Disclaimer: I don't own Remy LeBeau or any other X-men, or any of the brand names mentioned below. Well I probably own a product or two.
Author's note: I don't do accents because I know I'm bad at them, and considering I'm writing this at midnight, it would be physically painful for those reading this.
Many thanks to my boyfriend who's many tampon run stories inspired this fic.
Remy Etienne LeBeau prided himself on being smooth, suave, debonair. He also prided himself on being mellow and nearly impossible to be ruffled out of his devilish grin. However, there was something that could do that to any man with an unrivaled speed—The dreaded Tampon Run.
Despite his best efforts to dissuade Rogue otherwise, he had been handed a couple of dollars and pushed out the door with clear instructions with a name of some feminine product name and Midol yelled after him, and despite all the odds, Remy found himself outside the store.
He skirted around the edges of the store, embarrassed to be doing this, embarrassed to admit he was embarrassed. He was Remy LeBeau after all, charmer, ladies man. He could put Casanova to shame.
But he was a typical man after all, and males will never get to a point in evolution where buying tampons is not embarrassing.
That thought comforted Remy slightly. Typical normal reaction.
Of course, Remy had seen the feminine care aisle, but he'd never really been down it, and therefore he was immediately overwhelmed by how . . . how much stuff was in it. Playtex, Always, Maxie, pads, tampons, thins, heavy, moderate, nighttime, with wings and without.
What did it all mean?
His senses threatening overload, he was glad to see all the Midol stacked together and there seemed to be only one kind. Thanking the Lord above, he pulled it off the shelf and then went back to gazing at the stacks of . . . of . . . feminine care products, desperately wracking his mind trying to come up with the name of the product Rogue had told him.
But then again did it really matter?
"I have a question, how P.O.ed would you be if I just bought a package of Depends?" Another male voice asked.
Remy turned finding it odd that another male had wandered into that particular aisle.
The boy was younger than Remy, sixteen if he had to take a guess, but several inches taller than him which made him pretty damn tall. He was wearing a purple polo shirt with a nametag that said his name was Chance and that he worked for Toys R Us.
There was silence as the teenager listened to the reply on the other end of the phone. "That much? All right then. I'll just get the usual. Bye." He flipped the phone closed and dropped it into his jean pocket. Nonchalantly, he grabbed a box of period medication specializing in bloating, cramps, and PMS.
"Why are there so many of these?" Remy grumbled still slightly enthralled with all the colors of packaging and styles there were to be had.
"Because women are picky," Chance replied. "First time buying tampons?"
"How do you know?"
"Trust me. You can tell after about your third visit to The Aisle of Doom." He grabbed a large fluffy looking plastic covered cube and carefully balancing the pint of Ben and Jerry Fudge Swirl ice cream and medication on top of it maneuvering around Remy and balancing them all perfectly like he'd done this several times before.
"How often have you been in here?" Remy asked as the other boy crouched down.
"I've lost count," he replied offhandedly, shoving blondish colored hair out of his eyes. "I have four older sisters. This is an easy trip. I used to have to buy four different types of pills, three different kinds of tampons, and a quart of ice cream." He pulled out his cellphone again sent off a quick text and the dropped it back in his pocket.
Remy wasn't quite sure whether he respected the kid or wanted to strangle him for being so cool about the whole ordeal. It just wasn't natural.
His pocket beeped and he checked the screen, grabbed a light blue box, and left.
Remy knowing he could probably stand for hours and get no where simply grabbed the same box he had and followed him to the express lane. The disinterested worked checked him out at an unbearably slow pace.
"Would you like a, uh, bag for these?" Tim asked slowly as seemed to be the way he did everything.
Chance stuck in tongue into the hollow of his cheek and then popped it out as if this was a matter that required serious contemplation. His answer was infused with sarcasm, "No, I want to walk down the street with my arms held out and see how many people try and get out of my way." His voice then turned sincere. "Yes, actually, a bag would be wonderful."
Men should not make jokes about such things. It just wasn't natural.
Remy dropped the bag on the bed and left Rogue and Kitty's room.
"And you said he wouldn't get them," Rogue smirked at her friend.
Kitty rolled her eyes. "Fine you win!"
Rogue grinned. "So what do you think he's gonna do when he finds out I'm not really on my period?"
Kitty smirked. "Like he'll never know. No one can ever tell when you're P.M.S.ing."