NOTES: I promise to do it tastefully. Each woman will have her own thing going on in this; I'm going all out here, friends!



The Velvet Red


Scott Summers was not a dirty man by nature. He was a law-abiding citizen, he paid his taxes, and he had an excellent job at Xavier Industries. So why did he let his two associates from the office talk him into tagging along to The Velvet Red? It wasn't that Scott didn't enjoy club hopping. He was young, attractive, and had been known to swoon the occasional blonde or brunette. It was just that this particular 'hotspot' happened to be a strip club, albeit a popular, even tasteful one, but the idea of being seen at one, even if it HAD been by his own boss Charles himself, did not sit well with him.

"C'mon, Scott!" Bobby had said. "It'll do you some good to loosen up, buddy! Company's treat, too! Not too often THAT happens."

"Yeah," Hank chimed. "One night isn't going to kill you."

And so, Scott had agreed. He had to admit, the place was genuinely nice. The floors were covered wall to wall with imported Persian rug and the bar served nothing but the best Scotch, Brandy, and everyone's personal best friend: Jack Danny. Not a cheap beer to be found. Gambling tables were established, too, so the customers could play a few hands at poker or black jack while they waited for the entertainment. Scott suspected that something other than poker chips were being slipped under the table, but he didn't bother to pry. Let the rich blow their money on any way the so chose. And the women! Scott had never seen so many beautiful women in his entire life, and certainly never wearing THOSE outfits.

By the end of the night, the usually grounded, sensible Scott Summers had lost nearly a grand at the poker tables and probably as much to the strippers. But, as one a.m. approached, he forced himself to wrap things up and start thinking about heading home. The women on the stage had made him a little more than willing for company though, so he casually scoped the place out for any likely candidates.

At the bar was where he first saw her, and even then Scott knew he would remember the exact second for years to come. Everything around him sped up except for her- every fluid movement she made: the flip of her red hair, the shifting of her weight as she leaned against the bar, the polite smile she produced for those passing by that she obviously knew. Scott approached her, sliding onto the stool directly to her right and throwing her an easy smile.

"Hey, don't I know you?" He asked, turning fully toward her. "I think we went to the same grade school."

She suppressed a smile. "No, I doubt it."

He grinned, absently moving his gin glass in a circular motion. "Only in my dreams, right?"

She tipped her head back and chuckled, the bar lights kissing her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose. She turned back to him. "Jean," she stated simply.

"Scott," he responded.

They chatted amicably a while longer: her about cheesy pick-up lines and how he desperately needed to work on them, and he sheepishly admitting to her facts. Scott also discovered that she was a very educated woman having studied dancing at Julliard. Approximately ten minutes into their conversation, Bobby and Hank interrupted, Bobby's arm slung over his companion's shoulder as the bigger man supported his weight.

"Scottie, it looks as if Robert and I are going to have to call it a night."

"Aw, really?" Scott tipped his head in mock sympathy at his blonde friend leaning heavily on Hank.

"Yes. It appears Mr. Drake here cannot consume large quantities of alcohol without his immune system failing him miserably."

"Aw, poor guy. He can't hold his lacquer." Jean sympathized.

"Yes, well, we're heading out. You coming?"

Scott glanced over to Jean and said, "No, I'm good, Hank. I'll grab a cab."

"I'll stop this, now. I'm not going to be coming home with you tonight, Scott." She stated plainly after the two had left. He shrugged.

"Hey, who said anything about going home with me? I have no idea what you're talking about and I sincerely hope you're not implying anything!" He said, clutching his chest in shock. "I feel a bit violated!"

She giggled, her cheeks flushing an alluring shade of rose. "No, nothing like that. Don't worry, I won't try anything funny." She teased. "Actually, believe it or not, I don't think you'd be very happy with a woman like me."

He nodded. "You couldn't be more right. My mother always said, 'Scott, beware of those beautiful, intelligent women. They're no good.'"

Jean smiled and turned away. "No, but she did tell you that not everything is as it seems sometimes, right?"

"Yes, but I've also been told to sometimes not read into things too deeply."

She pointed an accusing finger at him. "Aha! So the truth comes out. You had no more intention than to simply take me home and have your wicked way with me for the night, huh? Why else would you not care to 'read too deeply' into me?"

He smiled. "No, you've got me all wrong." He paused. "Really."

"Hey Jeannie! You riding home with me and 'Ro or what?" Betsy called from the dressing room door. Scott noticed the woman as the stripper that gave him a lap dance not two hours ago. One and one quickly made two in Scott's mind.

"Nah, Betts. I'll catch a ride with Warren."

"Okay girl. 'Night!"

Jean stood and made her way behind the bar. "You still want to get to know the 'real me' or have you learned enough?" She reached the bottom of the winding stairs leading to Warren's office.

Scott shook his head. "No, not even close."

She rolled her eyes in mild disbelief. He was persistent; she'd give him that. "Nuh-uh, Summers. I'm not exactly the girl you can bring home to Mom."

He shrugged. "My mom's dead."

She sighed and continued up the stairs. "Good night."

Scott pounded on the bar twice before turning to leave. He spun around momentarily to point a finger at her still visible feet from the top of the stairs and called after her, "And I'll see YOU tomorrow night!"

Jean bit back a chuckle. "Yeah okay."

**

The next night, true to his word, Scott made an appearance.

"I can't come here every night, you know?" Scott said as Jean set down his Scotch and soda in front of him. Lucky her, she was stuck waitressing that night. "I will come as often as I can, though, until you agree to just one date with me."

Jean sighed, clutching her tray against her flat stomach. "What is with you? You come, you see me prance around in these little numbers," she extended her arms to display the now-custom waitress uniform, "and I even strip. Isn't that enough for you? I thought I made it clear to you that I'm not sleeping with you, so except it pal. This is as close as you're getting."

Scott straightened and his tone got serious. "Maybe getting in your pants isn't all I think about. Maybe I just want to talk a little."

"Get to know the person," Jean offered almost bitterly.

"Yes."

"Do you honestly think any woman hasn't heard that one before, Scott?"

"I'm not really interested in lines you've heard before, Jean. I'm interested in you and it truly doesn't bother me that you're a stripper." He sipped his drink. "And a word to the wise, not every man thinks about getting you in bed."

Jean opened her mouth to retort but closed it just as quickly. Suddenly, she felt a great swell of guilt for the way she had treated Scott. Working at a strip club, no matter how elite, she had forgotten that there were still nice guys in the world that really did care what your name was, what music you listened to, your favorite foods, what color your eyes were. What right did she have to stomp all over Scott like that just for taking an interest? If anything, it meant she still had it!

But as much as she longed to accept Scott's tempting proposition, she couldn't. "I'm sorry, Scott. You're right, I was way out of line, but I can't go out with you. It just wouldn't work out right." With that, she quickly turned and left the bar, leaving a bemused Scott to ponder over his drink. When Jean asked Ororo to tend to him for the rest of the night, he paid his bill and left, but not before brushing past her on his way out.

"Until next time." She heard him mumble, and then he was out the door.



Rogue shuffled out of her cowboy ensemble and threw on her more comfortable cut-offs and Southern Star tank. Jean walked into the dressing room and behind the beaded curtain for her own clothes.

"Hey, kid. You want a ride home?" She could hear Jean say inside the dressing closet.

Rogue nodded as Jean reappeared in her own Levis and Fleetwood Mac tank. "Yeah okay, if it's not too much trouble, hun."

They piled into Jean's Benz waiting patiently in the parking lot.

"Oh my Gawd!" Rogue exclaimed, settling comfortably into the leather seats. "This car is...wow!"

Jean pulled expertly out of the parking space and sped dangerously down the avenue to Rogue's apartment. "I like it. The environment may not be a 100% healthy at the club, but the money is good, that's for damn sure."

Rogue stuck her hands out of the sunroof and reveled in the wind, her hair being whipped in every direction. "Yea, about the club: How do yah get the men to stop grabbing at you all the time?" She paused and thought of how to reword her question, trying not be as naïve as she just made herself sound. "Ah mean, isn't it against the rules to touch us?"

Jean nodded an enthusiastic affirmative. "Definitely. They're just picking on you because most of them are recurring costumers and they know you're new. Next time one of them grabs your ass or whatever, just turn around and politely but sternly let them know that the rule is 'No Petting.' And if that doesn't work, you can get either me or one of the other girls, but your best bet would be Logan. He'll take care of them."

Rogue smiled. "Alraght. And what about Warren? Should I let him know?"

Jean's smile faded at the mention of Warren. She knew full well that if the men were willing to pay, Warren wouldn't do a damned thing about it, do what they will. "No, honey. You should probably just sick to Logan. You'll never have a problem with them again if HE finds out about it."

The two drove on a little while longer, Jean opting to take the long way so they could cruise a bit in the brand new car. Rogue had no objections. It was nearing two a.m. when they finally pulled up to her apartment building.

"Here you are," Jean said, slowing down.

"Thanks, sugah. Hey, can Ah leave my bag in heuh tonight and pick it up tomorrow? Remy maght be home and Ah don't want to be caught with it."

"Might? What do you mean might be home, it's almost two."

"Ah know but his job at Columbia Records keeps him out until the ungawdliest hours. So Ah'll pick it up tomorrow?"

"Yeah, yeah. When are you going to tell him about all this, Rogue? He'll only be madder when he finds out."

Rogue got out of the car and leaned into the open window. "Yeah, Ah know. You're starting to sound like 'Ro. Ah'll tell him when the time is raght. The opportunity just hasn't-"

"Presented itself," Jean finished for her. "I've heard them all, hun. Hell, all us strippers have said them all at one point!" She started the engine. "Good night, kid."

"Naght," Rogue replied, and Jean sped off.

**

Remy LeBeau had gotten home early that night, around eleven. Both he and his steady girlfriend of almost a year had crazy work hours, especially him. So arriving home past two a.m., especially when a track was being recorded in the studio, wasn't exactly unusual for him. But, Remy called the Candle Café where Rogue worked and asked when her hours ended that night. Coincidentally enough, she too was getting off early, at about eleven thirty, so he raced home to get there before her and prepare a nice gourmet dinner on the floor next to their fireplace and even a candlelit bubble bath. By eleven thirty, it was all set up, and all Remy had to do was pop a soft jazz C.D. into the stereo, situate himself onto the couch, and wait. She'd be home any minute.

Midnight rolled around; Remy shrugged it off as getting a little caught up at work, even if the bath and dinner were getting cold. Twelve forty-five rolled around; Remy dozed on and off through his growing annoyance. The C.D. had long stopped and the apartment was swallowed by an aggravating silence. One thirty rolled around and Remy was beginning to worry. At two, he had thrown on a jacket and shoes and was just on his way out the door when who should walk through it first?

"Rogue." He stood watching her startled expression. "Where de hell have you been?"

His even tone and contained anger put Rogue on edge. She didn't even catch the hint of relief seeping through his words that she wasn't lying face down in a gutter somewhere. "Remy, I...I'm sorry." She recovered quickly. "Remember how Ah was telling you that Jenny's daughter was having a baby soon? Well, right before Ah'm walking out the door, she gets a call, and what should happen but her daughter goes into labor? So of course, Lola didn't show up today for work and Ah had to be the one to cover the entiah place until she came strolling in around one thirty." Rogue took a deep breath after she had finished. "Ah would have called, but Jenny's brat son, Luke, was on the internet the entire tahm trying to buy concert tickets to some show, and he would not get off!" She paused, taking in Remy's overwhelmed expression. "So yah see..." Her voice trailed off and she decided to let Remy take the lead and hint to her as to whether or not he believed her.

Remy walked up to her and encircled her with his strong arms. "Okay, chere. If you say so."

Rogue sank into his embrace, relieved. She glanced around the room and noticed the stale dinner gleaming sickly in the firelight. "Ah'm sorry, sugah."

"It's okay. If you can't leave, you can't leave." She smelt like smoke and Obsession cologne: a bit exotic for the Candle Café.

Rogue felt entirely guilty for the full-blown lie she had just fed the man of her dreams. "Ah'm sorry Ah wasn't heuh for yoah big surprise, but maybe Ah can make it up to you, Cajun." She snaked her slim hands behind his head and stroked the fine hairs above the base of his neck.

He grinned devilishly and dropped to kiss her fully on the mouth. It was a long embrace that lasted all the way to their bedroom door. Once inside, Rogue laid a very cooperative Remy down on the bed and slithered out of her shorts and shirt at a tantalizing pace, revealing to Remy her curvaceous form. She crawled on top of him and straddled his hips to kiss him again, her thick auburn waves falling all around him. His hungry mouth fervently kissed back.

**

The sun peeked shyly over the horizon as Remy reached for the receiver. He stole one more glance at Rogue to make sure she was still out. His sweet southern belle was laying between the frumpy white sheets, enwrapped in peaceful slumber. He dialed the numbers on his white portable and paced the kitchen until someone picked up. He didn't like talking to people from his life before what he called 'honest work,' but desperate times called for desperate measures, and he had to know.

"Hello." Mumbled a voice laced half with fatigue and half with annoyance on the other line.

"Pawn, dis is Remy."

"Hey, Remy. Do you know what time it is, man?" He heard a feminine voice mutter something next to Pawn. Pawn told her to shut-up.

"Yea, listen homme. I need you to do Remy a favor." Remy sat down at the kitchen table.

"Shoot."

"It's about Rogue. I need you to tail her for a day."

Pawn chuckled. "What's the problem, Remy? She startin' to come home late?"

"Don't worry about it, Pawn, and I don't want to have to say dat again." Remy's stern tone quickly shut Pawn's mouth. "Just find out where she goes at night, around ten. Can you do dat?"

"Not a problem." The two men hung up. It was brief and to the point. No questions asked, no objections. That's the way it was with them, his old friends, men that would put a knife in someone, anyone, for a fellow thief. He had never told Rogue about it. How could he? Simply thinking of the consequences made him shudder, so he didn't risk it. Since the first time she set down his double latte on his table at the Candle Café on that fateful day, he vowed never to steal again. It was sudden, to say the least, but sincere. The last time he had even talked to any of his old 'associates' was when he needed some strings pulled to get himself the excellent job at Columbia. After that, he was a changed man, all for the sassy southerner in his bed.

And now, she was quite possibly cheating on him. 'No,' Remy thought. 'She's not, it's all in your head.' Remy hated to say it, but the odds looked as if they were stacked against him. He hoped not, because if she had found comfort in another man's arms, Remy was quite sure he'd go insane.

"Remy, sugah, come back to bed," he heard her call from the bedroom. Remy stood from his chair and did just that.


** Okay, couple of things. Obviously, I don't own the people in this, Marvel does. Another thing: I don't own the Candle Café. It's a real place in NYC but it's definitely not mine.

**And this is the second chapter. It gets better, just bare with me. Lots of drama! And of course, review. I'd be much obliged!