Author Notes: Rogue and Remy are still my favorites. And I didn't proof this because time, mostly. Forgive my grammatical sins, many were intentional.

This takes in a sort of amorphous canon/non-canon world.

a kiss is just a kiss

by: eileen blazer

She reaches a tentative hand forward, brushing her fingers against the sharp line of his shoulder, still, even now, hesitant to touch. She licks a nervous stripe across her bottom lip.

"In dreams," she confesses, "I never hesitate."

"In my dreams," he answers, "we usually movin' too fast f' this part. This is kind of a nice change of pace. I could wait like this with you all day."

She looks up at him through the heavy veil of her lashes. Her heart is somewhere in her throat, but somehow there's enough room for words to scrape through, huskier for the effort. "Really?"

He leans in, conspiratorially, his breath teasing at her ear. He smells like cinnamon and tobacco, and she will too, when this is over. It'll cling to her skin and waft in her hair. "Non. I'm dyin'. Might explode into a very fine mist, just from sheer anticipation."

"Oh no." Her brow dips with concern. "Premature evaporation?"

Opens his mouth. Closes it. "Look at me, tryin' to be a gentleman an' look at you, Chere, playin' the scoundrel."

She can't help but laugh.

"Not a scoundrel, Remy. Just a Rogue."

"Hmm." His hands come up, like he's going to cup her face and bring her close, like he's done waiting – because – he's really done waiting, he's been doing it for years, holding her and never really touching, wanting her and never having – God, loving her and never doubting that–

but in the end, he falls back in retreat, tension in his forearms making it obvious that this is another act of great restraint. For her. Because he understands that this is new, and terrifying, and he's not going to take what she's only just learned how to give.

Not yet.

But–

Reading her mind, he says, words so soft but perfectly clear, sharp and stern and penetrating, "Next time, I won't be so nice."

And it's not a threat so much as a promise and it is a marvel, a wonder, a fucking natural phenomenon, that Remy can be safety and warmth and love and sweetness, and also such an obscene thrill, lightning straight through her body.

She shifts where she stands. Desire is–

Burning her up. Cleaving her in two.

"This is ridiculous," she sighs. "We should be naked by now."

"Hmm." He repeats. Not moving, but beautiful. His red eyes are darker than usual, fiery like the surface of the sun, and again she reads in them–

Restraint.

Tenuous, delicate but determined restraint.

"We know this works. Controllin' my powers." She mostly knows this works, the way she knows a door will open if she turns the handle, the way she knows if she puts one foot in front of the other, weight shifting, she will travel, the way she knows if she takes a deep breath, oxygen will fill out her lungs, but–

A lock.

A stumble.

A cough.

Things go wrong. Things can always go wrong.

"Remy," she says. "I'm scared." To touch, to not touch. To make a mistake.

"Chere." Then, like he thinks better of it. "Anna. There's no wrong answers here. This moment is you an' me an' whatever we make it. I was here before and I will be here still, no matter. There are so many things I wanna do to you, but nothing is so important as bein' close. I love you, Anna."

Her name is like a prayer on his mouth, on his lips, and suddenly, suddenly, that's where she needs to be, where she has to be if she's going to survive one more second, and her fears fall away–

For now.

Her doubt subsides–

For now.

And she is in his arms, fingers tangled in the easy waves of his hair, her mouth pressed against his mouth, stubble scratching her face, and Remy–

Freezes. Then–

Breaks. Like a dam.

No, like the ocean it's been holding back.

And he is everywhere around her. His chest firm against her, his heart beating so hard it reverberates in her own ribcage. One hand at the small of her back, the other at side of her thigh, hitching her up until she's nearly straddling him, until their bodies are aligned and–

She licks at his lips this time, and they open for her, and she tastes him, his teeth, his tongue, all the soft, wet places of his mouth, sweet and smoky, so perfectly Remy and-

Oh, this is kissing. But also maybe something more than that, because–

when he slams them back into the wall, taking the brunt of the impact without a flinch, like he's the invulnerable one, but then makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat at the shift of her hips against him, a sound that's dangerously close to a whimper and she can taste it–

when they slide from the wall to the ground and she abandons his mouth–

For now.

for the sharp curve of his jaw, and the throat below, pawing at the buttons of his shirt until he groans in frustration and all but rips it open–

when he abandons English entirely for heady French obscenities and pleas she can't understand technically but can definitely understand intrinsically–

when she looks down at the man underneath her, his eyes wide and pretty, his skin soft and tan beneath her ungloved palms–

His skin beneath her ungloved palms.

She knows, this is kissing but maybe something more than that, because when she kisses him, she commands him, and owns him, and needs him and–

Loves him.

And that is the best part of all, that it's a new way to love a man she's loved all along, and she takes that knowledge and places it into that well-guarded pocket in her heart, where she's stored years of loving him. It fits there perfectly, like the last piece of a puzzle, like Remy between her legs.

She sighs, leaning away to catch her breath. "That was nice."

"It's not over yet," he says.

She glances down at his lap, attempting to knit her brow together with an innocence she's never had. "Oh. Are you… sure?"

Implying.

He could strangle her. She sees it in his glower. But instead, he fidgets with the zipper at her back, his other hand brushing against the side of her breast. Bouncing it, slightly. "You're lucky your assets are so heavy." His voice is a slow, thick drawl. "When weighed against the rest of your terrible personality."

"Well, thing is, I have a reputation to uphold." She kisses the corner of his mouth, pulling back when he turns his head to make it more. "See… I'm somethin' of a scoundrel."

He manages to look scandalized, like that zipper isn't moving, like she can't feel the length of him, hard and straining, underneath her. "A Rogue, even?" He gasps. "Are my virgin sensibilities safe?"

She grins, falling into him again, because–

They've waited so long.

There's still so much left to learn.

she can. One last word, before her mouth is on his again, before they are moving, needing, having–

"No."

Notes:

Feedback is always welcome.