The Velvet Red

Scott Summer's eyes fluttered open against a mass of soft hair. For a split-second, he was bewildered. As a certified bachelor, it was not everyday he woke up with long hair brushing against him, but his senses told him immediately to whom he was sharing the morning's glory with. The very, very early morning, that is; Scott glanced over at his red digital clock numbers that flaunted 1:36 a.m. for all they were worth. It was all Scott could do not to roll over and fall back asleep- Lord knows she wore him out- but he couldn't tear away from her.

"Can I move now or aren't you done?" Her voice called over her shoulder back at him. He grinned.

"Done what?"

"Staring at me," she replied, turning completely to snuggle closer against him.

He shrugged innocently. "To be a hundred percent honest, I had more in mind than just staring." His eyes traveled her sheet-clad body and met her amused eyes. She laughed out loud, just because she was happy.

Scott savored the moment like a drop of cool water on a parched throat. He planted a kiss on her lips the intriguing shade of Hungarian Rose to which she eagerly responded, reaching behind him to draw him closer.

The phone rang.

Jean wrenched away, startled. "Omigosh. It's mine." She crawled over him to where her pants had been tossed carelessly to the floor in a moment of frantic passion the night before. The brief memory made Jean's lips curl into a smile before flipping her phone open and speaking. "Hello?" Scott snaked an arm around her waist and began trailing kisses along the side and back of her neck. "Warren!" Jean exclaimed. Scott continued his pursuits down across her shoulders, nibbling every so often for tantalizing good measure. "I know, I know. I'm sorry; I'll be there as soon as I can, it's just that I had to work late at the club for my routine and traffic is hell and I'm coming from Brooklyn." She stopped her self from sighing against Scott's foreplay. She turned slightly to him and shot him a look of warning. He paid no heed. "Why did I have to go all the way to Brooklyn? Oh, um, for the Paradise costumes shipped in from Italy. Yeah, I had to pick them up before Emma's big performance tomorrow night. Uh-huh, yep, I love you, too." Scott nearly cringed at the sound of her uttering those words to another man, let alone a man like Worthington. Sensing his emotions, she turned to give him a slightly sorrowful look. He turned away. He didn't need pity. Jean tilted her head a bit before leaning in and devouring Scott's mouth with a fervent, hungry kiss as her husband said his 'I love you's' on the other side of the phone line. She tore away to say, "Bye," and hung up.

Scott settled back on the bed, stretching over the mattress and arching his back like a cat. Jean idly appreciated the fine ripples where his muscles flexed on his abs and hipbones. She wrapped the white sheet against her nude body a little tighter and hating having to say what they both knew was coming.

"I have to go." She said quietly, looking away in the distance then turning back when he didn't respond. "Scott, I have to go back, now."

He nodded and whispered. "I know."

She confirmed it with another nod. "Yeah. Okay." She rose and noiselessly dressed. As she passed the bed, he caught her arm and pulled her on the bed with him. She broke into a fresh batch of giggles- a sound Scott wished would echo through the walls of his apartment for the rest of his life. As he sat there tickling her and splashing kisses on her face and neck, he imagined what it would be like to live with her by his side as his wife, waking up in the morning just like this but not having to endure watching her dress for another man that waited for her arrival in the home they shared.

His heart ached at the thought. Simple fact: he deserved her more than Warren did. He just knew it.

Jean maneuvered out of his arms and snatched her keys from the foyer table. "Good bye, Scott." She said, looking back at him sprawled on his frumpy bed, the sheets tangled between his muscular calves.

"Good bye, Jean." He said, and she left. Both knew she'd be back.

**

"Tonight's gonna be packed, boys, let's get a move on!" Warren clapped his hands in rhythm as the janitors and other various staff members set down the fine oak chairs and cleaned the Persian carpeting and buried Chardonnays in buckets of crushed ice.

"Ah, you smell that, Logan?" The blonde billionaire turned to his bouncer who had just arrived. "That is the smell of money. I can feel it; they're going to love her."

Logan agreed and went behind the bar to make a stiff drink. He watched Ororo saunter through the club's entrance in a skirt that was undoubtedly illegal anywhere but this place. Warren glanced her over appreciatively, to which she simply ignored, turning instead in greeting to Logan.

"Hello Logan."

"Hey, 'Ro. Looking good, as usual."

She smiled, her white teeth in perfect alignment like tiny ivory soldiers, a stark but bewitching contrast against the mocha of her skin. "Thank you."

He lowered his voice. "Feel free to swing by my place again tonight, if the mood strikes you of course."

"Ah yes- the mood. And I see the mood did not strike you three nights ago when I told YOU to feel free to come over."

He shrugged. "Yeah, I'm really sorry about that, actually."

"And I'm sorry I can not make myself present with you tonight."

Logan let out a sigh. "Ah well, I tried."

"Perhaps this weekend, the mood will strike both of us." And with that, she walked away and into the dressing room, adding a little more swing to her hips than usual for his benefit. Of course, he watched every move they made.

Logan turned back around in his seat, promptly placing his tongue back in his mouth. Sure, Ororo was beautiful, you had to be blind not to see it, but Logan did not love her. Which was peachy dandy because she did not love him, either. They were just there for one another when... the mood struck them.

"Logan," Warren started, a little too friendly for the Canadian's taste as he approached the bar and rested his elbows on it.

"Yeah," he replied, taking a swig of his whiskey and soda and trying to look as disinterested as possible in hopes that Warren might leave.

"I know I can count on you to tell me the truth," that's never good, "so hit me, here. My wife came home late last night. I mean, the club wasn't open, so I know she didn't have to stay until about, what, ten?" He popped a peanut in his mouth and chewed slowly and precisely. "So I'm curious as to why she didn't arrive home until after one last night." Pause. "After one, Logan."

"Yeah, I heard you." He said quickly, downing the rest of his drink to stall time. He knew Warren had already asked Jean where she was last night, and God only knows what she used for an excuse. His only chance was to take a shot in the dark. Logan was pretty confident Lady Luck would be his date tonight. "Yeah, she was here working late on her routine. She was even here when I left; she locked up." It was pushing his chances with all those details, but li'l Lady Luck, the ole' broad, flirted with Logan tonight.

Warren eyed Logan carefully, as if he expected him to flinch under his stare. 'Yeah, right,' Logan thought.

Finally, Warren relented, opting instead to back away from the bar and get on some janitors' case about one thing or another.

**

Fall crept into Manhattan, infesting the leaves with golds and reds and coppers. Rogue had mentioned to Remy one day that though she loved falls and all it's glory, she missed the spring and summer and the various array of beautiful flowers that came with it.

Which explained why Remy LeBeau stood in his apartment, strewing roses and tulips and orchids across their plush carpet and hardwood floors. In addition to these, pearly white balloons attached to curled white ribbons floated through the air and tapped the ceiling of the home the lovers shared. Rogue was due home any minute, and every second that passed by Remy grew more and more anxious. Tonight was the big night.

After tossing the last yellow rosebud on the floor, Remy raced to their room and into the closet, retrieving his old suitcase stashed behind a mountain of unseasoned or unfitting clothes. He placed the brown leather suitcase on the bed and reeled the combination clock until it made a satisfying click and the lid flew open. Remy fumbled through it for a bit. His slender fingers brushed against the velvet and he yanked it out. Remy stared at the little black box and opened it to make sure it was still in there. It was- a two-karat diamond set against a white-gold band sat perched between two folds against the black silk background. It glimmered in flawless perfection. 'So it should.' Remy thought, snapping the box closed and slipping it into his pant pocket. 'For what I paid for the thing, it better shine like the damned sun.'

He heard the front door open and he slammed the suitcase shut and hurled it into the closet, flinging the doors closed behind him.

"Remy! Ah'm home." Rogue called from the foyer as she shrugged her brown leather coat off of her shoulders. Her jaw plummeted, nearly making hard contact with the floor at the sight before her. She tiptoed across the beautiful roses in full bloom and let a finger twirl around the tip of a dangling balloon string. "Oh mah," she exclaimed, tears welling up in her big eyes. "This is wonderful, Remy."

He appeared in their bedroom doorway, stunning grin spread across his face at her happiness. "You like, it, chere?"

"It's so..." she turned to him again and bit her lip. "Yah're amazing, boy." She came to where he stood and pressed her round mouth against his. "Ah love you."

He held her elbows and touched his forehead with her own. "I was about to say the same t'ing, but I've got somet'in else to tell you, Rogue, because I love you so much." He paused, entranced with her eyes. "I love you so much." He repeated, bracing himself to get down on one knee.

The front door flung open and a blur of blue whizzed by the couple. They were police uniforms, and cops were surrounding them.

"Remy LeBeau, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in the court of law. If you choose to..."

As the officer's voice droned on, Remy looked frantically from one officer to another, all of them ready to pounce on him if any sudden movements were made. But they were made invisible to him from the look on his hopefully-soon-to-be fiancée's face. Her deep green eyes begged him for answers. What could he say? They handcuffed him and led him out of his own home. Rogue, after recovering from the shock, could be heard crying after him.

Guy Marks watched as the Cajun thief was piled into the backseat of the squad car. He smiled in proud satisfaction. Yep, thanks to him and his hard detective work, and a little help from his team, they uncovered the photos that would keep this kid locked up forever, it would be clear sailing from here, and then maybe Warren would let him in his place for free. Who knows? Miracles happen. Oh yes, thanks to him, his team, and a small little stack of photographs.



AUTHORS NOTES

Okay, lil bit of info for the lovely folks out there throwing in a review every once in a while. Bless you!

Nope, no way, it will NOT be a Lo/Ro romance. I don't swing into that at all! But I don't think there's any harm in getting a little action from another single, good-looking person either.

And just wait, the plot thickens soon. C'mon, you don't think Warren's going to be playing the fool forever, do you?