It's the little touches that mean so much to Rogue. Her hand clinging warmly to his. A light kiss. Her head against his shoulder. All the time she's spent waiting for mere possibilities have made them so significant for her, now that she can.

She surprises him with moments where skin brushes skin and her eyes brighten on his.

It's the little touches that mean so much.

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Laughter echoes through the mansion's kitchen. The smell of Remy's cooking has become famous enough around here to drag more people out of bed than he'd rather cook for, but he merely nods when Sam enters to settle next to Lorna on a barstool and asks for "a mess o' whateva' that stuff is." Bobby even manages to be polite long enough to beg a plate.

"And what is on the menu for today?" Hank asks speculatively, peering over the counter and his medical journal.

"Breakfast," Remy quips.

Jubilee readily fills in the gap. "He's got beignets and eggs and bacon and something absolutely amazing in the eggs—"

"Dey're called vegetables." Remy rolls his eyes.

Allison snickers.

Jubilee merely glares and continues as if she was never interrupted. "—and he put in toast for Lorna and coffee's on and how do you take it?"

Hank eyes the brew. "Is that whole milk I perceive?"

Logan grins from his own black coffee. "No skim for Ororo."

"I should think not," she snaps, but a smile cracks the severe expression.

Remy hands over the milk, still stirring eggs with one hand. "Pour for y'self."

"Well, what do we have heah?" an amused southern drawl interjects suddenly.

Remy looks up and drinks in the first sight of his chère for the morning. Rogue has her dark hair pulled up in a high ponytail and her white streaks framing her face. She's dressed for the occasion, work clothes, and he does like to see her in a tank top and those bare arms and shoulders. Her eyes laugh at him, and both hands are on her hips.

"Can't keep ya out of trouble, Ah see." She slides up behind him and wraps both arms around his waist. "Whatcha cookin'?" she whispers.

"Whatever y' want, chérie." She feels good pressed up against him, and her scent like lavender and soap and something warm and just her washes over him.

Her emerald eyes sparkle as she brushes the hair from his eyes, grazing his skin with her fingertips. He stares at her, wishing she wouldn't do that. It makes him want to haul her into some dark corner and kiss her senseless.

"Ya think ya can get mah desk out of mah room, swamp rat?"


"Where ya movin' it?" Sam asks. "Maybe I can help."

Rogue turns wickedly on the room and Remy considers very seriously clapping a hand over her mouth.

"Remy's room," she says and promptly winks at Remy one last time before sashaying on out.

More than one face stares at Remy, startled.

"Y' hungry or not?" he demands, and everyone goes back to whatever they were doing.

He sighs. They would've found out anyway.

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"Y' crazy, girl," Remy admonishes the green-eyed wench, lugging her box of books. "What in de world did y' do dat for?"

"What?" Rogue asks, arching one brow. "Tell them we're movin' in togethah?"

Sam and Piotr studiously ignore the conversation, though Kitty is clearly snickering at his discomfort from where she's stripping the bed.

Just about the entire household has offered to assist in moving Rogue into Remy's room, more likely from an interest in the situation than any particularly generous or charitable feelings. They turned down all but their closer friends. Remy would've liked to leave Kitty out too, but Rogue has been a regular player today and simply informed him in a breathy whisper too close to his ear not to bother arguing about it.

Naturally, he didn't.

"Do I need to fold these, Rogue, or will you actually be needing them?" Kitty asks, tone utterly innocent.

Remy glares at her and holds the door open for Rogue.

"Fold 'em, sugah." Rogue brushes past him, making contact body to body and that smooth skin against his arm. Then she's past and casting a wicked grin over her shoulder.

Remy curses softly.

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"Looks like that's the last of it," Lorna announces and then appraises the room critically, hands on her hips. "You might want to see if 'Ro will let you have a bigger room.

Remy shrugs from the desk chair and Lorna turns to Rogue, who's humming lightly while hanging her clothes on the empty side of the walk-in closet.

"It seems a little small for two people," Lorna points out, somewhat dubiously.

Rogue pokes her head out of the closet. Remy eyes down her long legs. She wore shorts today and has already kicked off the socks and shoes she came in with. She looks around before smiling at Remy. "Can't imagine bein' anywhere else, sugah," she says softly.

Their eyes meet.

Whatever Lorna says after that is known only to the walls.

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"Remy!" Rogue huffs loudly. "Ah'm trahin' ta get dressed, or did ya forget we've got a mission to do?" A green-eyed glare punctuates this last in the mirror.

He merely chuckles and brushes back the hair on her neck to get in one last kiss before she resorts to physical measures.


"More like a date." He slips away from her to finish buttoning his collar while eyeing the closet hangers for the right tie.

"Wear the blue one," Rogue suggests. "And it's not a date. It's a mission."

Remy glances back at her, taking in the sweep of blue evening dress and pulls down the blue tie. "T'ink dat's a good idea."

"Glad ta hear it," she fires back. Somehow she took personal insult when Kitty suggested that Remy pick her clothes for the charity banquet. As if a guy is allowed to have the better fashion sense.

Warren Worthington III, otherwise known as Angel, offered the X-Men five invitations to his family's annual "PR event," as he called it, in order to pick up some information on rumors of antimutant Presidential wannabe's and also to provide some good PR for the mutants themselves. Ororo finally settled on Hank, herself, Remy, Rogue, and Logan to go. Remy figures Ororo's banking on Hank's government position and academic clout to keep him in good standing despite his appearance, and she needs Logan's ears, so settled for putting him on his best behavior for the event. Rogue and Remy were a bit of a different choice, and Warren was actually surprised when Ororo suggested him. Remy tries not to let it rankle, but he smugly enjoyed Angel's reaction when Ororo told him Remy's father is one of the oldest of the old wealth in New Orleans and patriarch of the LeBeau family.

Remy finishes with his tie, giving it a sharp tug. "Ready?"

Rogue stares at him for a long moment. Her mouth opens slightly, then she shuts it again. "Sure, sugah. Just let me get mah wrap."

It's a short walk to the elevator, but somewhere along the way, Remy suddenly feels her fingers brush against his hand and twine with his. She leans against him after they step inside.

"What's wrong?"

"Not'in'." Remy looks away over her head.

"Hm." She presses a little closer and it's impossible to ignore her when she smells so good and feels so right in his arms.

He sighs and holds her possessively. "Jus' miss de famille, neh?"

"Ya haven't told me much about them," she says softly.

"Guess we'll have t' change dat," he replies, grinning, keeping it light.

Rogue turns abruptly, one hand on his chest. "Ya will?" Her voice is very quiet, as if she knows why he's kept those memories tucked away and never pulls them down to look at them.

The elevator dings.

"Only for y'," he whispers and leans forward to brush a kiss against her mouth.

Logan's growl is the first thing he hears when the elevator opens.

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The whole banquet Rogue keeps touching him. Remy's more than frustrated by the time the evening's winding down to a close. They know hardly anything more than they did before, just that some Graydon Creed hopeful thinks he's qualified for more than a Senate seat, and there's Rogue's coy, wicked smiles curving back at him from this or that group of women that always seem to have lost her by the time he comes over to drag her away.

Then there are all those tantalizing moments when he feels the brush of her skin, smells her lavendar shampoo and soft perfume, and she's gone again, laughing to talk to somebody else Warren or Ororo or Hank wants her to meet.

He catches Logan's amused smirk from the corner of his eye and goes to hunt the girl down.

Remy finally finds her coming out of the ladies room.

"Time ta go?" she queries, eyebrow raised.

"Chère, y' a bad, bad girl," he says roughly, pulling her into his arms, holding tight, not content with these brushes and whispered touches.

She laughs and checks his chin for stubble. "Ah'll take that as a no," she whispers huskily against his face, and then she's slipped away before he can figure out how in the world she does it.