OKAY, NOW HONESTLY, AFTER READING THIS CHAPTER TITLE, HOW MANY PEOPLE WOULD READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTES FIRST?

So I'm putting them at the bottom. Be aware – this chapter is not as long as the last two.

Now if you wanted a nice, happy fic – go back to last chapter and replace the end with this:

"Your girl's a regular spitfire, isn't she?"

"Yeah, she is."

And something swelled inside Rogue.

Minutes later, he approached the pool table with her fruity Southern Comfort and his 'Absolut Sex' and she snorted. "Took yah long enough sugah. Not nice ta keep a girl waitin' on a date."

Pausing, he looked at her steadily, setting the drinks on the lip of the table. "That what we on, chere

She met his look. "Yah want to be?" She wished for her gloves, to fiddle with something – but it was far too late for that.

And slowly a smile curled on his face. "If y' t'ink dis be a date, Remy gonna have t' show yah a real good time." He wrapped an arm around her, burying his face in her hair, brushing by her ear.

"Wou'n't expect anaything less," she breathed.

And they dated from that day forth, shocking the hell out of the entire Mansion.

The End

But, c'mon, where would the fun be in that? –wicked grin-

Disclaimer

– I'm sorry if you feel gypped or overexposed, but I really don't want to write porn, but I do have to document the physical developments of their sexual relationship. Oy! Thus the following scenes really hover on the edge.

So Warning and: I will be trying out, at least peripherally, all canon (comic, movie, cartoon) pairings for Rogue. Um, because that's kinda an issue in this chapter.

And now, what you all (and I know you all) have been waiting for…

It Takes Two…to Practice

All the way...

"They were having a wonderful time. The time of their lives, if you will. A marvelous time, riding high, fast and furious even."

The teacher smiled chummily at her joke, but Rogue didn't notice. Her eyes were fixed on her page.

He slipped down her pajama pants and she could practically taste her pulse. His fingers hooked the waistband of her underwear. He was looking up at her and she felt slightly light-headed.

"Chere," his voice eased "we only do this if-"

"If yah can do it," her voice sounded scratchy, but she didn't clear her throat. "Ah can do it."

His eyes glimmered up and she took a deep breath, allowing his look to soothe her nerves. "Ah can."

He slid them off and then kissed her, mockingly chaste, in a 'land' no man had ever entered.

She rolled her eyes mentally as his tongue swept her and her hands interlaced his hair.

And yet, the words really were so pretty, so pretentious…cunnilingus…

"It was 'The Roaring Twenties,' known for bootlegged alcohol, a female clothing revolution, and the epic Stock Market boom. Business was up, jazz was taking off, youth were footloose and fancy free.

It was a grand time."

…fellatio…

It was awkward and she felt like she was going to choke, but he stroked her jaw gently. "Easy chérie. Don' lock de jaw. Got precious cargo dere." She did roll her eyes this time as his eyes danced with slight tension, but she had to stay calm. Collected. If she didn't – it had to be the single most awkward way to be absorbed for him.

She wished she could take a deep breath this time, but instead, ever so carefully, drew back, then rocked forward on her heels.

Remy hissed, a sound she was able to tell wasn't pain, and his fingers fisted in her sheets.

She, she was doing this. A burst of something so luminous, so awesome, heated inside her, but she kept herself still.

How could he trust her so?

And yet, when she sucked on the tips of his fingers teasingly later, after he'd spent himself (she still couldn't believe she'd swallowed – yet salty, it wasn't, wasn't horrible), his eyes subtly grew darker, smoldering on her mouth, and she had to wonder:

Was the trust, that very act ("People get nervous 'bout bein' touched by someone who can blow t'ings up"), as addictive for him as her?

"But such wonderful things must always come to an end. The extraordinary high had to dip low."

"Dite-moi un secret."

"A backlash if you will."

"Sometimes ah've imagined yah as a virgin."

He raised an eyebrow. "Vraiment?" Lowering his head to nuzzle her, "Now why'd y' wish f' a silly t'ing like dat?" His breath painted her bare skin.

"Dunno." She shrugged and hated his experienced hand.

"I've always been a t'ief. On de streets," a shrug "an' off."

She didn't react and he lingered over her.

"Did it t' survive, mais it ain't about de keepin'– somet'ing 'bout what anotha keeps so close," a finger crept up the line of her bare side, "can't help bu' wanna wrap mah fingers 'round it." He smirked down at her teasingly.

But all she could think was: he'd never been so true...

"And the speculation that fueled over ten years of extravagance came crashing down. The prosperity people had counted on, vanished as if only an illusion."

"Mah name-"

A finger to her lips.

"It not be important, hein?" She reads his tension.

Some things stay secret…

She can't say why it hurts.

"So why? Why the run on October 24th 1929? Why was the fall so sudden, so fast, so complete?"

She didn't actually like the oral too much, either way.

It wasn't that it wasn't incredible; Rogue had practically felt stars when he'd done it to her. And having him writhe was of course a great ego boost, but-

She missed his murmurings in her ear, his eyes, well, at eye level – there with her when she was going over the edge, or when he was.

It wasn't about the pleasure.

It wasn't.

She picked out his imperfections.

His chin was too rough – she got stubble burn. His face was too long, his tone too cocky, his nose had a bump undoubtedly from being broken, he preened like Narcissus, his teeth had yellowed from the smoking, he evaded everything, there was still the trace of the 

mushroom cut she'd seen him wear when she'd first met him – his left leg was a fraction shorter than his right, he spoke in third person – and yet he'd all but stopped with her and –

It didn't help.

The ease with which the flaws had once come had stilted and now for every point, she had a counter or a deeper realization.

It didn't help if the jagged line by his pectoral was ugly. (She had scars too.) It didn't even help if he still gave other girls winks as if they'd drop their panties on command. (He didn't mean it. Did he?)

Because – it just didn't.

Not now.

The teacher turned to the board. Rogue slowly copied the notes.

"People overextended. Credit had really taken off at this period and slowly retraction set in. Americans had to cut their losses."

They were so different.

Exhibitionist. Recluse.

He let it all go, even his power. She sucked everything in, keeping everything – every thought, every memory, every touch…

Easier to touch. Easier to not.

And yet, they were alike weren't they?

Clothes, accessories, attitude – they were as much a barrier for him as her.

Only letting people so close.

But for him, that had never meant physically. And her to touch him was nothing but the echo of a thousand caresses he'd already had, all as meaningless…

"And once the actions of an increasing number began to snowball, there came to be a massive lack of confidence."

She was quieter now, more subdued. Remy had noticed, his brow wrinkling as their practice went on. But he never seemed to find the words, besides the ever breezy, "Y' okay,

chere?" (He was silent in her mind too, but she knew that at least had to do with the fact she couldn't bear to summon him, it.

She wanted to hear him say her name just once.

But it wasn't going to happen.

Not now…

"Actually, the economy did pick up after the dark days of 1929, reaching a secondary peak in April of the next year. But then it slid down again, not stopping until finally bottoming out at the lowest level in 1932.

And in some ways, it's easy to say why. To protect themselves, people stopped expending their resources, held them more tightly – afraid of them disappearing into thin air. With less buying came cuts in production and thus jobs, hiking up unemployment and culminating in even more curtailed spending."

There were two things that Rogue hated to do, things her very mutation fought her on (perhaps even the reason she hated them so much):

She hated to lose control.

And she hated to share.

She wasn't about to do either if she could in any way help it.

Mrs. Fielding looked out at the class with a wry smile. "Ironic isn't it, that their efforts just furthered the very thing they were afraid of."

She just wasn't.

The bell rang and over the sudden flurry of noise as notebooks and binders got thrown into bookbags, the teacher called out, "Remember, test Friday, uh tomorrow!"

Rogue, still seated, very deliberately circled the date in her agenda.

She stared at the calendar for a long moment, before packing up to leave.

Rogue wasn't expecting to bump into him when she got home the next day. She really wasn't. Therefore, the sight of him lounging by the banister of the great staircase, barely minding the busily gossiping school crowd swarming up the stairs by him, caused something to tighten almost nervously within her.

Shifting her feet, she put her bookbag down and pretended to fiddle with it until the crowd cleared and the pleated sound of shuffling cards was all that could be heard.

She picked up her bookbag and in a smooth movement, he palmed the cards. As if orchestrated, they moved in sync.

"Have a good day chérie?" he broke the ice casually, sidling up by her.

"It was fahne." Inwardly she cringed. She should've started their banter when others had been around. Being alone with that look in his eyes, almost possessive, felt awkward without the familiar confines of her room.

He 'hmmed.' "Ready f' de weekend?" She didn't want to answer, hesitating, but his fingers reached for her regardless, when there was the loud sound of slapping shoes on marble floors. Frustration flickered in his face, but by the time the X-Man appeared at the top of the stairs, he'd circled her, smirking and brushing by her back.

"Rogue!"

She looked up to see Bobby, even as Remy murmured in her ear, "Rendez-vous here at 11 et quart." Without waiting for an answer, he stepped back, a frown appearing on the younger blonde's face. "Remy be t'inkin' school wasn't so fun without de belle femmes weh got here," his voice, now in normal range, echoed in the nearly empty entryway. "Remy tempted," he drawled and she shifted under the weight of his gaze "t' reform an' go back."

Knowing what he was doing, she snorted, "Like yah eva went ta school swamp rat," it came out almost easily, so scornfully, but it was bitter to her mouth. He just grinned at her though, back to Bobby, "See yah lata chere." He tipped his fingers and strolled away.

"Rogue?" she broke her gaze from Remy's departing figure, to focus on Bobby, who was walking down the staircase. Reaching the bottom, he stood there awkwardly. "Was he bothering you?" he suddenly blurted out. Rogue's face stiffened.

"He's just bein' an ass like always," she shrugged, trying to play it off. She ignored the ring of falsity the words conjured in her mind. "Yah wanted ta talk to meh?" she said, briskly changing the subject. She waited for him to speak.

Bobby shuffled his feet. "Um, how was your day?" It was so sincere she felt the irrational urge to scream. She swallowed the impulse.

"It was fine." It came stiff, but she really wasn't feeling sympathetic at the moment. He shuffled his feet again and she could barely stop herself from rolling her eyes. "Ah look Bobby, ah haven't gone t' my room yet-"

"I – I need to talk to you," the vehemence launched him a few steps forward and she blinked as his face turned bright red.

"Okay." But whatever momentum he'd gained drained away again and he looked unbelievably flustered. If he didn't speak soon- "Well, I know you've been practicing with Mr. Logan and Kitty and Kurt and Scott, but I was just wondering if there was any way, you know, that I could help or practice, you know, that you might not with them and, and I swear it wouldn't be awkward or anything-" It came in such a rush that she blinked to make sure he hadn't suddenly turned into Quicksilver. The babbling was just as incomprehensible though.

"Woah, breathe Bobby." He stopped with a flush and she hoped this wouldn't start another round of silence. She hiked her bag unto her hip. "Now watcha tryin' ta say?"

He licked his lips. "Is there any way I can help?" The red still hadn't left his face. She sifted through the mishmash from earlier – what had he been talking about? She frowned.

"With mah practice?" she asked to check.

He gave a furious nod. "You know, with stuff you, uh, couldn't do with, um, anyone else?"

It took her a minute to work it out. It took another for it to sink in. "Y' mean like kissing?" she said in disbelief. He was volunteering? She'd known he had a small crush on her, but – it was incomprehensible.

The crimson blush rising from his neck was back, but this time it accompanied a defiant look. "Yes."

She stared at him before taking a deep breath. "Bobby, that's reahlly sweet, but if ah-"

"I'm okay with being absorbed, well, a little. And, and – if you just wanted to try once you know, just to see if you could." He looked determined – and hopeful, d- it, and she felt like a jerk for crushing it. But she couldn't, not with- No, she'd already been through this, already set up this kind of practice. She'd done it with Remy – her thoughts slowed down.

Only with Remy.

The thought sunk into her. She hadn't tried it out beyond him, even if that was the stated purpose. Mostly because she hadn't really had any opportunities, but-

This could be her perfect chance to test it, test that her practice hadn't been for naught. If she could kiss another…

Blue eyes looked at her pleadingly and she frowned slightly, but put down her bookbag. "Yah sure about this?" Something oddly like guilt, like betrayal churned in her gut, but she ignored it. There was nothing, no one, to betray.

His eyes lit up, but not literally – nostalgia she could only pretend didn't exist choked her throat. "Absolutely. Ah," he looked around, taking stock of their exposed position, "do you want to do it here or-"

"Here." If she didn't do that moment, she wouldn't and so she soothed her mutation – it prickled against her, but calmed after a moment.

Bobby looked at her wide-eyed and she felt unbelievably awkward. Remy had always made getting in the mood so easy- she blocked the thought and leaned forward. Catching the hint and blushing, he leaned forward as well. When meeting was assured, she closed her eyes.

He felt cool against her lips, something rebelled within her and she forced it down – she had to try at least, and even angling to fit, it was clumsy. He stepped closer and – he wasn't Remy.

Her mutation flared almost vengefully and she quickly backed away, feeling ice crystallize in her breath even as she did.

Bobby looked slightly dazed, though she was assured that was at least partially because of her absorption. I knew if she just let me- She pushed the half-formed psyche back, far back – she couldn't face him and a growl rung through her mind that is angry and jealous and she knew far too well.

"'m sorry Bobby," she said, regret and pity flooding her as his face lost its smile. "Ah, ah'm just-" and she knew the words that were already forming in his mouth and shook her head at the gracious look in his eyes. "Ah don't feel that way-" His face froze and she couldn't go on.

She was such a bitch.

"Ah'm sorry," she said again, miserably and grabbed her bag and fled.

Out of sight, she collapsed against a wall, too many emotions warring inside her. Was she doomed to poor decisions?

But one thought, one realization stood clear. All those times: twirling her bikini tie, smoldering beneath her, fingers beneath her chin – heady on his presence, gripping her with greedy speedy fingers. And then-

It just wasn't him.

She sunk to her knees as the world dropped out from below her.

It, Bobby, Chad, anyone, hadn't been Remy.

And now it made all the difference in the world.

Rogue arrived at the top of the stairs just as the elaborate grandfather's clock downstairs chimed the quarter hour. She fingered the banister, letting her eyes trail over the entryway. Ember orbs almost immediately caught her attention. She could barely make him out in the shadows, but there he was, waiting for her at the bottom. She didn't make a move to walk down.

Instead, she waved for him to come up, mouthing the words as well. She didn't doubt he could see her – between his eyes, the filtered light from the windows at the door, and the pale starkness of her skin, she had to be more than visible.

He walked up the stairs silently and almost morosely, she couldn't help comparing the approach to Bobby's earlier approach. Obvious; covert- She pushed away any further comparison.

At the head of the stairs he paused, looking her over. She returned the gaze, noting the hot silk black button-down that made something below her stomach curl (under his trench coat, of course) and the matching black slacks. He looked edible – but not without purpose. His words confirmed her hunch. "Chere, thought we could go back to de club." He playfully tugged her green plain pajama top. "Unless y' comfortable-"

She cut him off; she had to. She stared at the top button of his shirt. "I'm ready."

She felt his eyes run down her casual outfit again. "Re'lly? Now I know femme fashion is strange, but-"

"No, Remy," she placed her hand on his and met his eyes, determined. "Ah'm ready."

The black of his eyes threatened to overwhelm the red and she was almost amused. "Oh." It occurred to her at that moment: an insane thought – he wasn't. But it's insane, ridiculous and she almost laughed. "D'accord," he breathed and she wonders if she is also insane for thinking she might hear a chord of disappointment.

But then he tilted her face back and kisses her – not starving like at the club, but rather an appetizer, provocative and yet-

She eases back because it's too early (too late) for (tenderness) passion, not here, so exposed. He's watching her face, but she's implacable and takes his hand, forestalling any comments.

And she leads him into her room.

There was something in the way he undressed her. Carefully, deliberately, purposefully – and yet it wasn't detached. Removing her top, he leaned to kiss the tops of both her shoulder blades, then the curve of the blade, then the top of each exposed breast.

Her insides were shaking, torn with counter longings. She wanted him to just do this and, and be done – but his care, just made her want for this to never end. When had she become so- She couldn't think it.

She ran her fingers through his hair and he looked up at her. She gave a soft smile, hiding the strain, and he slowly drew down her pajama pants. She was naked underneath and his breath caught for just a moment. His bare hands, as if unable to not, didn't leave her skin as he stood back up, fingers skimming, catching at her hips for a moment – a caress – before coming to settle at her waist.

Her heart was double beating, but she didn't focus on the look in his eyes, she couldn't. She then pushed the trench coat off him; it hit the floor with a weighty thump. And then button by button, she undid him. The shirt fell open and she ran her fingers over his stomach. Just over three weeks – had it only that long since she'd first seen him exposed to her? Touched him?

She reached higher and swept the shirt back, drawing it off his broad shoulders. Her fingers brushed his biceps, drawing it off, then forearms. Tilting her head just a little, she mirrored his care, kissing the cords of his shoulder, then the indent. She hesitated for a second, lost for a second at bridging the gap between male and female, but then tilted up and kissed his Adam's apple. His grip tightened and she felt the flesh bob beneath her lips.

Her hands went to his waist and she popped the fly deliberately, then smoothed the slacks off his slim hips – feeling only an echo of her usual mocking of the figure girls envied. He was wearing boxers and she was oddly amused that he'd worn more undergarments than her. More layers. The slacks slid to the floor and she dipped her fingers under the waistband.

She wasn't steady, but she couldn't be sure who it was that was trembling.

Rogue pushed them down definitively, before finally slipping into a crouch to complete the job.

It was only when she stood and his hands hooked her hips and the force jarred her eyes to meet his and they were such a fiery hue that she was stunned – it was only then that she realized it was the first time they'd both been naked at the same time. She felt the sense send her nerves tingling, his eyes lingering over her form. And without even kissing…

So she kissed him and closed her eyes. She didn't want to think, she didn't want to feel – just focusing on the dueling thrust of his tongue, the heavy, fast thrum of her heart, the heated brush of his bared skin against hers, the liquid fire that raced through her veins, the pressure of his fingertips as he pulled her impossibly closer. She angled her mouth and tugged at his lips, his fingers began to skim her, and it took her a moment to realize what the pressure at the back of her legs was.

Her bed.

Her mutation swelled within her, pin-pricking her skin in greedy anticipation and – she wanted more.

But she refused to give in, asserting – control. Control. She had control. Awe.

Victory - it only rang hollowly.

And this was all she would have.

Remy dragged his lips away from the curve of her lips and rested his forehead against hers. "Rogue?" he murmured, pulling back a little, and she suddenly felt very cold.

Why am I doing this?

He didn't ask (they never asked the real questions), but she said it anyway, her voice catching.

"Ah've never thought of doing this with anyone else."

Only so close.

How many secrets can we keep?

Remy stared at her for a moment and something changed in the red and black swirl of his eyes. But then he was drawing her down on the bed and layering her with his lips and his hands and his body, plying her neck, her breasts, her buttocks, her thighs, her knees - warming her with his heat. And interlaced with his drugging touch, he murmured his last confession. "When I first saw yah, thought it was a tragedy de fille couldn't touch." His hand caressed her inner thigh, tantalizing up to her belly button – finger in and out, and she felt her skin turn to flame. "Co'n't be touched. An' I told myself, if dere was anything ah could eva do, aide-toi I'd do it." His eyes meet her and she was laid open before him. And she wanted to tell him he's been so much more, but only she can say is:

"Ah'm reahdy," she said again, even if she wasn't (was she?) and then he was sliding into her, him for real this time, and his eyes didn't leave her face (the expression-) and she wanted to cry but wouldn't and it didn't hurt (guess life had broken that barrier for her) and it was awkward but she was part of him – he was part of her and yet not and he gripped her hips to keep her still and help her adjust but she doesn't want to adjust she just wants to do this and touch the stars with him and then he starts a rhythm, rocking their hips, a hand trailing down, and it's panting and gasps and those pretty little lies (I love yah hips, dey jus' parfait) and they harmonize and it's still awkward but it's real, it's so real as she feels the pleasure and pain sweep over her, and she has to kiss him because she can't take the intensity of his eyes and the fact she is so close…

And as she gave him herself, in the most immediate complete sense, she can't deny the surge of realization, knowledge, condemnation –

She loves him.

And she's going to hate herself for what she has to do when she awakes.

Oh, I'm so evil!

Now why did Remy say she wasn't his girl?! Gonna have to wait just a little. (But Sassy18, that is a wonderful question: "since when did technicalities bother Remy"?)

Never fear, Remy stars next chapter!!

What Rogue lost: this is actually again up for interpretative grabs. Innocence, in all its various forms, could be an option, though hope – hope that there could be more than their original agreement – is definitely a strong contender. And ah, Gambits girl, when I saw your comment, I was like – you so predicted this chapter's end!

The bike: Pyrinsomniac, wiccamage and nuriiko – I loved adding those little details with the bike, "without giving anything away completely" completely. Oh, and Logan was grumbling about his bike – as to if Marie is all Remy wants, well, we'll see, won't we?

mazdamiatta - I'm sorry, guys can be such jerks. So true! Oh, but how many people really do solve their problems before sex? It intensifies everything and for Rogue and Remy, it's a catalyst I just can't deny. As to the viewpoint, that's a yes – both simultaneously. The timeline will move forward, but Remy's going to flashback through the relationship – so much to mine there. And um, really not going into dirty details… Though I didn't know that about the gloves. Whoops. But latex, it's just too – clinical. I felt that would break the atmosphere I was going for.

Yes, Romy ending. Now completely happy romy ending… er…This is Rogue and Remy.

Thanks to all my other lovely reviewers!

Cristalake (got worried there for a second...), Captain Annie, Wanda W (blush - um, about that wait...), Rogue181, Lady Starlight Serenity, Remy'sRose, verde (Oy! –big blush-), coldqueen (you are merciless! lol. And "Spoil Me!" Let's leave that to Remy now…), X-Storm, gambit-rogue (Rogue as betrayed, ah yes, but she can't quite claim that, can she?), -apatheticallyxyours- (oy and that was only at the 4th chapter –big sweatdrop-), Chica De Los Ojos Café (very perceptive), Mercuriancat (yes, erm manual manipulation), Nocturnalwitch, gambits girl (yay!), wiccamage, ShadowFax999, drthmik, mistyxtc, Forever-Dawn, MidniteAngelGoth (-grin-), schweeps, cream tea anyone (uh-huh, but she's a tad in denial…), ishandahalf (I love that -squee!- and "they wouldn't really be themselves if they weren't complicated, eh?" –sigh- heck no!), smile for me (wait and see!), WretchedMuse (okay, I think I get the comment now – oh poor girl, you really do have a wait. –guilty look-), Cerdwyn3 (-sad smile-).