Disclaimer: I don't own the Xmen, any of these characters, or anything affiliated with them. I am making no money off of this, and if you sued me, I'd have to pay you in used text books and sheet music. Have pity on the poor college student!

Before you read any further, know that this is a parody, a comedy, all done in humor and very tongue in cheek. There will be slash, there will be het, there will be no graphic sexual detail of any sort. It will be alluded to, yes, but since that is not the purpose of this story, there will be no lemons here. Set post x3, with the following couples: Starting out with Bobby/Rogue, which will turn into Bobby/John, and possible Romy at some point. Assuming I get that far. I am done sounding like a drill sergeant… now!

Dear diary,

It is an undisputed fact that the best way to keep oneself from wallowing in grief is to keep busy. Well, since I took the cure, Bobby and I have been doin' a very good job at keeping each other busy.

Rogue looked up from her writing, taking sheer delight in being in a spot she knew she should not have been in at three in the morning on a weeknight. Namely, in Bobby's bed, both of them wearing nothing more than their birthday suits. Much to her disappointment, said lover was currently asleep and mumbling to himself. This did however, allow Rogue to catch up on her diary entries, which had been sadly lacking and appropriately angst ridden in the past.

But no more! The lovely southern belle had decided to take control of her life since returning to the mansion cured of cursed mutation.

I know Bobby isn't happy. I'm kinda' disappointed too. Turns out sex can't save a relationship, no matter how often you do it. Not that we aren't trying. And well... Bobby just isn't that good. I didn't think I was that sort of a girl, but I guess I couldn't have known, could I? We've fallen asleep together every night since I got cured. It's sweet, but I don't want sweet. And Bobby doesn't want me. He thinks he wants Kitty, but I know better. He has this cute little habit of talkin' in his sleep, and well...

And then, as if on cue-

"God John, you're so hot. Bet I can help cool you down." Of course his sleep ridden pronunciation made the statement nearly impossible for Rogue to understand. But when he reached out and froze her pillow without so much as cracking open an eyelid, the message was clear enough.

She leaped out of his bed with a shriek, landing several feet away with an undignified thud. Glaring at her current object of affection ('more like objection' she thought), she grabbed the slinky nightgown she had thrown over the back of his desk chair earlier that night in a supposed fit of passion, and slipped back into it.

Bobby was blushing brightly enough to glow in the dark, thanking every god in creation that Rogue was not a telepath, and had not been privy to his latest fantasy. But the look she was giving him… no, there was no way she could know. Could she?

Rogue made her way back to the bed, being sure to avoid the now defrosting pillow. Stealing herself for the conversation she'd been waiting to have for several weeks, she knew it was now or never.

"Bobby, we need to talk."