Okay, so this is the start of Romy's first Christmas as a married couple. I'm not bothered by canon for a variety of reasons, so this is right squarely in AU territory, though it kicks off after the Mr. Mrs. X #6 party.
This one's for you, pastellarts18. Merry Christmas, my dear:)
——•oOo•——
"Ohhhhhhh, that feels so good."
Remy turns his head with bright eyes and a tired smile ready as his wife flops back in the love seat beside him. She's still in the ice blue sweater-dress she'd worn at their party, though she'd ditched her thigh high boots somewhere between kicking out their last guest and wilting next to him.
Rogue. Anna-Marie LeBeau. His wife. Still makes his head reel to think of that.
And right now, the few inches of space between them is too damn far away.
"That right, chere? Mais, I can think of a couple of other things't might make y' feel even better," he flirts, reaching for her.
"Aww, shug, I really can't," she groans, flinging him wide, apologetic eyes, "I'm too pooped to be any good for that right n—"
"Ain't what I meant," he replies, pulling her bare legs across his lap, "gimme them feet, yeah?"
She tenses at his hands, her fear of touch still deep-seated despite several days wearing a suppression collar allowing her all the touch she could ever ask for. He outwardly ignores the little flinch, knowing it's reflexive and not rejection, and curls a hand under her ankle as he mashes and works the heel of his other hand into the arch of her foot.
"Ohhhhhhhh, you're a ten among fives, Remy Ettiene LeBeau," she declares through a blissful smile, her eyes closing as she shifts into the love seat more comfortably to fully enjoy the foot rub.
"Non, I'm at least an eleven, chere," he flirts back, feeling the tension melt off her legs and feet as he moves on to start stroking his thumb from toe to heel.
She practically purrs and flexes her toes, goosebumps popping up all over her legs. So damn responsive! She always has been, and she is moreso now that things are going so good for them.
And him, he's no better, already reacting to her pleasure at his touch, to the buttery-soft texture of her skin, the sight of those long, beautifully muscled legs going up into her bunched skirt…
He lets his thoughts linger there for a moment, eyes following the line of her thighs, thinking how much he'd like to lick that path up between them. Then he wonders what her panties are like tonight. Silk? Lace? Thin enough to taste her through, slowly tease her over before he pulls them aside and mercilessly eats her out?
She snaps him out of the fantasy with a soft snort and a playful tone. "Ain't what you meant, my ass, Cajun."
Remy flicks his gaze back up at hers, empathy wide open and just plain old powers of observation kicked up to gauge how receptive she might be if he made a go for it. She's smiling all soft at him, and her body is relaxed even softer, but her eyes tell him the whole drowsy tale. The pained one, the worried one, and the insecure one, too.
Tonight's probably not the night for trying it, even though she'd likely let him.
He shakes his head and glances down as he switches her feet in his hands. "Wasn't. Don't mean I didn't go there, no?" He smiles back up at her, lightly caressing the hollow of her ankle with his thumb in time with the massage on her foot. "How's y' head, chere?"
Her lips thin out a bit, and her eyes tighten a bit more, but all she does is a tiny shrug. "I gotta headache, but it ain't so bad, now that I traded that collar in for this here bracelet." Then she sits up and leans forward, her feet pushing out of his hands and into the cushions as she scoots in close and loops her arms over her knees. "How's your belly?"
He shrugs and grins. "Feels like I got stabbed. But it ain't so bad, either. It's about half healed now."
She nods, then huffs a laugh. "Who'da thunk it, shug, you an' me can touch, and all it took was you stealin' someone else's wedding to marry me, havin' our honeymoon hijacked by aliens, where you got stabbed in the guts and I had to start wearin' a power dampener at all times that kills my head so I don't kill you just for sharin' the air I breathe."
She quietens, stares down at her toes, and he runs long, soothing strokes up her calves, waiting her out. They've been nonstop go-go-go since Paraiso, going from barely speaking to hitched, alongside fighting the good fight and all the preparations for a wedding that veered sideways. This moment right here marks the first one they've really been able to stop and breathe since...everything...kicked off less than four weeks ago. They've got some talks to talk, and right now feels like an extension of the awkward moment when she'd stood in the middle of his apartment for the first time, deliberately distracted by his cats so she wouldn't have to look at him.
A warmer, and definitely more intimate extension, but an extension nonetheless. And just like then, they're both a little too tired to do much with it.
Her eyes follow his hands moving over her legs for a moment, then, "I guess the Guilds are about to start yankin' you around again?"
He blows out a sigh, because there's a heavy topic to kill the warmth between them right quick. "Looks like it, yeah."
She's silent, eyes on him as the full implication behind his answer sets in. "You ain't ever gettin' away from that, are ya?"
He looks over at her, slowly shakes his head. "Non. Never gave y' reason to think I would."
She looks away, lips pursed. "No, I don't guess you ever did."
He flattens his mouth and looks down at the pale legs folded over his lap. While his skin had quickly deepened bronze in the Paraiso sun, hers had only burnished a soft gold and a few more freckles.
"Alright, so," she breathes out, "you're the head of that bunch now, ain't you? What do you need to do with 'em, and what do you need from me to make it happen?"
He glances up at her brisk tone, and immediately cracks wide open at her expression.
She's trying. She's against his thieving, always has been, and she all but loathes the Guilds on pure bias for their treatment of him, but she's trying.
"I reckon I need more information on what all's goin' down to answer y' first question, and as for the second…" He pauses, then shrugs, "mais, chere, all I need from you through anything Guild related is you."
A loaded answer, that. Support, loyalty, acceptance, and possibly assistance in whatever capacity as a Guildmaster's wife. As a Guildmistress.
"Well," she finally answers, "I knew I didn't just marry a fellow X-Man. I see you jugglin' that mess right along with savin' the day on occasion, so I guess I can't say it can't be done." Then she sucks in a deep breath, holds it, and lets it out fast. "We're doing this, ain't we?" She looks up at him, eyes wide, uncertain, hopeful. "This whole married thing. We really did it. This ain't no wild dream I'm about to wake up from, reachin' for you, and you won't be there, is it?"
He reaches for her, pulls her to his chest. "Non, ma cherie, s'real." He laces fingers into her hair, rests his chin on top of her head. "We did it. And we doin' it."
She nods, then stills for a moment. "It was all so fast. And a lot's been crammed into so little time." She taps a finger on his chest. "You regret it at all?"
His heart crashes into his ribs at her words, and he kisses the top of her head, lingering there for a moment. Just breathing her in and gathering his words. Finally, "it was fast. Maybe too fast." She stiffens, and he soothes another kiss in her hair. "But non, I don' regret it. Mighta rushed y' when I shouldn't have, but me, I was already there."
She pulls back and looks up at him. "Yeah? When'd you get there? Know you wanted this?"
"Paraiso," he answers, carding curls straying from her updo back behind her ear. "When I told you was wit' you every step of the way. I knew then I wanted to lock it down." He shrugs, "but I knew you was my endgame a long time ago, chere."
She hums at him through a soft smile, then bites her lip and settles pensively back in his chest. "I think I first realized you were it for me was all those years ago, when I followed you down to New Orleans to save Belle with the elixir." She snorts and rubs her nose into his chest. "Scared the crap outta me, 'cause look at the stupid girl who can't touch, chasin' a gorgeous, womanizin' Cajun all the way back home to his stunning wife."
That admission yanks at him, and he squeezes her in a little tighter. He'd seen like thoughts out of her in the couple of memories he'd gotten off her golems in Paraiso. If only she'd known…
"Ah, beb, you wasn't stupid at all." He drops a fierce kiss in her hair. "Least ways, no moreso'n I was back then."
"Hah!" She huffs up into his throat, "you tryin' to tell me you had all these girlish little fantasies of you droppin' to a knee with a grand gesture of a proposal? Or of white picket fences, and a little girl and a little boy, 'cause that's just what you do, and that's the perfect little American family?"
"Oh, you thought all that, didja?" He chuckles, rubbing his cheek into her hair. "Had it all planned out, huh?"
"Oh, hush up," she groans, reaching up to smack her lips under his chin. She laughs at herself as she snuggles back down, looping an arm around his neck. "And yeah, of course I had it all planned out," she continues, fingers playing with the ends of his hair. "The ultra romantic proposal. A big ol' Southern church wedding, with everyone we knew there. Flowers everywhere, a feast, a huge cake, and a big, fluffy white dress. I even did a Danger Room simulation on the whole thing." She rolls her eyes and laughs at her younger, girlish self, then leans forward to playfully bite his nipple through his shirt, and teases, "at least you did the grand, romantic proposal right, all in front of everyone, and you know what? You still gotta chance to get it all right, 'cause technically, we ain't even really married. Not legally, anyw—hey!"
"The fuck we ain't," he playfully growls at her as he hauls her up astride his hips. "We can backtrack a bit, get you that mahoosive wedding you was talkin' about if you want, but—" she giggles, smacking his chest at his teasing, and he catches her hand in his for a swift kiss over the ring glittering on her finger, and he starts getting an idea, "you an' me's definitely very married. I know a guy who's gotta talent wit' the pen, so as far as the state of New York's concerned, we a done deal, wife," he growls out playfully as he leans in for a kiss.
She hums against his mouth, then breaks away and snorts at him. "You're really gettin' a kick outta callin' me that, huh? Husband," she mocks him dramatically, moving forward on him, arms slipping around his neck.
"You damn right, I'm gettin' a kick out of it, beb," he flirts, pulse jumping at her shift on his lap. Maybe sex isn't off the table tonight like he'd thought.
He sits up and flattens her to his chest, hands pushing her dress to her waist before dragging back over her ass. In this position, his eyes are level with her mouth, and he stares, licks his lips, and goes in for a kiss, gaze chasing up to hers and holding.
She shudders right into that kiss, matching his intensity til he pulls back a bit. "So, chere," he grins at her, his face still in hers, his fingers sliding under her panties (a delicate mint green lace, as it happens, and definitely thin enough fit his earlier fantasy, which he absolutely is about to act out down to the very last detail), "what say you an' me give that new bracelet of yours a spin? Might help that headache out a little, too, yeah?"
She cups his face in her hands and laughs a kiss into the corner of his mouth. "Well, count me in, 'cause I'm all for helpin' a headache," she drawls out with a snap of her teeth into his lower lip and a grind into his hips.
He hisses, closes his eyes and presses her in a little harder, meeting the next roll of her hips with one of his own. "Then lets you an' me get to it." He asks, eyes opening up at hers again and flashing his world red, "lets you an' me do this marriage thing, yeah?"