Is This Love...?
Part 2
The Wedding
Rogue looked at herself in the full length mirror in Jean's room. She barely recognised herself any more. With her hair expertly curled and pinned up, crowned with a small sparkling tiara, her makeup having been applied expertly by a professional makeup artist who had caked her so thick with the stuff she was afraid even trying to smile might crack the foundation. Her lips were painted in a nude colour and lined which only served to make her look like she had lip injections. The dress finishing the look was only the horrible cherry on the top of this gross sundae she didn't like the flavour of.
Ah don't even look like me any more, she thought unhappily as she examined the miserable looking girl staring back at her.
"Will you suck it in!" Kitty commanded at Jean.
"I'm trying," Jean gasped.
Rogue eyed them in the reflection, Kitty was having a hard time trying to get the corset laced on Jean as tight as she could. Apparently somehow overnight, Jean had gained a few lbs and dress wasn't closing as effectively as it had only two days before. Rogue couldn't help but feel only slightly smug at that although she was doing her very best to hide the fact.
"It's no good, we're going to have to call the seamstress and ask her to let out the dress a little..." Jean sighed.
"No...we are not giving up..." Kitty tightened the laces at Jean's back hard, "come on...you don't need to breathe, right?"
Jean grimaced and gasped in pain as Kitty tugged the laces harder.
"How did you manage to gain like five pounds in two days?" Jubilee asked from where she sat at the dressing table, the makeup artist was applying her foundation.
"It's water weight," Jean muttered, "stupid period."
"Really?" Kitty gasped, "Didn't you even think to plan ahead for that?"
"I did..." Jean muttered, "It was two weeks late..." she frowned. "I almost thought..." she paused, "well...I thought I was but anyway, I wasn't."
I bet she panicked at the idea she might have been pregnant before the wedding, Rogue thought. Not that she'd have probably been that upset about it. She and Scott would probably be over the moon, put every plan on hold just to have that baby.
"Aren't you guys careful?" Tabitha asked.
"Of course we are," Jean replied, "But my IUD needs replacing...it's been impossible to get an appointment right now and condoms can be ineffective..."
Rogue frowned, she didn't want to stay and listen to Jean talking – even somewhat discretely – about her sex life and birth control methods with Scott. She was well aware they were active and had been for most of their time as a couple , but she didn't want to have to think about it or imagine it in any sense.
"Rogue, can you go down and see if Ororo is finished with that arch yet?" Kitty asked. "We've, like, only got about half an hour..." she checked the clock on Jean's bedside cabinet.
"Sure," Rogue nodded, she was glad of the excuse to escape the room.
"You better hurry," Kitty warned the makeup artist who was still trying to get Jubilee's face on. "And don't take too long, we need to all go down the stairs together so the photographer can get the photos."
Rogue left the bedroom, glad to be free of the chaos of all the chatter and noise of everyone in the bedroom. It had driven her anxiety up high and she wished for everything to just be over.
Getting down the stairs with the heels on was tricky, and Rogue held tight to the banister as she descended, her left hand holding her dress up slightly so she wouldn't trip.
It's just for today, she reminded herself. Another twelve or so hours, Ah can go to bed and be done with it all, she got to the bottom of the stairs and headed for the grand hall where the wedding ceremony would be taking place. The rented chairs were all set out, white bows decorating each one. Rogue looked at the makeshift alter, which Ororo had spent days crafting an arch from fake ivy and silk wisteria. It was stunning.
Ororo was kneeling by the arch, fiddling with a wire near the floor. Although her snowy hair was beautifully curled and her makeup had been expertly applied, she was still wearing her satin robe, she hadn't even dressed yet.
"This is stunnin', 'Ro. You did all this in just two days?" Rogue whistled.
"I've done the best that I can," Ororo fussed with the wire, "the arch is intended to light up but I think there's a loose connection somewhere...I must fix it before I change."
"I can try an' fix that f' y'."
Rogue turned to see Remy entering the grand hall, he was still adjusting his bow tie as he walked. She'd never seen him look so incredibly smart and impeccable. He'd completely shaved off his goatee and his bare chin looked strong and masculine, his hair was neatly combed, pulled back in a ponytail. She blinked at the sight of him; for a moment she'd barely recognised him.
"Go get ready...I take a quick look."
"Thank you," Ororo got to her feet and headed off running towards the door, leaving them alone.
"You clean up decent," Rogue admitted, eyeing him, aware of the scent of his cologne as he passed by her.
"Eh, minimum effort..." Remy knelt by the arch. "But you..." he raised his eyes to her as he picked up the wire, "are absolutely stunnin' in that dress..." his eyes moved up and down her. "It ain' you...but you definitely gon' turn a lot o' heads t'day."
"Maybe once the booze is flowin'," she supposed rolling her eyes. "Ah look like Ah stand on street corners gettin' paid fifty bucks for a handy..." she muttered.
"I'd pay at leas' a hundred," Remy jested.
Rogue frowned at him, pursing her lips tightly.
"Okay...maybe one-fifty..." he teased.
"Remy..." she squinted.
"Okay, two-hun'red," he bit his lip, "But I get t' finish on y'-"
She smacked him angrily, preventing him from finishing the sentence.
"Okay, okay, okay..." he gave in and smiled at her, "Seriously, y' look amazin'. Y' look...real elegan'. I mean...y' don' look like you but...f' the occasion, it's perfec'."
Rogue sighed, she needed a change of subject. "What happened to your beard?"
"Mistake shavin'...was tryin' t' tidy it up but...it all wen' wrong. I gave up, take the entire thing off. It's only hair, it grow back," he looked down to the wire and started fussing with the lights, "this wire is full o' bends...got t' be a broken connection inside somewheres..." he moved the wire about, "Ah...there we go..." he smiled as the tiny micro fairy lights lit up around the arch, he whistled, impressed by how beautiful the tiny lights twinkled amongst the fake leaves and flowers.
"Ororo really outdid herself with this," Rogue admitted, the effect was absolutely breathtaking.
"Gon' look real nice in the photos," Remy admitted, he gingerly put the wire down, trying not to upset whatever he'd done to rectify the issue. "How's the bride lookin'?"
"Like you'd expect. Perfect of course," Rogue responded. "No one will be able to take their eyes off of her. But then that's usually the case. Absolute vision, sparklin', angelic, all the adjectives you could possibly think of."
Remy dusted his knees off and approached, "eh, I always fin' the bridesmaids far more interestin' than the brides."
Rogue turned and headed for the door, "your tie is squint," she pointed out.
Remy followed, "y' gon' save me a dance?" he asked, adjusting his tie as he moved.
"Ah won't be dancin'...not in these shoes..." she lifted the hem of her dress to show him her platform stilettos.
"Nice. Guessin' y' didn' pick those either?"
"Nope."
"It straigh', now?" he asked, playing with the tie, frowning a little at the effort.
Rogue examined him, "No..." she stopped him, "Here, let me..." she reached up to his neck, fixing the collar of his shirt a little, "you don't dress like this often, do you?" she asked, straightening out the tie.
"I wear suits sometimes, I jus' don' do the tux an' bow tie kin' o' thing," he looked down at her. "A lil' too formal f' me.
Rogue went about fixing his tie, aware of his scent again, that heady musky scent filling her senses as she adjusted the bowtie and straightened it. She was about to move away when she felt his hand touch her hip, his hand had the weight of confidence about it. She felt herself grow hot and flustered. "There..." she gave his collar one last adjustment, trying to ignore his wandering hand.
"Anyone ever tell y' that y' got real pretty eyes?" he asked.
She pulled away, feeling awkward, even more flustered than before, her cheeks growing warmer. "Not lately..."
"Well...y' do. Real pretty..."
Rogue's cheeks felt hot and she hoped the layers of foundation were going to hide it as she started heading back for the door. "Come on, the weddin' is startin' shortly."
Just as she was about to get to the door to leave the grand hall, Remy caught her gloved fingers in his and stopped her.
"Chere...wait...can I have a quick word 'fore everythin' start?"
"Huh?" she turned and looked at him.
"Look, it's...'bout las' night..." he pulled her back from the door, "I jus' wan' t' apologise..."
"For?" she looked at him blankly.
"I...didn' mean t' hurt y' feelin's..." he admitted.
"Look, you didn't hurt anythin'," she snorted and shrugged. "Ah'm fine...no harm, no foul," she tried to pull her hand from his but he grasped it tight.
"I just wanted t' say-" he pulled her closer towards him.
"Remy, Ah don't have time for this right no-" they turned as the doors open and Scott Summers, Hank McCoy and the celebrant for the wedding entered one by one. "Ah have to go," Rogue pointed out.
"We talk later..." he decided, giving her something of a firm and confident nod.
"Yeah...sure," she pulled her hand out from his, she noted that Scott's gaze moving back and forth between them curiously as he passed by; he didn't say a word though, not that she'd expected him to.
Why would he? Why would he care now? He never cared before, she thought grimly, her eyes landed on his handsome face, realising this was going to be the last time she'd ever look at him as an unmarried man. This was it...he was finally lost. There was ever going to be a chance now.
Not that there ever was, she told herself unhappily.
"Rogue...you look-" Hank began, his eyes gleaming at the sight of her.
"Don't," Rogue warned, "Ah was just down to check the arch was done," she rushed out the door, "see you at the ceremony," she called back. And with that, she tried her best to rush in her heels to go join the rest of the bridal party, bracing herself for what she knew was going to be a very difficult day.
Rogue didn't know how they managed to get Jean into that damn dress in the end but somehow by the time she had gotten back to Jean's bedroom, the dress fit and Jean looked perfect.
The wedding ceremony was beautiful and touching. Everything went without a hitch, the music was perfect, the mansion's ballroom looked spectacular, everyone looked their best, all the bridesmaids looked stunning as they stood in a row near the arch by Jean and Scott who were facing the priest and listening to a long winded speech about love and everlasting commitment.
Rogue hated standing there by the arch as Jean and Scott said their undying vows to each other, aware even Jean's sister (who had originally been the first choice as maid of honour but had declined due to having too many commitments due to being pregnant with her second child) looked slightly uncomfortable standing in a hall full of mutants.
The words of the couple's own written vows were beautiful and moving – Jean's were poetic, and Scott's were bumbling but sentimental. Rogue was sure anyone watching her would have assumed her eyes had grown misty due to the sentiments spoken between the two, and the emotional weight of the moment seeing the two finally tie the knot. In actuality, the tears that she felt blurring her vision were because of the finality of this wedding, of knowing that Scott had completely been lost to Jean, and that there was no hope any more, no point fantasizing that things could change, no more dreaming that maybe they'd break up some day and he'd finally look her way.
As the vows went on, her eyes moved across the rows of seated guests, seeing everyone she knew, and some she didn't. Remy was seated in the fifth row of chairs on the bride's side of the hall, Magneto directly to his left, Wanda to his right. She noted, as she gazed his way, he turned his attention from the bride and groom to give her a glance back, and for a moment, he seemed to smile softly at her, and give her the tiniest of nods of acknowledgement, which made her stomach tighten in knots beneath the firm push of the corset holding her up.
After the couple's first kiss as husband and wife, everything seemed to move in a speedy blur; posing for photographs with Jean and Scott, posing for photos with the bride and groom and their families, some photos even including the Professor. Rogue hated being in photos – especially when she didn't have control over how she looked. She was glad when it was all over and she was allowed to move to the foyer, where a temporary bar had been set up during the ceremony to get the guests out of the way so the ballroom could be arranged into a makeshift dining hall for the wedding meal.
By the time Rogue was able to join the wedding guest, the bar had already been open for a full hour and the room was already abuzz with voices and the wedding band was set up in the corner playing some ambient music to set the scene.
Rogue moved to the bar, trying to ignore that her feet were already hurting, and eyed the impressive display of liquor available, not sure what she felt like; she wasn't in the mood for champagne right now – she was sure she'd be pushed into drinking some later. She definitely felt like getting drunk now though, far drunker than she'd allowed herself to get on Jean's bachelorette night two weeks before.
"That was a real sweet ceremony."
Rogue turned to hear Remy's voice at her back, he gave her a smile. She decided to not play the bitter card she wanted to play and instead, be civil. "Yeah...it was...real nice," she agreed. She couldn't deny the ceremony hadn't been nice after all.
"Two doubles..." Remy leaned on the bar casually, his body language spoke of how comfortable he was there despite he barely knew anyone at the wedding at all. Rogue envied that damn confidence of his.
"Doubles?" she raised an eyebrow at him.
"It's tradition...in my family, when y' drink at a weddin, y' take a double, a shot f' the bride an' a shot f' the groom," he grinned, he picked up the two long glasses after the bartender – a boy who barely looked twenty – finished pouring them and held one out to her.
"Your family a bunch of drunks, by chance?" Rogue asked of him wryly.
"How did y' guess?" Remy smirked at her, holding the glass towards her eagerly. Rogue sighed and accepted the shot. "Levons nos verres aux mariés," he held up his glass in the air, then took the shot; he gulped it down, Adams apple bobbing, then smiled at her, his expression confident, if not a little cocky.
"Yeah...that..." Rogue said, not quite catching what it meant in French, hoping it didn't translate to anything particularly crude. She knocked the double shot back, coughing a little; the fumes of it felt so strong she was sure her breath would have lit had someone had an open flame nearby. She fought to not show any reaction despite her eyes felt like they might be watering a little.
Trying to seem occupied, she allowed her eyes to move across the hundred or so people filling the foyer, it was difficult to not spot the bride amongst them. Her dress and veil stood out a mile in the sea of men in suits and women in colourful dresses.
"They seem real happy," Remy admitted, him having followed Rogue's gaze.
"Yeah...Ah guess," Rogue, her voice was thick as put her glass down on the bar and fought the urge to sigh.
"Two more," Remy held two fingers up to the bartender, who gave a nod.
"No...it's too much," Rogue contested.
"It's exactly what y' need, ma chere...maybe it loosen up that tension stretched all o'er y' face, non?" he passed her the second double. "à la plus belle femme de la pièce," he kept his eyes on hers and clinked her glass.
Rogue clinked his glass and knocked the double back, it went down a little smoother the second time around, thankfully, although it still left her breath feeling incredibly alcoholic. She did not like the taste of vodka but dared not say so. She was sure to complain about the flavour of it might have made her sound immature.
"Ah have to go see if Kitty needs any help..." Rogue put the glass down and went to walk past him.
Remy caught her gloved wrist, "Y' so eager t' be rid o' me?"
"Ah just-"
"It's a reception, cherie...it's okay t' take a minute f' y'self..." he pulled her back, "come, talk t' me a lil'."
"About what?" she asked.
"I-"
There was a sudden rumble in the room and Rogue gasped as she grabbed onto Remy's arms to stabilize herself on her stilettos. The glasses stacked on the bar toppled, some falling and smashing on the floor, the rest just tinkling almost musically against each other. As she looked at Remy's face, she saw it darken as he turned towards where the open front door was; she followed the gaze of his mysterious black and red eyes.
Lance Alvers stood there at the foyers entrance in a white dress shirt that clearly hadn't been ironed and wasn't buttoned up right at all, and his jeans didn't even look clean; he'd chosen to wear dirty old Converse sneakers that looked as old as he did and the whole effect looked as if he'd dressed in the dark.
"Merde," Rogue heard Remy mutter under his breath.
Rogue watched the way Lance staggered sideways, his shoulder hit the frame of the door and he pushed himself up from it; his eyes were unfocused and he seemed confused for a moment. Then he seemed to briefly snap into reality, his expression darkening at the fact that everyone had turned to see him enter the room, that his powers causing the small earthquake in the foyer had brought him to everyone's attention.
"Is he drunk?" Rogue gaped.
Remy grimaced, "Plus qu'ivre," he mumbled under his breath. Rogue's high school French wasn't remotely good enough to know what he meant.
"Remy! You have to get him out of here before Kitty sees him..." Rogue pleaded, she smacked Remy's arm gently.
"Too late..." Remy realised.
"Lance!" came Kitty's gasp from somewhere to the left.
Rogue watched Kitty running to the front door, almost tripping on her long royal purple dress in her haste, her sapphire eyes wide like saucers, sparkling in the sunlight coming through the large windows.
Remy began pushing through crowds of guests to get to the front door and Rogue felt compelled to follow.
Got to do some damage control here, Rogue realised as she glanced briefly to Jean who was starting to carefully make her way through the guests while trying to not trip on her her own dress, using her powers to gently nudge people out of the way.
"I made it, Kitty-Kat," Lance slurred to Kitty, he staggered into the nearest guests, some of whom almost fell trying to catch him as he went tumbling to the floor. The floor rumbled again, and Rogue heard the ceiling chandelier shaking, tinkling above her ominously.
"You need to get him under control, Remy..." Rogue warned, starting to feel her anxiety spiking, somewhere between scared the entire ceiling would collapse upon them with Lance's lack of current control, and anger that the young man would think it was acceptable to show up at a wedding in this state at all.
Remy helped Kitty pull Lance up from the floor with two of the wedding guest's help – Rogue was sure one of those guests had been Jean's father.
"Are you drunk?" Kitty gasped at Lance as she tried to hold him up, his hand grasped onto her wrap and it came from her shoulders and he fell into Remy unceremoniously.
"You look so pretty..." Lance mumbled, trying to get himself steady. The floor rumbled again, there was the shattering of more glass near the bar.
Remy hauled Lance's arm over his shoulder and held him up. "We need t' get him outside 'fore he cause the floor to crack or ceilin' t' cave," Remy decided.
Rogue watched as Kitty and Remy pulled Lance out of the front door, she turned to the guests and told them to ignore the situation. "Ah guess someone started celebratin' a little early," she joked uneasily.
"What's going on...?" Jean asked, finally reaching her, trying to hold up the front of her dress, her eyes were full of worry and all the joy seemed to have drained from her beautiful face. Scott was behind her looking furious, his mouth twitching with the thousand angry words he clearly wanted to say.
"Ah think he's drunk," Rogue responded, although there was really no thinking about it. She'd smelled the alcohol off of Lance even from where she'd been standing – it'd been incredibly strong. In fact, he'd smelled rather stale as if he'd been drinking for days.
"He actually had the nerve to show up to our wedding in that condition," Scott fumed.
"Remy and Kitty took him outside..." Rogue pointed out.
"We should get him to the sickbay downstairs immediately," decided Jean, matter-of-factly.
"No, put him in a cab and send him away," Scott said, "he's not sticking around drunk like that at our wedding..."
"No," Jean started making her way for outside, "he's not just drunk..." she stated coolly.
"Jean!" Scott admonished. "What are you talking about?!"
"I can sense it," Jean snapped at Scott as she started making her way outside, the skirt of her dress almost filled the entire doorway as she left.
"You're kidding me with this," Scott complained as he hastily followed her.
Rogue followed the newly married couple outside and she got down the front steps she was just in time to hear the retching sound of Lance vomiting on the bricked driveway right beside the Jeep he'd had since he was sixteen, which had been crashed into someone else's parked car although the damage looked mostly superficial.
"Lance, what did you take?" Jean held her dress and moved towards him.
What does she mean what did he take? Rogue blinked. Isn't he just drunk?
"Lance..." Kitty held onto Lance's shoulders as he vomited again, Rogue saw the splash of it splatter across the grey bricks and she winced and tried to hold her breath so she herself would be sick at the sight of it, pressing a gloved hand against her mouth and shutting her eyes to try and get the visual of it out of her head.
The ground began rumbling weakly beneath their feet, it seemed to slightly roll like a carpet being shaken beneath them, Rogue stumbled and Remy caught her swiftly; she grabbed onto his arm and caught the look in his eyes, the expression in Remy's eyes was full of worry.
Lance muttered something incoherently, Kitty tried to hold him up but he stumbled a little, falling sideways and onto his back on the bricks, she almost went over with him.
"Lance!" Kitty yelped in fear.
Jean knelt down near Lance and took his face in her hands and raised his head to look into his eyes, "Lance...what have you taken?" she asked, her voice clear and authoritative, she pried one of his eyes open and Lance gave something of a groan and muttered something that no one could decipher.
"You're kidding me with this bullshit," came a gruff voice at their backs.
Rogue looked over her shoulder just in time to see Logan coming down the steps, his eyes were full of fury as he stomped across.
"You brought that shit to our home?" Logan grabbed a hold of Lance's shirt and lifted him effortlessly up from the ground, swinging him towards where his crashed Jeep was and he thrust him against it, the young man limply flailing like a rag doll.
"Mon ami!" Remy rushed over and tried to pry Logan's hand away from Lance, "there is no need f' violence today!"
"Logan!" Jean gasped as she rushed over and tried to pry Logan's other arm away, "Please!"
"Stop it," Kitty whimpered, she took a step forward but another rumble and roll of the ground almost threw her and Scott barely managed to stop her from falling into the splatter of vomit on the driveway. "Please!"
Logan turned Lance onto his stomach against the Jeep and started patting him down rather roughly, eventually finding something in his jeans pocket. Whatever it had been, he didn't let the others see it, he swiftly pocketed what it was and swung Lance back around to face him, "you have a lot of nerve, Alvers..." he growled into Lance's already barely conscious face.
"Logan, stop it..." Kitty pleaded, she tried to walk forward and tripped on her dress, Rogue caught her, almost tripping herself.
"I got it," Remy warned Logan, trying to pull the man's grip from Lance, "he's my subordinate, I deal wit' it."
"Get him off this property," Logan tossed Lance to the ground unceremoniously, "before I throw him off of it – in pieces."
"Logan," Jean frowned, "he's a guest..."
"He's a liability..." Scott chimed in. "And I didn't invite him."
"I...did," Kitty said meekly.
"Who told you to-?" Scott was furious.
"I did," Jean snapped, her green eyes were furious as she looked at her new husband.
"You should have discussed this with me!" Scott snapped back.
Jean ignored this, "Take him down to the sickbay, I'll-"
"No!" Scott said sternly, "You're not ruining our wedding day just so you can look after that...that...degenerate."
"Excuse me?" Jean blinked at him. "We're barely married ten minutes and you're already telling me what and what I can't do? Whom I can and can't invite to my own wedding?"
"No, but-"
"Let me..."
Rogue turned to see Magneto had appeared.
"I'll take him down to the sickbay and treat him – and keep an eye on his condition. Do not let this disrupt your wedding."
"Little late for that," Scott snapped at Magneto. "He's ruined the entire thing!"
"Don't be so melodramatic, Scott," Jean snorted, shaking her head, and Rogue found herself agreeing that Scott was being a touch over-dramatic although. He'd disrupted the wedding, it was hardly ruined.
Can Ah blame him? It's his weddin' day...Ah suppose if it'd been me, Ah'd have been pissed too, Rogue tried to reason in thought as she looked between Jean and Scott.
"Dramatic?" Scott demanded furiously, "Look at the mess of him!"
"He got a problem, mon ami," Remy retorted to Scott, "Aren' y' all here suppose' t' be understandin'?"
"Who even invited you, Gambit?" Scott scoffed. "You Acolytes come here starting troub-"
"Enough," Magneto said loudly, his tone authoritative but calm, "I'll take Avalanche and remedy the situation. There will be no more trouble, I assure you. Go back to your wedding."
"But-" Jean tried as she approached Magneto.
"Go," Magneto said again.
"Are you sure you don't need help?" Jean asked, her voice softening.
How can she be so understandin' when it's her own weddin' day? Rogue wondered. She's practically about to throw away the happiest day of her life to take care of a guy who nearly brought the entire weddin' down to rubble around us...how can anyone be that good hearted?
"I can handle this, I'm a doctor," Magneto reminded her, "Rest assured, he'll be taken care of," Magneto bent down and picked Lance up as if he weighed very little, slinging him over his shoulder. Magneto took to the air with his powers and disappeared off in the direction of the cliffs where he'd be able to access the hangar externally.
Rogue turned to look at Kitty; the petite brunette's makeup was running down her fake-tanned cheeks, tears spilling down her face in grey rivers, her lips trembling.
"What's wrong with him?" Kitty sobbed.
"He got issues, petit," Remy approached Kitty, he'd picked her shimmering purple wrap from the driveway and he put it around her narrow shoulders and squeezed her, "c'mon," his voice took on a soft tone of tenderness that Rogue had never heard before. "Lets get y' a few stiff drinks, eh? Take that edge off..."
Rogue watched Remy leading Kitty off back to the party, he glanced over his shoulder at her and gave her a look that said they'd discuss all of this chaos much later. Rogue wasn't really looking forward to that discussion at all, but at the same time, her curiosity definitely had the better of her.
"And Charles wondered why I opposed the idea of invitin' enemies," Logan muttered before he stomped off back to the party.
Rogue looked at Jean and Scott.
"I had no idea Lance had a drug problem," Jean admitted, her eyes full of worry.
"Hardly a surprise," Scott huffed, "he's always been a deviant. The fact he even thought it was okay to come here like that – and with more in his pocket?!"
"Scott..." Jean warned.
"He's ruined the reception!"
"He's not ruined everything. He disrupted drinks in the foyer and broke a few glasses, it's hardly a ruined party," Jean rolled her eyes at him.
"I want him out of-" Scott started to say.
"That's really not up for you to decide," Jean pointed out, her voice sharp and full of authority, "And you'd be that heartless, Scott? You'd really cast out a man with a drug problem?" Jean gasped, "are you really that cold?"
Rogue blinked as the two began bickering right then and there in the driveway, with her alone standing there feeling very awkward as the third wheel. She didn't even bother to excuse herself and she quickly left them to it as she went back inside to the party.
The mood in the room had only changed very slightly, as she passed by a few of the guests asked what was going on, she gave her best answer which was "everythin's fine, don't worry. Enjoy the party", which was what she was sure Kitty would have told everyone regardless of how dire the situation seemed right at that moment. She had to fob off Tabitha and Jubilee's asking questions about what they'd seen; Tabitha definitely recognised that Lance had been more than just drunk but Rogue had refused to elaborate right now. She didn't want to see gossip flying at the wedding and that to be the focus of the day, she was sure Scott would only grow more aggravated if that happened.
Not my business to tell anyway, Rogue decided.
After sending Hank McCoy down to help with Lance, Rogue glanced around to see if she could spot where Kitty and Remy had gone but they weren't in the foyer any more. She moved around, checking the grand hall (where the tables were being set up for dinner), and the kitchen, and recreation room, but they were nowhere to be seen. Kurt was kneeling on the floor picking up large pieces of glass, Bobby was nearby sweeping up the smaller shards of it into a pan.
Where are they? She wondered.
Eventually she found Remy and Kitty in the formal living room all the way at the back of the mansion. She heard their voices from down the hall before she'd even approached. The door was slightly ajar and Rogue crept as quietly as she could along the hardwood floor towards the door and she peered in.
"Y' need t' pull y'self t'gether, gettin' hysterical won' help righ' now, petit. I tol' y'...he in good hands – Magneto knows what he's doin."
"Why would you let him get like that?!" Kitty demanded.
Remy sounded almost offended when he responded, "y' think this my faul'? Y' think I gave him those pills?" he demanded, he seemed to take a moment to calm himself.
"I didn't say that," Kitty snapped back, "but didn't you even try to help him?!"
"Course I did, we all did," Remy was pacing a little, "But he ain' gon' get help until he wants it. We tried but we can't control a man completely. Y' can't take autonomy from a person. He make those choices, that ain' nothin' t' do wit' us."
"What started it? Is it my fault?"
"How coul' it be your fault, petit? Y' weren' even there..."
"He asked me to join the Acolytes last year...I should have gone then, should have-"
Rogue watched as Remy stopped and squatted in front of Kitty, "This ain' on you, it's on him...he made his choice, an' that nothin' t' do wit' you or me," he said gently.
Kitty stood up, "you knew all this was going on and you didn't even tell me. Why didn't you say when I asked you last night?!"
"Weren' my secret t' tell," Remy pointed out emphatically.
"I need to go down there," Kitty decided.
"Petit, let Magneto do what he gon' do. Y' can't help right now..." Remy tried to stop her.
Kitty phased her hand out of his grasp with her powers, turning and frowning at him, "keep away from me, you're just as bad. All of you, nothing but liars and secret keepers."
Rogue moved out of the way of the door as Kitty phased right through it and turned down the other side of the hall to head towards the elevator down to the sub-basement where Magneto had taken Lance. She watched Kitty waiting for the elevator, sniffing, dabbing at her eyes. The elevator seemed to take too long and Kitty gave up, sinking down into the floor with her powers and disappearing from sight.
She couldn't begin to comprehend how this felt for Kitty. How quickly her world had just changed in an instant. Sighing, she entered the formal living room and stood by the door, observing Remy who was standing at the beautiful antique mahogany drinks cabinet, checking through the various expensive bottles of liquor on display.
"Poor girl," Remy said, despite his back had been turned to Rogue, he somehow seemed to sense her there.
"She's...upset," Rogue admitted as she approached.
"I don' blame her. Mus' have been difficult seein' him that way," Remy supposed, found a bottle he seemed to like. "I'm kin' o'...used t' it by now. She won' be."
"Ah've never seen her get so broken about him before," Rogue admitted as she sank down onto the old fashioned love seat, a sigh escaping her lips. "Now Scott and Jean are bickerin' outside. Logan is furious, Kitty is upset...everyone is gonna be gossipin'."
"Can't let this ruin the day, need t' do some damage control f' her sake an' f' the newlywed's sake too," Remy picked out two of the crystal tumblers from the display and poured from the bottle of vodka. "Here..." he handed her a glass. "We take a few drinks, regroup, an' then we do what we can."
"We?" she asked.
"Yes, we. I'm part o' this, he's my subordinate. You..." he pointed to her, "are a bridesmaid...you're there not jus' t' look good, but t' help the bride, it's in the job description. Brides maid. Drink up."
Rogue sighed and knocked the shot back; it was noticeably much better than the stuff that was being served in the foyer at the bar. "That's...pretty good...wow..."
"Shou' be f' eigh' an' a half grand a bottle," Remy knocked back a shot of the stuff himself, glancing at the label on the bottle.
Rogue blinked, "you're kiddin'," she glanced towards the bottle he'd poured from; the bottle even looked expensive.
"Nope...it's Beluga Epicure. Pretty decaden' stuff. Hope y' professor don' min' but I think after gettin' punched in the face by Lance an' helpin' to avoid him causin' a disaster inside the hall, I deserve it."
"He punched you?" Rogue stood up and approached him, passing him the crystal tumbler back.
"Yeah...he tried t' deck me as I got him out the door," Remy turned his face and gestured to his cheek, there was a small slightly reddish-purplish welt starting to swell on his cheekbone. "A pretty pansy-ass blow. Lucky his coordination was off. He's got a pretty mean right hook when he's sober."
Rogue examined his face, "does it hurt?" she reached up and took his jaw in her hand, turning his face to examine it better. "Maybe you should see someone about it..."
"I be fine...it probably won' even bruise much," he responded, looking down at her, his eyes meeting hers.
"If you want me to go get you some ice...Bobby made barrels of the stuff earlier..." she offered, she lowered her hand from his face, feeling an odd sweeping of nerves dance through her belly.
"That's sweet," he poured himself one last shot of the stuff. "But Remy be fine..." he paused before raising the glass to his lips, "if y' need to go chase after y' frien'..." he offered.
"Well, Ah would," Rogue tightened her sheer shimmering wrap around herself, "but Ah'm afraid if Ah leave you here on your own, you'd steal the crystal and finish that bottle of vodka," she joked weakly as she gestured to the cabinet.
"Y' know me so well," he jested, he downed the shot.
Ah barely know you at all, Rogue thought. "Maybe you should go easy, swamp rat."
"Nah, I got tolerance. We be eatin' soon, that help absorb some o' it. I be fine in a few hours..." he moved to the loveseat and sat down. "I'm sorry this happen, chere. I wish I coul' say that when I came here I didn' expec' some drama t' happen."
"You thought Lance would show?"
"Had a feelin'. I told him not t'. He promised he wasn' gon' come. I made Pyro swear to not let him leave," he grumbled. "I suspec' Kitty probably tex' him wit' one las' try t' convince him an' he couldn' resis'. Hear' her yes'erday complainin' about him not comin'," he sighed. "Girl is in love. Wit' him, can't remotely understan' why but...she is."
Rogue came to sit beside him on the loveseat, she tucked a curl of her hair behind her ear, sighing. "Love can make people do stupid stuff, Ah guess," she supposed. She knew herself she'd definitely lost a lot of opportunities for love. She'd decided not to apply to colleges and further her education because she hadn't wanted to leave Scott. She'd been incredibly aware back then of how foolish it was, and when she'd watched Scott and Jean marry today, it'd stung her that she could have left years ago and forged a different path.
Ah'm happy with the path Ah have now...but how different could Ah have had it if Ah hadn't let my feelin's for him keep me here? She wondered sadly. What could Ah have been if Ah'd gone to college?
"This is true. An' I know he feel the same. Can't blame the guy, suppose," Remy shrugged, he turned his empty glass around in his hands idly. "Love a powerful thing. It can move mountains..."
Rogue stared down at her purple satin gloves, admiring the way the light caused the material to slightly sparkle when she shifted her hands just right.
"Y' okay?"
"Yeah," she sighed, "My head is swimmin' a bit."
"We be eatin' soon, it'll absorb some o' that alcohol, y' be fine..." he touched her shoulder lightly, and she felt the warmth of his hand through the incredibly fine sheer material of the wrap around her shoulders. "We go easy on the booze f' now, eh?"
She gave a small nod and sat thinking for a moment; even from rooms away she could still hear the voices in the foyer, could hear the music from the band. "Maybe..." she sighed, "Maybe Ah should go down to the sickbay, check on Kitty..." she went to stand but Remy put his hand on her shoulder again and pulled her back down.
"Let her be, chere," he held his hand there.
"She's the maid of honour...she's supposed to have duties..." Rogue turned to look at him.
"She be there...don' worry...girl has been in a tizzy about her responsibilities ever since I got here. Y' know she actually came t' wake me an' made me go shave? She takin' this seriously, she won' disappoin'," he squeezed her shoulder, "Give her some time t' see him alone...she'll do what she got t' do. Chew him out or cry...whatever it takes f' her t' be fine. So...jus'...let her."
Rogue felt uneasy about that idea, she was certain the right course of action was meant to be to follow Kitty.
"Cherie," Remy spoke up, seeming to read the doubt in her eyes. "Jus' relax f' a minute, take time t' breathe f' y'self."
"Ah'm fine," she lied, forcing a smile.
"Look in y' eyes say otherwise..."
Rogue felt his gaze searing right through her, feeling he could look past the facade she'd been putting up for years and the thick makeup painting her face and see her, see things as they really were. He run the backs of his fingers gently down her right shoulder and arm, sliding them across the satiny purple fabric of her long glove, his fingers finally twining with hers. She felt immediately nervous at the attention, it wasn't something she was used to.
"Ah...need to go..." she licked her lips nervously. "Ah better start tryin' to fix this...like you said."
"Things gon' work out, y' know..." he squeezed her fingers reassuringly. "Really."
"Ah know that, Ah do...Ah just..." she disentangled her fingers from his, feeling awkward and flustered, "Ah'll see you at the dinner. Ah...Ah have duties and...stuff..." she got up and smoothed down her dress, she took a breath and tried to compose herself.
He gave her a light nod and smile, "yeah...see y' then."
Scott and Jean had been on and off bickering for at least the hour before dinner, Rogue had noticed. Lance's arrival and Jean's instinct to heal rather than hate had definitely caused an immediate rift. And while they'd kept disappearing to argue, Rogue and Remy had mingled across the room, trying their best to make sure people who asked understood that Lance had 'just started the drinking early' and that he was 'simply just a lightweight'.
By the time all the guests had been made to sit down for dinner at the long table in the mansion's large grand ballroom – where now all the rental tables had been arranged to accommodate all the guests and the arch had been moved – the fuss about Lance seemed to be mostly forgotten, and Jean and Scott seemed to have stopped bickering.
Kitty resurfaced just before the meal begun, her makeup freshly fixed, her hair a little adjusted, and she'd somehow pulled herself together enough to pretend that everything was fine. Rogue knew she wasn't, she knew the hurt behind the girl's sapphire-blue eyes was right there for everyone who truly knew her to see, but she had to admire the petite brunette's ability to just push on and handle the task at hand.
Rogue sat on the bride's side of the long table with Tabitha at her right, and Kitty at her left next to Jean's parents. She had to listen to the lengthy speeches while sipping delicately on the same brand of champagne she and Remy had swiped the night before. Even after the meal – of which there were many courses - she still felt a little drunk and tried to slow down as much as the others would let her.
From where she was at the main table, she could see where Remy was at a table with some guests she didn't know, and Pietro who looked surprisingly handsome and dapper when he was in a suit. Wanda had been there earlier – dressed like something from a gothic horror novel about Victorian vampires - but she'd apparently quickly grown tired of the meal and had departed. Rogue supposed she'd probably be back later, when the reception was in proper 'party' mode and there was music and dancing.
At the table he was placed, Remy looked slightly bored but Rogue could tell he was making his best effort to be civil and conversational to the other guests – whom she was sure were friends or family from Jean's invitation list. The dark haired girl at the table seemed to be quite taken with Remy and Rogue was sure if he 'played his cards right', he'd have a hookup by the end of the night.
"You've been quiet," Tabitha said, she on a second helping of the dessert because Kitty hadn't wanted hers.
"Just tired. It's been a real long day and it's not even over yet...Ah'm so beat."
"Maybe get a few Redbull and Vodkas at the bar, that's what I did. Perked me right up," Tabitha grinned. "Still got a night of dancin' and fun ahead."
Rogue wished she could be that optimistic, she was sure once the party portion of the night begun, she was going to bow out early and go to bed. "Ah'm not sure Ah have the energy for that."
"My advice, work on it, 'cause I think your dance card definitely has a name on it," Tabitha said, her tone very pointed.
Rogue sipped her champagne, trying to fight off the sluggish feeling she had, "hmm?"
"Gambit can't take his eyes off of you," Tabitha leaned in and murmured to her quietly under her breath.
"Huh?" Rogue turned to look at the bleach blonde.
Tabitha inclined her head in the direction she wanted to Rogue to gaze; Rogue's eyes moved to a table not far from the front, Remy LeBeau was seated sideways in the chair near the bride's family table, arm poised on the back, right leg crossed over the left. Even from at least fifteen feet away Rogue could see that Remy's eyes eyes were on her as he sipped from his champagne flute, there was something oddly different in his expression that hadn't been there earlier. Something a little sultry and curious, a little playful and daring. Immediately she felt her cheeks flush hot as they locked eyes, and she quickly averted her gaze.
"He's drunk," Rogue decided aloud in a feeble attempt to avoid feeling awkward. She lifted her flute to her lips again and took a more generous drink.
"Who's drunk?" came an almost excited voice at her back.
Rogue turned to look over her shoulder at Jean who had been clearly about to pass by but had stopped to listen in instead.
"Gambit," Tabitha answered, sounding amused.
"He's been on double vodkas for hours," Rogue spoke up.
"Oh," Jean gave a soft tinkling laugh, she put her hand on the back of Rogue's chair and leaned down so they could speak quietly amongst themselves. "I didn't expect him to be here."
"Yeah," Rogue supposed, giving a vague scoff, "that was a shocker."
Jean continued, "He's certainly been a hit with the ladies. My classmates have done nothing but ask about him..." she chuckled.
"Can't blame them," Tabitha snorted, "He's hot. And he knows it."
Rogue tended to agree with that assessment. Remy LeBeau carried himself with all the confidence of a man who knew he was good looking enough to literally charm the pants off of any woman he wanted, and all the awareness he could get away with anything he wanted.
"Oh for sure," Jean agreed, "he's definitely aware of it."
"And he can't keep his eyes off of Rogue," Tabitha spoke up, she giggled.
Remy seemed very aware that all three women were discussing him, he seemed almost amused by it. He chewed his bottom lip momentarily, observing. He oozed self-assurance and sensuality with just one glance as his eyes locked to Rogue, he raised an eyebrow at her, he licked his bottom lip slightly and his head gave the tiniest of tilts.
"Oh...yeah...that's..." Jean gave a little wistful whistle, "watch yourself with that one..." she squeezed Rogue's shoulder.
"Huh?" Rogue asked, blinking.
Tabitha murmured, "oh yeah...the body language..." she nodded eagerly.
"Exactly," Jean agreed.
"What?" Rogue asked, turning to examine both women, they had smirks playing about their lips.
Tabitha looked up at Jean, "you sense anything off him?"
"I'm trying very hard tonight to keep my powers at bay, and even if I was trying, he's impossible to read..." Jean stated, "But...I don't really need powers to see that."
"What are you talkin' about?" Rogue turned to look at her team-mates curiously.
Jean and Tabitha were sharing something of a knowing glance with each other. Rogue wondered if Jean might be communicating telepathically with Tabitha and she immediately felt left out, as if they were joking at her expense.
"What?" Rogue asked, getting irritable, "what is it?"
"You don't see that?" Jean asked, she nodded towards Remy.
"He's just...bein' him. That's his entire thing...he's cocky and overconfident," Rogue shrugged weakly.
"Not the impression I got," Jean picked up the nearby champagne bottle and she put it to her lips and took a healthy swig, then put it down, "anyway, I can't hold it in any more...I really have to pee...can I get some help in the bathroom with this dress?"
Rogue turned to see Kitty had left the table, "where's Kitty?"
"Down checking on Lance again, I guess," Jean sighed. "Poor girl...she's so stressed out. I think she's more stressed out than I am. You girls coming to help or not?"
"Can't you use your powers?" Rogue asked, taking one last sip from her champagne.
"No powers today, we all agreed. And besides, I'm a little drunk – alcohol and powers are never a good combination," Jean lamented.
Tabitha took one last bite from her dessert, "lets go."
Rogue gave in and went to help, knowing that the dress Jean was wearing was going to be needed to held up while she peed. It was the third time that day she'd had to go help and the last thing she'd really relished was having to hold up the dress.
The trip to the bathroom took far longer than Rogue had expected it to, and it was an embarrassing ordeal; not just for herself, but definitely for Jean. Jean was the one who had many layers of skirt being lifted into the air so she could access the damn toilet. It was Jean who was on her period and needed help getting pantyliners and avoiding getting blood on any of the layers of her large dress.
"I can't believe this had to start today," Jean sighed, as she crumpled up her used toilet paper and tossed it down into the toilet.
Rogue averted her eyes. "That's usually the way it is. Big party, light coloured dress – course it's going to start, right?" she and Tabitha helped Jean move from the toilet, Tabitha hit the flush.
Jean walked to the sink in her bare feet, her shoes had been kicked to the side of the bathroom door, she turned the faucet on at the sink and began soaping up her hands, Rogue approached the large mirror above the sink, examining her makeup in it as Jean lathered her fingers up.
"I didn't even think..." Tabitha said after a minute, Tabitha lifted her skirt and sat down, and Rogue winced. She'd never been into the camaraderie of peeing in the presence of other girls, she didn't know how Jean and Tabitha could be so blasé about it. She supposed being drunk helped.
Jean sighed, "yeah," she agreed with a nod. "It's going to complicate things for a bit."
"Huh?" Rogue turned to look at Jean, she fished into her small bag for her lipstick and retouched it up at the mirror. She saw in the reflection Tabitha glancing up from where she was sitting on the toilet, the lawyers of her dress gathered around her hips.
"God...that sucks," Tabitha sighed. "Does he know?"
"No..." Jean frowned a little, "I haven't told him...I know he'll understand. He always has been understanding in the past. But it just...tonight of all nights..."
"There's always alternatives, I suppose," Tabitha went about peeing, and Rogue went about trying to pretend she couldn't hear it behind her.
"Of course, but...it's not quite the same, really..." Jean gave a frustrated sigh and moved to go dry her hands on a towel.
Tabitha wiped herself quickly and flushed the toilet, coming over to the sink, heels clicking on the pristine marble tiles. "Just get him drunk, he won't know," she giggled. "He'll think you did," she went about washing her hands.
"What?" Rogue looked between the two women, "what...are you talkin' about?"
Jean and Tabitha both turned to Rogue, their expressions seemed a little blank for a moment.
"You know...the period..." Tabitha pointed out.
"Uhm..." Rogue shrugged, "yeah..."
"We...won't be having...you know...consummation..."
Rogue felt immediately humiliated as she realised this should have occurred to her far more quickly. "Oh."
"We...don't like to during...that time," Jean explained, "Kind of...not pleasant."
Wincing, Rogue looked away and pretended to be fixing her lipstick, she wished her cheeks didn't feel so hot from embarrassment right now.
How didn't that occur to me that a period would get in the way of that? She wondered, chiding herself. She supposed if she'd been remotely normal, it might have.
After finishing a quick makeup check, the three arrived back to the grand hall just in time to see plates being cleared away and the dining tables starting to be moved so the grand hall could become a dance floor.
Rogue noted the slightly sad expression on the Professor's face as he looked at the dance floor. She supposed he might have quite liked the opportunity to dance with the bride whose wedding he had just paid a fortune for. Jean returned to her new husband and Rogue saw them whispering to each other, smiling and chuckling. Her heart sank.
Least their wedding night will suck, Rogue tried to cheer herself up.
"You okay?" Tabitha asked as she took her seat back at the table.
"Huh?"
"You've been quiet. You've been quiet for weeks but today...barely a word."
"It's just a lot of stress, Ah'm not big on crowds, you know that..." her eyes looked for where Remy had been but his table had been completely removed to clear the dance floor, and she could no longer spy the man anywhere. She went to pick up her champagne flute which had been left on the table despite the plates had been cleared away, and as she did, she realised there was a playing card stuck to the foot of it. While Tabitha's attention was on Sam who had approached the table to talk to her, Rogue peeled the card from the slightly damp foot of the glass and turned it over in her hand. It was the queen of hearts.
Watching the first dance the newly married couple had together was painful. The live band played Jean and Scott's special song and Rogue couldn't even allow herself to pay attention to what it was as she filled her glass and downed it quickly. This was getting to be so intolerable now she just hoped to get so drunk the entire night would erase from memory. They looked so happy and she couldn't even muster up the slightest bit of happiness for either of them. Part of her wished they'd continued to bicker about Lance all night but that seemed to have stopped some time around dinner.
Maybe if she tells him she's on crimson tide, they can fight about that, Rogue tried to perk herself up at the thought. But that didn't seem to occur. The newlyweds didn't take their eyes away from each other for two more dances, and as the dance floor started to fill, what was left of the tables begun to empty.
Rogue listened to the live band, sipping on her champagne. It wasn't her kind of music but her intoxication and the way the lights had been dimmed and the fairy lights and tealights twinkled made her feel oddly sleepy and relaxed.
"You barely move from this table f' the pas' hour, chere."
Rogue jumped at the sound of the voice near her ear, spilling a little of her champagne on her lap. She brushed it away from the chiffon fabric quickly before it had the chance to properly soak in, her cheeks growing hot. She turned to look at Remy who was squatting slightly behind her chair.
"Sorry," he apologised.
"Must you sneak?" she asked irritably.
"It's what a thief do bes'," he leaned in so she'd hear him better over the music.
"Where have you been for the past half hour?" she raised an eyebrow.
"Hmmm, y' know I was away that long? You keepin' tabs on me, cherie?" he grinned.
"No, of course not," Rogue mumbled, "Just...Ah got back to the table half an hour ago, you weren't here..."
"I'm only teasin'," he chuckled, then his face became serious. "I wen' down t' the hospital room t' check on Lance," he explained.
"How is he now?"
"Soberin' a bit but he still bein' sick. Magneto an' Wanda been down there wit' him f' a while..." he explained. "Kitty an' the Beast gon' sit down there wit' him f' a while so Magneto an' Wanda can come up get some food an' drink an' don' miss the entire party."
"Oh," she replied.
"Why y' askin' where I was anyway...? Did y' miss me or somethin'?" he teased, prodding her arm a little.
Rogue raised her glass to her lips and downed the contents. "Thought you'd maybe disappeared off with that brunette in the blue dress. Thought your calling card you left on the table was meant to be a 'see ya'," she spied an open bottle of champagne in a bucket on the table and she picked it up and poured herself another glass.
"Y' think that?" he seemed amused, he picked a piece of stray glitter confetti from the wrap around her shoulders. "Y' really though' I took off wit' that girl?"
"She was certainly all over you," Rogue noted.
Remy leaned a little closer, "y' jealous?" he asked, his voice smooth, deep, words like honey dripping slowly down the glass of a jar, he took the champagne bottle from her and took a swig right from the bottle, then wiped his bottom lip with the tip of his finger.
"No, Ah was just-"
"She's one o' Jean's studen' frien's, she's nice an' all..." Remy put simply as he put the bottle back in the bucket of ice, "But I got no interes' in her."
"Why not?" Rogue wondered, she sipped her champagne. The woman had seemed attractive enough, although Rogue was certain she had lip injections and that her hair was mostly extensions. "She was your type."
"Y' think?" he tilted his head, his eyes squinting a little, his irises glimmered like rubies as the dappling light of the mirror ball hit him just perfectly. "Y' know my type?"
"Beautiful, big boobs, small waist, a pulse. Seems like your type to me."
Remy gave a gentle laugh and shook his head at her, smiling, "I'm way more discernin' than that."
"Sure you are," Rogue took another drink from her flute, her eyes moving across the hall. She spotted Ororo and Logan standing together deep in discussion. Logan seemed irritable, and it was clear to Rogue weddings were not his thing; he was uncomfortable in his suit and kept adjusting the collar.
"C' mon," he straightened up and picked up her hand, "y' ain' gon' sit there all night lookin' like a lovesick wallflower..." he pulled her to her feet.
"Huh?"
"Y' owe me a dance."
"Since when?" she demanded.
"Since I saved the day wit' Alvers. I've missed out on enough o' the celebrations dealin' wit' him. My turn t' enjoy myself now an' cut loose."
"Ah suck at dancin'," she shook her head.
"I don' care," he gave her a winning smile. "I wan' dance."
"There are tons of women here who want to dance with you," Rogue pointed out. Her eyes landed on at least three different women who had their eyes on him right at that moment; the same women she could tell were wondering why he was wasting his time with her when he could be with them.
"But I wan' you. Now, c'mon, indulge me."
"You don't need any indulgin'," Rogue sighed and let him lead her to the dance floor, she too tired to argue. And besides, she realised if she danced for a little while at least the others wouldn't keep picking at her about how she hadn't moved from the table all night, how she was boring, moody and did little but sit pouting.
She'd felt fine sitting but the moment she'd gotten up her legs had felt far drunker than she did and she had to fight to hide it. As they walked together, she slightly stumbled in her stilettos and she had to hang onto his arm for a little for stability.
"I think y' drunk," he admitted to her with a soft laugh as he led her onto the dance floor.
"Ah just can't walk in these stupid shoes," she complained as they found a free spot on the floor. She stood awkwardly in front of him, her hands together awkwardly not sure how she was really meant to approach this.
"When was the las' time y' dance like this?" he asked, his eyes briefly giving her an up and down, immediately reading her uncomfortable posture.
Rogue raised a pointed eyebrow at him, to which he gave a light laugh, tipping his head back, his eyes glimmered with amusement. She had never danced like this. There'd been the offer to take some lessons when Jean and Scott had been learning for their first dance but she'd passed on the opportunity, feeling her time could be better spent elsewhere. Besides ,she'd decided it was very unlikely she would have been dancing at the wedding anyway.
"Oh..." he realised the truth, he gave an apologetic smile and he took her hand, leading it to his shoulder, "well...jus' follow my lead...it ain' difficul'..." he put his hand upon side, sliding it behind her back, and this felt far too intimate for her, making her blush immediately.
Just a dance, girl, don't read into it.
She wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or just poor coordination, but their dance was slightly more complicated than it had looked. She was aware of Jean – still on the dance floor with Scott – eyeing her almost with amusement. Aware of Kurt glancing curiously at them from over from the tables at the back where he was talking to Wanda who had now rejoined the party. She stumbled, her left heel giving way a little and making her lose her balance.
"Careful," Remy caught her, holding her upright.
"Sorry, this is a bad idea..." she shook her head, trying to pull back, she pushed her hands against his chest but he wouldn't let her go. "Everyone is laughin' at me, Ah can feel it."
"Jus' relax, chere. No one care. They all drunk as skunks. T'morrow, everyone gon' be hungover an' regrettin' who they hooked up wit'..." he took her gloved hands and led them to his neck. "They barely gon' remember this..." he smiled, "jus' hang on, I lead, okay?"
As much as she tried, she still felt uncoordinated and useless, having to rely on him to hold her up and she realised that finally, the alcohol was winning its fight with her. She was clinging onto him hard, trying to keep her feet from tripping on the dress. She wished she could just take the stilettos off but she was well aware it'd make it even worse.
"Don' give in," he encouraged softly.
"Ah'm not..." she defended, "Ah just can't dance with this dress...or these shoes..." she complained. Ah just can't dance at all, she thought in silent complaint to herself.
"Then jus' sway," he chuckled, "it's not rocket science...no one lookin' at y' feet," he pulled her a little closer and the thought of being that close to any man made her extremely nervous. What would people think of her? Would rumours fly?
The wedding band was playing Tennessee Whiskey and she tried to follow the beat with each movement, gripping onto his shoulders, feeling awkward and badly coordinated. He drew her closer, her body pressed against him and she felt her anxiety skyrocketing as her breast pressed to his.
"Too close..." she pulled back anxiously as she let go of his shoulders and pushed her hands against his chest, aware of the awkwardness again. Trying to breathe in the corset beneath the dress was getting difficult in the heat and moving felt unnatural and stiff.
"Ain' nothin' wrong wit' closeness."
"Are you forgettin' who Ah am?" she asked in disbelief.
Remy leaned a little closer and spoke near her lips, "not f' a single momen'."
She leaned back to avoid the closeness of his face. With her heels on, she was as tall as he was, perhaps even a little over, and it definitely made the risk of being face level with him even greater. She'd have preferred to be in flats, to be shorter than him, to be lower, less in risk of anything, even the slightest bump.
"You..." he breathed, "are a stunnin'ly beautiful woman, y' know..."
Rogue's head swam with the heat in the room, the intoxication of the champagne catching up with her. The longer she stayed on the dance floor, the more her legs felt drunk and the more she felt like Remy was supporting most of her weight. She eyed him, his face had been clean shaven that morning but already was shadowed with growth, his hair was starting to become unkempt from too many hours in the heat inside the mansion, he'd removed his bow tie hours ago, and his shirt was a little buttoned at top.
He looked roguishly handsome and she couldn't deny it. No woman at the wedding – even the ones who didn't like men – could have denied that Remy LeBeau was probably one of the best looking men to grace the dance floor. He was celebrity beautiful, the kind of man who drew attention wherever he went.
The fact that he wanted to dance with her and not the many other eligible women at the wedding practically vying for his attention still surprised her. He could have anyone. There were scores of women at the reception who'd jump at the chance.
"You're not so hard on the eyes yourself, LeBeau..." she supposed, immediately regretting saying it, knowing it was the booze talking. She'd have never admitted that to him sober.
His eyes flickered with definite amusement. "S' that finally a complimen' from those sweet lips?" he teased.
"Shut up," she rolled her eyes at him, she stepped on his foot and winced. "Ugh...sorry..."
"S' fine..." he told her.
Her head was swimming more and more, the song changed again. The band started it's cover of Against All Odds started; she could tell how much Remy liked the music, his body language, the smile, the confidence in his eyes. He was so at ease and she envied it as she examined his face. She'd avoided looking at him properly earlier but now couldn't keep her eyes from him, feeling drawn to observing every little detail.
"Ah prefer you without the scruff..." she admitted honestly, she touched his chin thoughtfully with her gloved fingers, turning his head a little, examining his face in the mirrorball lights, her gloved fingers sliding across his strong chiselled jaw. Then she remembered herself, and removed her hand, her cheeks flushing hot.
He gave her a half smirk, his eyes smouldered, "Hmm, then maybe I keep it this way..."
"You should...you're more handsome without it," she gave a little shrug, eyeing him, drinking every little part of his face she'd never really taken the time to look at before. The way that when he smiled, his left cheek slightly dimpled, the way his nose was delicate, thin and refined but crinkled at the bridge a little. His lips were full, but there was the tiniest scar on the bottom lip, something that would only be noticeable at the hardest most observational stare.
"Ohh, so y' think I'm handsome?" he chuckled.
Suddenly, feeling slightly embarrassed with herself, she removed her hand from his face, "It's just...obvious," she supposed, "everyone here knows you're good-lookin'..."
"Flatterer," he squeezed her waist.
"You could be dancin' with anyone..." she pointed out to him again.
"Uh huh," he agreed, his eyes never leaving her face.
"Tons of women are eyein' you..." she pointed out, she nodded in the direction of where a table of Jean's college friends were sitting eyeing the both of them dancing.
"Are there?" he never bothered to look past her at all.
"You've had eyes on you all night. You could be dancin' with any woman you want," Rogue pointed out.
"I am, chere," he squeezed her waist again, she only barely felt it through her corset; she examined his face in the colour changing lights that had been mounted above the dance floor; he looked so incredibly captivating with the way his hair slightly fell over his eyes, the way his lips curled into a tiny little smile. When the lights hit his face just right, she noted the scar again.
"Where's the scar from?" she asked.
He paused, "Scar?"
"Right here..." she brushed the edge of his bottom lip with her index finger, dragging it a little.
"Oh..." he realised, "Got in a figh' wit' one o' the Rippers when I was fourteen," he shrugged, "asshole threw a glass bottle at my face..."
"That must have hurt," she admitted with a wince.
"Not as much as when I broke his wrist..." Remy supposed with a devilish gleam to his eyes.
Rogue chuckled and put her arms back around his neck, "why did you wanna come to this weddin' anyway? You could have just called if you were interested in joinin' the team..."
"Coul'n't resis' a good party," he shrugged, "An' besides..." he pulled her closer, "ain every day I got the opportunity t' dance wit' you, is it?"
She rolled her eyes, "you don't have to butter the potatoes, swamp rat. You already got one foot in the door..."
"I ain' butterin' any potatoes..." he dipped her at the end of the song.
She leaned up quickly, feeling giddy - she felt her breasts shift in her corset beneath the dress, she was almost sure her bust had nearly popped out of the strapless front of her dress. She tried to move away from him, hoping she'd find some way of checking the status of her dress beneath the sheer wrap and make sure both nipples had stayed secured in the strapless garment but Remy hauled her back before she had opportunity to properly assess.
"No, not yet," he laughed, he kept his arm steadily around her waist.
Rogue's head swam, since he'd dipped her, the room had starting to spin a little more. Or...the champagne was just steadily catching up. She tried her best to keep up with him on the next dance, a slightly faster one, but it was starting to become far too much for her and her two left feet and bad coordination.
The room swayed and she let out a soft "ohhh," as she stopped dancing.
"Y' okay?"
"Yes," she lied.
He tilted his head, gazing at her knowingly, "champagne gettin' t' y'?"
"No..." she shook her head, "it's just warm in here...Ah think Ah need some air..." she tried to pull away.
He seemed slightly put out that their dance was over, and he gave sigh of defeat. "Okay..." he finally agreed, "come, le's take y' outside...get y' some air," he put his arm around her back and she clung onto him clumsily. She felt foolish for letting herself get this drunk. She felt humiliated as she'd passed by Logan and noted his disapproving expression, she saw the worried look Ororo gave her. She saw a smug smirk on the face of Pietro Maximoff as she and Remy passed by the twins who were whispering to each other.
They left by the patio doors from the grand ballroom into the back gardens which were lit up spectacularly. A large number of guests were lingering around in the garden chatting, talking, sharing drinks, some where smoking. She tried to beeline for where there was a spot to sit on the small wall bordering the patio, but Remy swiftly tugged her away from that direction and held onto her.
"Too crowded," he said.
"But-" she tried.
"Too much noise," he explained, and bypassed the busy patio completely, leading her down the gravel path which led towards the private gardens further back into the estate.
"Ah can't walk well in these," she complained, trying to keep her balance as the stilettos of her shoes kept sinking into the gravel, her ankles twisting left and right as she tried to keep her balance. She felt herself tripping on the dress and was growing frustrated, clinging onto his jacket for dear life as they kept walking, further and further from the mansion, far from where the party was.
"Where we goin'?" she asked, realising it was getting quieter, that the music was growing ever more distant.
"Somewhere aways a bit," Remy responded.
They stopped at the closed wrought iron gates that led into the ornamental rose garden and Remy pushed the left gate open, peering through momentarily before leading her in. Rogue was sure the garden was meant to be locked to guests tonight; she was sure it'd been discussed days before.
"Lil' quieter here," he said. "Less people, less noise. More peaceful, non?"
Rogue put her right hand to her head, using her left arm to hang onto him as best she could, her head was really swimming.
"Y' head spinnin'?"
"Ah'm just warm," she lied, even hearing in her voice how unconvincing she sounded.
"Y' seem a lil' hammered, chere," he admitted, "But...I don' min'," he led her to a stone bench and sat her down, "everyone entitled t' get drunk at a weddin'..." he squatted down in front of her and raised the hem of her dress to look at her shoes; he undid the tiny buckles of each and pulled them away from her feet and tossed them aside, "lets get rid o' these, eh? 'Fore y' en' up breakin' your neck...or mine."
"Probably a good idea..." she agreed, closing her eyes for a moment to try and centre herself again.
He held her ankles, protected by nude pantihose, "Y' feet are all hot an' swollen, can feel how hot they are through these hose."
"My feet have been on fire all day," she complained. She wondered if she didn't feel so drunk right now, if she'd have been okay with him touching her ankles like that...those pantihose were so sheer there was still a chance he'd touch her skin through them. Ah need to be more careful, she supposed, she watched him move her shoes aside.
"Shoul' have done what Boom Boom did...kick 'em off under the table until y' needed t' be standin'," he grinned as he put her feet down in the cool grass then moved to join her on the bench.
Rogue sighed in relief at the feel of the damp grass beneath her hot feet, she closed her eyes for a moment and savoured that sensation.
"S' that better?" he asked.
"Much."
Remy was silent for a moment, and she opened her eyes and turned to examine him. He seemed incredibly comfortable and calm; he was always so confident with himself, never seemed to remotely get nervous or awkward. She wished she could be like that.
"Real pretty nigh' out..." Remy admitted, glancing up at the sky which was a cool shade of blue purple as the mid-summer sun had almost set. "It nice out here."
Rogue stared around the garden, it was decorated beautifully, there were fairy lights hanging from the decorative trees in the garden, and small lanterns lit the path. An ornamental fountain was around twelve feet away and the water was gently flowing. "Yeah," she agreed.
"Kin' o' romantic," Remy supposed. She was certain he was teasing her and she felt the inborn awkwardness burn through through her again. She needed a subject to talk about, needed something to say, something that wouldn't make her seem like an idiot without any words at all.
"How's Lance? Ah mean...really?" she asked. "You said you checked on him."
Remy seemed almost disappointed to be asked, "Yeah...not long 'fore we danced. I wen' down there, saw him. He's sobered up...he's embarrassed but...that's hardly surprisin'..." he shrugged.
"Is he really usin' drugs?" Rogue turned to look at Remy worriedly. She hadn't been able to ask when they'd been around the others – she'd been far too afraid of being overheard. It seemed like the perfect time to ask, now that they were in a private area, and no one was around to eavesdrop as far as she could tell.
Remy groaned, "chere...do we got t' talk 'bout this?"
Rogue wasn't sure what else they'd talk about. The stars? The weather? The music drifting from the party? "Ah just...wondered."
"If y' really wan' fin' out how he is, go down y' self and talk t' him. Or go ask Magneto," he huffed.
Rogue blinked at how he snapped a little, she bit her lip as an awkward silence fell between them for a moment.
"I did my part, I tried t' keep him away from the party so nothin' bad happened. I failed. Can we jus'...move on?" Remy finally broke the silence.
Sighing, she dug her toes into the grass, "fine," she agreed. She glanced up at the sky while Remy went about taking a cigarette packet from inside pocket, removing a cigarette and lighting it up. She didn't like the smell of cigarette smoke – even though she herself had smoked once - but she decided to not complain. It seemed pointless to complain about vices on a day like this.
Remy took a long drag from his cigarette, he sighed, "y' ain' been havin' a good time t' night, have y'?"
"You been keepin' track?" she turned to look at him, as he exhaled a cloud of smoke up into the air.
"The entire time," he confessed, giving her a pointed look, he held his cigarette out to her.
Although she hadn't smoked since she was nineteen – a brief and admittedly stressful time when she was trying to decide what to do with her life - she took the cigarette from his delicate long fingers and put it to her lips, drawing on it, aware of how slightly wet the filter was from his lips. She supposed that was the closest to any kiss she'd get in her lifetime.
"Ah haven't smoked since...Ah was nineteen," she admitted, she flicked the ash from the cigarette and passed it back to him as she exhaled, she coughed a tiny bit, raising her knuckles to her lips to stifle it.
"How long ago was that? A year?"
"Two. Ah'm perfectly legal now, for the record."
"Good t' know," he chuckled, he took another drag from the cigarette, he stretched his long legs out a little. They sat together in silence for a moment, sharing the cigarette, admiring the roses, some of which were still in mid-bloom. Every now and then a gentle summer breeze would pass and she'd smell the lemon scented yellow roses to their left.
She could hear the distant music coming from the party, it was one of her favourite songs. Far from Heaven, by Evanescence – Ah'm surprised the band even know this one, she mused. Seemed unusual for Jean and Scott to have picked that on the set list. She supposed that was just one more thing they'd done to unintentionally hurt her.
Remy flicked the cigarette butt into the small decorative pond not far behind them and he stood up, "c'mere..."
"Hmm?" she looked up at him.
"This time y' won' be trippin' all over y' own feet," he took her hands and pulled her up, he stepped backwards, leading her into the small patch of grass between the path and the fountain. "Y' remember how, right?"
Rogue chewed the inside of her right cheek, looking up at him. "Why are you playin' these games with me?" she asked, aware her voice was growing thicker and lazier from the intoxication.
"I ain' playin' any games," he led her arms around his neck and pulled her towards him, he pulled her right against him; unlike their time on the dance floor, this time there wasn't an inch of space between their bodies. She'd never been so close to any man like that and she felt her cheeks flush at the thought of how intimate and dangerous that felt.
They swayed to the music and she felt her head swimming, she felt light on top but heavy on her feet. He was so good at holding eye contact with her, but she couldn't do the same, every time she looked him straight in the eyes it almost felt like he might hypnotise her, might cast some kind of unnatural spell.
"Y' okay?" he asked in a soft murmur to her.
"Yeah..." she supposed. She'd answered this question so many times today and every time she did, she felt a little sadder. She was sure if anyone asked her just a few more times she might burst into tears. She wished people would stop asking, wished he would stop asking.
As she tried to dance with him, even bare foot on the damp grass, she felt giddy, and her dress was catching under her feet, she tumbled backwards a little, and he backed her up into a tree to stabilise her, "y' losin' control o' y' legs," he realised.
"They feel drunk," she confessed, her left arm was still hooked over his right shoulder and behind his neck, her right hand slid down his sleeve to steady herself. She swallowed and tried to gather herself. "Ah feel drunk..."
"Me too," he chuckled, he reached up and brushed a lock of her her hair away from her face carefully.
"Don't..." she used her right hand to move his hand away, "My powers—"
He interrupted her, "they don' bot'er me," he said in a low voice, his lips were incredibly close to hers. "Never have," She turned her head to avoid an accident, her heart beating nervously at the definite danger of his being so close.
"Don't..." she pleaded of him, putting her gloved hand on his face and pushing him back a little, "Ah don't want to hurt anyone tonight."
"Y' won'..." he took her hand from his face and squeezed her fingers.
"Please...?" she looked at him, "just...don't."
"Y' wan' go back t' the party?" he asked, sounding hopeful. She wasn't certain if it was that he wanted to dance some more or if it was that he wanted to simply be rid of her now.
"Ah think Ah'm done for the night, it's gettin' late..." she decided, she looked down, trying to focus on the grass because somehow looking down made her feel like things around her were swaying less.
"It's barely ten..."
"Ah don't really want to go back there," she admitted. "It's too noisy, too busy...too hot..." she examined her pink painted toenails through her pantihose in the soft light from the fairy lights on the tree. She became very aware of the smell of his cologne, as well as the strong scent of booze and smoke on him. There was something very masculine in his scent and his energy which she found so very different from Scott, and weirdly, it almost felt as intoxicating as the many glasses of champagne and shots of vodka she'd consumed today.
Remy caught her as she lost her balance again, "Y' really are sloshed, ain' y'?" he chortled.
She held onto his arms, "Ah guess..." she admitted, aware she sounded a little breathless. She was sure the tightness of the corset beneath her dress wasn't helping her breathing situation. She felt incredibly overheated and sluggish.
"How many drinks y' had t' nigh'?"
"Ah...lost count..." she supposed, she raised her eyes to his and saw her looking at that same way he'd been looking at her all night. Like he could see through her, like her eyes were windows and he could look deep into her soul and see things that even she wasn't sure were there. "You smell o' booze an' cigarettes..." she admitted drunkenly.
"So do you, now," he chuckled, he leaned in and breathed, "An' I'd say...a lil' bit o' Chanel, too...mmm?" he asked.
Rogue was genuinely impressed, "know a lot about perfumes?" she gripped his sleeves.
"I know the smell o' Chanel," he replied.
She tilted her head, biting her lip, "you like Chanel?"
"I like Chanel," he leaned nearer and breathed in.
"Ah feel dizzy..." she admitted, she tipped forward face first into his chest, everything felt off kilter as she clung onto his jacket sleeves.
"Here..." he led her to the bench and sat her down; almost the moment she sat down she started to tip sideways and he had to catch her, "no, no...try stay uprigh'..."
"Everythin' is spinnin'..." she admitted, she put her hand to her head.
"Y' feel sick?"
"Ah don't think so," she sniffed, she tried to clear her head and focus on him, "why are you out here anyway?"
"Y' wanted air..." he reminded her.
"You didn't need to come with me," she pointed out with a sigh, starting to become aware her voice was slurring.
"Then who'd have held y' up?" he asked of her with a smile.
Rogue took a deep breath and tried to focus on seeing straight, "How come you're so sober?" she asked. She'd seen him drink just as much – if not more – than she'd drank tonight. How could be he so fine?
"I ain'," he chuckled, "I jus' got a better tolerance. You, however, ma cherie, are an absolute lightweigh'," he straightened her up. "You don' really drink much at all, do you?"
"Not really," she confessed, chewing her lip.
"How many times y' actually been drunk before?"
"Uhm..." she clenched her teeth. In essence, she never really had been this drunk before . In the few months she'd been legally old enough to drink, she'd had alcohol four times, but never gotten drunk like this. Not even at Jean's bachelorette party. She had never felt giddy and jelly-legged from booze, never felt like she'd do and say stupid things quite in this way.
"Y' never drank like this 'fore?" he asked, seeming quite surprised.
"Not really..."
"Practically a virgin," he chuckled.
Rogue felt the sting of the word virgin and she tried to shrug it off.
"Wish I'd known before I gave y' the doubles. If I'd had some idea, I'd have taken a lil' better care o' y' an' made sure y' paced y'self," he seemed to realise his error rather quickly.
"Y' wanted t' get me drunk," she accused knowingly.
"I wan'ed t' get y' happy drunk, not legless drunk..." he admitted honestly.
"Ah'm fine," she lied, and as the words passed her lips, she toppled backwards dizzily, he barely managed to catch her in time.
"Whoah, c'mon now, focus on stayin' up. Y' gon' en' up right in that pond there behin' the bench...though maybe that woul' sober y' up..." he supposed. "Maybe I shoul' take y' t' the pool, drop y' in..."
"Don' you dare," she warned him, pointing an accusatory finger at him.
He gave a soft chuckle, his eyes twinkled and as Rogue stared into his eyes she saw in the fading light that his eyes had a slight mysterious glow about them.
"Your eyes glow..." she realised.
"Yeah..."
"How?"
"Guess y' need t' ask a scientis' that one..." he steadied her.
"Can you see in the dark better?"
"I don' know, I got nothin' t' compare my sigh' to..." he held her steady. "I always had these eyes...so..." he gave a small shrug.
"They're kin' o' bea'ful y' know..." she slurred. God, he's so good-lookin'...if it weren't for my powers, could Ah ever have had a chance with someone even half as good-lookin' as this?
"Y' really gone now, ain' y'?" He chuckled, he squeezed her arms, "Y' can barely speak straight."
"Ah'm fine."
"Uh huh. I don' think y' gon' make it back t' that party..."
"Ah don' really wan' go back anyway. All that stupid..." she swallowed a little emotion, "Hap'ness an'...joy..." she looked away from him, swallowing again to try and get a grip on herself, she was aware of him looking at her, aware there was some sympathy in his eyes and she didn't want to see it. "It's just too much. Ah'd just...rather be done wit' the night."
"Maybe I shoul' get y' t' bed," he rubbed her arms.
"That a prop'sition?" she slurred. She wished she'd considered her words before saying them, because even he seemed slightly caught off guard by the boldness of her drunken words.
Remy laughed, "Y' ain' ready f' that."
Rogue forced a laugh weakly to make it seem as if it'd been a joke. She wasn't even sure if it had been or not.
Slowly, he stood up and took her by the arms, "C' mon, cherie. I see y' right."
They headed back to the party, Rogue stumbling with her shoes dangling from her gloved fingers, trying to keep her balance with her arm around Remy's waist, gripping on hard to the side of his suit jacket. She tried to ignore the fact that many guests saw her. She tried to ignore that she saw Jean give her a worried glance from where she'd been talking to the Professor in the foyer. Eventually, Remy had to carry her halfway up the stairs as she kept tripping up on the long skirt of the purple bridesmaids dress.
"Where y' bedroom?" he gripped her back, his arm beneath her knees.
"Top floor, 'long the hall to the lef'..." she murmured tiredly against his shoulder.
She was certain that for a moment or two she must have dozed off because it seemed they'd just reached the top of the grand staircase then suddenly, felt him jostle her as he put her on the bed and it roused her.
She gave a sigh, "everyone saw me, didn' they?"
"I don' think they care, they all gettin' drunk down there. Half them be staggerin' around soon enough themselves," Remy supposed.
"They all gon' judge me," she muttered, rubbing her head which was swimming so much. "Be gossipin' about how wasted Ah am..."
"Everyone entitled t' let loose at a party, chere. Y' probably be judged more f' tee-totallin' it," he said reassuringly. "Leas' y' can say y' had a good time..."
"Did Ah?" she asked, she moved her eyes to his, chewing her lip.
"F' the las' forty minutes or so, I think y' did," he said and he he got up and looked around the room briefly, then picked up the plastic trash bin on the floor and put it beside the bed. "Jus' in case y' need t' puke later, eh?" he said.
She didn't feel queasy right now, she was thankful for that. She did feel sleepy, heavy in body and light-headed in mind. And also there was an odd-confidence bubbling from somewhere she hadn't expected it to.
"Were y' always this goo'-lookin'?" she asked in a slur, eyeing him as he picked up where she'd discarded her sheer sparkling purple wrap from the floor. She couldn't even remember dropping it when he'd brought her in.
"Y' really are wrecked, aren' y'?" he laughed softly as he started folding the wrap.
"Ah prefer y' wit'out the face scruff," she confessed for the second time that night, her eyes studying his face.
"Y' already said that."
"Ah know," she admitted, "but...Ah thought y' shoul' know..."
"Thanks," he chortled.
"Y' really are good-lookin'..." she said lazily. "Every woman here though' so...everyone wan' you..."
"Better be careful, y' don' wan' be sayin' somethin' y' regret in the mornin', eh?" he finished folding her shoulder wrap and he laid it neatly across the back of the grey velvet armchair in the corner.
The heat in the room felt hot and thick, and she could feel the loose strands of hair from her updo sticking to the back of her neck. "It's so hot in here," she complained, "Ah can barely breathe."
"I open a window f' y', okay?" he made his way to one of the windows at the back of the room and she heard him fussing with the panels to get them to shift. Rogue watched him over her shoulder as he hauled hard at the window; in this heat the wooden frame of the window always got swollen and became very difficult to lift. "It's a lil' stiff," he complained, she heard him grunt as he tried to get the thing to move up.
"Soun's promisin'," she remarked, unable to help herself.
Although his back was turned to her, she heard him laugh at the innuendo. She almost laughed at herself for how corny it sounded, how...surprising it sounded coming from her own lips. It hadn't sounded seductive or sultry at all, she hadn't tried hard enough. She was so glad she was drunk, she had an excuse for how poorly she'd failed at even that attempt to flirt.
Finally, she heard the grinding squeak as the window shifted against the frame, and a slight cool breeze crept into the room.
"There," he headed for the door again.
"Wait..." she sat up, moving her now messy hair out of her face.
"What's wrong?"
"Can you undo this dress f' me...and the laces for this thing under...?" she gestured tiredly to her back, "it's so tight...this corset thing..."
"Y' corseted?" she saw him seem to almost silently laugh as if he could barely believe it.
She nodded, "Kitty helped me get int' it this mornin'. It's real awkward..."
"Don' it open at the fron'? Wit' like hooks or somethin'?"
Technically he was right, there were busks at the front of the thing, but she wasn't certain there was enough room to pry the thing apart without adjusting the laces first. She didn't even have enough room to properly expand her lungs. "Ah need some room to do it," she decided.
"Y' really need a corset f' that dress?" he asked, "it's loose chiffon, hardly fitted."
"Dress girls said we had t' wear it or the shape woul' be off. And it hol's the dress up..." she added, "it woul' fall down..."
"An' that sure woul' be a pity," he supposed as he moved behind her, "Okay, lemme see if I can get this loose f' y'..."
"It's makin' it hard t' breathe...it's been diggin' into my ribs all night, feels like it's been gettin' tighter all nigh'.." she admitted honestly, sweeping her hair from the back of her neck. "Ah think Ah'm swellin' up...Ah can't even breathe fully anymore."
"Y' sure y' wan' me t'...?" he trailed off, she felt the mattress buckling under his weight a little as he knelt behind her.
"Yeah..." She stared across the room at where he'd neatly put her shoes near the door, "Ah...trust you..."
Remy was silent at her back for a moment, "All righ'. But be real still, 'kay? My fingers real close t' y' skin..."
She held her breath and remained as still as she could, aware of the sensation of him pulling at the tiny little hook at the top of the zip of the dress, then the tug of his fingers on the zip and heard the sound of it sliding down. Her senses were filled with his cologne as the cool breeze from the window came up behind them both; the scent was so heady, almost...spicy and musky.
"You smell good," she admitted, she closed her eyes and swallowed her nerves. "That's a nice cologne."
"It's Sauvage," he responded.
"It's sexy," she slurred, she bit her lip hating how very aware of her awkwardness she was right then; the strapless dress loosened and the front bulged out and she pushed it down to her waist out of the way. She wondered what he'd think of the view of her breasts bulging from the corset. He'd complimented her more than once today...would he compliment her on her breasts? She somehow wanted him to, and then maybe being trussed up in this damn corset might have felt worth it.
Remy laughed at her comment, "I'm glad y' like it."
"Suppose you're used to this," Rogue realised, staring across her room, listening to the sounds of him tugging and pulling at the laces at her back, loosening the ones starting just at the small of her back and moving up a row at a time, she heard the sliding of the cord a little against the metal grommets and there was something almost satisfying about the sound.
How many women has he undressed like this? She wondered, feeling slightly depressed again.
"Not got a whole lot o' experience wit' corsets," he mumbled, "ain' too differen' t' unlacin' a boot though," he supposed.
She felt almost disappointed he'd used that comparison. There was nothing sexy about unlacing a boot.
"That enough?" he asked, pausing.
"A little more..." she suggested, straightening a little, holding her breath and sucking her stomach in just in case his fingers might dig into the opening of the corset to pull it apart.
She was so very aware of the danger of that moment, of how much of her bare shoulders were exposed to his bare hands, how at any moment, his skin could touch hers and as much as she was afraid of what would happen, the thought of his fingers sliding across her neck, her shoulders and back made her tremble a little inside.
As the top laces came loose enough, she hastily pried the front busks of the corset apart and the thing came away from the front of her in two haves, falling away from her body, and she gasped in pain as she felt the wires and seams of the inside of the corset peeling away from her slightly sweaty sides and releasing her from it. "Ohh..." she sighed in relief, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath in relief.
"Mon dieu," he muttered.
"Hmm?" she said through gritted teeth.
"Y' weren' exaggeratin' when y' said it was diggin' in, I can see where every bone o' that thing has been juttin' int' y' all night...s' lef' dents in y' skin."
As she opened her eyes, she felt them roll back into her head a little, "Ah can actually breathe all the way again..."
"It's been rubbin' a little at y' wais'," Remy admitted, "got a bit o' a rash comin' up..."
Rogue was silent, sitting with him behind her, very aware of him examining her bare back, looking at her bare skin in ways she'd never allowed any other man to look. She longed for him to touch her, to rub those painful welts on her skin where the corset had maimed her, even if it'd hurt more. Licking her lips, she slowly turned her head and looked over her shoulder at him, his eyes caught her immediately and she saw the look, she saw he recognised it too.
"Y' need anythin' else?" he asked, he got up and moved away from her.
"Somethin' to wear t' bed...Ah'm too uns'eady to get it myself," she gestured to the dresser beneath her television. Downstairs she could hear the live band playing music still, and the singer's voice drifted up. She knew the song was called ' Kissing You', and she couldn't help but feel hurt by the certain irony of that.
"Okay," he agreed, "where?"
"Over there," she gestured to the dresser opposite where she was sitting.
She watched him go the dresser, watched his reflection in the glossy black screen of her TV as he tried the top two drawers, which were where she kept her underwear. She saw the hesitation as he looked into her underwear drawers; had she not been so drunk she was aware she might have felt embarrassed as he gazed down into her silk thongs or her lace bras but somehow, she didn't feel that same shame right now. She had a Victoria's Secret set near the front of the top right drawer that she'd never worn. Part of her wished he'd pick it out, touch it, maybe ask for her to model it, although she realised the notion of it was incredibly far fetched and unrealistic.
You're drunk, she told herself. She was so incredibly aware she'd have never wanted him to look at her like that if she'd been remotely sober. He opened the second drawer down, rifling and finding nothing but t-shirts and leggings. His reflection showed him slightly distracted, a little tense.
Look at me, Remy, she thought at him, knowing that from where he stood he'd be able to see her reflection in the glossy TV, he'd see her sitting there topless, her arms barely covering her breasts, back pointed at the window feeling the pleasant night air sweeping through and caressing her bare skin.
He finally found the drawer where she kept her nightwear, and after a few seconds, he picked something and turned towards her. She lowered her arms a little from her breasts deliberately while trying to somehow make it seem unintentional. She watched his face, looking for a reaction from him, waiting for him to drop his gaze and ogle what she was offering. His right cheek twitched just a little, and his neck seemed to grow tense as he stood there, holding out the garment towards her. His eyes never left hers the entire time, he never let his gaze drop.
Her thoughts screamed at him, screamed for him to just...do something, take charge and show her what was supposed to happen. Her thoughts didn't care about reality, didn't care about her powers and the limitations. Her head just swam with the intoxication of the alcohol, and the intoxication of him.
Look at me...look at me like you look at the others, her thoughts screamed. She couldn't understand why he wasn't. Couldn't grasp what was wrong with her that he just didn't drop his eyes to stare at her bare slightly sore breasts which had been contained and pushed up all night.
Come on...let somethin' happen...please...Ah'll never have the nerve to make this move again...
When she realised nothing was happening, she lowered her eyes to the garment in his hand, finally. Out of all the things he could have picked from that nightwear drawer, out of the tiny satin camisoles, the lace bralets and silk shorts...he'd chosen the most unflattering item in the drawer. An oversized long sleeved bottle green sports-themed garment that was actually a man's t-shirt several sizes too big for her that she'd thrifted when she was seventeen. She felt her heart sinking a little. Of all the things he could have put her in...he wanted her in the shapeless unappealing knee length nightgown. She almost laughed at how tragic it was; the only time she'd ever found the confidence to let herself be seen like this by someone who wasn't a medical professional, and...he wanted her to cover up.
It's never going to happen, Rogue. Just like Scott, just like every other guy you've ever met...he doesn't see you that way. No guy ever sees you that way. No one ever will.
She blinked, trying to not let the emotion get to her and she pulled the thing on clumsily as he stood hovering above her; she opted to not even bother to remove her long stretch satin opera gloves. She stood to let the skirt of the t-shirt fall down her hips and so the dress she'd been wearing could finally fall off all the way, she stumbled a little and Remy swiftly caught her, for what felt like the hundredth time that night. She almost for a moment wondered if somehow, subconsciously, she'd done it deliberately just for the chance to see if he'd catch her one more time, just so she could have the opportunity to hold onto him one more time. She tried to kick the now crumpled dress on the floor away from her stockinged feet awkwardly. She'd never felt so completely lacking grace and elegance.
"Easy there," he helped her back to sit down, he hovered over her once again and she wondered why he hadn't just walked out yet. Did he want something to happen? "Anythin' else y' need?" he asked of her.
You...Ah need you. Ah don't know what can happen, Ah just...know Ah need you...why can't you see it?
She quickly tried to think of an excuse to keep him there; if she could keep him there for just a little longer, maybe she could find a way to coax him into something. Her eyes caught sight of the packet of makeup removal wipes on her dressing table.
"Makeup wipes..." she gestured to the dressing table.
He went to retrieve them as if on command, and she watched him, every move of his was so confident and comfortable in himself, even when she was so aware of how awkward this moment felt. He returned, holding the packet out to her, watching her with expectation. "These?"
Taking a few of the wipes, she began rubbing furiously at her over-caked face, scraping off the layers of foundation, contour and highlighter, of eyeliner, eyeshadow and lipliner, definitely losing a few of her eyelash extensions in the process and not really caring any more. Every one at the wedding today had told her she'd looked stunning with the dress and the makeup and the hair; Remy had told her that too. And she wondered if he was only lingering to watch her remove every trace of the makeup.
That's why he's hangin' back, so he can see what Ah really look like, she supposed in despair.
She tossed the now filthy looking wipes to the floor unceremoniously with a sigh.
"Y' missed quite a bit," he pointed out.
"Ah don't care," she sighed, feeling defeated and bitter.
"Here..." he took one of the wipes out then set the packet aside on the cabinet beside her bed; he folded the wipe around his index finger and reached out towards her; he swept the moist scented fabric delicately beneath her eyes. "Close y' eyes," he instructed.
And so, she did as he asked and closed her eyes, focusing on the feeling of his light touch sliding across her lids, it was so feathery, she barely even felt the drag of the wet fabric as it slid across her skin.
"You're so...lighthanded..." she realised.
"Pickpocket fingers," he supposed, sounding slightly amused, "got t' know how t' have a delicate touch."
He moved the wipe around her face in soft, slow, sweeping motions, adjusting the wipe around his finger to trace her nose, the delicate skin beneath her eyes and finally, with the cloth, he traced the area around her open mouth. The way he did it...it felt...strangely intimate and sensual and she opened her eyes to watch his concentrated face, his long lashes seemed to graze his high cheekbones as he blinked every now and then. Her breath quickened a little at the thought of what it'd be like to touch him, how his skin might feel beneath her bare fingers and how rough his stubble would feel against her face if they could kiss.
These were thoughts she'd had about Scott before...thoughts she had a dozen times a week for years. It caught her that this had been the first time she'd really let thoughts like this sway to any other man she knew in her life. These thoughts had only ever been reserved for Scott before.
It's because Ah'm drunk...that's all, she tried to tell herself. If Ah was sober, Ah'd never...ever...
Her heart thrummed a little in her chest. Now he was wiping at her jaw, following the contours of her face structure, trying to remove the last smudges of makeup. She searched his eyes as he kept his concentration so focused intensely on what he was doing. He cleansed her face of makeup with the same intensity he'd focus on trying to pick a six pin lock.
"There..." he said, satisfied he'd completed the job. "Much better, non?"
"Remy, Ah..."
"Oui, cherie?"
"Ah..." her heart skipped a few beats at the thought of how she'd ask him to stay. It felt to her there was such a sense of...urgency. He didn't have much more reason to stay, she'd run out of excuses to keep him there.
It was now or never...make the move or lose the chance.
She grabbed him by the lapels of his suit jacket and pulled him down to her level, using the last of what little strength her intoxication had left her with in her jelly-like arms to haul him down to her as she let her back fall back towards the mattress.
There was no way he could misunderstand the signal of that, was there? She looked up at him, letting her hands shakily slide through the open flaps of his suit jacket and around his body. She wanted him to put all his weight into her, feel his body totally. It didn't matter she knew there was only so much that could happen, she just needed something to happen.
Come on...Ah'm givin' in, she thought towards him, wishing she could just say it.
His demeanour was calm like the perfectly still surface of a lake on a hot summer day. His breath tickled her lips, and she could almost taste the alcohol and cigarettes on him. His eyes had a soft expression but she saw there was concern lingering.
"Y' can do what y' like t' me..." she slurred drunkenly as she hooked her left leg around his right, she bit her lip shyly, gazing up at him so hopefully, eager for his hands to do something other than support his own weight on the mattress. " Anythin' y' like..."
He let out a soft, very weary sigh, "C'mon, cherie...y' drunk out o' y' head..."
"Ah'm fine..." she tried to assure, her breath shuddered near his lips.
"We bot' know this ain' you."
She decided to ignore the observation, she moved her hands down his sides and around to his stomach, moving them past his belt, every intent to undo him. He took control with a swiftness that caught her off guard, within a split second pinned her down to the mattress by both her wrists, twisted her arms above her head. His long silky brown hair dangled loose, having come free from his ponytail, and as he leaned over her, it skimmed her nose and forehead; the sensation of that, the weight of his hands on her wrists and the way he'd pinned her thighs closed with his knees weakened her in a way she hadn't expected.
Remy LeBeau's power, his scent, even the sound of the grunt he made when he'd pinned her, it made her ache the way the steamy vampire fiction she often read did. Logically, she understood nothing could realistically happen...not in the way it could with normal couples. But she knew something could happen. Something surely had to. Even if he could just touch her...even if he could just push himself against her and let her feel something other than just longing for more.
Everything was getting to her.
Even the way he restrained her felt dangerously exciting and arousing, and the area between her legs ached at the thought of that roughness, the thought of being ravaged made her body flush hot with desire she'd never really felt before.
"Ah don't min' bein' held down..." she whispered.
His eyes were full of concern now, his face seemed slightly twisted in frustration. He seemed to hesitate, but ultimately, shook his head. "If I didn' respec' y', things migh' be differen'," he decided, his tone was far too polite and congenial for the subject matter and she despaired.
"Ah'm not askin' for respec'..." she slurred, aware of how desperate she was starting to sound.
"I can't do this..." he shook his head. "ain' righ'."
She swallowed her nerves, "y' never cared about doin' the right thin' before..." she reminded.
"Maybe I'd like t' start tryin'..."
Her breath shuddered a little as it escaped her lips, "this feels right t' me..."
"Y' can barely talk straigh', chere..." he pointed out to her quite coolly.
"Doesn' mean I ain' thinkin' righ' though..." she tried despairingly.
"If I don' walk away righ' now..." he released her arms and pushed himself up, "We bot' gon' regret it come mornin'."
"Remy...c'mon!" she gasped, she pushed herself up awkwardly.
"Sleep it off, cherie..." he suggested, and without so much as another word, he left the bedroom, closing the door behind himself quietly.
Heart sinking in her chest, she let herself drop back onto the mattress, sweeping her hand through her now tangled hair, realising the small tiara was still caught in it. She yanked it out, pulling a little of her hair out with it and threw it across the room at the door, she heard it clatter and land somewhere in the corner.
"Asshole."
End of Part 2
