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The first time, waking up to her impaled on his claws, and he'd been deep in the grip of gasping terror, adrenaline bitter in the back of his mouth and the edges of his nightmare still tearing at his mind but even then, even then, the sensation of her small fingers against his face had been sharp like ice and rough like a blow, pulling everything out of him through that one point of contact. Logan had retracted his claws automatically, and it always hurt to do it but this time was different: the pain was bright, intense, his hand and arm shredded inside, bleeding inside. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach and he felt cold all over, struggled for a moment to catch his breath.
After Rogue fell Logan had seen his knuckles, the three dark gaping holes amid his fingers, the blood trickling out onto his skin. It had been so long since he'd seen that much of his own blood. And inside the sensation of emptiness, of loss.
Now she touches him slowly, deliberately, longer and longer each time as he gasps and writhes beneath her touch. Rogue's expression is calm and controlled as she drains his life force from him; she used to be so unsure, when they did this, afraid of herself. Now she knows exactly how to do this to him. Each touch takes a little more, and with each touch she gives him less time to recover before she brushes their skin together again: her lips to his, her soft hand to his hard shoulder, her pale thighs to his aching cock. He gasps between the touches, tries to recover, to make himself invulnerable again. He can't. He's helpless. If his claws came out now he'd tear himself to pieces and leave her whole, unscarred.
"You're all right, Logan," she drawls softly, breathing against his ear and just scraping his earlobe with her teeth; even that fleeting caress draws his strength from him, makes him shudder with his weakness. When he glimpses her face the half-smile she gives him makes her look older than she is.
If she chose, she could cut him, bruise him, wound him. He trembles; feels, for once, the heaviness of his metal bones; feels the vulnerability of his flesh. Rogue touches him again, her mouth to his neck, then her index finger tickling against the hair of his stomach, and then, after a pause, her leg sliding hard against his. Taking him, little by little. Taking him into her body. Her skin glows with it; her voice, as she cries out, sings with it. His strength flowing in her blood, gleaming behind her eyes.
Logan wonders if she'll take it all.