Authors: Note started out as a drabble. . . .didn't work. Oh, as a warning, my accents—suck. So I do only the bare bones of it, other wise it would practically be sack religious.
There is something amazing, beautifully sensual about the small strip of bared skin. It's only her midriff (Jean shows hers off all the time). But other than her neck and face, the rest of her is well covered, leaving this exposed, pale plane of flesh. It can drive me wild. Something that I haven't quite been able to fathom. I had seen skin before . . .and a lot more of it. This, what I saw right now, is, should be nothing to Remy LeBeau, Casanova extraordinaire. It was like handing someone who already had a gold brick, three pounds of brass.
And them liking the brass better.
But this relationship was different. It wasn't like most of my "relationships." Scratch that, it wasn't like any of my many relationships. Most had been purely physically. Only one other had ever been more than that. But this wasn't like that relationship either.
I realize that I'm staring at her stomach, the flat pale plane of exposed skin. It was intriguing an addiction of his.
Remy LeBeau has always courted danger, but never has it ever been more personified in the beauty whose head is nestled in my lap. Her eyes are closed and she looks, not peaceful, the word didn't describe her. She isn't the type to be at peace. Quiet, maybe. Relaxed. There, perfect word.
I gently brush one gloved hand across her smoothe cheek absently, pretending that my hand was ungloved. That I could feel the silky smoothe curve of her face without the cloth.
I sigh and shift, for the moment forgetting who resides in my lap.
Rogue stirs awake. Her large green eyes blinking open. "Gambit?" She asks softly. "What's the matter?"
"Not'ing, chére," I assure her. "Jus' t'inkin' a little."
Rogue yawns and sits up carefully, trying to avoid hitting heads with me. "Mah neck."
"Here, let me," I say, reaching up to rub Rogue's neck. She stiffens for a moment but relaxes once I begin massaging the back of her neck.
"Y'shou' trust me a little more," I tell her.
Rogue makes a small noise in the back of her throat.
I shou' trust me a little more.
