Demon Eyes
Looking out my narrow window I'll tell you what I see. Could it be this paranoia keeping me intact? Lock the door and load my gun, this time I'm fighting back. So take a look across your desk, you tell me why I'm here. I can see your Demon Eyes, the target has been set. Take a shot for old times sake, you've done no damage yet. I tried to look you in the eye, I tried to tell you I'm alive. I'm terrified what I might find. What you hide behind those Demon Eyes. ~Demon Eyes- The Answer.
New York, 2034.
He married Ororo in a small ceremony the month before his thirty-fourth birthday. Seven years, nearly a decade, after he lost Rogue. So long…and yet, it felt like it had only been a few moments. And now, some twenty-three years later: the hurt is the same. The numbness is the same. Twenty-three years—twenty-three painful years—all in the blink of an eye.
Sometimes he thinks he may be insane. All those memories were a lie. He never fell in love with that green-eyed beauty. He never even met her. He didn't have her—didn't touch her—didn't give himself to her completely…
If he convinces himself these events didn't occur, he can pretend he never lost the one he loved most.
The heavy door creaks open, and her small head pokes through. "Papa?"
He smiles down at his daughter. His beautiful, wonderful little girl. She was an 'accidental' baby, conceived when he and Ororo were in their mid-forties. She's quite possibly the best mistake he's ever made.
"What y' doin' up here, p'tite? Shouldn't y' be gettin' ready for de party?"
Her grin reveals two missing front teeth. "I'm hiding from Mom. It's boring down there!" She skips to his chair and nuzzles his arm, easing his sadness like only she can.
He aches to tell her who she reminds him of, if only she could know who she was named after. It was absolutely selfless of Ororo to let him name their daughter Marie.
"Fine." There's laughter in his voice. "I 'spose y' can hide up here."
She has her mother's eyes and his hair. And her smile—it's always one hundred watts and brightens his day more than the sun ever could. He loves her. She makes him feel something, and though he's hollowed out and broken inside, she gives him hope. Hope that maybe, just maybe, he can live for something, he can redeem himself.
There's still time to save his soul, isn't there?
She was born three months early on a blazing hot day in July. The birth of his sons had greatly affected him—he couldn't deny that—but when he saw Marie for the first time—when he held the minute pink bundle in his arms—it was...different. More powerful. In that breathless period of time when all he could do was stare at her perfect little nose and chubby cheeks, he silently put the scant remnants of his heart in her miniature hands.
However, mere seconds later, Ororo requested to hold her, and to his shame his happy dream was shattered. Because Ororo wasn't Rogue, and that wasn't Rogue's child. Rogue should've been the one in the hospital gown, tired, but grinning broadly. Rogue should've been the one decorating the nursery. Rogue should've been the one humming contentedly while placing his hands on her swollen abdomen.
He remembers the fiery anger he felt that day. Anger at Ororo for not being the woman he loved, anger at Rogue for continuing to persecute him—even after all those years, anger at himself for letting his chère go in the first place. Anger at his flawless, adorable baby girl for coming out of the wrong woman.
Needless to say, his guilt devours his innards. It's excruciating, going day after day living with such a heavy burden on his shoulders. But it's nothing less than what he deserves.
Remy tried letting go of the past, he really did. But Ororo is preparing the food downstairs at this moment- that was meant for his chère. Ororo cried at Jeremy's graduation last weekend; she also took that from Rogue. But he's being ungrateful. His wife is the only reason he's sitting here today. She was the only one who continued pulling him through life when everyone else considered him a lost cause. The weather goddess is kind, gentle. She's given him four beautiful children. She's his crutch. And yet, he still does not love her, not even close. Because he fell for a woman once and he failed her. He is still devoted to the belle, wherever she may be.
"Y' know what?" he murmurs.
"What?"
The tiny girl suddenly becomes a massive weight; his legs feel crushed. "I like to hide sometimes, too."
"Really?" Her tongue plays with the exposed gums. "From who? You're strong enough to beat up anyone, Papa."
He chuckles, but he's churning inside. Guilt, confusion, sadness. He's strong but not invincible. He's known for years there will be a time when he'll have to leave his family. He doesn't know when this day will come, doesn't know why he feels this inevitability(maybe tante was right when she called him 'touched'.) but he wants his daughter to understand how much he loves her. He never wants her to think she has anything to do with his sorrow.
"Same as y'. I hide from de boys, y' maman—"
Her eyebrows raise, so very like her namesake, and it wrenches his stomach. 'What if's' and impossible wishes fill his mind.
"Like when Unca Scott came for Chrissmiss, and you yelled at him and hided in your room?"
He stiffens and almost snaps: 'He's not your uncle,' but stops himself just in time. "Oui, sorta like dat." Children can be so unthinkingly cruel.
"Are you scared of him, Papa?"
He doesn't answer right away. Is he afraid of Scott? It's possible. Not of his physical stature—he hasn't maintained his build like Remy has—and even when Scott was the in-shape, fearless leader, Remy knew he could outmatch him if a fight ever arose.
"Non. He jus'…had somethin' I wanted."
He had Rogue's fierce, unrelenting trust. Though he never earned that privilege, Remy always yearned for it anyway. Rogue held Scott on a pedestal. To her, he was the pinnacle of what a good man was. And Remy hates him for that, among other things.
"Do you ever wanna hide from me?" She looks terrified at the thought.
He chuckles softly and kisses her forehead. "Never. Why would I hide from m' favorite?"
Her eyes pop open and her mouth follows suit. "I'm your favorite?"
"Oui, mais y' can' tell y' brothers."
"I won't, Papa!"
"Y' gotta promise," he instructs. "Cross y' heart."
Keeping her gaze glued to him, the girl draws an 'x' across her chest. It's nowhere near her heart, but Remy knows she's sincere.
Their moment is ended abruptly.
"You in there, sis?" Ettienne's voice sounds hollow and muffled through the thick, wooden door. "Maman says it's time to come down."
Marie giggles and Remy brings a finger playfully to his lips. They're not ready to face the world just yet.
She nods eagerly, stifling her laughter in his toned chest.
The knocking increases. "Come out, come out, pretty girl," he says in a sing-song chant. "Can't hide forever!"
Does it help you sleep at night to play that righteous game? Why'd you say those things you said, words that you don't mean? Two faces telling lies, telling lies to me. I'm alone in my home, you'll bury me. I tried to look you in the eye, I tried to tell you I'm alive. I tried, I tried to tell you that. When there's just no medicine for those lies of mine. I'm so terrified what I might find what you hide behind those Demon Eyes. ~Demon Eyes-The Answer.
The knocking increases. "Come out, come out, pretty girl," he says in a sing-song chant. "Can' hide forever!"
The belle whips the door open. Her hair flies every which way before settling back against her breasts. How he wishes he could be those curls.
"My, my, de grapes sure are sour today." He smirks at her crossed arms and scowl.
"Can ya blame me?" She joins him reluctantly, purposely dragging her feet. "Ah'm sick of that damn lab, an' all these unnecessary tests—" But she'll go. Whatever happened the day she lost control changed him, and though he seems back to his lively usual—something isn't right. She detests herself for being too scared to ask him what happened. Somehow she senses that if she knows, everything will change.
"Y' know he's bein' extra careful 'cause he's worried. We all are."
She ignores his concerned expression and continues to mope. "Ah don't get what the big deal is," she snaps. "Ah went crazy 'cause Ah absorbed too much of Jean. So what? It's not like it's never happened before." Baby what did Ah do to you?
"Je sais. Mais Phoenix, she's a bit more powerful den de others, non?"
Rogue doesn't respond, and he wishes he'd left it alone. Her powers are a sore topic, always have been. She makes up for her inability to touch with having an iron hold on all other workings of her life: her emotions, her urges, her appearance. Everything is precise and controlled—from her ironed blouse and form-fitting jeans to the perfectly-applied mascara on her long lashes and the deep red lipstick painted on her lips.
For Remy, the king of chaos and disarray, who likes to live in the moment and operate on random, her rituals seem mundane and drive him completely mad.
This 'Phoenix' situation is unpredictable, and so Rogue is constantly on edge hese days.. He's known to test her limits, but now is probably not the best time.
"I'm not takin' deir side, mon amour." He reaches for her hand, but she deliberately tucks a strand of platinum hair behind her ear. "I just don' wan' anyt'ing happenin' to y'."
Her generous bottom lip is sucked in between her teeth. Some of the tension leaves her narrow shoulders. "Ah know, Rems. It's just—" She heaves a sigh. Frustration leaks from every one of her invisible pores. "Ah wish y'all would stop worryin'. That's all." Yoah the one Ah'm worried about, shuga.
He wants to console her, but he'll always remember the terrible sight of those golden eyes where there should have been emerald. That can never happen again as far as he's concerned, and if Rogue is getting annoyed with being protected, so be it.
"Beastie says dere aren't many more tests to run: t'ink you'll survive another day?"
"Ah dunno." She sighs and peeks up at him through her lashes with a playful smile. "Ah might die. But Ah 'spose if yoah there with me, my chances of survival are a little better…"
"In dat case, I'll be dere for de tests an' dinner."
She raises an eyebrow. "Dinner?"
"Oui." He leans closer and entwines his fingers through hers. "I'm takin' y' out tonight. Been a while since we went out on a date, hein?"
"We'll have to see about that Mr.— What was your name again?"
"LeBeau. Remy LeBeau."
"Oh, yes. We'll have to see about that date, Mr. LeBeau. My schedule is chock full of important engagements that Ah simply cannot miss… And you've certainly heard that Ah'm a taken woman."
Remy stops unexpectedly and she's jerked back. "You're jokin'! Do not play wit my heart, woman—for it is fragile!"
"Alas, dear Remy." She sniffles and pats his chest. "Ah do not kid! Ah am spoken for, Ah'm afraid, and my significant other…he's—very protective to say the least."
He thrusts his chest forward comically and snorts. "Jealousy does not mean power, m'lady. Give me five minutes wit de homme!"
"Ah'm not so sure about that." She shakes her head and purses her lips. "He's very strong…works out all the time actually." The belle runs her fingertips up along his arms and down his torso. Her mood is still playful and she giggles every so often, but her ministrations have drained the joking light from Remy's face. Instead, he swallows harshly and stares at her until she notices.
When she does, there's a dangerous grin about his lips and she blushes prettily.
"Dat boyfriend of yours is lucky, chère."
She shrugs and tugs him along. He's shocked to say the least. Usually, he's forced to curb his libido, and if she senses even a hint of lust, she runs fast and far away. It isn't like her to let it slide like this.
"Ah really hope no one saw that," she says after a long stretch of silence.
"Lots o' couples role play. 'Sides, we're voted de mansion's 'most fucked up relationship' anyway. Why not give 'em deir money's worth?"
She frowns. "That's not fair. Emma and Bobby obviously deserve that title more than we do."
"Obviously," he agrees. "Y' don' even wanna know where Bobby let her put one of dose dildos she bought—"
Rogue cringes and attempts to stop the image before it creeps into her mind's eye, but it's of no use. "That's—that's way too much information."
"Y' tellin' me? Bobby considers me his best ami. I get to hear all de gory details."
She sniggers and when she looks up at him, he's stunned by her beauty. A man like him didn't deserve a woman like her. Which leads him to the question: why? Why is she with him? He often wonders why Rogue puts up with him, why she stays with the lowest of the low. He likes to think she's his guardian angel, protecting him and making him pure and good at the same time.
The more probable reason is because she pities him. Whether she knows it or not, he cannot tell. But she does know how much he adores her, though he doesn't always show it, and the belle is too kind to leave him. She's his one light in a bleak, discouraging world, and he needs her. He is addicted to his chère, and the thought of the withdrawal he'd face if she ever leaves…is terrifying.
The mood turns somber when they reach the doors to the Med lab, and Rogue dreads the upcoming few hours.
"Ah don't feel so good."
"I'll be in dere wit y', chère. An' after dat, we'll eat 'til your stuffed."
A smile appears on her lips, but it's weaker than he'd like it to be.
…
She's excited to finally have some alone time with her boyfriend, but lately she's been feeling different about him. The love is still there, burning strong and passionate in her chest, but with every moment she's with him, she realizes how hopeless their entire relationship is.
No marriage, no kids…hell, she can't even please him like a woman should be able to please a man. She won't make him stay with her. She won't spend the rest of her life in an unfaithful relationship. She'll let him go.
As soon as she musters up enough strength, of course.
"Alright, love. Just relax."
The belle does as Betsy asks and lets her shoulders slump and her arms fall to her sides. She tries to ignore the prickly sensation that forms around her as Betsy attempts to enter her mind. It's hard not to tense up. Rogue is not fond of telepaths.
Remy watches with piqued interest as the violet butterfly forms on Psylocke's smooth forehead. Neither woman speaks or moves, and he has the most immature urge to poke Rogue's breast, just to see if she's really as out of it as she seems. In the end, he resists the urge and spends the time watching his chère instead. She really is beautiful.
"Remy?" Beast whispers pleasantly. "Would you mind assisting me?"
The Cajun shrugs and throws one last smirk at the immobile women. Anything is better than that stifling quiet.
"Whatcha need, homme?"
The furry doctor fusses about his small office and pinches his chin. "I swear on my degree I saw those charts right here…"
Remy chuckles. "Y' sure Bobby ain't been in here recently?"
"He better not have been." A fierce look comes across his face. "He seems to have forgotten my threat of castration."
Remy winces and his legs unconsciously clench together. "No one deserves—"
He is cut short by a loud, high-pitched wail. It couldn't have been human, it was too intense. It fills the men's ears and forces them to their knees.
Finally, Remy cries out and falls on his back, gritting his teeth and trying to think around the pounding in his head. This feeling is too familiar. If the flashes start up again, if he's forced once more to see all that's hidden within him: he doesn't think he'll make it through.
Soon after, a violent tremor goes through the entire mansion. He groans, rolling over to try to see if his blue companion is unharmed. It's of no use, however, because books and glass and anything not nailed to the floor are being toppled over and thrown this way and that.
He rises unsteadily to his feet. A sudden desperation to find Rogue makes his stomach go cold. But right as he reaches the door, the floor in front of him splits and he's forced to flip backwards.
"Mon dieu…" The entire wall sways and groans before his eyes.
Something grabs him by the collar, and twisting his neck to the side, he sees that it's Henry. He moves to resist but is thrown out the window. They roll to the ground, the sound of screaming and the smell of burning wood all around them.
…
The landscape of Rogue's mind is not simple to say the least. Each psyche has their own personal world, built to suit their likes and what they see as safe and familiar. It's incredible, and Betsy looks around in awe.
They have just stepped out of an African village and are now slipping into a white Canada. The snow falls heavily, but it does not seem to touch them.
"Where are you taking me, Rogue?" Betsy finds the echo of her own voice unnerving.
Rogue does not answer at first, instead focusing on the path ahead of them. "Ah'm takin' ya to her. She's at the very back."
They continue on their way, and Betsy can't help looking at everything in awe. How could Rogue achieve something like this without any telepathic abilities?
Minutes slip by, and then Rogue stops abruptly.
Frowning, Betsy follows her line of vision and sees a blond-haired boy sitting on a rock. She assumes its Cody, though she can't be sure. She and Rogue were never particularly close, and she's only heard of 'Cody' in passing once or twice.
Unbeknownst to the telepath, Cody isn't necessarily what Rogue is afraid of. It's what Cody represents. He's the last major absorption that ended her time in Mississippi for good, and once they pass him… Once they pass him she'll have to see things she's tried to hide away forever.
"Ah need a minute," she says.
Not wanting to push the obviously-shaken woman, Betsy simply nods. "Alright, love. We've gone far enough today. But Rogue, we'll have to go there eventually. Phoenix cannot reside in your mind."
The belle nods, turning from the scene and retreating away quickly. Betsy moves to follow.
"Wait!"
Both women turn to the distraught boy, and Cody runs towards them.
"Please," he whimpers, "please don't leave me alone again!"
Betsy looks up at him and hears a small cry from Rogue. What in God's name was going on? Since when can the psyches interact?
Interest piqued, she decides to attempt communication.
"Hello. Your name is Cody, right?"
"Betsy, don't!" Rogue's small hand touches her shoulder. "Betsy, please don't. Let's go, let's get out of here—"
"Yeah, that's my name. Ah'm so lonely. Won't ya stay with me for a while?"
She examines him carefully. He seems so able, so intelligent. Rogue has always said that the voices in her mind are simple, with one goal: making her life a living Hell. Upon their entering her mind, Rogue strips all psyches of their ability to think on their own: their dreams, their wishes and desires. It seems cruel, but it's necessary for maintaining her sanity. Of course, all this information is stored somewhere in Rogue's brain. Has Cody discovered how to tap into it?
"Why did she do this?" Her whisper is shaken and terrified. "Why did she give it back to them?"
"Rogue, everything's okay…"
The ground has begun to sway like water, and the natural shadows from the trees and other objects in the landscape seem to be growing larger.
"No! What's she doin'? They'll hurt me. He'll get me—"
"Nonsense! Cody doesn't want to hurt you!"
"Not Cody. Him."
Something black and massive wraps around Betsy's ankles.
The last conscious thought she has is that this power is immeasurable.
Nothing on this Earth could even hope to harness it.
…
The snow and wind seems to smack against the windows. The crackling fire reflects in her hauntingly beautiful eyes.
"Why y' do so much for her? Y' an' Jeannie have never been very close." There is suspicion in his voice. Rogue can see he feels guilty for that.
"Ah owe Jean so much more than ya could ever know, Remy." She rests her chin on her knees and looks him in the eyes, trying to make him understand.
But he doesn't want to. Because this has something to do with Scott. Didn't it always?
"Chère, I know I've asked y' before…" He licks his lips nervously and silently pleads for patience. "Mais y' sure, y' an' Scott—you've never been more den friends, right?"
"Ah'm sure. He's like my big brother." She has to force the lies from her mouth.
He nods, slightly relieved. He makes himself believe that yes, Rogue would risk her own life for the second time for Jean because Scott is a close friend. Rogue would never lie to him. Rogue is pure and honest.
Rogue is perfect.
"I just, I just don' wanna lose y'."
Tears form somewhere deep down but she keeps them at bay. "Ah have her heart," is the only explanation she gives him.
He won't understand this until much later.
…
The view from her window is gorgeous. The night is perfect: the moon has never seemed so close before. It's as if she's been living blind all these years, and now her vision is no longer fuzzy. Sighing, the woman lets her arms dance above her head, while the items in her room levitate in midair, to a beat all their own. The darkness and wind fill her entire being, and she has no choice but to give in. Soon, her hips join the fun and sway slowly from side to side. She laughs loudly, uncaring if they hear her or not. This vessel is new, unexplored, and so powerful—even more than the other. In the other one, she'd been limited to telepathy. But with this beautiful, astonishing capsule, she could harness any gift she could ever want with only one touch. And in return, she'll keep this body young forever and give this body the ultimate power. She opens her mouth to sing, and the note that spills from her lips is a breathtaking melody, liquid and fluid and surrounding the space around her. Tonight is a night of celebration, for she is human again.
Those idiots thought they could ruin her joy, thought they could keep her locked in that tiny room, thought they could punish her for hurting one of their precious own and destroying part of their school. The woman isn't even dead. Close, but still breathing and sustaining that miserable body of hers, and the building is still standing isn't it?
It is of no consequence because she's eliminated yet another telepath and she's used the gift of the one called 'Kitty' to phase from that tiny cell and come here, to see the moon.
The gorgeous moon.
The belle wakes on her bed and yawns. She hasn't slept like that since, since… Was there ever a time?
The digital clock catches her eye. 3:45 in the morning. Had she really slept since the session with Betsy? Now her whole day is wasted—and the dinner with Remy! Why didn't he wake her up?
Suddenly, the yearning to see him is more than she can bear. Thinking simply of Kurt, she feels herself pulled from her room and deposited outside of his.
Something isn't right…she can't do that, can she?
He wants you. Don't make him wait.
She remembers now. Remy. She has to see him!
She glides through the door and looks around his dark room, somehow able to see every detail of the space clearly.
He's in a deep sleep, blankets tangled around his feet. With a small blush, she realizes he's completely naked.
Touch him. You know you want to. You've always wanted to, from the very first moment you saw him. Remember?
She shakes her head, backing away from the slumbering Cajun. She can't do this, her skin—
I won't let you hurt him, I promise. I can control it. You know I can.
She can't resist it, and she slides her finger from his shoulder to his calf. He murmurs something, and her heart skips a beat. Somewhere deep down, a nagging thought tugs at her mind, vying for her attention.
Do not worry. I have immersed him in beautiful dreams. He will not wake up.
Rogue looks at him more closely, and sure enough, there's a contented smile on his lips.
She bends to kiss his lips. Hesitating, she wonders if this is really a good idea.
He is safe. Go on. You want it. You want it so very badly, don't you?
It isn't a question because Rogue does want it. And this thing inside her knows this and every other thought, emotion, fear, memory, or desire she possesses.
She kisses him softly, running her gloveless hands through his hair and over his chest and down his rippling stomach—
Pain explodes on her scalp as he pulls her back by the hair and pins her to the ground. Her shirt is aglow with a kinetic charge. She makes no movement or sound, instead clamping her eyes shut and wishing herself away.
New Orleans, Louisiana. 1992.
Remy holds on tightly to Tante's withered hand and tries not to question her again. It annoys the older woman.
But can he be blamed? Their schedule has never varied much for the past two years. Remy would do the pick-pocketing and Tante would wash laundry and sew and cook for money. They ate what they could and slept in the driest, warmest place they could find. On rare occasions, they slept in a motel or in a vacation home some family had abandoned.
But today is completely different. He was woken uncommonly early and taken to a local park where Tante scrubbed him in a fountain until his skin turned pink and throbbed. Once he was dried, she pulled out a suit he'd never seen before and put it on him. It was a size too big, but Remy had never felt so 'fancy' before.
"Where we goin', Tante?"
She pinched his arm and told him not to move. Didn't he know how hard it was trying to button with arthritis? And so he stifled his questions until later, when he could take it no more.
"Can' y' tell moi what's goin' on?"
"Y' ask too many questions, chile. Chillen should be seen, not heard. Ain't y' never heard dat befo'?"
Pouting, the red-eyed boy once again quells his curiosity and instead focuses on where they're going. With a start, he realizes they've never really ventured to this part of the quarter before: the 'rich' part. Where the sidewalks are kept clean and smooth ans there aen't gunshots going off in the night periodically. The grass is clipped neatly with shrubbery popping up here and thre; the air smells fsh.
Huge, thin houses with ornate shrubbery and cobble stone sidewalks are all he can see. All the lawns are manicured and the fences seem to have just received a fresh coat of paint. He can see quaint, neat-looking shops and smell the fresh donuts from the boulangerie(1). Even the streets are well kept, and little black fences encircle all the enormous trees.
It's like heaven for Remy, but even so, apprehension fills his gut. This is like no place he's ever seen, and for the hundredth time, he wants to question his guardian. She simply continues waddling forward, knowing where to go like she's been there dozens of times before.
Eventually they reach the gate of the biggest house he's seen so far. It's yellow with white bordering, and at least a mile of land and swamp separates them from the house itself. A box in front of Tante buzzes. He hears a man's voice.
"Le quel est vous avez besoin de?(2)"
"I'm here t' see Jean Luc. Tell him it's Mattie Rose Baptiste."
The man sighs impatiently. "Une momente, s'il vous plaît."
"Tante, what's—"
She doesn't ignore him this time. "Dis is de LeBeau household."
He frowns. "LeBeau? Dey y' friends, Tante?"
She purses her lips, and he sees tears forming in her eyes. "Once, a long time ago, m' husband lived here. He was like family, an' his name was Remy. He was Jean-Luc's oldest frien'. M' husband…well, he died in one of de feuds between de t'ieves an' de assassins. It wasn't his war, he didn't have to die. I turned my back on dis family after dat an' never looked back." Her bottom lip quivers. "Jean-Luc owes me."
Remy's eyes widen.
"Dese past few years I been preparin' y' boy. All dat gamblin' an' t'ievin'? It's all been to prepare y' for dis moment."
She glances down at him, her black eyes full of some emotion he doesn't recognize.
"If y' impress dem wit y' skill, dey'll take y'. Y' never be on de streets again. An' I'll never have t' see y' go hungry again. I don' ever wanna see y' go hungry again, m' ole heart can't take it I tell y'."
The boy can only stare. Somehow, he feels destiny changing and he knows coming to this house has sealed his fate.
Present day New York.
She remains in the room though, in pain, beneath him. It isn't long before he realizes who it is.
"Chère?" He frowns drowsily and releases her, taking her hand and helping her to stand.
Her hand, her bare hand.
Is he dreaming?
"Ah'm sorry!" For some reason she doesn't really mean this. "Ah just—"
She goes silent, knowing he isn't really listening. He can't stop looking at their intertwined hands. She smiles.
Skin to skin, they're touching! "How? How is dis possible?"
She doesn't answer. Her eyes close and her feet rise from the ground so she can kiss him.
He groans as their tongues mingle. This couldn't be real. Rogue couldn't levitate, Rogue couldn't touch—
All semblance of thought leaves his mind as her hand reaches downward to stroke him. Ecstasy shoots through all of his nerve endings and he fears he might lose control right then and there.
He pulls back slowly to look into her eyes and, with a shout of sudden anger, throws her as hard as he can across the room.
She pauses in mid-air seconds before she hits the television. Phoenix smiles cruelly and lowers herself to the ground. Her golden eyes glow eerily in the darkness.
"Is that any way to treat a guest?"
"You're no guest here! Get out, now."
She pouts. "But my room is so dark and lonely… Won't you come help me warm it up?"
"I didn't mean out of de room." His fists clench and he shakes with unadulterated anger. "I meant out of Rogue's body."
She sighs and pushes white hair from her eyes. "I'm afraid that's one thing I won't do for you, my darling. I need this body." She chuckles harshly. It's nothing like the sweet laughter Rogue can create.
"Now that I think about it, you need this body, too, isn't that right?"
Before he can prepare himself, she's right in front of him, draping herself across his shoulder.
"So why not take it?" Her tongue slides across her lips, and her finger draws circles on his back and trails up and down his spine. "Though I'm contrite to divulge giving a mere mortal more than a fleeting thought—I must say I find you fascinating. You truly are the most prepossessing bundle of emotion." Phoenix looks him up and down once more. "And you are still sane after the little peek I took into your mind. That is no small feat."
She smirks at his shiver. "We both know Rogue would let you. She wants it badly—"
"Non." He plants his feet firmly and turns from her. "You'll never convince me. Never."
"Well that's too bad. I wonder if the one they call 'Wolverine' is awake. Or perhaps he who is called 'Cyclops'—"
Remy takes her wrist in a crushing grasp and brings her roughly to his chest.
"Did I cause you to feel jealousy, Remy LeBeau?" She pouts and looks down at their hands. "Careful. You don't want to leave a bruise—"
He lets go reluctantly and turns away from her, pulling a sheet from the bed and wrapping it around his waist.
"Y' gotta give Rogue her body back."
"But I'm having so much fun!" He feels her approaching him. "Besides, you know you couldn't stand watching them lock her up in that tiny containment dock no windows…no sound…nothing but metal. They're going to do much worse if you tell them I escaped."
Her lips press against his shoulder blade. "Ya can't let them put me in there again. It's so small… Ah'll never do anythin' bad again. Just don't make me go back. Please, Remy?"
S'not her, homme.
Shoulders slumping, Remy sighs deeply. And as usual with matters involving what his chère wanted, he finds himself giving in much too easily. Besides, he tells himself, I can take care of my woman on my own.
Phoenix hides away a smile at this thought, thankful for the hubris of mortal man.
You love to look me in the eye to tell me you're alive. You've got the Demon Eyes. You love to look me in the eye to tell me you're alive. You've got the Demon eyes. You gotta know I tried, you gotta know why. I tried, I tried to look you in the eye and tell you I'm alive. I tried, I tried to tell you. When there's just no medicine for those lies of mine. Still terrified what I might find what you hide behind those Demon Eyes. ~Demon Eyes-The Answer