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When It's Love	By : DrunkenScotsman Category: X-Men - Animated Series (all) > Het - Male/Female Views: 4320 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: All X-Men characters and locations are the intellectual property of Marvel Comics. I make no money from writing this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Chapter 2: Meaningful Dialogue
- SoloF
Upon hearing Rogue’s voice, Remy looked up from his game. He’d heard her approaching, of course; during his lifetime as a thief, he’d developed rather keen hearing, and she wasn’t trying to mask the sound of her footsteps anyway. On top of that, though, Remy could always feel when Rogue was near; her aura contained a certain vibrancy that he found both irresistible and impossible to ignore.
The Cajun drank in the sight of his favorite Southern belle leaning against the table and glaring at him. From the white, strappy heels on her feet that showed off her perfectly-pedicured toes; to her powerful, well-muscled legs displayed by her short denim skirt; to her perfect hourglass figure; to her expansive bosom practically spilling from her daringly-low-cut bright-yellow top, her endless-seeming cleavage enhanced by her arms folded across the components which pushed them up and together; to her full, luscious lips just begging to be kissed; to her fierce green eyes – every single one of her features seemed tailor-made to drive him crazy, to say nothing about her sassy demeanor. At this moment, Remy wanted nothing more than to bend this beautiful woman over the table, hike up her skirt, pull her panties aside, and tease her until she begged for him to take her, at which point he would most gladly oblige. A wicked smirk curled his lips.
For her part, Rogue suppressed a shiver, barely, when she saw Remy check her out. His gaze – his crimson-on-coal eyes that always seemed to burn brighter when he saw her, that seared themselves into her thoughts and fantasies so deeply she could picture them in her mind’s eye at any time, awake or asleep – raked over her, warming wherever it rested and stoking the ever-smoldering embers of her desire for him into a conflagration that threatened to consume her. When she saw that smirk, she knew he was having similar thoughts, and she knew he’d looked at her that way on purpose, to trigger the response she was having. Her cheeks heated, because of the way he made her feel and because she liked how he made her feel and because she’d lost the opening hand of this game so easily.
“What dis Cajun do t’ ya dis time, chère?” asked Remy as he stood to his full six-foot-three height.
“You know good and well what you did,” answered Rogue with a defiant tilt of her chin.
Remy’s smirk subsided. “Don’t much like dis game,” he objected. “Every time, Remy on de losin’ end.”
Rogue huffed and turned her head to look at… anything else besides those eyes. “Well, swamp rat,” she began, deploying her favorite insulting-endearing nickname for him. She was stalling, she knew, gathering her courage to broach this topic. “It’s about… what you said to me… in the Savage Land.” Now that she’d spit it out, she braced herself.
Remy pursed his lips. After so many weeks, he’d thought Rogue had put that incident out her mind completely, leaving his feelings to languish unrequited. Now, it seemed, those words would come home to roost.
At Remy’s lack of verbal response, Rogue glowered. “You better not be yankin’ mah chain, swamp rat,” she growled, the pitch of her voice dropping lower. “You do remember what you said, don’t ya?”
The Cajun smirked, which set Rogue’s eyes ablaze further with barely-restrained fury. “Course I do, chère,” he replied, forgoing his usual form of self-reference-in-third-person to emphasize his sincerity. “I just been givin’ you some space t’ think ‘bout… what I said.” He shrugged. “Maybe you feel de same; maybe y’ don’t. Been hopin’ it’s de first one,” Remy added with a wink.
“Ah think you just told me somethin’ ya thought Ah’d wanna hear before Sinister started harvestin’ me for spare parts,” Rogue replied, shuddering at the mental image she’d given herself. “Somethin’ dramatic, but just a big show.” She waved her hands like a magician taking a bow, for illustrative purposes.
Remy ran a hand through his hair in frustration; once again, his life as a no-good thief was coming back to bite him, in the form of Rogue’s distrust. “Dem words, chère,” he began haltingly, “dey came right from de heart. Felt like, if I didn’t say ‘em den, dere won’t gonna be another chance.”
Rogue squeezed her eyes shut, trying desperately and in vain to stem the swell of hope stirring inside her. Hope and trust, she’d learned through painful experience, made her vulnerable; and when she felt vulnerable, her response had become to lash out. “You… Ah bet you said that to lots o’ women,” she snorted after her initial stumble. Her eyes snapped open and she fixed Remy with a withering glare. “Ah been insahd your head, swamp-rat,” she reminded him, tapping her temple for emphasis. “Ah know what a… a… skirt-chaser you are!”
Remy’s eyes flashed. “If you just gonna throw stones ‘bout my past, mon chéri,” he replied, his French dripping with venom, “you best remember de glass house y’ live in.”
The Southern mutant clenched her jaw, but she didn’t reply; shame at her own past and the way she’d just thrown Remy’s at him stilled her tongue. Rogue kicked herself for turning this into an argument. Unfortunately, she couldn’t think of a way to salvage the conversation.
“Maybe de timin’ won’t de best,” Remy conceded, “but I told you de truth when I said you’re de only one I ever feel dis way for.”
“Remy,” Rogue breathed as she bit her lip and shut her eyes again. Her heart pounded in her ears, apparently trying to burst with joy and desire and acceptance. She fought to rein in her emotions, well aware that yielding to her urgent need to kiss him would do nothing but cause problems. Frustrated tears leaked between her eyelids. “Ah just… Ah wanna believe you. Ah’ve been burned so bad before, trustin’ people…”
“Course, chère. We got dat in common,” Remy soothed. Gambling, the Cajun closed the distance between them, close enough to see his belle shudder as he drew near. He couldn’t fight the smirk; he admittedly loved teasing her to elicit her delicious reactions. “Can’t you trust a fellow X-Man, dough?”
Rogue opened her eyes and faced her tormentor. Her breath hitched when she noticed the proximity of their faces to each other. As always, his smoldering eyes seemed to fix her in place.
“That’s different,” she murmured, every fiber of her being aching for his touch, aching to throw herself into his arms and throw open the doors of her heart to welcome this man inside. “Ah know you won’t let me get hurt in a faht, but Ah don’t wanna get mah hopes up and set mahself up for disappointment.”
“You’re right, chère – I won’t let you get hurt, if I can help it,” Remy answered, deliberately leaving the statement open-ended.
“Ah don’t wanna get your hopes up either, sugah,” Rogue retorted. “Even if Ah felt the same way – and Ah ain’t sayin’ Ah do – we can’t really have what other couples do,” she warned.
Remy’s eyes glittered with mischief. “Dunno ‘bout dat,” he replied, leaning just a fraction closer. “Creativity ‘n improvisation are de N’Awlins way.” Unspoken, the phrase “in the bedroom” hung in the air between them.
A shiver climbed Rogue’s spine. “Lahk what?” she asked before she could stop herself.
With an increasingly-naughty glint in his eye, the Cajun ran his fingers up the Southern belle’s arm from wrist to shoulder, protected from her power by her long sleeves. “For example, chère, we could turn you ‘round, lift up de skirt, ‘n get dem panties outta de way. You lean forward while I wrap up.” He winked to let her imagination do the rest.
The sequence of events played itself over and over in her mind’s eye, and Rogue bit her lip to convert a lustful moan into a less-lustful whimper. “That’s mahty temptin’,” she muttered. “What if Ah want… mah first tahm… a smidge more romantic than that? More intimate, with tons of kissin’ and touchin’ and… other stuff?”
Remy shrugged. “I don’t mind waitin’ on dat, chère. I make it worth de wait,” he added with a wink.
“You won’t get sick o’ not… y’know… gettin’ any?” fretted Rogue.
“Rogue, I dunno how else t’ tell you: you’re worth de wait,” replied Remy tenderly. He decided now was the time to play his trump card: “If y’ still doubt me, touch me. You’ll know de truth ‘bout how I feel.”
“Ah can’t do that to you!” cried Rogue, even as she searched his glowing crimson eyes. “But… if you’re willin’ to risk that… Ah reckon you really are serious about this.”
Remy nodded once, emphatically. “I didn’t say dem words lightly, chère.”
“What words, Remy?” teased Rogue with a small, playful smile.
The Cajun chuckled. “I love you, Rogue.”
Upon hearing those words again, and knowing they were sincerely spoken this time, the lonely Southern mutant thought she might weep for joy, or burst into song, or fly laps around the Mansion, or all three at once. A huge grin lit up her farce. She wanted to hug Remy, but didn’t trust herself not to crush him with her super-strength.
“I don’t care if we ain’t like other couples, mon chéri,” Remy continued with a subdued smile, “because you ain’t like any other woman I ever met.”
Rogue giggled, remembering Jean had made a similar point. “Ah just wish we could do something to celebrate, but we got that session in the Danger Room t’naht.”
Remy shrugged. “We can make plans afterward.”
“Sounds great,” Rogue affirmed. “Raht now, Ah… got some reading to catch up on. See ya later, sugah.”
“Look forward to it,” Remy replied. He doubted she was truly leaving to catch up on her reading. Watching the gorgeous woman walk away served as sufficient cause for him to let her go, rather than call her bluff.
Rogue hurried through the Mansion corridors to her room, intent on a cold shower; she didn’t want to feel wound up when the time came for the team’s session in the Danger Room. The closer she got, though, the more the ache in her belly – and lower – demanded a different solution. Realizing she’d skipped her usual morning session in a rush to get ready for today’s mall excursion, the aroused young woman decided to tend her body’s needs before showering.
Once she arrived at her room, Rogue closed her door and locked it behind her. Piece by piece, her outfit came off, forming a trail to her bed – shoes, skirt, panties, shirt, bra. Only the bra received any particular care during removal, because finding cute designs in her size required a special-order catalogue, with all the headaches that might entail. Now nude, Rogue sprawled onto her bed and let her hands and imagination wander freely.
The lonely, amorous woman pictured herself back downstairs in the game room with Remy once again. In her fantasy, she’d accepted the Cajun’s offer to take her right then and there. His deft hands glided along the curve of her waist and stroked her stomach. In response, Rogue ground her rump against him, savoring the feel of his stiff bulge along her cheeks.
Remy’s hands slid up to cup her generous bosom through shirt and bra, drawing a lustful moan from her lips. In real life, Rogue’s hands mimicked the maneuver, skin on skin. Her fingers circled her nipples, coaxing the sensitive nubs to full attention.
“Please, sugah,” she begged. “Don’t tease me. Don’t keep me waitin’.”
In her imagination, Remy guided her to lean forward over the pool table, the edge of which Rogue gripped for balance. A gasp escaped her at the feeling of her Cajun lover lifting her skirt and, with his light thief’s fingers, dragged her panties down her legs without touching her skin. She pulled one foot free and spread her legs wider. The thoroughly-aroused woman looked over her shoulder at her lover with an inviting smile. Remy obliged her, entering with one smooth stroke.
Meanwhile, on her bed, Rogue indulged herself. Two fingers, index and middle, disappeared inside her to the fullest extent. A long, loud, enthusiastic moan leapt from her lips as she pumped them slowly back and forth. Her hips rocked and bucked to meet the imagined thrusts of her lover.
“Easy does it, chère,” the phantom Remy murmured in her ear.
“Oh mah Gawd,” Rogue breathed. “It’s so good… so good…”
Pleasure flooded her conscious senses, radiating from her fingers’ probing of her slick, wet heat. She tried, in vain, to imagine just how Remy might feel inside her instead. For the first time in ages, though, such a thought didn’t feel hopeless.
Soon, though, Rogue found herself stuck between this slow, languid pace intended to let her savor the sensations and the desperate, aching need to climax. Without much conscious direction, her fingers sped up their ministrations. The Remy of her fantasies likewise increased his pace until he was pounding into her frenetically, his hands gripping her waist for leverage, her greedy hips eagerly meeting every thrust. Moans transformed into screams of ecstasy as she neared her peak. Wet, slippery sounds filled the room as well.
Ever since she first pleasured herself at age fourteen, Rogue screamed when she climaxed. When she joined the X-Men, she’d requested that extra sound-baffling material be installed into the walls of her room so that her noises wouldn’t echo down the halls or otherwise disturb the other women. Thankfully, Professor Xavier had seen the wisdom of her request and had her room modified within a few weeks. That investment was paying off at this moment, as Rogue cried out at the crest of each pleasurable wave that washed over her body.
Minutes passed while the Southern belle sprawled, naked and panting and insensate, across her bed. Dimly, Rogue wondered if she hadn’t passed up a golden opportunity when she rejected Remy’s offer. With her libido running so hot, would it really have mattered that being taken against the pool table wouldn’t have been at all romantic?
Like many times before, Rogue had made a decision, and she would stick with it, come hell or high water. Eyes fixed on the ceiling, she resolved, however, not to let another such opportunity pass. She swore to find a way to touch Remy safely, somehow, so she could finally, freely and without reservation give herself to him.
A wicked thought brought an equally-wicked smile to her lips: she hoped, desperately, that Remy was equal to the task.
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A/N: My beta reader for this chapter offered some interesting critiques about this chapter, which I'll share with you readers. She warned that the longer descriptive paragraphs towards the start might veer into "purple prose" territory - overly ornamental and often the sign of a less-mature/less-confident writer. She also disputed my use of the term "baffling" to describe the material in Rogue's room's walls, suggesting "muffling" or "dampening" would be better choices. Your collective guidance on this matter would be most appreciated, as will any other feedback in the form of reviews, PMs, or posts to the discussion board.
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When It's Love