to her
as she brushed past him into the bathroom. "I'll find something
for you to wear."
"Okay."
She
shut the door and he looked at the clothing scattered in the room.
He grabbed a sweatshirt and wrinkled his nose. Needed to be washed.
Where was the laundry bag? He'd done laundry the other day. He found
it, empty except for a couple pairs of boxer shorts he rarely wore,
sweatpants, and an olive green t-shirt. That would do.
He
heard the water running so he opened it without knocking. He said,
"I'll leave the clothes on the towel rack--" his voice
died away as he got a good look at her. She wasn't in the shower
yet; she stood facing the mirror on the medicine chest and turned
at the sound of his voice. Her back was crisscrossed in scars like
the ones on her face and there were others running along her belly
and thighs. "Fuck, Marie."
Her
arms flew to her chest in an attempt to cover herself. "I'll
go now," she said dully, reaching for her rubber suit.
"God,
kid, no. Just --" He shook his head, unable to think of what
to say, knowing that nothing he said could make it better. "C'mere."
Remembering what she'd said about her skin, he held the shirt in
one hand and the shorts in the other and pulled her into a hug.
He rested his chin on her head and said, "I'm not gonna make
you leave. I said I'd take care of you, and I meant it."
She
sniffed. "I, I don't know what to say."
"Then
don't say anything," he replied, his voice gentle. "Take
a shower, get dressed, and then we'll talk. Okay?"
She
swallowed hard. "Okay."
He
sat in the living room, trying to figure out what he could do to
help her. He'd already stopped wondering about *why* he wanted to
help her -- he'd accepted her into his life and he wasn't letting
her go. That was the end of it. And when she finally spilled the
name of the bastard who'd fucked her up like that, well, the world
would be short one evil cocksucker. Logan doubted anyone would miss
him.
He
heard the water being shut off, and in a few minutes she came out
of the bathroom wearing the boxers and t-shirt, wet hair hanging
down her back and dirty clothing in her hand.
"Better?"
he asked.
Again,
the half-smile. "Much. You don't know how warm one of these
things gets," she said, holding the suit up. He noticed she'd
put her gloves back on, though they had to be wet from her time
in the shower with him. She plucked at the boxer shorts. "I
think I need something that gives a little more coverage, though."
He patted the cushion next to him, but she remained standing. "I
told you, my skin is dangerous. Bad things happen when people touch
it."
"Like
what?" He wondered how come nothing bad had happened to the
asshole who'd shredded her.
"I
suck out their energy and their memories," she said softly.
He blinked. "Yeah, freaky, huh?" He patted the sofa again.
"Are you sure? Most people don't want to get too close."
"I
wouldn't ask if I wasn't sure, kid," he rumbled. "I got
gloves around here somewhere." He bent down and shuffled through
some of the clothes he'd piled on the floor. Then he remembered.
"You see that black duffel bag over by the TV?" She nodded.
"Bring it here."
She
did as he asked. The bag was heavier than it looked. "What
the hell do you have in here?" she asked, dropping it with
a thump on the couch next to him.
"Tools
of the trade," he responded mysteriously, unzipping the bag
and digging through it.
"And
what do you do, Logan?" she asked, her voice teasing.
He
liked that she could tease him. No one else ever had. He wouldn't
have let anyone else get away with it. "I'm the best at what
I do, Marie, but what I do isn't very nice," he answered, not
wanting to tell her right away. As professions went, assassin wasn't
much higher up on the social scale than hooker. He found his favorite
pair of black leather gloves and pulled them on. "All right
now," he said, deftly changing the subject, "I've got
gloves on, so you can take those wet ones off."
"But--"
"Off,"
he commanded.
"Yes,
sir!" she snapped, with a mock salute.
He
grinned and pushed the bag onto the floor. "Now, sit down."
He thought about asking for her story again, but turned on the television
instead. They had time.
When
she fell asleep, he carried her to the bed and tucked her in tenderly,
surprising even himself with the depth of emotions he felt. <Is
this love?> he wondered, sliding into the bed behind her and
wrapping her in his warmth.
***
//
He could smell the champagne mixed in with the blood. His blood.
He wanted nothing more than to move, but he couldn't. He could only
watch helplessly as they cut into him, the scalpels sliding easily
through his flesh, cutting all the way to the bone. //
He
tossed and groaned, awakening the young woman sleeping in the circle
of his arms. She turned to face him.
"Logan,"
she whispered, "wake up." He didn't respond. His thrashing
only got worse.
//They
were laughing. He could hear them laughing as he tried to scream
in agony, only to be thwarted by the tubes shoved down his throat.
He was going to kill every last one of them. He'd make them regret
they'd ever been born. They called his name and he cursed them.//
"Logan,"
Marie said, a little louder, leaning over to reach out a tentative
hand and touch his shoulder.
Faster
than she'd have thought possible, he bolted upright, she felt something
warm and cold at the same time slide through her body. His eyes
were open but unseeing.
"Logan,"
she said again, unable to move.
Suddenly,
he realized what he'd done. "Oh, God, no! Marie!" He retracted
the claws just as quickly, and she fell back. He slid an arm around
her and whispered, "Hold on, kid. Hold on," as he fumbled
for the phone.
"I'm
sorry," she whispered, seeing the horror in his eyes as she
reached a bare hand toward his face.
"Marie,"
he groaned as her skin met his. He marveled in the feel of her soft,
warm hand against his cheek. He pressed his lips to it, savoring
the taste and smell of her before he became aware of a strange pull.
Then he felt himself -- everything that made him Logan -- thoughts,
memories, quirks -- flowing out of himself and into her.
She
gasped as she felt his strength course through her, healing her
wounds. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "It was an
accident."
Then
everything went dark.
***
The
first thing he noticed was the scent. It was good. He liked it a
lot. It was the girl's fragrance -- Marie. Her name was Marie. And
it was mixed with his. There was salt, as well. He felt the wetness
-- tears.
"Marie?"
he asked, his voice rusty from disuse, opening his eyes slowly.
"I'm
right here." He felt rather than heard her words, her breath
soft against his ear. She was behind him, her arms wrapped around
his chest. She was wearing the sweatshirt he'd picked up earlier,
as well as her gloves. "Are you all right? I'm so sorry."
He
turned over to look at her. "I'm the one who's --" his
words died on his lips as he took in her appearance. "Marie?"
he reached out and cupped her cheek, not even really aware that
he still had the gloves on, not caring if he didn't. "You're
so beautiful," he whispered, running his thumb over her lips
as his fingers traced the newly-healed skin of her face. "The
scars?"
She
licked her lips and swallowed. "They're all gone. You, you
healed me, Logan. All of me." She placed her hand over his
and turned her face into his palm, placing a gentle kiss on the
leather. "I'm so sorry. I just wanted to touch you once before
I died. I didn't think it would hurt you." He felt tears splash
on his hand and his arm. "I never meant to hurt you."
He
wrapped an arm around her as his right hand continued to stroke
her face. "You didn't hurt me, Marie. You, you saved me as
well. I--" He didn't have the words for it. His empty existence,
the living from day-to-day that he'd been doing for the past fifteen
years had never brought him peace or happiness. He woke every morning
and tried to kill himself, and cursed God and the doctors who'd
cut him open as he watched himself heal. It was almost funny. At
first, he'd gone to great lengths to die, but over the years he'd
settled for cutting open a couple of veins and seeing if he'd heal
before the blood-loss killed him.
But
now, now that he'd seen death -- stared it in the face, because
he had no doubt this slip of a girl could have killed him if she'd
held on too long -- he didn't want it anymore. He wanted to live.
More specifically, he wanted to live with Marie.
"I
know," she answered, breaking into his reverie. "You're
up here." She tapped the side of her head.
"Ah,
shit, kid. I'm sorry."
"No.
No." She shook her head for emphasis. "I like it. You,
you fit. We fit. It's not like the others." His ears perked
at that, though she didn't notice. "You're not fighting me
-- you're helping me."
"Others?"
She
bit her lip at the slip. "Um, one or two. Mistakes." She
pulled away and stood, wrapping her arms around herself. "The
first boy I ever kissed was in a coma for three weeks. And, and--"
"The
bastard who hurt you," he prompted.
"No.
He used a knife or his claws. He never touched me. But Magneto--"
she broke off. "This man who wanted to use my skin -- he touched
me. And then the doctor -- you'd like her, she's a redhead -- she
helped me, but she brushed against me accidentally. And her fiancé,
when he saved my life..."
"You
got a real party goin' on up there, huh?"
That
won him a watery chuckle. "Kinda."
He
nodded toward the bed. "Get back in here, Marie. I'll feel
much better if you're next to me."
She
shook her head. "Logan, I don't want to hurt you again."
"Jesus,
kid, I put three metal blades through your chest. I'm --" he
fumbled for the words, "stunned that you stuck around long
enough to put some more clothes on. I'm the one who's sorry. I'm
the dangerous one." It was sinking in -- the fact that he'd
almost killed her. "It's what I am, Marie, what I do,"
he said in a low, harsh voice. "I'm a killer."
"No,
Logan. No." She denied it vehemently. "You saved me."
"If
I didn't have these things," *snikt*, "I wouldn't have
had to." He retracted the claws and put his head in his hands.
"*I* don't want to hurt *you* again."
That
brought her back to the bed. She put an arm around his shoulders
and stroked the back of his neck. "It's not your fault. You
didn't *ask* for them." He waggled his head, not committing
to yes or no. "We're a fine pair," she said, laughing
a little.
"We
certainly are," he replied, his own mouth starting to quirk
into a grin. "Sleep now?"
She
nodded. "Okay."
They
rearranged themselves in the bed. Marie pressed herself to Logan's
back, wrapping her arms around his chest, so that if he accidentally
extended the claws while he was sleeping, she'd be safe.
He
lay awake, enjoying the feel of her against him, listening to her
even breathing. Their conversation had drained what little energy
he'd recovered, but he didn't want her to know how weak he really
was. He was afraid -- yes, he, the Wolverine -- was afraid that
she'd leave and never come back if she thought she'd hurt him, and
he decided that he needed her, and she him, and they'd work out
the details later.
His
eyes drifted shut and he began to lose himself in the warmth of
sleep when he smelled it.
He
struggled to get up, but he was still weak from healing Marie, and
he swayed on his feet. Her eyes opened as she heard the footsteps
approached. He noticed her nostrils flare, and he wondered if she
had retained his acute senses. He popped the claws instinctively,
ready to defend her.
"Sabretooth,"
she muttered, and then the door exploded inward as a huge blond
man crashed into the apartment.
"Well
look who it is!" the blond said with mock cheerfulness. "The
slut and the runt, together. This is my lucky day!" And he
lunged at Logan, sending him flying into the wall.
Both men tumbled to the ground. Sabretooth climbed on top of Logan
and began pounding his head into the floor. Logan reached up and
thrust his claws through the other man's shoulder. Sabretooth howled
in pain and Logan used that distraction to fling him off and get
up.
Marie
stood behind them holding a knife she must have gotten from his
duffel bag. Logan took a fist to the stomach and another to the
jaw. He gasped, "Run, Marie!" before going down again.
Sabretooth turned his attention to the girl, who tried to keep him
at bay with the hunting knife.
Logan
couldn't believe how weak he still felt, and he'd be damned if he
let this bastard get hold of the girl again. He forced his body
upright, cracking the joints in his neck, and tackled the big blond
man. Marie jumped out of the way as the two men rolled across the
floor. Sabretooth landed on top again. He managed to use his knees
to pin Logan's arms to his chest, making the claws unusable. Sabretooth
smashed Logan's head one last time into the floor. Confident that
Logan was unconscious, he grabbed Marie.
"You
little bitch," he growled as she swung the knife at him, opening
a cut along his forearm, that healed as she watched. "You think
what I did to you before was bad? You ain't seen nothin' yet. You
owe me." He ripped the knife from her grip and tossed it aside.
He grabbed her by the upper arms and flung her down on the bed,
holding her down with his legs. His hand moved between their bodies
to undo the zipper on his pants. "I bet the runt's got some
rubbers stashed in here someplace. Even he's not stupid enough to
fuck you without 'em," Sabretooth muttered, reaching a hand
over to the night table.
Marie's
eyes widened as she saw Scott Summers in the doorway, in full X-Men
regalia, with Storm behind him.
"Rogue!"
he called.
Sabretooth
jumped up, enraged that his fun had been interrupted. Marie rolled
off the floor and crawled to where Logan was passed out.
Scott's
optic beam hit Sabretooth square in the chest, sending him flying
through the window into the night.
"Rogue,
are you all right?" Storm asked, rushing over to where the
girl knelt over Logan's body.
"I'm
fine. We need to help Logan--" she began, only to be cut off
by Scott's gasp.
"Your
face-- how did you--"
"Not
now! Logan needs help. He'd barely recovered from touching me when
Sabretooth showed up."
"I'm
all right, kid," Logan said groggily. "What the hell's
going on?"
"Let's
get out of here and we'll explain on the way," Scott said.
Marie grabbed Logan's duffel as Storm and Scott helped the Canadian
to his feet.
Marie
hovered over Logan as they loaded him into the backseat of the jeep.
She got in beside him and pulled his head down into her lap.
"You
just rest, sugar," she murmured. He wasn't about to complain.
He breathed in her scent contentedly, and decided to just follow
the night where it led. After all, that's how he'd ended up with
Marie, and he wasn't going to be separated from her now, not for
anything.
End
