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PART 12>>...incredible...<< >>Not too shabby yourself, handsome.<< Scott's lips gently brush Jean's throat. The flush of their recent lovemaking brightens her eyes. His fingers gently brush a strand of hair from her cheek. Jean's eyes meet his, suddenly troubled. >>Oh, Scott, this is what Rogue -- << >>...shhhhh....<< >>I can't imagine not being able to touch you, to hold you. Not being able to -- << >> -- make love to you. Oh God, Jean.<< He buries his head against her breasts, silently thanking the fates that be for bringing her into his life. The strength of his sudden burst of love catches Jean by surprise. For a moment, no more than an instant, her psychic shield slips. Rogue, dried off and in her flannel robe, hesitates outside of Gambit's door. Her hands brace against the frame. Her head rests against the dark wooden panels. In her mind, she relives her first encounter with the Genoshans. Remembers the risk she took in letting the Carol Danvers psyche inside take control. Remembers the fear that Carol wouldn't let her own personality resurface. Now, facing this door, his door, she considers the risk in asking for his help. Steels herself against the fear that the woman who enters this room will not be the same woman who leaves. Braces herself against the deeper fear that she will be the same; that she'll never regain what the Genoshans stole. Deep breath, gal, nice an' easy. She hears his footsteps, catches the scent of cologne behind her a moment before Remy eases his arms around her waist. Quietly, he embraces her. In that moment, Scott's love for Jean shines through the psi-link the X-men share, leaving them both stunned. "Oh -- mah -- ." "Chere -- ." The moment passes. With one hand still around Rogue's waist, Remy opens the door to his room. "'Step into de parlor said de spider to de fly'." "Honestly, Remy. A simple 'please come in, Rogue' would do." She feels a chill as she steps across the threshold. She glances away from the antique art nouveau bed which dominates the room to the priceless Tiffany lamp suspended from the ceiling. The room has a definite 1920s opulence that Rogue admires. A subtle richness to the furniture and linens that enhances without overwhelming. "Somethin' I can do for you, Rogue?" She hears the door close and latch. Surprisingly, Remy walks to the other side of the room, giving her plenty of space. He pours a brandy for himself. He glances at Rogue, questioning. She shakes her head. "Ah -- took a spill outside. Ah was hopin' maybe ya could check mah ribs." His eyes narrow suspiciously. "Henri?" "He's finally had a chance to get back to his research on the legacy virus. Ah really didn't want to interrupt him over what might be nothin'." She watches, fascinated, as Remy uses his mutant ability to gently charge the snifter, warming the brandy. He sips. His eyes glitter uncannily in the bedroom's dim lighting. He saunters over to Rogue's side, shedding the silk smoking jacket along the way. She swallows hard, suddenly nervous. His hand snatches a stilleto from the credenza. "Maybe ah should leave." "Maybe you should take de robe off." "That was subtle." Remy drains the last of the brandy. "It's late, chere. We both in serious need a some sleep. You wan' me t'check de ribs, I can' be doin' it through that." Rogue nods. She shrugs out of the robe, letting it fall to the floor. The light unveils the smooth, flawless swell of her breasts and hips, the tight, smooth muscles of her thighs and waist. The subtle shimmer of her black silk panties and bra contrast starkly against the layer of medical tape around her ribs. Tres magnifique! "Remy?" The stilleto flashes. Rogue gasps. The medical tape falls to the floor, shredded. Damn, Remy! I didn't know ya could react that fast! His fingers slips gingerly to her waist. He presses lightly, carefully examining the nearly healed skin. He uncovers a tender area. "Dat must a been some spill." Rogue's hands slip over his. Remy stills. She guides his hands lower, letting his fingers caress her belly. "Ya know, ah did take a pretty good fall. Maybe ya should do a complete check-up." The heat from her body warms the silk beneath his touch. "Wouldn't want Henri to t' ink I wasn't -- thorough -- in examinin' you." With practiced grace, Remy's palms slip into her panties, sliding the silk lovingly down her long legs as he strokes her thighs and calves. As he slips them off completely, he surprises her by giving her ankle a quick kiss. She returns the surprise by dropping her bra to the floor with the panties. Remy gazes at her body, his open admiration shining in his eyes. Tentatively, Rogue reaches out to him. He stands, brushing just the tips of his fingers along her skin as he rises. "You sure 'bout dis?" Rogue bites her lip, and turns her head away. "Ah got to know. Ah got know if -- if ah can ever be with a man. Ah got to know if ah'm -- normal." He steps behind her, gently guiding her back to his chest, allowing him to more easily reach her. He rubs his cheek against hers. "Try to relax, p'tite. Remy gon' make dis as easy on you as possible. Gon' talk you through ev'ry t' ing I do." "Ah trust ya, sugah." Now dat maybe ain't your best move in dis situation, mon amour. "An' Rogue?" "Yes?" "You see dat wastebasket?" "Uh-huhn." "Good. You feel like gettin' sick again, you let me know beforehand." She laughs. Nervously. Softly. Still, she does laugh. His long finger touches her vulva. She tenses. "Easy, easy. Let me move your legs a bit, dat's it. Jus' gon' touch you lightly, let you get used to me before I go further. Breathe, Rogue, an' exhale. Better?" Rogue nods, but keeps her face turned into his shoulder. For several long minutes, neither one moves. Slowly, her muscles relax. The warmth of his hand soothes her. "You doin' fine, jus' fine. Need to slip my finger inside you, Rogue. Try an' feel for any scar tissue. Try an' see if de be any nerve damage." Her muscles tighten reflexively around his finger. A light film of moisture coats his skin. Remy stifles a groan as his own body responds instinctively, arousing him with a painful erection. "You okay?" "Maybe ah should be askin' you that, Cajun." "I'm -- fine. Goin' a little deeper now." He presses further, struggling against his own desire, trying to concentrate only on Rogue's recovery. No scar tissue that he can detect. Only smooth muscle surrounds him. Smoothly tight, moistly heated muscle. Without thinking, he slips another finger to her clit. Rogue gasps at the sudden sensation. "Chere?!" "Ah -- ah feel kinda -- funny." "Pain?" "No, kinda -- tingly -- inside." Remy flicks her clit gently. Rogue squirms, pressing against his body. He chuckles with relief, letting his lips brush her shoulder. "'Tingly's' good, chere." "Ah'm -- normal?" "Hah! De last t' ing anybody accuse you of is bein' normal!" His other hand strokes her nipple into hardness. "You beautiful, mon amour. You excite dis ol' Cajun's blood like nobody he ever met. Ain't jus' your looks. You got a spark, to you." His body presses against hers, revealing all too clearly his physical need. Rogue glances towards the bed, then back to Remy. "Like you said, sugah, ah reckon we ought be thorough." He kisses her wrist as he follows her to bed.
Continued in Chapter 13
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