I
"Love is friendship set on fire." ~ Jeremy Taylor
The first year was a whirlwind. She fell out of love with Bobby and somehow fell into the arms of her nearest friend. Remy was the kind of friend who held her, cooked for her, let her cry as long as she needed, fed her ice cream, blew off the people trying to drag her depressed hide out of bed, dragged it out himself when he decided she'd had time enough to start living again. He wasn't a girlfriend or particularly trusting and trustworthy. He certainly wasn't open with his own secrets or life, but they had bonded upon his arrival over their shared love of all things southern, their joy in motorcycles and adrenaline rushes, and the unstated but tacitly acknowledged ability of both to keep their mouths shut.
And that is where she always thought it would end.
But somehow, almost before she realized what had happened or what she was doing, late nights in the kitchen turned into late nights in his room playing cards, and those in turn became late nights doing things to each other that had nothing to do with simple friendship or comfort talks. It startled Rogue how easily their easygoing, stable relationship became a whirlwind of fire that set off sparks in her belly when he looked at her and made her heart stutter and her tongue trip and every part of her melt and fly and crash with the dizzy, heady giddiness of--
Neither of them admitted it right away. Rogue denied it by hanging around Logan. Remy denied it by hanging around the clubs, like as not with a girl or two on his arm.
And it hurt when Rogue saw him come in with lipstick on his collar and the color of perfume smudged somewhere he hadn't got it washed off. She'd snip at him and yell, and it was oh, so satisfying to hear him yelling back.
Yelling turned to fighting. Fighting turned to grappling. Grappling turned to holding so fiercely, so tightly to each other that it seemed the world would simply stop if they ever let go. She loved him. She loved him.
It wasn't stable. It was up and down and fling them around and laugh and cry and scream and stony faces, stony silence and kisses, caresses, cruel retorts, hold close and push away. It wasn't healthy. It wasn't right. But it was theirs and they cherished it.
It was fire.
And that is where she always thought it would end.
But somehow, almost before she realized what had happened or what she was doing, late nights in the kitchen turned into late nights in his room playing cards, and those in turn became late nights doing things to each other that had nothing to do with simple friendship or comfort talks. It startled Rogue how easily their easygoing, stable relationship became a whirlwind of fire that set off sparks in her belly when he looked at her and made her heart stutter and her tongue trip and every part of her melt and fly and crash with the dizzy, heady giddiness of--
Neither of them admitted it right away. Rogue denied it by hanging around Logan. Remy denied it by hanging around the clubs, like as not with a girl or two on his arm.
And it hurt when Rogue saw him come in with lipstick on his collar and the color of perfume smudged somewhere he hadn't got it washed off. She'd snip at him and yell, and it was oh, so satisfying to hear him yelling back.
Yelling turned to fighting. Fighting turned to grappling. Grappling turned to holding so fiercely, so tightly to each other that it seemed the world would simply stop if they ever let go. She loved him. She loved him.
It wasn't stable. It was up and down and fling them around and laugh and cry and scream and stony faces, stony silence and kisses, caresses, cruel retorts, hold close and push away. It wasn't healthy. It wasn't right. But it was theirs and they cherished it.
It was fire.
RSS Feed