PRE-A/N: Woot-woot! It's almost winter break and I get to go home and see my family and friends, and finals…are not quite over yet, but they will be by Wednesday. Woo-woo! Uh-huh! Mm-hmm! Yeah-yeah! Wish me luck on my math and lit exams, guys!
-Sweety: Uh…what is Everclear? I mean, besides the band.
-SickMindedSucker: Logan…chuckle Yeah, that's gonna be funny.
-sheild-maiden: Jenga while drunk. That would be interesting. And, I get ya on that weird word thing. Sometimes they just don't look right. The English language is a tricky thing.
-heartsyhawk: Oh, I'm sorry. Don't worry, other than a little funny innuendo later on, that was the worst of it. Sorry I shocked you.
-ish: Oh, how we love you. )
DISCLAIMER: (EG tunes up for solo- mmmm!) Oh, if I were a rich (wo)man! Deedle-deedle-doodle-deedle-do! I would own a share of Marvel comics, and this fic would not have to be disclaimed! (round of applause!)
"What kinda game?" Rogue asked, her eyes narrowed in suspision.
Remy caught her drift and grinned. "Dat wasn' exactly what I had in mind, but if you wanna…"
She snorted at him. "In yo' dreams, Swamp Rat."
"Ev'ry night, cherie," he agreed.
"Ah'm still down here, ya know," Sam called from the floor. "An' Ah'm not deaf."
Remy laughed. "Actually, chere, what I was t'inkin' was a game of Indian Wrestling. Heard of it?"
"Isn' that where ya line up the shots in front of ya, and then the two people playin' try to out-drink the othah befo' passin' out?" she asked, then took another drink of her clear alcohol, which induced another full-body shudder.
"Yeah, dat's it. So, you wanna play?"
Rogue thought about it, interspersed with tiny sipps of her drink. "Are there stakes?" she asked. "Ya usually see money goin' 'round when people play this game."
"If ya wanna play fo' stakes, sure," he said. "But, t' be honest, cherie, I ain't got no cash on me at de moment."
Liar, she thought.
"Ah know," Rogue announced a few seconds later. "If Ah win, I get ta put mah make up on ya an' parade ya 'round like a dress goth-up doll…er, goth dress-up doll. Ya eyes're jus' so damn hot with eyelinah 'round 'em."
He smiled at that. He had finally gotten her to admit he was hot. Good day, good day.
"Okay," Remy said out loud. "An' if I win, you get ta be my dress up doll."
Rogue's brain was all fuzzy and tipsy, and the warmth flooding her veins felt so good that at that point, she didn't bother to wonder what he'd dress her up as. "Yo' on, but don't be sad when ya lose."
Remy tamped down the huge grin that wanted to crack his face open wide. His plan was working, to his mild surprise: Get Rogue drunk, make a move on her, get her as naked as possible, and see what he could do about having some touch-related fun. This was going just wonderful. In his head, he started humming the Star Wars theme song.
The two competitors cleared off the two nightstands that were between Rogue and Kitty's beds, then set up their shot glasses between them. Remy poured from his bottle first, and knocked back his first "official" shot with only a little grimace. Rogue, prepared this time, managed to swallow hers with a quick shake of the head, and nothing more.
Remy smiled at her encouragingly. Yeah, he thought, get as drunk as you want. Dis is gonna be fun.
Rogue smiled back for the pure, alcohol-induced hell of it. After all, with that much whiskey and tequila in her, it just seemed like the thing to do, and she was pretty much fine with that.
They'd each downed two more shots when Kitty stumbled in and made a bee-line for her bed. Remy noticed her destination, so he got up before Kitty tripped and found herself face down on her mattress, her knees and bottom half of her legs still hanging off the bed. With a moan, she crawled the rest of the way in and buried her face in her pillow.
"I so don't feel good," she mumbled.
"Jus' don' throw up in bed," Rogue warned her friend. "That's what the winduh's for."
Kitty moaned again. Whether in annoyance or thanks, no one was quite sure.
"Should we stay here, or look fo' a quieter place ta co…cont…keep drinkin'?" Remy asked, too inebriated to use big words. (A/N: he was trying to say "continue".)
"Ummmmmmmmmm," Rogue said.
Sam started to sing Garth Brooks' Two Pinacolatas. This educated those in the room to two things: one—it's true that anything is funny when you're drunk; and two—Sam should not sing where anyone can hear him. In response to both of these facts, Kitty moaned.
Rogue shot Kitty an annoyed look. "Le's go downstairs, sugah. Or yo' room is good. Whatevah's closah."
That wasn't exactly how he'd imagined her ever saying that, but Remy took what he could get, under the circumstances. As he walked to the door to usher her out, Remy wondered if she knew how long he'd wanted her to say that they should go to his room. Probably not.
"Doan fo'get ya glass, chere," he reminded her.
She had to go back across the room to retrieve it from the end table.
"While ya over dere, get de bottle o' whiskey, too. Non, not de broken one; mine."
Rogue scowled at him.
A moment later, they walked into the hallway, leaving Sam on the floor, humming a new song—probably one he'd just invented—and Kitty periodically moaning and shooting Sam watery death glares.
On the way to Remy's room, the two Southerners found that the carpet was much lumpier than usual. Rogue was practically clinging to the walls and cursed mildly when she stumbled. Just before they reached the corner that branched off into the Professor's apartments—where the grown-ups party was that night—and the boy's wing, Rogue caught her foot on something or other and started to fall forward with an undignified, "Wooooh!"
Remy reached out to catch her, still holding the whiskey bottle, which he'd luckily remembered to put the cap back on. (A/N: We'll say that he'd put it in his pocket when he opened the bottle.) Rogue grabbed his arm and tried to turn herself around to regain her footing, but that ended up pulling Remy off balance, and they both ended up sprawled on the floor.
While Rogue started laughing like a maniac, it took Remy a second to register the change from vertical to horizontal. When he did, he found that he really liked horizontal better. He propped himself up on his elbows and leered down at Rogue as her laughter subsided.
"Dat worked well."
She sighed out a two syllable laugh and shook her head. "Remy, sugah, much as Ah'm enjoyin' ya layin' ovah me, get the hell off."
He grinned wider. "'D I jus' hear y' say y' like dis?" He was a little shocked, a little smug, and still just a little too dizzy to stand up at the moment.
"Yeah, well, ya obviously didn't hear me say: get off." She frowned up at him. "We cain't do this in tha hall. Let's get ta yo room."
During all this, Dr. McCoy was inadvertently eavesdropping. He walked away before the two students figured out which way was up again. He didn't even want to know what had happened, or what was going to. This was his off night.
Remy finally got his feet under him and leaned down to help Rogue up. They made it to his room a few minutes later, where he collapsed onto his bed, and she sprawled out in the arm chair she had earlier vacated. One of her legs was over the arm of the chair, and the other hung down over the edge, so it was a good thing she was wearing pants.
Remy sat up and poured two more shots. He stood up to hand Rogue her glass, since he couldn't just pass it to her. When he sat back down, it was on the side of the bed closest to Rogue and the arm chair. After drinking her whiskey, Rogue looked up to see Remy watching her. There was a weird, almost serious look on his face, and it sort of creeped her out. Not creepy like "Ah! Run for the hills!" but more creepy like "Do I have something stuck in my teeth?"
"What?" she grunted.
"Nuthin'," he replied quickly. He honestly hadn't realized he was staring. He was surprised to find that he was a bit embarrassed, and shook his head to try and dislodge the feeling. He drank his shot and poured them each another drink as soon as Rogue handed her glass back to him.
He didn't immediately give the full shot glass back to her. Instead, he opened his big mouth, uncharacteristically without thinking, just to cover up the embarrassment with something to say.