Rogue stepped lightly down the wide stairway, leaning heavily on the banister from both fatigue and slight soreness.
She stumbled to the bar and plopped onto a stool. The typically spirited southerner was glazed with tire and thoughts of the night's pay. She swallowed a tall glass of water and swiped at her mouth with the back of her hand.
Emma popped from behind the bar and smiled. "Hey kitten. Why so glum?"
Rogue shook her head. "Just... tired, Ah guess."
"Aw, well cheer up, it's time to call it a night."
"Thank Gawd."
"You can go tell Red over there she can head on home. Hey and go ahead and tell Scott he can hit the sack, would ya'?"
Rogue scoffed. "Where've you been, girl? Don't you know Scott don't turn in until that lil girl has flat-out refused his offah to walk her home? Hell, it's getting to be as predictable as the sunrise, sugah."
Emma paused from counting bills, thumb pressed against her small pink tongue. She perked a brow and regarded the young redhead. "Oh really? No, I didn't know that." She tapped the money against the bar thoughtfully. "You know, maybe we could use her, what do ya' think?"
"Her? She's a lil young..."
Emma shot Rogue an incredulous look. "You kidding me? Sixteen, I think. I could work her."
Rogue stared at the young girl wiping down tables, scraggly strands having escaped her pins and tumbling between her lively eyes- an earnest, hardworking girl, no doubt complete with giant aspirations complemented perfectly with titanic ambition.
Rogue noted how they were really several years apart. Worlds apart, even.
"Oh by the way," Emma stopped at the bottom of the stairs and spun to regard Rogue, elbow propped on the banister. "Someone was in here earlier, asked about you."
"Really?" Rogue forced the note of hope from her voice. "Who?"
Emma shrugged small shoulders. "Some kid, a sexy fellow for sure. Had these real wicked eyes," Emma waved a hand across her face for emphasis. "Sinful as the devil himself, those eyes, I tell ya'."
Rogue couldn't suppress the hint of a delighted smile curling at her full lips. Emma noticed this and groaned.
"God honey, no. No, no, no." She reached Rogue and clasped the younger woman's hands in her own. "The last thing I need is you fallin' head over heels for some dark handsome desperado, you hear? God, just steer clear of anyone that crazy heart of yours second glances, and I am serious as the plague." She started back up the stairs, extinguishing oil lamps and mumbling, "I swear I'll wake up one day to find my best girl whisked away by some New Orleans heart thief that was easy on those big green eyes of yours."
Emma disappeared into her room and soon the downstairs was dark and empty. Rogue sat at the bar, staring out at the sea of small round tables and the piano at the head of the room. She idly wondered how her good friend Scott was faring in the love department. The thought cracked a grin across her beautiful, soft features.
**
"Can I walk you home?"
"Oh it's really not far. You don't have-"
"Actually, there's something I sort of wished to speak with you about, if that's okay," he added a bit timidly.
Jean considered the offer. She really did like Scott and if he insisted...
"Alright," she nodded and the pair headed off, meandering in the basic direction of her home.
"So," he knifed through the quiet, "written me anything yet?" He turned to her and smiled, a simple, boyish grin that she decided suited him splendidly.
"Oh Scott, you know I can't write music."
"No, I've seen you. Why just the other night-"
"What you've seen are the furtive scribbles of a girl with a head full of dreams and little more, including talent. "
He chuckled. "All of the best composers were hopeless romantics, Red. Write me something and I'll play it for you whenever, just say the word."
Jean turned to him curiously, continuing their slow steps, feet skidding the occasional small rock across the long dirt road. "Is this why you insisted on escorting me home, to ask me to compose your song?"
"Don't enjoy my company?"
"Oh no, not at all! I mean I enjoy it very much, yes, but I can't bear the thought of dragging you all the way out here. I can take care of myself, really."
He shook his head and faced forward, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "Is that really what you think- that I offer to walk you home every night because I fear for you safety?" There was amusement laced in his words. "Goodness Jean, I know naïve but you..."
She swatted his arm. "Don't make fun! I can't help it, honest!"
A small frown played at Scott's handsome face. She was innocent and blissfully clueless now, but if she continued to work at The Rising Sun how much longer would that ignorant purity last? Which brought him to his real reason for refusing a polite 'no' that evening.
"Jean?"
"Hmm." She was gazing at the stars but Scott's considerable pause prompted her to face him.
"Tonight, when I was playing, I saw someone- a man- approach you. Who was he?"
"Oh I don't know." She stared at the cloud of dust at her feet.
"Well what did he want? Did he..."
"Oh what does it matter what he wanted?" A flush crept across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. "That was hours ago and I'm here with you now." They climbed three narrow steps and lingered on her small porch. She captured one of Scott's hands in her two lesser ones and brought it to her neck, her fingers toying with the fine hairs of his knuckles. "I wish you wouldn't worry about me so, Scott darling," she said softly, her voice a cool shallow pool of spring water. Scott lived for these sporadic stolen moments when she suddenly decides to caress his cheek with the back of her smooth hand or haul him onto The Rising Sun floor for a close slow dance.
"I do worry about you, Jeannie. Men are evil, except for me and your father of course."
Mattie burst from the front door and circled the young couple, her older brother Pete close in tow.
"Help me, Jean! He's going to kidnap me and ship me off to pirates!"
The young boy chased his fair-haired sister with outstretched arms. Jean scooped Mattie into her arms, calling after Peter to "Stop this instant, mister!"
Scott caught the boy and the older pair shooed the children back through the front door.
Jean leaned against the porch swing when all was quiet again and laughed through a tired sigh. "Mercy me!"
"Sometimes I forget you're only sixteen, Jean Grey."
"Sometimes I forget you're twenty-five, Scott Summers."
"Not yet," he reminded her. "Not for-"
"Three more days, I know." She finished for him, bestowing him with a spectacular smile he found irresistible, in a word.
Scott bowed his head. "I don't."
"Don't what?"
"Forget, you know, that I'm twenty-four... almost twenty-five." He said softly. She tilted her head and regarded him with big, questing eyes. She didn't ask questions, simply gave him a quiet 'good-night' and slipped through her front door.
As Scott descended the stairs he heard the door reopen and turned when she called, "Scott, wait!"
Her footsteps padded across her porch and she slipped easily into his arms, gracing him with a brief, chaste kiss on his mouth before whispering, "Thank you for walking me home. Good night."
Before he could calculate the feel of her warm body under his hands or her strawberry mouth on his, she escaped his grasp and closed the white, paint-chipped door behind her.
Scott pivoted and began his journey home, a slight spring in his step.
**
"Remy? Well are you eatin' or not, boy, it's due to get cold."
He stepped from his room and settled at the table in a chair beside the woman with peanut-butter colored hair and dull, charcoal eyes that one could easily imagine shining like the sea at a previous point in her long but scarce thirty-five years.
"So much, mama?" Remy straddled the small wooden chair and commenced shoveling soup and bread into his ravenous mouth.
"Your fat'er ain't comin' home 'til late so I gave you his. Workin' late," she added quietly.
Remy paused and nodded over his bowl, piece of only slightly stale bread between his fingers. Working late. He scoffed bitterly. Bastard was out spending their meager earnings in a gambling house; he fooled no one.
The seventeen-year-olds heart wrenched at the sight of his mother's eyes reflect lonely contempt when she recited the household's common lie. Working late. Working late.
"Hey mama, I'll get dis. Go. Off to bed wit' you, now." He shooed her from over the sink, hands permanently soaked and prune-like from sitting water.
Her eyes gleamed with threatening tears as she wordlessly nodded her acceptance and retired to her room. "Don't stay out too late, sweetheart."
Remy shook his head and dipped his large hands into the grimy, sickly cool water.
When the few dishes and utensils were stacked away, Remy threw on his warm black coat- another of his mother's tedious creations- and exited the small home.
Approximately twenty minutes later, he stood before a most promising challenge: a twenty-foot wall. What awaited him at the top? A small window with white panel- not a particularly monumental oddity but it was what this window led to that had the incorrigible teen's determination at an impressive high.
He clawed up a nearby tree that took him 3/4 of his way. His gambit was executed with a swift launch off the oak and onto the ledge, soaring him a good four feet. He dangled from her window, gripping with white knuckles while his swinging legs built enough momentum to hoist and latch onto the ledge. He scrambled to a sitting position, his back to her room while he panted off the small exhilaration. He nearly cried out when the shudders flew open, fortunately for him the sort that opened in- not out.
Rogue shrieked and batted at his body. He flung himself at her and clamped a strong hand across her mouth.
"Shh! 'S me chere!" He hissed.
Her green eyes grew wide over his hand. When he hesitated in removing it, she slipped her tongue past her lips and darted it at his fingers. He brought his hand back and they shared a mischievous grin.
"What do you think yoah doin' heuh? If Emma found you..."
He shrugged with lithe shoulders. "Let her!" His voice raised a pitch. "I fly on wings of perfect love." He encircled her small waist with strong arms to which she promptly responded by shoving him. The back of his knees bent on contact with the edge of her bed and he plopped onto it with an unceremonious thud accompanied by a chorus of shrieking springs.
"Easy cowboy," she warned, sauntering to her vanity and sitting with a liquid grace he knew she knew had his eyes hanging onto every movement. He watched her pull jeweled combs from her russet tangles that fell across the small of her back, auburn cables tumbling against the cream-pallid of her cheek. "So why'd you come back?"
"You've obviously never met someone wit' green eyes like yours."
A charming smile played at her shapely lips. "They are green," she repeated and caught his gaze in her mirror. "Alraght, points for creativity."
"I'm not trying to win anyt'ing."
"Good, 'cause you're not."
"Tell me now you don't find me attractive." Silence. "T'ought so."
She turned on her plush forest-green stool. "You cocky bastard!"
"Not cocky, just confident."
Flustered, she shot, "Get out of here!"
He stood and headed for the window. "I'll see you tomorrow night."
"Wait," she cried. "How will you get down?" She murmured.
He peered down two stories. "Jump, I guess."
"You'll break a leg!"
He flashed an impish grin and approached where she sat still in the low stool at her vanity. "And wouldn't you just feel terrible?"
She snorted and turned to face the mirror once again, he to her back. "Stay, go, Ah don't care," she breathed, not daring to lose herself in those dark abysses he called eyes, as taunting and enticing as a red sky or one of Scott's grandest pieces.
He dipped his head to press sensual kisses on her lily neck. One hand reached to bury itself in his auburn tangles while the other groped at the lace doily on her vanity, knocking over expensive bottles of Parisian perfumes in her upswept abandon.
She gently separated him from her neck and held his gaze for an instant before their mouths met for the first kiss that sent her heart thrashing against her chest and hands groping across his perfect body.
Remy gathered her in his arms and the couple slow danced to her bed, his mouth unwilling to part with her own rosebud-red lips. Remy was young but he had had several midnight affairs. The earnest desire to give the woman in his arms a night she could possess until the end of time swallowed him. A transition occurred in the boy's life- a life laced with self-indulgence; but it was no longer about him but... someone else. Her.
He embraced the change happily.
The next morning was neither awkward nor silent. The two young lovers lied awake in her bed, she propped up with the sheet tucked under her arms and a cigarette dangling between her fingertips, he lying beside her on his front, head sitting in one hand while the other stroked her bare thigh. They reveled in the afterglow of their impassioned sex first, then slow and clement lovemaking followed by a morning sitting of sweet caresses and heated pawing. Now they chatted amicably about whatever so happened to drift across their half-conscious, ardor-fogged minds.
"Hey, how old are you, chere?" Remy mumbled against the side of her knee while his hand ventured up her leg and to her hip.
She extinguished her smoke. "I told yah, swamp rat, twenty-four."
He ceased his ministrations and looked up at her face. "Green Eyes, you can swear up and down until you're blue to Emma, Scott, the johns you work for, or even that lil redhead Scott's lovesick over, but I can spot those young, pretty features no matter how much make-up you pile on 'em to keep your job. Please don't insult me by makin' me ask again."
Rogue sighed and flopped down in her bed. There was lingering silence as she stared at him by her side before hopping up again and straddling his hips. She leaned close to his face. "Yoah stubborn as all hell! What does it mattah?"
"I wanna know."
She blew an errant strand of autumn-gold from her eyes and peered down at him. "Seventeen, like you. Happy?"
He sat up, her legs on either side of him and her arms behind his neck. "When did you start working?"
"When Ah was fifteen. I never thought Emma would hire me at that age but she told me just yesterday she's thinkin' about offering Jeannie a job and she's only sixteen!"
Remy's brows furrowed. "Jeannie...?"
"The lil redheaded gal that Scott..."
"Oh, oh, okay. I gotcha. Now," he fingered Rogue's streak of snow white that parted her long dark locks. "About dis..."
**
Scott watched from where he piled his sheet music. Sebastian approached Jean innocently enough. Want a drink? No thanks; I don't drink usually. Have you ever? Once, at my father's retirement party. Scott bit down a growl when filthy rich Sebastian- even without the rich he'd still be just filthy- tipped his head back to laugh out loud at her comment as if she'd just said the wittiest thing ever. How is your father by the way? Not very well, I'm afraid. I understand your family is struggling with some bills- doctor's and what not? (A pretty blush Sebastian didn't deserve) Yes that's right. Well I am a doctor, child. Oh yes, I know. Pause. Let's go outside for fresh air, what do you think? All right.
His hand pressed at the small of her back while he led her out the front doors away from the music, glasses toasting, and people, people, people. Scott lingered behind unnoticed and a good deal away from them. Sebastian's voice polluted the crisp night air and her very presence.
"I don't mean to brag but did you know I'm a fairly wealthy man myself?"
"Of course you are; everyone in town... looks up to you, I guess you could say."
"Yes, I suppose you could say that. On numerous occasions people approach me for money and more often than not I prefer to help them out in exchange for certain... services. This and that, really: tailoring, gambling debts forgotten, etcetera."
Scott clenched his fists. He knew what 'etcetera' consisted of and prayed to God that Jean knew, too.
The look in her heavy blue eyes told him that she did indeed know what it meant, but was considering the offer. Scott contemplated conveniently 'accidentally' dropping an on-hand mug and needing Jean's assistance in picking up the shards of shattered glass but it was fate who ended up helping him just this once. A carriage pulled up and a small man with thick-rimmed glasses informed Dr. Sebastian Shaw he was needed immediately; "Child birth, doctor!"
Sebastian nodded his assent and turned to Jean who stood awkwardly listening. "I hope your father feels better, Jean." Without warning, he wrapped large arms around her small frame and pressed her close against his hulking body, his mouth millimeters from her ear. "Perhaps we'll be able to save him, girl. Together."
Bile rose in Scott's throat as the man pawed and prodded at his Jean. 'No, not your Jean. No one's Jean. Not even yours Doctor Shaw.'
Jean laughed off the uncomfortable moment and gently nudged him away. "Good luck with the delivery, doctor." He tipped his hat and climbed into the carriage with more than little effort.
When the carriage had disappeared down the road, Jean turned and moved to reenter The Rising Sun when she saw the silhouette of a man she knew well. "Scott! How long... I mean shouldn't you be inside closing up?"
"I finished early so that maybe I could wal... Oh, never mind."
Her shoulders slumped and she clasped hands in front of her, fumbling with her own fingers. "Please don't be angry, Scott."
"We're you going to leave with him?"
"..."
He grabbed her hands and brought her close. "Jean, tell me! We're you?"
"Scott, please try to understand!" She brought her hands to his face so he met her eyes directly. "My father... he's sick and we don't have the money..." her voice trailed off but Scott needed to hear no more.
He neared her until their faces were inches apart, her hands still cradling his head. "I wish we were millionaires. God, only happiness. I could take care of you the way you deserve to be treated- your whole family! But please, please Jeannie, not someone like him. Not Sebastian Shaw, not ever." Scott shuddered at the thought of a soiled bastard like Shaw smearing his girl's purity- plowing through her like a madman with short clumsy thrusts then throwing her a few crumpled bills before tossing her aside.
And what could you give her, huh? You yourself have no money, barely enough to pull yourself through college and even that's all loans and scraping by. That's why you work at The Rising Sun, but it's not the only reason.
But good God, Scott, she's so young- too, too young. Would you yourself ruin her? Scott shook his head. Not ever. "I would never hurt you."
Jean bit back tears for Scott, this boy that tried and tried and wouldn't take no for an answer, the boy that wished he could be rich for her sake, the boy that looked at her like she was the last thing he'd ever want to see in life. She lunged at him on the dark porch, leaping into his arms and her mouth roaming blindly until it pressed firmly against his lips and her limbs wrapped around his body.
He held her close, his abstract dreams turning tangible in the black, crisp autumn night. Coherent thoughts all lost to him now, he buried his hands in her waves of glossy red and returned the kiss with desperate fervor. He'd waited too long, watched her for too many nights moving slowly and purposefully until he thought he should go mad.
Jean's blood rushed through her in a rampant wave flooding her veins. She tore from him with an abrupt step back and gazed into his eyes for a lingering second. His face was confused and etched with worry or fear he'd done something to drive her from him during their brief display of love and lust with entangled limbs and maladroit kisses.
Tugging at his hand, she edged back into The Rising Sun. The inside was dimly lit by the occasional oil lamp but mostly as pitch dark as the brisk outside had been. The couple stumbled up the stairs, giggling softly and groping the railing for security in their next step. Knowing the upstairs much better than she, Scott led Jean down the long corridor and to his bedroom door. They stepped in noiselessly and he shut it with an inaudible click behind him.
He turned back to see her standing in his room's center, pale arms bare to the silver moonlight and hair resting on her shoulders and across her back like one silky sheet of crimson glass.
He found words with a parched mouth and gaping jaw. "Are you... I mean are you sure? You don't-" he blushed. "I mean you don't have to."
Jean's hands glided to her shoulders, her fingers tugging on the edge of her simple pastel dress and the white frock under it until they grazed down her velveteen arms and the dress fell to her waist. She slid it past her hips and stepped from the cloth puddle, across the six steps separating them and into Scott's arms. Her heart beat furiously in her chest, screaming at her that this was it, he was the one. She knew it mind body and soul and she'd dedicate this night to proving to Scott Summers that she loved him.
Her bare body felt warm and downy under his hands. The pair stood staring at each other until Scott swallowed apprehension and leaned in to capture her mouth, sweet and sublime against his own. Scarlet lips played on his as he laid her across the length of his bed and bared his soul to the young redhead through the night.
By the time the sun peeked over the horizon nearly eight hours passed, all trepidation and fumbling uneasiness between each other had melted into an understanding and priceless afterglow.
Scott watched her sleep soundly beside him, the steady rise and fall of her chest with each deep breath. Unconsciously, his own breathing synchronized with hers as he observed, noting every line and curve of her face and body. He wanted to do something terribly romantic like weep at her beauty, but he could only bring himself to watch and watch, swallow her whole with his eyes as if he'd never again see her in this shroud of bliss they created. 'I love you,' he mouthed so as not to wake her but hoped maybe somewhere in the dream world she heard it, and responded likewise.
Scott was secure. Something amazing happened between them the night before- the kind of amazing that are only told in novels or written in songs. A nameless tune was already shaping. Jean Grey gave Scott a very important part of her life between the slow sunset and flourishing dawn, he'd been her first lover, and no matter where she went, far or away from him, in or out of his life, he'd always harbor that part of her in him.
A/N: Since this song inspired this short little fic that will probably only consist of a few more chapters, I will post the lyrics on every chapter, just because I can and not one chapter do I write that I'm not listening to my own copy;) And it's The Animals, folks...
There is a house in New Orleans
They call The Rising Sun
And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy
And God, I know, I'm one
My mother was a tailor,
She sewed my new blue jeans
My father was a gambling man
Down in New Orleans
Now the only thing a gambler needs
Is a suitcase and a trunk
And the only time that he's satisfied
Is when he's on a drug
Oh mothers, tell your children
Not to do what I have done
Spend your life in sin and misery
In the House of The Rising Sun
Well I got one foot on the platform
The other foot on the train
I'm going back to New Orleans
To wear that ball and chain
There is a house in New Orleans
They call The Rising Sun
And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy
And God, I know, I'm one
She stumbled to the bar and plopped onto a stool. The typically spirited southerner was glazed with tire and thoughts of the night's pay. She swallowed a tall glass of water and swiped at her mouth with the back of her hand.
Emma popped from behind the bar and smiled. "Hey kitten. Why so glum?"
Rogue shook her head. "Just... tired, Ah guess."
"Aw, well cheer up, it's time to call it a night."
"Thank Gawd."
"You can go tell Red over there she can head on home. Hey and go ahead and tell Scott he can hit the sack, would ya'?"
Rogue scoffed. "Where've you been, girl? Don't you know Scott don't turn in until that lil girl has flat-out refused his offah to walk her home? Hell, it's getting to be as predictable as the sunrise, sugah."
Emma paused from counting bills, thumb pressed against her small pink tongue. She perked a brow and regarded the young redhead. "Oh really? No, I didn't know that." She tapped the money against the bar thoughtfully. "You know, maybe we could use her, what do ya' think?"
"Her? She's a lil young..."
Emma shot Rogue an incredulous look. "You kidding me? Sixteen, I think. I could work her."
Rogue stared at the young girl wiping down tables, scraggly strands having escaped her pins and tumbling between her lively eyes- an earnest, hardworking girl, no doubt complete with giant aspirations complemented perfectly with titanic ambition.
Rogue noted how they were really several years apart. Worlds apart, even.
"Oh by the way," Emma stopped at the bottom of the stairs and spun to regard Rogue, elbow propped on the banister. "Someone was in here earlier, asked about you."
"Really?" Rogue forced the note of hope from her voice. "Who?"
Emma shrugged small shoulders. "Some kid, a sexy fellow for sure. Had these real wicked eyes," Emma waved a hand across her face for emphasis. "Sinful as the devil himself, those eyes, I tell ya'."
Rogue couldn't suppress the hint of a delighted smile curling at her full lips. Emma noticed this and groaned.
"God honey, no. No, no, no." She reached Rogue and clasped the younger woman's hands in her own. "The last thing I need is you fallin' head over heels for some dark handsome desperado, you hear? God, just steer clear of anyone that crazy heart of yours second glances, and I am serious as the plague." She started back up the stairs, extinguishing oil lamps and mumbling, "I swear I'll wake up one day to find my best girl whisked away by some New Orleans heart thief that was easy on those big green eyes of yours."
Emma disappeared into her room and soon the downstairs was dark and empty. Rogue sat at the bar, staring out at the sea of small round tables and the piano at the head of the room. She idly wondered how her good friend Scott was faring in the love department. The thought cracked a grin across her beautiful, soft features.
**
"Can I walk you home?"
"Oh it's really not far. You don't have-"
"Actually, there's something I sort of wished to speak with you about, if that's okay," he added a bit timidly.
Jean considered the offer. She really did like Scott and if he insisted...
"Alright," she nodded and the pair headed off, meandering in the basic direction of her home.
"So," he knifed through the quiet, "written me anything yet?" He turned to her and smiled, a simple, boyish grin that she decided suited him splendidly.
"Oh Scott, you know I can't write music."
"No, I've seen you. Why just the other night-"
"What you've seen are the furtive scribbles of a girl with a head full of dreams and little more, including talent. "
He chuckled. "All of the best composers were hopeless romantics, Red. Write me something and I'll play it for you whenever, just say the word."
Jean turned to him curiously, continuing their slow steps, feet skidding the occasional small rock across the long dirt road. "Is this why you insisted on escorting me home, to ask me to compose your song?"
"Don't enjoy my company?"
"Oh no, not at all! I mean I enjoy it very much, yes, but I can't bear the thought of dragging you all the way out here. I can take care of myself, really."
He shook his head and faced forward, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "Is that really what you think- that I offer to walk you home every night because I fear for you safety?" There was amusement laced in his words. "Goodness Jean, I know naïve but you..."
She swatted his arm. "Don't make fun! I can't help it, honest!"
A small frown played at Scott's handsome face. She was innocent and blissfully clueless now, but if she continued to work at The Rising Sun how much longer would that ignorant purity last? Which brought him to his real reason for refusing a polite 'no' that evening.
"Jean?"
"Hmm." She was gazing at the stars but Scott's considerable pause prompted her to face him.
"Tonight, when I was playing, I saw someone- a man- approach you. Who was he?"
"Oh I don't know." She stared at the cloud of dust at her feet.
"Well what did he want? Did he..."
"Oh what does it matter what he wanted?" A flush crept across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. "That was hours ago and I'm here with you now." They climbed three narrow steps and lingered on her small porch. She captured one of Scott's hands in her two lesser ones and brought it to her neck, her fingers toying with the fine hairs of his knuckles. "I wish you wouldn't worry about me so, Scott darling," she said softly, her voice a cool shallow pool of spring water. Scott lived for these sporadic stolen moments when she suddenly decides to caress his cheek with the back of her smooth hand or haul him onto The Rising Sun floor for a close slow dance.
"I do worry about you, Jeannie. Men are evil, except for me and your father of course."
Mattie burst from the front door and circled the young couple, her older brother Pete close in tow.
"Help me, Jean! He's going to kidnap me and ship me off to pirates!"
The young boy chased his fair-haired sister with outstretched arms. Jean scooped Mattie into her arms, calling after Peter to "Stop this instant, mister!"
Scott caught the boy and the older pair shooed the children back through the front door.
Jean leaned against the porch swing when all was quiet again and laughed through a tired sigh. "Mercy me!"
"Sometimes I forget you're only sixteen, Jean Grey."
"Sometimes I forget you're twenty-five, Scott Summers."
"Not yet," he reminded her. "Not for-"
"Three more days, I know." She finished for him, bestowing him with a spectacular smile he found irresistible, in a word.
Scott bowed his head. "I don't."
"Don't what?"
"Forget, you know, that I'm twenty-four... almost twenty-five." He said softly. She tilted her head and regarded him with big, questing eyes. She didn't ask questions, simply gave him a quiet 'good-night' and slipped through her front door.
As Scott descended the stairs he heard the door reopen and turned when she called, "Scott, wait!"
Her footsteps padded across her porch and she slipped easily into his arms, gracing him with a brief, chaste kiss on his mouth before whispering, "Thank you for walking me home. Good night."
Before he could calculate the feel of her warm body under his hands or her strawberry mouth on his, she escaped his grasp and closed the white, paint-chipped door behind her.
Scott pivoted and began his journey home, a slight spring in his step.
**
"Remy? Well are you eatin' or not, boy, it's due to get cold."
He stepped from his room and settled at the table in a chair beside the woman with peanut-butter colored hair and dull, charcoal eyes that one could easily imagine shining like the sea at a previous point in her long but scarce thirty-five years.
"So much, mama?" Remy straddled the small wooden chair and commenced shoveling soup and bread into his ravenous mouth.
"Your fat'er ain't comin' home 'til late so I gave you his. Workin' late," she added quietly.
Remy paused and nodded over his bowl, piece of only slightly stale bread between his fingers. Working late. He scoffed bitterly. Bastard was out spending their meager earnings in a gambling house; he fooled no one.
The seventeen-year-olds heart wrenched at the sight of his mother's eyes reflect lonely contempt when she recited the household's common lie. Working late. Working late.
"Hey mama, I'll get dis. Go. Off to bed wit' you, now." He shooed her from over the sink, hands permanently soaked and prune-like from sitting water.
Her eyes gleamed with threatening tears as she wordlessly nodded her acceptance and retired to her room. "Don't stay out too late, sweetheart."
Remy shook his head and dipped his large hands into the grimy, sickly cool water.
When the few dishes and utensils were stacked away, Remy threw on his warm black coat- another of his mother's tedious creations- and exited the small home.
Approximately twenty minutes later, he stood before a most promising challenge: a twenty-foot wall. What awaited him at the top? A small window with white panel- not a particularly monumental oddity but it was what this window led to that had the incorrigible teen's determination at an impressive high.
He clawed up a nearby tree that took him 3/4 of his way. His gambit was executed with a swift launch off the oak and onto the ledge, soaring him a good four feet. He dangled from her window, gripping with white knuckles while his swinging legs built enough momentum to hoist and latch onto the ledge. He scrambled to a sitting position, his back to her room while he panted off the small exhilaration. He nearly cried out when the shudders flew open, fortunately for him the sort that opened in- not out.
Rogue shrieked and batted at his body. He flung himself at her and clamped a strong hand across her mouth.
"Shh! 'S me chere!" He hissed.
Her green eyes grew wide over his hand. When he hesitated in removing it, she slipped her tongue past her lips and darted it at his fingers. He brought his hand back and they shared a mischievous grin.
"What do you think yoah doin' heuh? If Emma found you..."
He shrugged with lithe shoulders. "Let her!" His voice raised a pitch. "I fly on wings of perfect love." He encircled her small waist with strong arms to which she promptly responded by shoving him. The back of his knees bent on contact with the edge of her bed and he plopped onto it with an unceremonious thud accompanied by a chorus of shrieking springs.
"Easy cowboy," she warned, sauntering to her vanity and sitting with a liquid grace he knew she knew had his eyes hanging onto every movement. He watched her pull jeweled combs from her russet tangles that fell across the small of her back, auburn cables tumbling against the cream-pallid of her cheek. "So why'd you come back?"
"You've obviously never met someone wit' green eyes like yours."
A charming smile played at her shapely lips. "They are green," she repeated and caught his gaze in her mirror. "Alraght, points for creativity."
"I'm not trying to win anyt'ing."
"Good, 'cause you're not."
"Tell me now you don't find me attractive." Silence. "T'ought so."
She turned on her plush forest-green stool. "You cocky bastard!"
"Not cocky, just confident."
Flustered, she shot, "Get out of here!"
He stood and headed for the window. "I'll see you tomorrow night."
"Wait," she cried. "How will you get down?" She murmured.
He peered down two stories. "Jump, I guess."
"You'll break a leg!"
He flashed an impish grin and approached where she sat still in the low stool at her vanity. "And wouldn't you just feel terrible?"
She snorted and turned to face the mirror once again, he to her back. "Stay, go, Ah don't care," she breathed, not daring to lose herself in those dark abysses he called eyes, as taunting and enticing as a red sky or one of Scott's grandest pieces.
He dipped his head to press sensual kisses on her lily neck. One hand reached to bury itself in his auburn tangles while the other groped at the lace doily on her vanity, knocking over expensive bottles of Parisian perfumes in her upswept abandon.
She gently separated him from her neck and held his gaze for an instant before their mouths met for the first kiss that sent her heart thrashing against her chest and hands groping across his perfect body.
Remy gathered her in his arms and the couple slow danced to her bed, his mouth unwilling to part with her own rosebud-red lips. Remy was young but he had had several midnight affairs. The earnest desire to give the woman in his arms a night she could possess until the end of time swallowed him. A transition occurred in the boy's life- a life laced with self-indulgence; but it was no longer about him but... someone else. Her.
He embraced the change happily.
The next morning was neither awkward nor silent. The two young lovers lied awake in her bed, she propped up with the sheet tucked under her arms and a cigarette dangling between her fingertips, he lying beside her on his front, head sitting in one hand while the other stroked her bare thigh. They reveled in the afterglow of their impassioned sex first, then slow and clement lovemaking followed by a morning sitting of sweet caresses and heated pawing. Now they chatted amicably about whatever so happened to drift across their half-conscious, ardor-fogged minds.
"Hey, how old are you, chere?" Remy mumbled against the side of her knee while his hand ventured up her leg and to her hip.
She extinguished her smoke. "I told yah, swamp rat, twenty-four."
He ceased his ministrations and looked up at her face. "Green Eyes, you can swear up and down until you're blue to Emma, Scott, the johns you work for, or even that lil redhead Scott's lovesick over, but I can spot those young, pretty features no matter how much make-up you pile on 'em to keep your job. Please don't insult me by makin' me ask again."
Rogue sighed and flopped down in her bed. There was lingering silence as she stared at him by her side before hopping up again and straddling his hips. She leaned close to his face. "Yoah stubborn as all hell! What does it mattah?"
"I wanna know."
She blew an errant strand of autumn-gold from her eyes and peered down at him. "Seventeen, like you. Happy?"
He sat up, her legs on either side of him and her arms behind his neck. "When did you start working?"
"When Ah was fifteen. I never thought Emma would hire me at that age but she told me just yesterday she's thinkin' about offering Jeannie a job and she's only sixteen!"
Remy's brows furrowed. "Jeannie...?"
"The lil redheaded gal that Scott..."
"Oh, oh, okay. I gotcha. Now," he fingered Rogue's streak of snow white that parted her long dark locks. "About dis..."
**
Scott watched from where he piled his sheet music. Sebastian approached Jean innocently enough. Want a drink? No thanks; I don't drink usually. Have you ever? Once, at my father's retirement party. Scott bit down a growl when filthy rich Sebastian- even without the rich he'd still be just filthy- tipped his head back to laugh out loud at her comment as if she'd just said the wittiest thing ever. How is your father by the way? Not very well, I'm afraid. I understand your family is struggling with some bills- doctor's and what not? (A pretty blush Sebastian didn't deserve) Yes that's right. Well I am a doctor, child. Oh yes, I know. Pause. Let's go outside for fresh air, what do you think? All right.
His hand pressed at the small of her back while he led her out the front doors away from the music, glasses toasting, and people, people, people. Scott lingered behind unnoticed and a good deal away from them. Sebastian's voice polluted the crisp night air and her very presence.
"I don't mean to brag but did you know I'm a fairly wealthy man myself?"
"Of course you are; everyone in town... looks up to you, I guess you could say."
"Yes, I suppose you could say that. On numerous occasions people approach me for money and more often than not I prefer to help them out in exchange for certain... services. This and that, really: tailoring, gambling debts forgotten, etcetera."
Scott clenched his fists. He knew what 'etcetera' consisted of and prayed to God that Jean knew, too.
The look in her heavy blue eyes told him that she did indeed know what it meant, but was considering the offer. Scott contemplated conveniently 'accidentally' dropping an on-hand mug and needing Jean's assistance in picking up the shards of shattered glass but it was fate who ended up helping him just this once. A carriage pulled up and a small man with thick-rimmed glasses informed Dr. Sebastian Shaw he was needed immediately; "Child birth, doctor!"
Sebastian nodded his assent and turned to Jean who stood awkwardly listening. "I hope your father feels better, Jean." Without warning, he wrapped large arms around her small frame and pressed her close against his hulking body, his mouth millimeters from her ear. "Perhaps we'll be able to save him, girl. Together."
Bile rose in Scott's throat as the man pawed and prodded at his Jean. 'No, not your Jean. No one's Jean. Not even yours Doctor Shaw.'
Jean laughed off the uncomfortable moment and gently nudged him away. "Good luck with the delivery, doctor." He tipped his hat and climbed into the carriage with more than little effort.
When the carriage had disappeared down the road, Jean turned and moved to reenter The Rising Sun when she saw the silhouette of a man she knew well. "Scott! How long... I mean shouldn't you be inside closing up?"
"I finished early so that maybe I could wal... Oh, never mind."
Her shoulders slumped and she clasped hands in front of her, fumbling with her own fingers. "Please don't be angry, Scott."
"We're you going to leave with him?"
"..."
He grabbed her hands and brought her close. "Jean, tell me! We're you?"
"Scott, please try to understand!" She brought her hands to his face so he met her eyes directly. "My father... he's sick and we don't have the money..." her voice trailed off but Scott needed to hear no more.
He neared her until their faces were inches apart, her hands still cradling his head. "I wish we were millionaires. God, only happiness. I could take care of you the way you deserve to be treated- your whole family! But please, please Jeannie, not someone like him. Not Sebastian Shaw, not ever." Scott shuddered at the thought of a soiled bastard like Shaw smearing his girl's purity- plowing through her like a madman with short clumsy thrusts then throwing her a few crumpled bills before tossing her aside.
And what could you give her, huh? You yourself have no money, barely enough to pull yourself through college and even that's all loans and scraping by. That's why you work at The Rising Sun, but it's not the only reason.
But good God, Scott, she's so young- too, too young. Would you yourself ruin her? Scott shook his head. Not ever. "I would never hurt you."
Jean bit back tears for Scott, this boy that tried and tried and wouldn't take no for an answer, the boy that wished he could be rich for her sake, the boy that looked at her like she was the last thing he'd ever want to see in life. She lunged at him on the dark porch, leaping into his arms and her mouth roaming blindly until it pressed firmly against his lips and her limbs wrapped around his body.
He held her close, his abstract dreams turning tangible in the black, crisp autumn night. Coherent thoughts all lost to him now, he buried his hands in her waves of glossy red and returned the kiss with desperate fervor. He'd waited too long, watched her for too many nights moving slowly and purposefully until he thought he should go mad.
Jean's blood rushed through her in a rampant wave flooding her veins. She tore from him with an abrupt step back and gazed into his eyes for a lingering second. His face was confused and etched with worry or fear he'd done something to drive her from him during their brief display of love and lust with entangled limbs and maladroit kisses.
Tugging at his hand, she edged back into The Rising Sun. The inside was dimly lit by the occasional oil lamp but mostly as pitch dark as the brisk outside had been. The couple stumbled up the stairs, giggling softly and groping the railing for security in their next step. Knowing the upstairs much better than she, Scott led Jean down the long corridor and to his bedroom door. They stepped in noiselessly and he shut it with an inaudible click behind him.
He turned back to see her standing in his room's center, pale arms bare to the silver moonlight and hair resting on her shoulders and across her back like one silky sheet of crimson glass.
He found words with a parched mouth and gaping jaw. "Are you... I mean are you sure? You don't-" he blushed. "I mean you don't have to."
Jean's hands glided to her shoulders, her fingers tugging on the edge of her simple pastel dress and the white frock under it until they grazed down her velveteen arms and the dress fell to her waist. She slid it past her hips and stepped from the cloth puddle, across the six steps separating them and into Scott's arms. Her heart beat furiously in her chest, screaming at her that this was it, he was the one. She knew it mind body and soul and she'd dedicate this night to proving to Scott Summers that she loved him.
Her bare body felt warm and downy under his hands. The pair stood staring at each other until Scott swallowed apprehension and leaned in to capture her mouth, sweet and sublime against his own. Scarlet lips played on his as he laid her across the length of his bed and bared his soul to the young redhead through the night.
By the time the sun peeked over the horizon nearly eight hours passed, all trepidation and fumbling uneasiness between each other had melted into an understanding and priceless afterglow.
Scott watched her sleep soundly beside him, the steady rise and fall of her chest with each deep breath. Unconsciously, his own breathing synchronized with hers as he observed, noting every line and curve of her face and body. He wanted to do something terribly romantic like weep at her beauty, but he could only bring himself to watch and watch, swallow her whole with his eyes as if he'd never again see her in this shroud of bliss they created. 'I love you,' he mouthed so as not to wake her but hoped maybe somewhere in the dream world she heard it, and responded likewise.
Scott was secure. Something amazing happened between them the night before- the kind of amazing that are only told in novels or written in songs. A nameless tune was already shaping. Jean Grey gave Scott a very important part of her life between the slow sunset and flourishing dawn, he'd been her first lover, and no matter where she went, far or away from him, in or out of his life, he'd always harbor that part of her in him.
A/N: Since this song inspired this short little fic that will probably only consist of a few more chapters, I will post the lyrics on every chapter, just because I can and not one chapter do I write that I'm not listening to my own copy;) And it's The Animals, folks...
There is a house in New Orleans
They call The Rising Sun
And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy
And God, I know, I'm one
My mother was a tailor,
She sewed my new blue jeans
My father was a gambling man
Down in New Orleans
Now the only thing a gambler needs
Is a suitcase and a trunk
And the only time that he's satisfied
Is when he's on a drug
Oh mothers, tell your children
Not to do what I have done
Spend your life in sin and misery
In the House of The Rising Sun
Well I got one foot on the platform
The other foot on the train
I'm going back to New Orleans
To wear that ball and chain
There is a house in New Orleans
They call The Rising Sun
And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy
And God, I know, I'm one
