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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
- 3
- 4
- 5
Chapter 4: Potential Applications

One by one, the X-Men limped into the infirmary to assess the damage inflicted upon them by the Friends of Humanity. Bumps and bruises abounded, except for Wolverine now that his healing factor had been restored. Cyclops blotted blood from his split lip. Jean applied peroxide to Storm’s scalp, injured from a fall onto the edge of a table; the blood had stained a few locks of her pristine white hair. Gambit rolled his shoulder with a wince.
Realizing she still held onto the Cajun’s hand, Rogue dithered between letting go and enjoying the moment. Watching Remy’s face contort in pain helped her decide: she released his hand to bring the team cold packs and bottles of water. As she distributed the recovery supplies, the other X-Men smiled their weary thanks; Gambit’s smirk, as always, brought color to her cheeks. Rogue saved one cold pack for herself, but she didn’t yet activate the chemical reaction.
Beast bounded into the infirmary, a pleased expression on his face. “Congratulations seem in order – you survived a brush with an incensed mob without the use of your powers,” he praised them. “No less impressive, you managed to subdue a great many of them without inflicting fatal injury.”
“Only for lack of trying,” groused Wolverine.
“For which I commend you, Wolverine,” announced the Professor as he wheeled in behind Beast. “I understand how much it defies your nature to hold back in a fight.”
“Damn right it does,” the surly scrapper grumbled. “In real life, those goons would’ve brought real weapons, Beast – knives, axes, guns, maybe some homemade explosives. We won’t stand a chance if we can’t draw blood ourselves.”
“Those bigots became irate enough that we defended ourselves at all,” Storm countered while Beast shone a light into her eyes, checking for concussion symptoms. “Their hatred would certainly have been stoked further if we killed one of them, even in self-defense.”
“I’m not sure I would want blood on my hands, regardless,” mused Jean.
Beast adjusted his glasses and regarded Wolverine with a quizzical tilt of his head. “Do you mean to suggest the scenario ought to have increased difficulty?” he asked. “I suppose if I altered the safety protocols enough –“
“We’ll discuss it,” interjected Cyclops. “I don’t want anyone hurt too badly on a training mission, in case an actual emergency arises.”
Beast stroked his chin, pondering. “Regardless, I would label this session an unquantified success, since I must still analyze a great deal of data.” He chuckled to himself.
Professor Xavier turned towards Beast. “We should leave the injured to their recovery, Beast. Any of you who feel up to the task of intense data analysis are, of course, welcome to join us,” he added as a courtesy. When no one seemed interested, as he expected, he led Beast out into the corridor.
Meanwhile, Rogue tried, unsuccessfully, not to stare at the shirtless Remy. She tried, unsuccessfully, not to admire his sculpted physique, the well-defined muscles of his back and shoulders and abs flexing and relaxing. Mouth suddenly dry, she tried, unsuccessfully, not to imagine their bare bodies pressed close, his against hers. Even the aches and pains incurred during the Danger Room session could hardly suppress her libido for long.
Green eyes widened as several pieces of an intricate puzzle fell into place all at once. “Oh mah Gawd,” Rogue muttered to herself. “That’s it!”
Gambit glanced askance at Rogue. He could hear her voice but not make out her words. “You alright, chére?”
Rogue replied by dashing out of the infirmary and into the corridor, intent on catching up to Beast. The blue-furred mutant had just turned a corner, so Rogue took flight to cover the distance more quickly. She hooked around the corner in as tight a turn as she could manage. Her target in sight just ahead, she called, “Beast! Wait up a sec, will ya?”
Beast, and the Professor beside him, stopped short. The ape-like mutant leapt to hang onto the ceiling, which gave the wheelchair-bound Professor enough room to turn around. From his spot hanging on the ceiling, Beast replied, “My stars and garters! Of all the X-Men to volunteer to sift data, Rogue, I would have placed your name just behind Miss Lee’s for ‘Least Likely Candidate.’”
“Oh, hush, you,” she snapped, if playfully. “We can’t all be eggheads lahk you.” She exaggerated her accent for the next part: “Some of us’ns ain’t nothin’ more’n simple country folk, what don’t cotton t’ no book-larnin’.”
Professor Xavier covered his mouth and fought valiantly to suppress a laugh, ultimately settling instead for a poorly-disguised cough. Stereotypes, he knew, had bred far too much hatred, too much resentment, over the course of human history; what made them so insidious was the kernel of truth they were built upon. Unfortunately, that kernel of truth also, occasionally, made them funny. In this case, it soothed his conscience somewhat that Rogue was lampooning her own kindred.
Once he’d managed to master his reaction, the Professor asked, without a hint of irony, “What’s on your mind, Rogue?”
Rogue licked her lips and tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear. Now that the moment of truth had arrived, she found herself balking, terrified that the reasons for her request would prove entirely transparent. The prospect of returning Remy’s affections dangled, tantalizing, before her mind’s eye like a fishing lure; but she feared hidden hooks. Gathering her courage, she answered, “Ah got a teensy favor to ask, Beast.”
“Certainly – to paraphrase Thucydides, we secure our friends by doing favors,” he replied with a kind smile.
Dithering once more, Rogue felt her cheeks warm, and she scratched one forearm. “Well, Beast, Ah was wonderin’… if there was some way you could set up one o’ them no-power doo-hickeys, um, in mah room?”
Beast’s brow furrowed in confusion, and he looked to the Professor for guidance on such remodeling. Professor Xavier raised an eyebrow; Rogue got the impression that they were holding a telepathic conversation. Finally, Beast answered, “‘Let me not to the marriage of two minds admit impediments’ – at least, other than the limitations of your room’s electrical wiring.” He chuckled.
“The power-suppressing device consumes so much electricity that only the Danger Room’s advanced industrial transformers can handle the current,” the Professor supplied helpfully. “Not to mention that installing a device into the walls would require you to move into a new room for an extended period. I know how much time you have needed to make that room feel like home.”
Rogue looked down at the floor. Despair at the loss of her first ray of hope in years threatened to swallow her thoughts. “Please, Beast, Professor,” she pleaded. “It don’t have to be fancy or anything.”
Beast stroked his chin. “Perhaps if I scaled down the area affected, I could design an external device to project the field,” he mused. At Rogue’s confused look, he rephrased: “If I make the device affect a smaller bubble, I might be able to fit it into a smaller box – about the size of a portable heating unit, perhaps.”
“A space heater?” Rogue echoed. Faint hope tinged her voice.
“Precisely,” Beast answered as he adjusted his glasses. “I will need some time for such a substantial redesign, along with construction and the requisite testing. We want to avoid any… mishaps.”
Rogue blushed fiercely and Beast’s not-inaccurate insinuation regarding her intentions for the device. “Um, thanks, Beast,” she replied. “What do Ah owe ya for it?”
“Nothing at all, my friend – the reward is in the challenge,” laughed Beast.
“As well as seeing you happy, Rogue,” added the Professor.
A small smile lit Rogue’s features. “Ah appreciate this, Beast. Whenever you finish, Ah’ll owe you big-tahm. You don’t –“ she began, but caught herself with a rueful snort. “Ah was gonna say, ‘You don’t know what it means to me,’ but that ain’t true. Out of everyone here, you do know what it’s lahk for your powers to come between you and yer someone special.” Her eyes met Beast’s, which misted over at the acknowledgment of the obstacles he had faced in pursuing a relationship with a human woman named Carly.
Professor Xavier smiled tightly to himself. Nothing brought him greater joy than to watch his X-Men shoulder one another’s burdens and rally around each other when their individual loads became too heavy. Each time, they proved again to him the validity of his vision of everyone, human and mutant alike, working together to improve the lives of all.
“As soon as I’ve analyzed the data from our Danger Room session, I’ll begin working on your request,” Beast promised. With that, he and the Professor took their leave, leaving Rogue alone in the corridor.
Once she was sure they couldn’t see her, Rogue covered her mouth with both hands to stifle a giddy squeal while she stamped in place. Beaming, she pumped her fists several times. She even tried out the “raise the roof” gesture that she’d seen Jubilee do when excited; after all, that was apparently what the “cool kids” were doing these days.
After getting all of that out of her system, she smoothed her hair and uniform and strode purposefully back towards the infirmary, intending to tell Remy the good news. A bounce in each step, Rogue wondered if this smile would ever leave her face. She also actively avoided dwelling on the implications of having the ability to touch after all this time; she didn’t want to work herself up prematurely.
What Rogue saw when she returned to the now-empty infirmary brought her to a screeching halt mid-stride: Remy sat shirtless on one of the infirmary beds. While she’d seen him shirtless before, the sight making her mouth water or dry each time, this time shocked her for a different reason. A large, purple bruise covered his back, centered on the right shoulder blade. The sight of it brought Rogue’s heart into her throat.
“Oh mah Gawd,” she breathed. “What happened?”
Remy turned his head in her direction and tried to hide his wince behind a smirk. “Caught a brick one o’ dem humans threw,” he explained. He decided not to mention that it had been aimed at her; he didn’t want her to think she owed him anything. “Can’t quite reach t’ put one o’ dem cold packs on de spot.”
Rogue approached as quickly as she could without making it look like she was rushing to his side. “Ah reckon Ah can give you a li’l hand, sugah,” she teased. “Especially since it’ll keep you in one place long enough for me t’ tell you somethin’ important.” She pulled the cold pack she’d grabbed earlier out of her jacket pocket.
Remy raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his belle’s statement; but he didn’t press the issue, content to let her share in her own time. He winced at the welcome sensation of cold against the fiery pain in his shoulder. At the same time, he suppressed a shiver at the feeling of Rogue’s spare hand caressing his unhurt shoulder.
“Ah talked to Beast just now,” Rogue began in a soft, tentative voice. “Ah asked him to… see if he could make one o’ them gizmos in the Danger Room, but smaller. He told me it’ll take a good whahl, but he promised to trah.”
“Dat right, chére?” asked Remy with his trademark smirk.
“Yeah, so, in the meantahm, Ah was thinkin’,” she continued, steeling herself to move forward. “Maybe we oughta, y’know, spend some tahm together. Ah need t’ know how long Ah can stand you, swamp-rat, before Ah start wantin’ to strangle you,” she added airily.
Remy chuckled. “Remy can t’ink o’ plenty worse ways t’ kill time, chére,” he teased back. Changing tacks, he added, “I can t’ink o’ better ones, too.”
Rogue felt the shiver crawl up her spine at the innuendo. “Ah won’t be able t’ touch until Beast’s done,” she reiterated.
“Dat just mean we gotta get creative,” the Cajun pressed.
“Don’t make promises if ya can’t deliver, swamp-rat,” Rogue shot back.
A yelp of surprise sprung from her mouth when she felt Remy’s hand on her knee. She glanced down to see that he’d reached behind him, which appeared to contort his good shoulder into an uncomfortable position. Rogue couldn’t help but gasp as the hand slid slowly up her thigh, Remy’s touch gentle and almost imperceptible even through the thin material of her uniform. Her libido, which had been idling up to this point, revved at the first caress she’d ever received from hands other than her own.
“How’s dat for delivery, hm?” gloated Remy.
Rogue had half a mind to dig her thumb into his bruise just to shut him up; but before she could decide for sure, she whimpered in disappointment as his hand slid back down to her knee before departing entirely. Breath coming in gasps and pants of desire unfulfilled, she shivered and considered digging her thumb into Remy’s injured shoulder, this time to coax him to resume what he’d been doing. A deep-seated yearning pooled in the pit of her belly and regions further south.
Remy surprised the Southern belle by turning to face her. His lips curled into that alluring, infuriating devil-may-care smirk of his, the Cajun saucily put both hands square on Rogue’s hips, eliciting another startled cry. Undaunted, he slid his hands along the curve of her waist, up to the spot where he could just feel her lower-most ribs expanding and contracting with her quickened breath.
Rogue’s eyes drifted shut, and the Cajun’s name slipped off of her tongue in the barest of whispers. Her heart pounded in her ears, nearly drowning out all other sounds. On her left side, Remy’s hand ventured higher still…
Her cry at the contact froze Remy in place. His brow furrowed as he discerned pain, not pleasure, in her voice. Before he could move his hand away on his own, Rogue swatted it aside at about half force. The Cajun grimaced at the impact, which immediately numbed his hand with tingling. “Ah, chére, pardon… I t’ought you’d enjoy dat… ‘m sorry, if I move too fast,” he stumbled.
Rogue shook her head, a pained expression painted over her features. “N-Not exactly,” she soothed. “Ah just… one o’ them Friends o’ Humanity fellas punched this one, so it’s a smidge tender.”
Despite himself, Remy chuckled. “Sorry t’ hear dat, chére. Just like a terrorist t’ try ‘n destroy a priceless work of art, non?”
Rogue rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Ah reckon it’s mah own dang fault, luggin’ these watermelons everywhere. Most tahms, Ah don’t mahnd ‘em, but Ah do when they make such big targets.”
“I hope y’ showed dat bastard not t’ treat you like a punchin’ bag, chére,” Remy replied with a knowing lift of his eyebrow.
Rogue shrugged faux-innocently. “Let’s just say Ah returned the favor,” she answered.
Remy grinned. “Dat’s de Rogue I know.”
“Ah think there’s a hidden insult there,” she responded with narrowed eyes and a wounded mien.
With only a shrug in response, the lifelong pickpocket reached behind him to slip the cold pack from Rogue’s hand. “Maybe you need dis more’n me,” he teased as he applied the medical device to the injured area of Rogue’s body.
At the sudden shock of the intense cold on such a sensitive area, Rogue yelped and swatted Remy’s hand away again, more forcefully this time. She fixed the Cajun with a withering glare, her emerald-green eyes flashing. “Excuse you, swamp-rat. Who gave you permission to touch?” She leveled a finger at him. “Next tahm, you’re eatin’ a knuckle sandwich.”
For a split-second, Rogue could see the surprise register on Remy’s face before he donned a more neutral expression, one she recognized as his “poker face,” one he wore whenever she’d hurt his feelings by pushing him away. “I jus’ can’t figure you out sometimes, chére,” he grumbled, shaking his head.
“That thing’s cold,” Rogue huffed. “If Ah wanted it there, Ah’d say so. If Ah want yer hands on me, Ah’ll say so!” Inwardly, she kicked herself; she’d been enjoying his touch just moments before. Deep down, she knew that this outburst arose from her usual defenses activating.
Remy started to pull his other hand from her waist. “As y’ wish, chére,” he told her evenly, only barely betraying the confusion and hurt he felt at his beloved’s reaction.
Mind racing for a way to salvage the moment and soothe Remy’s bruised feelings, Rogue set her jaw. She had every right to decide who touched her, how, where, and when; Remy, whom she wanted to touch her, had simply exercised poor judgment regarding the other three, choosing left instead of right and then doubling down with the cold pack. She wanted him to touch her, just not in that spot at this time.
The simple solution presented itself: Tell Remy what she wanted – or, better yet, show him.
Cheeks burning, Rogue snatched Remy’s retreating hand and placed it firmly on the uninjured half of her bosom. Her eyes met his, and she smirked at the brief shocked expression that flitted across his face. “Ah done told ya, the other one’s tender,” she scolded playfully. “This one, though, is just fahn.”
An understanding smirk formed on Remy’s face. He gave the pillowy softness against his hand a gentle squeeze. Beneath his fingers, Rogue felt warm and supple through the uniform fabric, which he could tell had been reinforced in this area to provide support. Her whimper of pleasure, which the experienced Cajun could see she tried to suppress, was music to his ears.
Pleasant sensations coursed through Rogue’s body, far more intense than she’d expected. Later, when she had time to reflect on the experience, she realized that her expectations had been built on the purely physical need which drove her self-exploration; whereas having someone else touch her, especially someone she liked as much as Remy, slaked a psychological need for intimacy – not that she’d think of it in such terms even then. For now, Rogue found herself too enrapt by Remy’s skilled hands threatening to coax a full-throated moan from her to form anything resembling a coherent thought.
Remy couldn’t help but grin at the dazed expression on Rogue’s face as he fondled her. Her green eyes, normally so vibrant but now glazed over with pleasure, gazed without focus over his shoulder. Her succulent lips hung apart as she panted with desire, tempting him to kiss her. The look suited her, he thought; and he hoped to elicit even more such expressions from her.
Since they couldn’t take things much farther at the moment, Rogue fought not to lose herself too thoroughly in the pleasure she felt. Idle thoughts and fantasies of Remy’s hands touching her in other sensitive places rendered that battle much more difficult. Even though she’d already done so once this afternoon, Rogue knew she’d need to satisfy herself this evening again, either in the shower or before bed.
With great effort, effort borne of real reluctance, she pulled Remy’s hand from her bosom. Gasping for air, face bright red, she smiled sadly at the Cajun. “Ah reckon that’s enough teasin’ for now. Call that a sneak peek of what’ll happen once Beast finishes that contraption,” she promised coyly.
Remy brought her gloved hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Can’t hardly wait, chére,” he answered. Gathering his courage, he asked, “You free dis weekend? Remy take you somewhere nice.”
Rogue started to accept, until she remembered something. Her expression fell. “Actually, Ah’ve got plans already,” she replied shakily. “Ah gotta visit someone in the hospital. Those visits are always… pretty rough… so Ah wouldn’t be much good for a date afterward.”
“Who you know in de hospital?” Remy asked, brow furrowed with concern.
Rogue shook her head. “Ah… Ah don’t wanna talk about it.” She didn’t want to push him away yet again; but her visits to the hospital were her cross to bear, and hers alone.
With a gentle squeeze, Remy released her hand. “If’n y’ change y’r mind, chére…” The Cajun regarded her gently. “Y’ ain’t gotta face anyt’ing alone. Y’all showed me dat down in de bayou.”
Rogue met Remy’s eyes; she remembered that incident all too well. Remy had gone home to the swampy hinterlands of Louisiana to bail his brother out of trouble between Remy’s old gang, the Thieves, and their rivals, the Assassins. The whole thing had turned out to be a set-up to eliminate the Thieves and ensnare Remy into a marriage with his ex, an Assassin named Belladonna Boudreaux.
The X-Men had intervened to forestall the scheme, and Remy had left his old life behind for good, including the bride-to-be. Without them, he’d still be there, stuck with that conniving witch, bound to the will of a woman he didn’t love; and his old family would all be dead. Even though Rogue had needed some time to move past Belladonna’s taunts about Remy’s promiscuity, she never realized just how much impact that whole ordeal had had on the Cajun himself. He’d been much more of a team player ever since, not to mention the way he had acted towards Rogue herself – including the comment he’d just made.
“On second thought, sugah,” Rogue responded with teary eyes and shaky voice, “whah don’t you come with me? Ah saw a glimpse o’ your ugly past; Ah reckon you oughta see an ugly piece o’ mahn.”
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A/N: Sorry for the wait on this chapter, everyone - the end of the semester proved even more hectic than usual, finding new and inventive ways to take away my writing time. Hopefully, though, this extra-long chapter will prove worth the wait to you readers, whose feedback and support have been critical. I don't even want to try to predict when the next chapter will be finished, though I'd like to try to get at least two more chapters done over the summer. As usual, your thoughts on this chapter are always welcome, whether via review, PM, or commenting on the discussion board (link in AN for Ch. 1, I think).
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When It's Love