Cajun Spice
Author's Note:
Recently I went camping and while I was preparing dinner, I began to wonder how 'authentic' was my Cajun dinner. Anyways, one thing led to another and I was inspired to write. Honestly, at this point, is anyone surprise that such a contemplation led to a Romy fic? (In case you're wondering, even if my dinner was less than authentic, it was still tasty.)
And, note the second. I've been informed that the proper Cajun way to pronounce 'chère' is 'sha'. For a while now, that's how I've been pronouncing it whenever I've read or wrote Remy using 'chère'. Since then, I've been considering writing it as 'sha', but wasn't certain the average reader would equate 'sha' with 'chère' and it might lead to confusion. After seeing it written as 'sha' in both fics and written conversations, I thought I would give it a try (and include this note, so not to leave anyone in confusion).
Hope you enjoy this little jaunt outdoors. Take care and thanks for reading! ~rose
One year later….
The sun began to sink behind the horizon in vibrant reds and oranges. As much as she romanticized the idea of watching the sunset, if they wanted to eat before it was completely dark, Rogue needed to get a move on dinner. Holding her hand over the campfire which had burned down to still hot coal. The last of the flames were flickering out, which meant it was time to start cooking.
Rogue grabbed handfuls of the broccoli and tater tots and divided the veggies between the sheets of foil laid out on the picnic bench. Glancing up from her work, she watched on as Remy entertained Jubilee, Bobby, Kitty, and the other X-Men new and old with wild tales from his misspent youth (even a few of them were true). Cooking for the lot of them wasn't necessarily Rogue's idea of a fun time, but she didn't want to break up the party when everyone was getting along so well. It had taken the majority of the last year to get the others to begin accepting Remy as one of their number. She would cook a hundred dinners if it meant her man felt at home among them.
With the veggies divided, Rogue pulled out the container of shrimp and began the division process again. The shrimp were a bit more frozen than she would have liked, but she supposed that's what happened when she asked Bobby to be in charge of keeping the food chilled.
"What are you making, sha?" The smooth Cajun rumble of her man murmured in her ear as his arms wrapped around her waist from behind.
Practically jumping out of her skin in surprise at his presence, Rogue spun in his arms and nearly smacked him in the chest with a handful of shrimp. "Swamp rat! Ya nearly scared the dickens out me. Do ya wanna eat dinner or wear it?"
He grinned at her like it wasn't a real threat. "You don't have to do this alone, Roguey. 'M serious, I am more than happy to help."
With a deft touch, he brushed loose strands of her hair back behind her ear and pressed a featherlight kiss to the crook of her neck and shoulder. Her ever-greedy powers attempted to drink in the depth and breadth of his over abundance of energy, but she fought for the control which allowed her to only sip and taste his love, affection, and infernal cheek. Honestly, she couldn't help but return the grin. He made her happy in a way she'd never felt before. In his presence, she felt more carefree, more free in general. From the day she'd been diagnosed with her phony skin condition til the day Remy had become her friend and lover, she'd never felt comfortable in her own skin, never felt safe in the presence of others. Remy had helped her change. Helped her expand her boundaries and tear down her walls. During this process, she began to learn control. While prolonged touch was still a struggle, accidental absorption from a mere brush of skin rarely happened these days.
Lifting her head, she pressed a fleeting kiss to his lips before turning back towards her dinner prep. She dropped the handful of shrimp on the next foil packet in line. "It looked like you and the others were having fun and I didn't want to interrupt that."
"Interrupt away, mon cœur. As much fun as les enfants can be, I'd much rather spend my day with you." He reached past her, grabbed the lone tater tot left in the bag, then popped it in his mouth. "What are you making?"
Rogue shrugged. "It's suppose to be Cajun shrimp foil packets. But, apparently we forgot to grab the real potatoes, so I substituted the tatertots we brought along for the breakfast scramble."
He raised a doubting eyebrow. "And, what makes these packets 'Cajun'?"
"Suppose the spices do." With her elbow, she pointed at the grocery store brand spices. There was a salt, pepper, and a jar of dubious authenticity labeled 'Cajun spice'. "If you want to help, you can sprinkle the spices over the packets, then we can start wrapping them."
"D'accord." He sprinkled a pinch of the Cajun seasoning into his palm and tasted it. His mouth twisted in a lackluster scowl before settling into a impassive line. "Not bad."
A smirk curled at the corner of her lips. Damning it with faint praise, to be sure.
"Didn't say it was good," he mumbled darkly under his breath.
"Well, guess we'll just have to make do." She jerked her head in the direction of the rest of the group. They had congregated around the other picnic table and had started a game of euchre with Remy's abandoned cards. "'Sides, it ain't like the others are known for their discerning tastes."
Remy grunted his acknowledgement. There really wasn't any way he could deny it. Bobby tended to flash-freeze everything before he ate it. On the other hand, Ray doused everything with enough generic hot sauce that everything tended to just taste hot. Kitty couldn't eat any sauce spicier than ketchup. Piotr would eat anything put before him without complaint—even Kitty's cooking. While Amara complained about anything which wasn't prepared by a Michelin star chef. If allowed, Kurt and Jubilee would live on burgers. So, yeah, they wouldn't notice the difference between store brand mix and authentic Cajun cooking.
"Fine." He conceded with surprisingly good grace, until she caught the bright spark of a plan forming in his eyes. "Mais, I am going to make you a real Cajun meal when we get back to the mansion. A private meal…"
Oh. Well, she could certainly live with that.
"I'm gonna hold you to that, swamp rat." Finally finished with the shrimp, she cleaned her hands, then began adding dabs of butter to each packet.
"Bon." Satisfied with her agreement, Remy pressed a chaste kiss to her temple before he set about his assigned task with a remarkably restrained hand. Obviously, as long as he was assured of her continued company, he'd save the real spice for her.
Like the last time she went camping, she was left to linger around the dying embers of the campfire. Unlike last year, she wasn't alone. They say side by side in their folding camp chairs. Her fingers were entwined with Remy's and his thumb rubbed circles along the back of her hand. She shivered—part from delight in the casual intimacy of the touch and part from the cold.
"C'mere, sha." Remy tugged her unto his lap. Without dislodging her, he managed to maneuver the plaid blanket covering his shoulders to encompass the both of them. His arms wrapped around her waist and she rested the back of her head against his shoulder.
"Mm, this is better." Content in the moment, Rogue closed her eyes and breathed in the warm scents of campfire, spice, and leather. If she had her druthers, she'd stay here forever—in Remy's arms, not necessarily at the campsite. A yawn escaped her lips. She wasn't ready to go to call it a night yet, not when they finally had a moment alone.
A gust of north wind whipped through the campsite and set the citronella candles a fluttering and icy tendrils across their faces and down the back of their necks.
Remy shivered with his whole body and held her tighter. As if she was the one with warmth to spare. "How have you survived so many of these northern winters?"
"It ain't winter yet…"
"The principle stands," he protested.
Squirming deeper into the warmth of his arms, Rogue glanced up at him with a cheeky grin. "That's easy sug, I got myself my very own Cajun heater."
His heartbeat was steady and strong under her palm as moved in the rest of the way to kiss him fully on the lips. Delighted by the turn of events, Remy chuckled against her lips. His fingers tangled in her hair and pulled her closer. In the process of doing so, he prolonged the kiss and held them both in the moment.
Rogue gasped at the swell of memories and emotion which came along with the taste of his powers. It always took her breath away when he did this. Overwhelming love, desire, and affection filled her until she felt warm inside and out. His memories and powers mingled with her own until they were one. In a clarity she never managed to grasp on her own, she knew without a doubt that she was desirous and wanted. This was not because she was useful or what she could do for him in the future, rather he loved her simply because of who she was. Prickly edges, caustic tongue and all.
Almost dizzy with the heady sense of unconditional love, she broke the kiss. The burn of his powers ran through veins like liquid energy. The buzz pushed at the confines of her skin and sparked at her fingertips. She was full—full of power, full of life, full of love.
"'M all warm now." Her dialect carried a hint of his Cajun spice as she talked.
"Cheater." Though his words were hale and hearty, his eyes were glassy and slightly unfocused around the edges.
"Rems, you shouldn't let me take so much." Though she chastised him, her tone lacked any real bight. Her night vision was now much sharper with the influx of his powers.
"Sha, 'm yours. Body and soul." He ran a glove covered thumb over her cheek. "You can't take what I freely give."
She couldn't help but lean into his touch. When it came to physical contact, it turned out she was greedy as were her powers. "And I'm yours, sug, and I want to keep ya by my side—and not just in my head—for the lifetime to come."
"Sounds an awful lot like you're proposing, Roguey." All traces of the light hearted teasing and easy banter were replaced by an earnest sincerity.
"Now don't ya go putting the horse before the cart." Her cheeks burned and she half swore the heat radiating off her face would keep them warm all night long. She pushed back the instinct to deny, deny, deny and play the whole thing off as a sarcastic aside. Did it count as bravery to confess her heart's desire? "Just saying, I want to be with you, not be you. Got it?"
"D'accord."
He adjusted his hold on her so her head rested over his heart. Her heartbeat synced with his in a strong, steady rhythm. She was safe and loved and she found it easy to let down her guard. The long day began to catch up with her as she fought another yawn.
In this state of drowsy contentment, she almost missed the hum of Remy's words as he spoke into the crown of her head. "I love you too, mon cœur."
"I know," she murmured against his heart. Her eyelids grew heavy and her eyelashes flittered against her cheeks.
"You know," Remy broke the prolonged silence, "I wouldn't be opposed."
She yawned. Her thoughts grew as lethargic as her relaxed body. "To what?"
The dream of a kiss pressed to his favorite spot—the spot where her shifted from white to brown. "To forever. To a proposal. I'd say yes if you asked."
There was no hint of hesitation or second thoughts.
"So would I," she mumbled. Surely, she was dreaming. He wouldn't want this, not after everything which drove him north. Would he?
He chuckled softly in a way which left her drifting mind wonder if she had spoken her thoughts aloud.
"Dors bien, mamour, fais de beaux rêves."
In the morning, Rogue woke in her tent and tucked into her own sleeping bag. Despite the hard ground and chill in the air, a hum of contentment settled over the early morning hours. Remy's hand clasped her gloved one in a lover's embrace. His red eyes glowed like embers from under half-lidded eyes. Though he needed less sleep than her, he'd stayed at her side, luxuriating in this moment of domestic intimacy. She could get used to this. Waking up with the love of her life by her side. Waking up to being held, even if, at this moment, it was only her hand.
Her mind drifted back to her musings from the previous evening. Not only had Remy found a home, so had she. Home wasn't a place where she had to watch every step, or he had to worry about being banished, instead their home was each other. They belonged together like home and harbor.
"Bonne matin." Remy's voice was a rusty half-awake purr.
Rogue cuddled as close to his side as the two sleeping bags would allow. "Mmm. Good mornin', sugah."
And indeed, it was certainly the start of a good morning and a good life, full of love, trust, and Cajun spice.