The Velvet Red

Rogue's chest heaved as another racking sob erupted within her. Tears streamed shamelessly down her ivory cheeks and she stared frustrated into the mirror at her puffy red eyes. 'Damn it girl, get it together.'

The familiar sound of two women's laughter prompted Rogue to quickly swipe away the accumulated tears at the brim of her emerald eyes. Jean and Ororo stepped into the dressing room chatting away about Ororo's latest fashion designer pants that, of course, clung to her bodacious thighs like a second skin. Upon noticing Rogue's unmistakable complexion, they rushed to her side, each wrapping a consoling arm around the young woman.

"Aw, honey, what's the matter?" Jean said her face etched with concern.

"Is it that tall, dark, and handsome of yours?" Ororo asked.

Rogue didn't trust herself to speak for fear of releasing a fresh batch of bawls, so she settled for nodding weakly.

"Don't sweat it, hun." Jean offered knowingly. By now, word had gotten around the dressing room about the incident between Rogue and Remy a few nights ago. "Pretty soon, he'll come crawling back to you on his hands and knees."

The three shared a laugh. "Yeah," Ororo chimed. "Men, who needs 'em! We women need to stick together."

"Ah just feel so bad about the whole thang."

"Don't. Everything will work out in the end." Jean paused and beamed slyly at the other two. "Group hug!" She exclaimed, grasping them in a huge embrace. Rogue and Ororo laughed as the three formed a huddle and absorbed support from one another.

"Hey! What's this going on? An inspirational session without yours truly?" The women turned to see Betsy in the doorway, hands planted firmly on her curvaceous hips.

Jean, Ororo, and Rogue broke from the hug. "You're late," Jean announced: the obvious, unsaid leader of the group.

"I know, I'm sorry. I wasn't feeling well." She turned from where she was hastily undressing. "One of those days, you know?"

Jean moved to where the beautiful Asian was dressing into her costume and assisted her in zipping up the back. "We were just discussing Rogue's men traumas."

Elisabeth spun around and dashed to her dressing table, quickly slapping on some fake eyelashes to complete her Playboy bunny costume. "He's still not over it? God, looks like I'm going to have to pass him a note in study hall." She threw a wink over to a smirking Rogue.

"At least Jean never has to worry about her boyfriend disapproving of her employment." Ororo said from where she was counting cigars in the tray. Only three missing; looks like Logan was cutting back. Then again, the night was young.

"What?" Rogue asked. "Why doesn't Jean have to worry about her boyfriend?"

The other three women stopped their preparations and turned to peer into Rogue's questioning eyes. She suddenly felt like she had said something foolish and unconsciously shrank under their gaze.

Jean spoke. "Oh, nobody told you?" The three women suddenly chuckled nervously, the awkward moment passing them by. "Warren's my husband. Geez, I'm sorry, Dixie. I thought you knew."

Rogue shrugged. "No biggie." A thought struck her: The Velvet Red. "Is that where the name of this joint comes from?"

Jean grinned. "The one and only. I swear, that man is obsessed with my hair if nothing else. He always says to me," Her voice strikingly became that of Warren's, " 'Jean, redheads are so damned hard to find. I'm truly blessed to snag a sexy thing like you.'"

The women laughed.

"Speaking of Jean and men," started Ororo from where she was just shutting the crack in the dressing room door she had made to survey the night's crowd. "Your little Romeo is here tonight, Jean."

"Again!" Betsy exclaimed, rushing to the door to see for herself. "God, I don't know what it is about that good girl routine but that poor lad is whipped."

"With a capital W," Rogue giggled, situating her notepad and pen in her waitress apron.

"Shut-up, you guys." Jean nearly blushed, an experience she hadn't endured since the tenth grade. Try as she might, the stunning redhead could not deny the fact that her heart had indeed leapt momentarily at Ororo's announcement. Scott hadn't been seen at the club since the night she'd told him off, and guilt overcame her every time she recalled the incident. Now that he was back, just as he promised he would be, should she be mortified or relieved? Would he still want to see her? Why does she even care? 'I don't,' Jean told herself. 'I couldn't care less. I am a happily... I am a married woman.'

The knock at the door brought Jean from her reverie. Assuming it was Warren, she answered it herself. She was genuinely surprised to be greeted by two beautiful bouquets of full, long-stemmed roses. Jean hardly noticed the man peeking from behind them until he said, "Delivery for a Miss Rogue."

Rogue leapt from her seat and scurried to the door, taking one of the bouquets in a giant arm full. "Oh mah Gawd! They're beautiful!" Jean relieved the man from the second batch, thanked him and closed the door, turning to a wide-eyed Rogue and setting the flowers down on her dressing table.

Rogue fumbled with shaking hands at the card. She read it silently, a joyful smile playing at her ruby lips. "They're from Remy." She managed as tears welled up in her eyes once more.

"You think?" Betsy smiled, inhaling the petals' heavenly scent. "Christ, what a doll." Rogue nodded dumbly, staring in awe at the flowers. "Now get out there before your make-up runs." Betsy said, taking the bouquet and setting them down next to the other one.

Rogue grinned gleefully and headed out the door, followed by Ororo who just rolled her eyes.

**

Remy threw open the door to the apartment he shared with his girlfriend and tossed his keys in the little tray in the foyer. He hung his coat sloppily on a hanger in the closet and settled onto the leather armchair in the living room, kicking off his Rodolpho shoes in the process.

He tipped his head back and screwed his eyes shut, trying to erase the day he had just accomplished from his mind. It had been long and hard; Mariah Carey had been less than pleasant in the studio. 'Damn divas,' Remy thought.

He picked up the remote before promptly lying it back down on the coffee table. No, he needed to think. He couldn't just push it aside until she came home then get caught not knowing what to say. The first thing he knew she was going to bring up was the roses. Why he had finally picked up the phone and called Michael's was beyond him. No wait; no it wasn't.

He missed her.

Simple as that, really. She still resided with him in this very apartment and everything. They still woke up together, side by side, still shared the same wash machine and cars, but she was not with him. They were both so damned stubborn that neither one gave the slightest implication of forgiveness. They didn't eat meals together; they didn't kiss each together goodnight or good-bye; they hadn't even spoken a word to each other since 'the fight'- their very first REAL fight.

He found himself thinking about her more often than not, almost to the point where it was affecting his work just to daydream about a beautiful, sassy belle with a shock of white through her rust-colored curls. Music track sequences were replaced with the thought of two sea-green eyes; acoustic checks were replaced with fantasies about a woman with lush curves and creamy skin. Everything reminded him of her laugh, her scent, her honey dulcet voice.

'I'm going crazy', he thought, running a hand through his auburn strands, then chuckled humorlessly at his position. Not a year ago, the only thing Remy believed women to be good for was a late night rush. Hell, he remembered laughing at the men he knew that were wrapped willingly around a woman's little finger. Now here he sat, forced to do nothing but agree with those men when they said, 'It's worth it.'

Finally, Remy had had enough, so he decided on flowers. He thought it best to just swallow his pride and be the one to forgive and forget. He could live with what she was doing, but he couldn't live without her. Besides, if they were going to spend the rest of their life together (Damn! Thinking about marriage already!), they were going to have to learn to cope with each other's preferences, decisions, and past mistakes. Lord knows he was going to have to be mighty forgiving to her now in case she ever found out about his stained past.

**

Rogue rushed out of the elevator and swiftly made her way down the hall to her door. She was lucky to get off so early, but she had begged Jean to cover the floor for her after the woman had finished her stage routine. It took some heavy persuasion, and a bit of bribery, but Jean's firm reluctance eventually transformed into begrudged acceptance, and Rogue was off.

God, she missed him. She missed everything about him. Too many times lately had she come home to a cold shoulder or unforgiving sneer, to which she would quickly retort with one nearly identical, then add a disgusted snort for good measure. Why had she done these things? She wasn't sure. He did them, so she did them, which is why he came back with them, so she threw it right back. It was a vicious cycle and she was extremely thankful it was over. That man was going to beg for more by the time she was finished with him tonight.

Rogue proceeded through the door, closing it with a slow click behind her. She smiled at the sight of Remy dozed off in the armchair and went to where he sat. She savored the sight for a second longer before crawling into his lap and burying her hands in his hair. She moved in to plant a slow, lasting kiss on his slightly parted lips.

He slowly roused from the catnap and moved his lips mechanically to receive the kiss without opening his eyes. After fully waking and realizing what was happening, he placed his hands on the small of her back and pressed her firmly against his body. They melted together for a long anticipated and much-needed kiss, restoring their bodies, then slowly, slowly broke the embrace.

For a moment, they just gazed into each other's eyes. Rogue's breath caught in her throat. Those eyes; no one had eyes like that.

They both knew they needed to talk. So many things had to be discussed. But, it wasn't talking that had gotten Remy and Rogue this far- it was unbridled passion. They thrived on it, and this time was no different. Thinking rationally could wait until morning. Right now, there was nothing but the two of them and raw desire.

**

Jean set down the man's brandy in front of his protruding gut. She smiled and turned to go, but he reached for her arm and gently guided her back.

"Wait a second, there, sweetheart. What's the rush?" His breath reeked of liquor. Jean gave him a quick glance over for pure amusement. He was about forty-five, married according to the band around his pudgy finger, and probably had kids, or a wife that wanted some. But no, he was here trying to get laid by a stripper, drunk. His eyes took on what he must have thought was an alluring, come-hither stare. "How's about you stay here and keep me company, what do you say?" The man nudged her down by the arm and settled Jean on his left knee, pressing her close.

Jean immediately shot back up with a polite smile. "I don't think so, sir." He reached to retrieve her but she grabbed a finger and twisted it until it made a satisfying pop. He yelped in pain and stood shakily to retort, but by then Logan had seen the occurrence and was already escorting the man out of the club... not so gently.

Once alone again, Jean glanced warily around the room. There he was, sitting at one of the various poker tables and obviously doing mediocre by the pile of chips stacked before him. Was he still coming for her? Jean couldn't help but hope so.

As nonchalantly as possible, she went to that particular table and asked if anyone needed anything. When nobody did, she moved behind Scott and glanced at his hand: a pair of fours, and he was bluffing for all he was worth.

Scott's mind was reeling. He had thought she left. After all, she had been on stage that night, hadn't she? But no, she was obviously still here, standing behind him. God, it had been awhile since he had gotten the time to drop by, but he hadn't seen her for so long and that day at work, no matter what, he knew he couldn't stand one more night; he had to go see her.

Even he didn't know why the hell he was acting like a kid, all hot and bothered. Not that he was the type for one-night flings, that wasn't his style. In fact, he had had several long-term girlfriends before, but no woman ever got under his skin like this one. Maybe it was because she kept refusing him; that was kind of sexy in it's own playful way. But it was only part of it. She was just...attractive, he guessed. No, there was something else. He felt drawn to her for some reason, like a magnet, even though they hadn't talked for more than twenty minutes altogether. 'Love at first sight? Jesus, Scott, grow up.'

"Get outta here, Red. This is a big boy's game." Scott recognized the owner of the voice sitting across from him as a man he saw in here every time he came, which was often. He was a big blonde with the I.Q of a brick, but he had decent card instinct. Creed is what Scott remembered everyone calling him.

Scott heard the innocent smile in Jean's voice from where she stood behind him. "Aw, can't I just watch a little?" Creed didn't respond except to grunt, annoyed. Jean leaned over Scott's shoulder and stared intently at his cards. She smelt like Ivory soap and Eternity; Scott fought to keep his blood from racing. "Gee, four queens look pretty together, don't they?" She looked over to Scott with large, questing eyes. He chuckled.

The men at the table exchanged weary glances before promptly folding. Scott laughed again and laid his own hand down, revealing his two fours. The other men glared menacingly at him, but settled for dealing another game, minus him. As Scott gathered his winnings he heard Creed mumble something undoubtedly vulgar under his breath, but he chose to ignore it and moved to the bar.

To his immense pleasure, Jean followed him. "I haven't done that in years. I must say I'm surprised they fell for it." She laughed.

Scott shrugged. "They weren't the best players here." He paused. "I should know. I come here often enough."

She shook her head, slightly pleased with the undivided attention. "Nuh-uh, don't you dare blame me for that. You come here of your own free will."

Free will? He was slowly losing grip on it, clutching at it with white knuckles, but she chipped off a piece of it for herself every time she spoke. Scott shrugged and looked away, not sure what to say next. There were a million things he WANTED to say, but 'Hello, I think I'm falling head over heels for you, I adore you more every time I see you, would you like to have dinner?' didn't exactly come on as the best ice breaker.

**

Warren Worthington III zipped up his black Armani pants and sat back in his chair. The young brunette stood from her position on the floor and wiped the corners of her mouth. With a lazy flip of the hand, Warren silently dismissed her and she was out his office door.

'What a waste of my life that little slut was.' He thought idly while pulling on his coat. It was just past midnight, a little early to head home, but Munroe and Braddock could hold down the fort by themselves- Warren was in the mood for his voluptuous redhead.

He trotted down the winding stairs behind the bar and scanned the floor for his wife. He saw her.

Warren couldn't hear anything but the blood boiling in his veins and he couldn't see anything but the tip of her head as she laughed joyfully at something the little punk had said. The guy was sitting down at one of the single tables, chatting amicably with her. Jean was leaning against the table, a little too suggestively for Warren's comfort. He didn't like it; she was playing with the damned loser, teasing him, tempting him, maybe even seducing him. Perhaps not outright- no, Jean was too smart for that. But it was the little things only he could notice. The certain inclination of her body, the way she seemingly carelessly toyed with a lock of her, correction HIS, glorious mane of red curls, the way her voice slightly dropped to a bit lower, slightly alluring tone.

He marched right over, fuming.

"That's when Xavier asked me to come work for him-"

"Hey! What the hell is going on, here?"

Scott looked over to a man that had just reached Jean's side and was strapping a possessive arm around her waist. He was glaring at Scott and nudging Jean away.

"Warren," She began, weakly.

Warren wasn't listening to her, though. He was too busy sticking his left hand in Scott's face, flashing the gold band around his finger. "See this, pal?" He nodded toward Jean, venom in his voice and lightning in his eyes. "She's got one just like it, but it's against policy to wear it while she's on the clock. Clear?" He clenched his jaw and led his wife away.

Scott opened his mouth to protest or retort, but Jean turned and shook her head sadly, giving him a silent, 'please don't.' His stomach dropped at the pain in her eyes.

**

Warren ushered Jean inside on of the side rooms used for storage. She glanced around at the old, torn costumes used for their buttons and accessories, and some of the sound system junk stashed away in there. Warren slammed the door behind him but it only somewhat drowned out the club's music blaring through the mega speakers positioned throughout the building.

He spun around and quickly closed the gap between them, putting his face very close to hers. "What the fuck was that all about?" He said coldly through gritted teeth. Jean shivered involuntarily and cursed herself the minute she did. It only proved to him that he was very capable of intimidating her.

"It was nothing Warren. He's just a paying customer," was her flippant response.

It only served in making him angrier. "Nothing? It didn't look like nothing. In fact, if you had been leading him on anymore, shaking your ass and tits, I think I might have had to get some divorce papers in the works!"

If only, she thought. "Warren, you're being ridiculous."

"Am I?" He said quickly. She nodded mutely. Warren cupped her chin with his right hand and caught her eyes, burying his other hand in her long tresses. He saw only the eyes he fell in love with when he was just a kid, twenty-two at most. They were bright, large innocent eyes, deep as a blue star. How could he stay mad at her for long? He loved her.

He gazed her up and down from their close position. Jean squirmed tightly under his searing stare, feeling very vulnerable in her skimpy waitress attire. She had a sick feeling she knew what was coming next.

"I'm sorry, baby." He placed a kiss fit for an angel on her forehead. "Forgive me?"

She nodded weakly and turned her back to him to collect her self. After a brief second, she lifted her head defiantly with renewed spirit. She would not let him see her broken heart. He smiled. "Good," he breathed into her hair from behind.

Warren began trailing kisses down the back of her neck, moving at an agonizing pace until he reached the clasp of her outfit and unhooked it, letting the garment fall to her waist. Each kiss was different; Warren was just complicated and complex like that. Some were filthy and made her flinch or screw her eyes shut, but some were sweet and soft like petals or wings, and it was the latter that let her fool her self into believing that there was still hope for her husband.

He turned her to face him again and slid the bodysuit over her hips, letting it drop to the floor. Jean stole a wary glance at the unlocked door. "Warren," she whispered. "The door isn't locked." His only response was to lean in and meet her lips again with his own. She received his kiss coldly as he undid the button of his pants and backed her against a wall, moving his mouth to her neck. He hoisted her up and she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, suppressing her cries of joy and disgust with small whimpers at every thrust he made into her.

He was doing this to her for a reason, she just knew it. He was letting her know who was boss with a quick and dirty fuck against a side room wall.

For a fleeting moment, her mind flittered to Scott. She wondered how he made love. Was he ever fast and rough, like this, or did he do it right every time- kissing every part of her and making sure she was satisfied through and through? Had he ever been in love? Where was he now? Was he very mad at her?

Jean dwelled on this for some time, only absently returning Warren's kisses.

**

Rogue lied awake in her bed, the city lights acting as artificial starlight pouring into her room. Absently, she missed the nights on the banks of the Mississippi, looking up at the Southern sky and losing your self in it with wide-eyed dreams of someday making it in the 'big time.' Her hands were folded over her flat, growling stomach. "Oh, hush," she told it. "It's coming."

As if on cue, Remy walked through their bedroom door, a plate of two grilled cheese sandwiches in hand. "'Bout time!" Rogue said, sitting up.

"Yeah, yeah. You want dem so fast you can make 'em yourself." He grinned as she relieved him of the plate so he could climb back into their bed beside her, under the warm covers.

They avoided any important conversation until about ten minutes after they finished their meal. "Mah, you make a mean grilled cheese, Cajun." Rogue brushed crumbs off her sheet.

"I don't t'ink you made a big enough mess, cherie." He said, brushing invisible ones off her thigh, and 'accidentally' forgot to remove his hand. Rogue just smiled and leaned into her lover, he wrapping his other arm around her. "We need to talk, Rogue."

"Ah know," she replied, sighing. There was a pause before she spoke again. "Ah want to start." She sat up and looked her Cajun dead in the eye. "Ah just want you to know, Remy, that Ah don't intend on leaving my job. Yah know Ah love you, very much, more than Ah've ever loved anyone in mah entiah life, but Ah have to do this, for mahself."

Remy absorbed the statement and nodded. "Alright, Rogue. I understand, and I'm willing to except it, but only on one condition."

Rogue nodded. "Alraght, what?"

He stared intently into her fathomless green eyes, his tone taking a serious dip. "You have to promise me you'll try to get a better job. I know de café doesn't pay as well as you'd like it to, but listen. You have everyt'ing de next girl has in dis city to find a job. You went to school, you're confident, you've got people skills. I just don't want to see you sell yourself short because dis job you're at now pays great. Promise me it's only temporary, chere." He caressed one soft cheek and she melted into it.

"Okay, Remy. Ah promise. Ah'll look for another one." She sniffled a bit and bit her lip, trying not to let one of the rare tender moments the couple shared pass her by due to her damned sensitivity.

"Dere, all better." Remy pulled Rogue close again, breathing in her womanly scent. 'Glad dat's over.' He thought thankfully. Looking at her and not being able to touch her was getting to be a bit much for him.

Rogue gratefully snuggled into Remy, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. She glanced up at him and stared into his entrancing eyes with her own meaningful gaze. Remy smirked down at her, knowing full well what was on her mind. Not that he could talk; he, too, couldn't get enough of her. She was like an addiction his body craved, which explained the 'forgive me' roses.

Remy encircled Rogue with his arms and held her tight against his body, showering her face and neck with kisses as he laid her back down on the pillow. She clutched the sheets as Remy's lips and hands slowly traveled down her sleek, toned body. He was slowly driving her to insanity, teasing the core of her with his wicked tongue and mouth. She laced her fingers through his thick hair, driving him deeper.

She was just scraping ecstasy when Remy returned in her line of vision, hovering himself over her on his elbows. She looked up at him coyly. "Why'd yah stop, boy?"

He didn't reply, just stared at her. It should be illegal to be that beautiful, he decided. When you've got a girl that can make a thief give up his nightlife, you know she's definitely something remarkable. He grew weak all over again when he looked down at her in that bed with passion-bruised lips and glittering, wanton eyes.

Rogue's blood ran burning through her veins when he looked at her like that. It was love, no doubt about it, and it was better than any sex any man could offer. She curled a shapely leg against his hip, urging him to continue. He quickly obliged, and drove her wild all night long.

**

The phone's ring pierced the silence of the bedroom and woke Jean with a start. She maneuvered out of a sleeping Warren's arms and wrenched the receiver off the hook. A call this late was never good news.

"Hello?" She asked in a tight voice.

Warren blinked open bleary, water blue eyes and stared on in bewilderment. Who the hell had the nerve to call this late at, he glanced at the blue digital numbers next to the phone on his bedside, two a.m. "Betsy?" Jean said. He rolled his eyes and turned over, mystery solved. "Oh my God! Are you serious?" Her voice was scared, and a bit shaky. "Wha... when?" Pause. "Alright; I'll be right there. Keep her there, you too. Yeah. Bye."

Warren rolled back over when he felt her warmth leave the bed. "Where are you going?"

She was pulling on jeans and a sweatshirt. "I have to go to the club. Something's happened." She secured her hair in a high, mussed ponytail and snatched her keys from the dresser.

Warren propped himself on a pillow. "What? At the club?"

She shook her head and shoved her feet into her sneakers. "No, not at the club, just by it. Don't worry, no insurance hassles or anything." Was that a twinge of bitterness he detected in her voice?

He nodded and fell back into the sheets. "Alright. Hurry back, baby." Curiosity soon got the best of him, and as she was heading out the door, he couldn't help but say, "At least give me a hint."

She looked back at him briefly to say, "It's Ororo. Something's happened." Then she was off, with fear in her eyes and uncertainty in her voice.