Disclaimer: Is this really necessary? I mean, sure, knowledge is power (yeah, you all know I'll never own the X-Men and Maroon 5 – the truth hurts!), but ignorance is bliss, too! See, people are destroyed by what they know! …er, that'd the last time I'll replace the disclaimer with my would-be philosophies, then? XP
(1) Notes: Hello, long time no see! Well, not really, more like… long time no update! Yeah, there's nobody else to blame (except the muses, maybe) for my pathological lateness (I'm like this always; ask ishandahalf). But anyhow, the time the update took isn't important – the fact that it's here should matter more;)
Remy's eyes are red here; don't ask me why. They're a sexy, mysterious mix – and it adds to the chemistry of Rogue and Remy. I mean, so what if I'm writing a powerless AU? Not everything has a scientific or logical explanation, after all! Besides, none of you will be complaining about the eye-color, I presume. ;)
So I'm not going to ramble much as much, since I don't really have other points to clear (review responses this time will be in the next chapter – people are being evil to me, and they're driving me away from the computer because of school). This time around, though, Star-of-Chaos, EmeraldKatsEye (who inspired me to work on this chapter through death threats and Maroon 5 song downloads) and Eileen Blazer are getting cameos as "Robyn," "Kat," and "Eliza" respectively. The idea mentioned by Robyn later belongs to Kat and Eileen – thought I should mention it. Have fun, girls! XD
Shiver by melancholic
2. Enjoy the Taste
He was in a labyrinth now, except the Minotaur that he was seeking wasn't a feared monster; on the other hand, people were gravitating towards this modern-day version of a mythological goddess, instead of straying away. That wasn't discouraging; in fact, it only enticed him further. One of the things that Remy LeBeau enjoyed in achieving something was the fact that he, out of many other people, was the one who emerged victorious. That would definitely be the case with this lady, jiving to the beat like she owned the notes, like the rhythm and melody were made with her in mind.
If this isn't how a muse looks like, then I don't know what the hell is inspiring me. Remy paid no mind to the chatters and clatters around him; he pushed people out of the way, using would-be dance moves he learned from Theoren, another Thief. Yes, this was what Thieves did in their spare time – ballroom dance to techno music, as what Remy was doing. He didn't care that he looked like a virus threatening a perfectly fine computer; he was about to spread himself throughout the system, and no cure could hinder him.
Once he made it through the throng, Remy paused for a moment, briefly looking everyone over. Where was she now? He'd been so preoccupied with actually getting into the crowd that he'd lost sight of her. He resisted the very strong urge to beat himself up, and glanced helplessly at nothing. It came to a point where it seemed that someone was able to read his thoughts, because he felt a sharp pain on his left shoulder erupt suddenly, and Remy winced in surprise. Since when did his thoughts create real, bodily pain?
"Hey, you dick! Don't ever let me catch you eyeing my Robyn again, all right?" A raspy voice thundered, and Remy turned, meeting the face of a rather enraged stranger. Raising an eyebrow, Remy noticed that there was an attractive girl whose arm the other man tightly clutched, his breathing heavy. He continued to eye Remy like a vulture, ready to strike if he (Remy) made a move to touch the eggs of the nest. His face sporting a nonchalant expression, Remy nodded coolly.
"Don't worry 'bout it, homme. I'm sure ya would do a good job enough o' makin' sure she keeps only t' ya." Remy shot the girl a shrewd but sexy look, and the girl flushed immediately. He then left the couple behind, with Robyn yelling at her boyfriend for his petty attempts at jealousy, and screaming about checking the phone book for where to find mail-order Cajuns.
Remy grinned to himself momentarily; it was another trophy to add to his belt. He actually had no idea why, at normal times, girls migrated to where he, as the bird, led the way; he hadn't been going out much lately. Maybe it was word-of-mouth; prostitutes even offered to pay him just to spend another moment longer with them. He was like a heavily advertised book or movie; people's interest grew through others' opinions of him, their intrigue blossomed because of the stories, obsession due to experience – no one ever got tired of being with him, even ten times in a row. Charles Xavier, the owner of Toucher, even joked about being open for a job, should Remy ever need one. He always did, he said, but not the kind that Charles was offering.
Speaking of jobs, I need to work on mine so she'd give me a mind-blowing one back. He went back into his habit of steady, discreet observation, his eyes peeled for the white lightning in this stormy place that was the Rogue's hair. He thought he saw Bobby the Accountant getting it on with someone on the dance floor (if the moans of "Jean-Paul, Jean-Paul!" were any indication – what would Lorna say if she found out?) and a business associate of his Guild, Warren Worthington, whispering in the ear of a petite lady whose tag read "Eliza." Remy remembered her as one of the establishments' managers. The latter nodded to each other, downed the last of their drinks, and slipped out of the club quietly. This made Remy wonder where his other favorite girl, Ororo, was; they hadn't seen each other in a while. If she had gone with someone like Warren, then she would be almost lucky – see, she was assumingly going to bed with one of the country's richest men. But no woman could ever say they could thank their lucky stars if it wasn't Remy they had with them underneath the covers…
His musings were interrupted by a man speaking in a rapid-fire Australian accent, in which the only words Remy understood were "sexy sheila, money, and hotel." He saw one of his acquaintances, Kat, being escorted by someone who kept playing with his lighter as he spoke, and he expected this guy thought he could play with fire expertly. Remy smirked, about to approach the pair and remind Kat of her last 'encounter' with him, when a flash of white caught the corner of his eye.
The beating of his heart stilled; his blood, though feeling white-hot with desire, froze in his veins. The room, although oblivious to the will of the universe, seemed to conspire with him – the dancers fluidly swept aside, clearing the floor in a clichéd manner. The lights swiveled, focusing on the center of the area where she stood, her beats controlling the ballad playing like what she was doing to the man she was with. In that moment, Remy believed her to be the female side of God, molding a true man from the lowliest soil – what kind of magic did she possess, turning him into this… thing?
The product of her hands committed blasphemy; Remy could see that the Rogue was becoming dissatisfied with what she'd created, if the roll of her eyes and the pout on her full, rosy lips were any indication. Before she could brandish a bunch of plagues to drive the man away, Remy decided to play Moses and, with his staff still very sturdy, set off to fight this club's version of Pharaoh and his cobras with his own snakelike charm.
———
Her palms were the wind, sweeping his sides with a feathery caress. The feeling was so blissful, so addicting… the man was lulled into relaxation amidst the frenzied hormonal storms. Never would he expect that he'd become the baby in the nursery rhyme, when the cradle was rocking, boughs breaking, and he was about to fall all along with it – his tree was uprooted from the ground because the hands that once touched lightly reverted into whips.
Rogue, for her part, almost yawned with boredom and impatience; she wasn't already subtle in her attempts to show the man that his time was up; his routines were too bland and ineffective. After a few more moments of dancing (if you could call the continuous poking of someone's 'best friend' from down under that, begging for a turn with her), she decided that she should've chosen to leave the man in his own endless desert – oases were, more often that not, illusions of the mind anyway.
She resisted the urge to vomit; all in all, her customer was nothing more than scattered puke on the floor. An idea hit her suddenly, like lightning cracks over a desolate sky – she whispered saccharinely into his ears, requesting that he close his eyes to enjoy her tactics more. As if the roles of master and servant were reversed, he did as she asked. She began to force herself to perform acts on him that, if witnessed by the police, would land her on death row without an option for parole.
Even if her hands were disgusted with the object they were handling, she pressed on until she was certain he could produce the effects of her touch, aided only by his mind. Rogue increased the tracks of her exploration, going over all forms of land on the terrain – until the shouts he began to make certified her of a job well done. She wiped her hands on her velvet-green dress, tucking some strands of platinum behind her ears. She followed her ritual after dancing with five or so men, which was to head over to the bar, coerce Logan into giving her a free tequila, and wait for another stranger pretending to be innocent to offer her a drink and dance.
Before she could leave the dance floor, however, someone grasped her hand firmly, tight enough to make her cease her steps, and loose enough to show that he wasn't going to be demanding of her. Rogue knew how to judge a person, partially because of these little gestures. Of course, what was behind the action was the very essence of the man, and she based whom she was going to shower her time upon on the firmness of their grip. It was more important to her than how the man's hair was cut, or his scent. Little did she know that she was going to unwrap the perfect package…
What she saw next made every part of her body malfunction; her heart's beating increased rapidly, even more than the thumping of the speakers due to the hip-hop beats streaming out of them. Her mind became as chaotic as the club was; thoughts going in and out, swirling as quickly as everyone changed partners, with alcohol added into the fray. Her normally fluid body stilled, as though the temperature in the room were tampered without warning. She didn't know whether to be frozen, because she needed the warmth of those snakes he called arms around her – she wanted to be strangled by his embrace! Anything was better than burning under the stare of those fiery coals he had for eyes, drawing her inexplicably nearer with their hypnotic gaze. She knew, at that moment, that she would never be the same person once her body came into full contact with his.
———
Logan sighed against the counter, hoping the seconds would tick by faster. He was getting bored, sitting here with nobody to talk to – Jean was taking too long, doing whatever she was up to in the ladies' room. Maybe it had something to do with the presence of Scott in the place, who was still trying to pursue Emma unsuccessfully. Logan's brow furrowed greatly, and he dug his knuckles into the brazen wood of the tabletop. He was too busy grunting in anger at the thought of his Jeannie with that pathetic excuse of a stick to notice he left marks on the surface of the counter.
I ain't gonna be played. He stated resolutely, gulping down another beer as he went. He sighed, tried to restrain himself minimally, and hoped to take solace in watching the different customers instead. He never really knew what he was or what he wanted in life (except maybe for Jean), and that was why he took to bartending. He secretly enjoyed listening to people ramble to him about their problems, miraculously somber at times, or hopelessly slurring with gibberish and flinging tear-stained faces his way. It gave him a sense of being, to know that people trusted him when he couldn't dare gain confidence in himself – he found he had served his purpose, being someone's temporary best friend, though it was unlikely that they'd remember him.
He saw Remy, a sleazy charmer who thought that life was all about booze, babes, and beds, hook up with Rogue, another regular of the club. Though the latter didn't really work here, it was like she did: men asked about her the most; wondered why she left them in the steam after the most smoldering moments, ignored them when they returned, etc. Logan treated Rogue like a sister; he grew protective of her after he'd seen her crying floods about a man called Joseph, which led her to become like this – practically selling her body for revenge, as if to tear down every hurt her ex-beau had caused.
Logan relied on his instincts heavily, from mixing the perfect margarita to telling what kind of person deserved whom. His guts were telling him that, though Remy and Rogue were oblivious to the other's real reasons for being in Toucher, they needed the other to even their rocky pasts out, and pave the way for a smooth future. He nodded, noticing the intensity that fueled Remy's eyes, like a volcano on the brink of eruption – Rogue's were, on the other hand, like the pretense of a calm sea before tsunamis struck. It reminded Logan of a poem, which said that the world would end in either fire or ice. He found it funny, especially now – he knew that, contrary to the poem's message, a world would begin from their end.
It was for this explanation, perhaps, that Logan felt the corners of his mouth emerge into a small smile, which increased when he felt Jean's scent waft over him, and her arms slink slowly around his waist. Yes, tonight was definitely good – and not just for one couple.
———
They stared at each other for some time; they had never laid eyes on the sun before. The light was too bright to ignore; the world shriveled away into darkness, with only Remy and Rogue as the inhabitants of the universe. Nothing else, at that moment, existed.
"So, would ya like t' dance?" He asked suddenly, knowing somehow that he needed to be direct with this girl.
For her, the spell wasn't broken; his question seemed as if it were the first sound recognizable to her. "No," she replied, their contact never broken.
Remy usually responded to a woman by means of a corny pick-up line, which actually made her melt into a puddle on the floor, and become putty in his hands simultaneously – but this time, he knew in his gut that this girl was different, for once their eyes locked onto each other's, and his hands secured her fingers, he let his emotions drive him and he went straight into a crash, his lips cradled against her own. Sure, each car crash had its shards of broken glass and junk, leaving its victims almost dead or fatally injured – still, he didn't care. He let his tongue shift into command, driving down the tunnels of her mouth like a car would when its owner wanted it to run out of gas – fast, the pedals pumping wildly, but slow as well, because he knew that its fuel couldn't match the speed he wanted to go.
Rogue was taken aback by this audacious welcome; she parted her lips harshly, desire and doubt both tugging at them. She had never been faced with anyone like this; the sensation was like all the elements of the world at their height: the earth shattering the ground, the water washing her over, the fire turning her insides into ashes, the wind blowing her away. It was also a duel of every kind; a boxing match, where neither wanted to back down; a fencing class where the swordsmen deftly pointed and avoided each others' weapon; tug-of-war, a roll in the sandbox… she could thing of many a million symbols to describe what she was feeling, although she knew none of them could really cover the emotion in such a way it deserved.
After moments of hanging in the balance, Remy and Rogue pulled away in a manner mixed with harshness and mildness – neither of them knew what was next, really. They stared at each other, eyeing their counterpart. It was amazing how somebody, whose features you never even glimpsed in a dream, could be your companion through heaven and hell, forged on earth at the same time.
And that was only a kiss.
You chew me up
And spit me out
Enjoy the taste
I leave in your mouth
You look at me
I look at you
Neither of us know what to do
(2) Notes: Hahaha, I am evil! DON'T YOU ALL AGREE-laughs manically- Well, there! At least they met, plus things got a little steamy... I say a little, because I guarantee that this'll get hotter in the next chapters. I hope I can live up to that... anyhow, it's almostLent, and you've got to sacrifice and stuff, drop me a review and we can say that you did your part this season. Or something like that. Blame it all on the evil Fairy Godmother from Shrek! XP Adieu, I'll shut up now...