FIC - The Reeducation of Remy LeBeau - 136 - New Girl (Adult, Xmen, Rogue/Gambit)
The Reeducation of Remy LeBeau – 136 – New Girl
Authors: vikingprincess and SciFiGrl47
Setting: Beyond the Movieverse AU
Characters: Rogue/Gambit, Shadowcat/Colossus, Wolverine, Dryad, Iceman, Forge, Emma Frost, Wallflower, ensemble
Overall Ratings/Warnings: Adult/NC17 overall (language, violence, sexy goodness)
Warnings for this Chapter: An extra helping of naughty fun, and LOTS of surprise pairings in this chapter and the next!
Summary: Everyone's getting all heated up as May progresses, and something strange is in the air… now that Laurie Collins has come to Xavier’s.
Dear Readers: Comments inspire the muse and make her happy!
PLEASE DO NOT ARCHIVE.

All prior chapters can be found here.

Previously:

”So... You. Rogue. Every day. And she hates you. Because you pushed her into it, hitting on Remy, hurting Cipher…. She hates you a lot. You're going to get pounded in the DR, and it's even sanctioned." Callie shrugged. "You're screwed. So, maybe you'll come back later and stab us all in the back, but at least we won't have to deal with your bullshit."

A glint of interest showed in Emma’s blue eyes, shaded by what might have been mild worry. "So that's option one. What's the other result?"

Callie grinned. "Maybe you'll drink the Kool-Aid. Hell, it's happened to weirder people. And this place is very effective that way." She clapped her hands. "Okay! Fantastic! See you at breakfast!" She bounced out.

Emma went back to her magazine, a faint but thoughtful sneer on her lovely icy face.


__________

New Girl


a week later

Kitty led the second recently-new girl, Laurie Collins, through the mansion, talking a mile a minute as she explained the various rooms and their functions, the class schedule, training requirements, and various other minutiae. Emma had been an awful addition to the place, and nearly everyone had figured her out by now, though some of the boys still drooled horrendously around her. The people who mattered, though? They had her number. And remembering the way Emma had looked coming out of the DR after her first session with Rogue? That was a picture worth, like, a million words. And it had also seemed to set the bitch straight; she hadn’t been nearly as nasty since. The good thing was, Laurie seemed nicer. Painfully shy, but nicer.

Rogue and Callie trailed behind Kitty and Laurie, lending moral support. And because Kitty was headed outside during the boys' non-powered PE: today, basketball. Shirts and skins. Hot weather. Male muscles. Even for Rogue, able to look but not touch without a lot of precautions, it was a bit of an eye-candy smorgasbord. Fighting back in their own ways, the long-time female mansion residents were in short shorts, skirts, and cute little blouses, tanks, and t-shirts, baring a maximum amount of skin. Even Rogue wore thin, flesh-colored tights and a short skirt, with a see-through blouse over an emerald camisole. Cipher would have accompanied them, but she was out of town again, absorbed in something Thieves’ Guildy. Recon, probably. Her thieving skills weren’t all that great, still, and pretty much depended upon her powers.

"—And in there's where we have Ethics classes. Sometimes they're divided by age, sometimes not. It depends on the issue. The Professor likes to toss out an idea or a situation, and see what we think. If we think. Help us to figure out why we do what we do, and where to draw our ethical lines when the dilemma's a tough one. Some people,” she added, thinking of the elegantly nasty Emma Frost, telepath, bitch from hell, and now the second-newest student at the school, “tend to do really badly in there. And here," she switched topics abruptly, "are several of the very excellent reasons to enjoy going to this school, even with the severe course load, combat training, and potential death."

Kitty sighed blissfully as she led the other girls out to the terrace and pointed across the grounds to the basketball court. "Boys. Hot, hard-bodied teen boys." She adjusted her short shorts to ride a little lower on her narrow hips, and fussed a moment with her bikini top, the most skin-baring outfit of them all.

"Hands off the Cajun," Rogue murmured teasingly, her eyes going unerringly to her shirtless, sexy boyfriend, who spun left, dodged right, and ducked under Piotr's reaching arms to soar into the air and slam dunk the ball. Sweat gleamed on his skin, unruly hair defied his sweatband to flop down into his gorgeous eyes, and the shorts he was wearing teased her eyes by slipping, just a little, down at the hips. "That'd be him, Laurie." A small smile of possession crept onto her lips.

"Big black-haired one's mine," Kitty chimed in. "Some of the time, anyway. Want to get closer? You do need a tour of the grounds, after all," she added soberly, brown eyes twinkling with mischief.

Laurie shook her head hard enough to send her braid swinging. "No. No, thank you." She was blushing bright red, and although she looked longingly down at the boys, she hung back. "Maybe later. When they're dressed."

Callie giggled. "Do not count on that. It's okay, really, they're all nice. It's like having a pack of older, over protective brothers."

"If Ah had a brother an' thought of him like Ah think of Remy," Rogue pointed out, "Ah'd be goin' straight to hell." She grinned at them all and led the way with a flirt of her short skirt. "Come on, darlin'. Come meet the boys. They ain't gonna bite 'less y' ask 'em to."

Kitty turned pleading eyes on Laurie. "Are you sure?" Her tone was wistful.

"You're still going to hell," Callie teased Rogue. "'Cause you're having impure thoughts right now!"

“Damned straight Ah am,” Rogue sassed back, grinning.

Laurie backed up a step, clutching her bag to her chest. "Really, I don't—" She ended the phrase in a shriek as Remy popped up out of the bushes in front of her.

"Hello!" he said cheerfully. "You must be de newbie, yes?" He paused. "Callie, you get you' sneaky plants outta dis one's pants."

Rogue leaned over to pop him on his shoulder. "Fool. Y' probably scared her half t' death!" She turned back to Laurie. "This here is Remy LeBeau." Blushingly, she added, "He's my fiancé," and smiled foolishly.

"Remy," Kitty added, hands on narrow hips, "your manners get worse every day, I swear. Rogue, you need to punish him somehow."

"Start with apologizin' to Laurie. darlin'. We'll see what else is required," Rogue said darkly.

Remy smiled at the girl. "Right sorry 'bout dat, didn't realize dey had a new face wit' dem, petit. Do like t' play tricks, but it ain' nice." His voice had taken on the very effective charm that made him such a good conman. Laurie, without realizing it, was nodding, her eyes glazing over already.

Rogue socked him again, much harder. "Y'all," she said direly, "are in trouble now. Big, big trouble,” she said, bending a bit and wagging her finger before his nose. The scolding effect was lost, though, due to Remy’s fascination with her bosom, a long-term love-affair.

Remy rubbed his shoulder. "An' dis is different how? She ain' scared o' dis one no more!" One gloved hand ran mischievously up Rogue’s leg, teasing at the edge of her skirt and dancing across her thin tights, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

Callie waved a hand in front of Laurie’s face. "No, she's just in a happy coma. Good job, her blood pressure was dangerously high."

Kitty grinned. "Yep. Tense, tense girl. Let's get her down to the basketball court, shall we?" Gently, she took Laurie's arm.

Rogue mussed Remy’s hair, practically purring under the touch of his fingers against her thigh. "It ain't different, exactly. But y' ain't supposed t' do that when it ain't for a good purpose. An' seducin' the new girl into trustin' y'? Not a good purpose. So sayeth the fiancée." She kissed her fingertips and pressed them to his lips. "An' y' still in trouble."

He wrapped his arms around her from behind. "Used t' dat. An' it's a hard habit t' break. Keeps people from screamin' bout de eyes."

Callie nudged Laurie from the other side. "Good girl," she crooned. "Pick yourself out a nice lump of unattached boyhood." She pointed. "The tall, skinny one with the glasses is mine. He is the token norm. He endures our ability to make strange things happen with grace and humor. He is lovely, is he not? No, you may not borrow him."

Kitty got them moving. "Watch your step, hon," she advised. "No tripping on the tongue, huh?" She grinned at Laurie, who had a bit of sense –and interest— coming back into her eyes.

"Ah ain't gonna forget y'all were wrong just because y' holding me," Rogue informed Remy, but she leaned back against his beautiful bare chest and wrapped her covered arms across his nonetheless. "No matter how nice it is." After a moment, she looked up into his gemstone eyes, and added, “Ah think they’re holdin’ the game for y’all. Come on, sug, show off for me. Y’ too pretty shirtless not to sweat a little,” she teased, feeling warm and tingly from more than merely his body heat.

Remy laughed. "What, we nothin' but trained puppies fo' you ladies?" Still, he started back towards the court, his arm around Rogue's shoulder.

"This is Tim," Callie was saying to Laurie. "He's adorable and brilliant. Touch him and die."

Tim smiled at Laurie, lanky and somehow comforting in black sweat pants and a grey hoodie with the arms torn off. "She is delusional and thinks girls want to steal me."

"They do. Do not underestimate our sneakiness!" Callie giggled.

Kitty pinched Tim's butt and Callie's simultaneously, then skipped nimbly back. Piotr caught her. "Katya," he said sternly, through a smile, "Those are not your rears to pinch." She pouted, and he lifted her to eye-level and kissed her nose, then put her back down again. "Hello, Laurie," he rumbled like a friendly giant. "I am Piotr, but you may call me Peter or Pete if you wish. Welcome to the school."

Rogue smiled up at Remy, caressing his bare shoulder where she would have kissed if he wore a shirt. "Not trained," she drawled as they came to the court. "But mine, sure 'nough. Ain't the other boys Ah'll be watchin', darlin', 'less they come into my line of sight to y'all." They rejoined the others at the court to hear Bobby finishing the introductions of himself and Argonaught, Sid and Jean-Paul, Aaron and Nightcrawler.

Laurie seemed overwhelmed, and she was reduced to nodding rapidly at them. Obviously not comfortable with being the center of attention, she shrank back behind Kitty and Callie, her eyes downcast. "Hello," she murmured.

Rogue gave Remy's waist a squeeze. "Get 'em goin' again, sug," she requested. "Poor gal's shy," she added in a whisper, fingers lingering.

"Come on and sit down," Kitty invited Laurie. "They'll do this for hours instead of the hard exercise of the Danger Room, when they get the chance." She tugged the new girl to a bench.

Bobby whistled between his teeth. "Same teams or are we switching up for a new game?" The question was directed to all the players as a group.

"Shirts versus skins!" Remy kicked the ball up and caught it. "Unless somebody done be strippin', think we ready t' play, yes?"

"Damn, this is the best part of this school. We should put this in the brochures," Callie said, leaning back on the bench. "Acres of sweaty boyflesh." She pointed. "So, you know Remy and Piotr and Tim are taken. Bobby, that's the all-American blonde, he's got the world's scariest girlfriend. Sweet, but terrifying."

Kitty chimed in, "Kurt's a real charmer, and his tail's prehensile," she said, wiggling her eyebrows lasciviously. "Not usually around, but always fun when he is. Total gentleman, too. Teleports and gives some of the best hugs; not really related, but relevant nonetheless. Piotr's an artist, turns to metal. Oh, look at that!" She paused to admire Piotr holding his ground against a blatantly illegal charge from Jean-Paul, who bounced off the Russian's chest and then spun, almost too fast to see, to take a three-point shot. "JP. Resident fashion god and sadly, very gay. Worse luck."

Argonaught lumbered over to tip off against Aaron, and the roommates soared high to tap at the ball, knocking it into the fray. "Water control and egotistical, but he's been better since he was kidnapped and mentally tortured. Aaron's... well, nobody's quite sure but the Professor. Something mathematically brilliant in predictions and probabilities. It's cool, but even I don't understand it."

Rogue's eyes, fastened on Remy as promised –she wouldn't have wanted to watch anyone else, anyhow— didn't keep her from adding to the commentary. "Sid's nickname is Forge. If y'all can think of it, he can build it." Almost. He hadn't come up with anything to hold her absorption powers at bay yet, though. "So y' don't have to ever settle for cute but stupid 'round here, Laurie." She shot to her feet and blew a long loud whistle through her fingers at a remarkable move from Remy. "Nice one, darlin'," she shouted.

"Bobby does the ice thing," Callie added. "He can make it, manipulate it, become it. A must for picnics in mid-summer." She nodded at Remy. "An' Remy, he bounces like a jackrabbit and makes things go boom." She poked Rogue in the leg. "Including Rogue's blood pressure."

"Damn straight," Rogue replied, although she did blush when she said it.

Laurie giggled, and slapped her hands over her mouth. Callie grinned at her. "It's okay, really, we're all goofy around here." She whistled sharply as Tim did an easy, effortless looking layup. "It's part of our charm."

"Everyone likes t' be appreciated, sug," Rogue told Laurie, eyes still locked on her gorgeous love, muscles glistening in the sun as though they'd been oiled. She felt a shocking urge to go and lick him. All over.

"Anyone else getting hot?" Kitty untied and retied the strings of her barely there top, but was unable to expose any more skin without getting into trouble. "I'm kinda... warm," she said, uncrossing and recrossing her dancer's legs in the tiny shorts she wore. "Hot, even," she said, swallowing as her eyes darkened and gleamed. She licked her lips.

"I always am." Callie looked around. "Oh, you mean THAT kinda warm. Yeah. Always that kind of warm, too. My boyfriend won't put out," she explained to Laurie.

"Oh," the other girl said, nodding. "I've never had one. My parents are kind of strict."

"Well, this place is a hormone overload, so watch yourself." Callie shifted on the bench. "Who wants to tackle herself a boy?"

Kitty's hand shot into the air. Rogue's blush deepened. "Wouldn't want t'... interrupt th' game," she murmured, one hand tracing the lines of her camisole's neckline under her sheer, long-sleeved shirt. She, too, licked her lips.

Callie sighed. "We're going to embarrass ourselves and them if we keep this up." She made no move to leave.

A natural pause occurred in the game, one of those arguing the points moments. Bobby shifted restlessly from foot to foot, the ball braced between hip and wrist, not arguing as he normally would have for every point. Nightcrawler's tail waved fitfully. Piotr wiped at the sweat on his chest, causing Kitty to whimper just a bit.

Rogue scooted just enough sideways on the bench that she could catch Remy's eye, blew him a kiss, and mouthed something naughty in French. Jean-Paul laughed. She colored, but couldn’t bring herself to be sorry she’d done it.

There was almost no warning. Argonaut hit Jean-Paul, or the other way around, and the larger boy exploded. Bobby and Remy were closest, the two of them reacted with one mind, pushing their way between them and giving Argonaut a united front. Piotr grabbed the larger boy, and yelling exploded.

Callie jerked. "What the hell just happened?" she asked, mystified. "That's not in character for any of them." She glanced at Rogue, her cheeks pink. "Should we..."

Before any of them could move, Logan came down the path. "Hey!" he yelled. "Knock it off!" His teeth working the stub of a cigar, he scattered the boys like pigeons with one half-hearted swipe of a fist. "All of ya. Inside, now! If you got this much energy, looks like you need to spend more time trainin'!" Every last one of ‘em, boys and girls alike, were putting out pheremones like they’d swallowed Roofies, and he wasn’t having it.

"Run?" Callie asked.

"What, what run?" Laurie asked, her eyes darting between them. "What's going on?"

"Let's go, ladies; if you're gonna play cheerleader, you can do it in the Danger Room."

“Too late,” Kitty chirped, her speculative gaze turning to Logan. Rough-edged, a little bit sweaty, older and really hot man-meat. Guh. And with hyperactive senses of perceptivity for hormones. Damn it. That was why he’d showed up. They must all have been putting them out like a house –or pants—on fire. Lust, anger…. Regretfully, she thought of injustices. The cure. The Holocaust. The Taliban’s oppression of women. Magneto naked. Yup, that did it. The heat-sweat on her body from watching half-naked boys chilled in the slight breeze.

"Someone lit my pompoms on fire last time," Callie complained.

Incredibly reluctantly, Rogue tore her eyes from Remy’s sweat-slicked back, from the gleam and slide of muscles under skin. She guessed they’d be working out their frustrations in the Danger Room now, instead of feeling them build pleasantly into the possibilities of an afternoon nap spent together, not napping.

Logan rolled his eyes. "Don't use vegetation as pompoms, or it’s gonna get mulched."

*

Laurie had settled in, timidly, but still. A quiet girl, she didn’t have much to say for herself, but she seemed happy to be around other mutant teenagers, though Emma had nearly reduced her to tears twice. She’d been there a few days, and had started coming to classes along with everyone else. Like Rogue, she was reticent to discuss her particular power, which was just fine with the gal with the poison skin. Everyone was entitled to their own version of privacy, and if they needed to know for a mission or for training, the Professor would fill them in.

Rogue couldn’t remember a better start to a summer semester in the three years she’d been at the mansion, despite Emma’s horrifically whorish presence. Anyone who mattered pretty much ignored the wealthy fashion plate and telepath, which made her just a little crazy… but since the Professor was monitoring her, and everyone else had learned to keep their mental shields up, she was much less of a problem than she might have been. All the colors seemed a little brighter, all the jokes just that much funnier. Training was going great guns, and they were all getting better at what they did. Except for her, still struggling with her power of absorption, the only one that was originally hers, and the only one that she still couldn’t control.

She’d never truly be in love with flying, but she could manage it, if she had to. If the need was there. She didn’t like to carry someone along, but that too was more than possible, considering the strength she’d stolen –the Professor preferred the term ‘inherited’— from the mad remnants of American hero Carol Danvers. And sometimes, rarely, she could sense a danger before it came. That sense was unpredictable, though, since ‘danger’ meant different things depending on whether her strength and near-invulnerability were flipped ‘on’ or ‘off.’ She preferred ‘off.’ It would be too easy to slack, to depend on that strength and that resistance. And she was too accustomed, after all these years, after Wolverine’s training, to depend on anything that wasn’t truly hers. Danver’s abilities? Weren’t hers. Not really.

Not like the deadly absorption. Despite the lingering worry over that particular aspect of her mutation, she leaned comfortably against Remy in the Professor’s study as their mentor laid out a new ethical quandary for the day’s debate.

It involved what she thought of as the Star Trek dilemma: could you, would you, sacrifice not yourself, but someone else, or even a group of someones, if it meant that millions more would be saved? Kitty had started in immediately to argue personal choice, and the Professor had quickly clarified the discussion to clarify that no, self-sacrifice was not the issue here. Laurie had looked a bit appalled at the quick assumption that dying to save others was the right answer, while Emma looked both slightly disgusted and faintly bored. Laurie, however, was paying close attention as the words and arguments raged back and forth, eyes gleaming a bit in fascination and deep, sincere interest. Apparently, she found brainy ethics discussions quite appealing!

Rogue was more concerned, at the moment, with the fact that she and Remy would be heading back to N’Awlins within the week, for ‘something important’ that had to happen that summer. It had taken shameless begging, ruthless application of logic, and finally, tears (hers, not Remy’s!) to convince the Professor to let her go with him, but they had managed it at last, invoking her eighteenth birthday and their engagement at the end of last month, which gave her legal adult status at last; Remy’s responsibilities as the Head of the Unified Guilds and hers as his epoux; and the fact that they’d be happy to host anyone who needed to be in the area to recruit new mutants. And to take care of any problems that arose down there by already having a nearly-crack team in place, easily augmented by mansion residents quickly brought in by either Blackbird, Raven, or private jet.

Her fingers, seemingly unable to prevent themselves from doing it, slid subtly into Remy’s hip pocket, pressing against the fine muscular curve living under the seat of his jeans. It wasn’t like the Professor didn’t already know that she needed to touch Remy as often as possible. But this wasn’t exactly comfort touching….

The Professor’s wise eyes flickered in her direction, and she stilled her hand in its warm location, dragging as much of her focus as she could manage back to the discussion. “Who’re we,” she asked, “to judge who lives an’ who dies when there’s innocents on both sides of the equation? There ain’t a good answer, nor yet a truly right one. Someone’s gonna suffer; ain’t no way around it. An’ when y’ got only a split second t’ decide, numbers do matter. It gets more complex when y’ know someone, know ‘em personally, Ah mean, in one group or th’ other. ‘Cause no matter how we may try to make the right decision, the best one concerned, we’re human at heart.”

She paused briefly, hyper-aware of Remy’s regard of her mouth, movement as well as words. “We got the weaknesses, th’ affections, and th’ fears of our kind. An’ with those in the mix, selfishness creeps in. Cain’t be avoided.” She had a horrible image of having to sacrifice Remy in a situation like that. Rogue knew, without a doubt, she couldn’t do it. Could not. She’d rather, by far, die herself.

Kitty sat up straighter, crossing her legs. It took her a moment to marshal her thoughts. Rogue wondered if she was experiencing some of the strange distraction, too. Somehow, wanting Remy all the time had turned into needing him desperately, of late. It was a distraction in the extreme! A welcome one, but still. Having flashbacks to naughty words and a wicked tongue pressed against silken underwear, not to mention all the physical glories she’d experienced over Spring Break and since, was not conducive to success in the Danger Room!

“You’re totally sidestepping the issue,” she told Rogue with some asperity. “We’re the ones to make the decisions because we’re the ones with the power, and hence, the responsibility. It comes down to us, not only because of what we are, but because of how we’ve chosen to live our lives. I’d like to think I’d go with the larger number of innocents to save, but I don’t know that I could.” She bit her lip, a bit worried. “I want to believe that I could. But it’s a bit like herding cats. You never know until you have all the pieces together… and even them, some keep wandering off.” She sighed, uncrossing and recrossing her legs.

Emma Frost rolled her eyes derisively. “Have some pride, Pryde. Make a decision and stick with it. Do everything in your power to maximize how well it works. And then, don’t apologize or accept delivery on any blame. You did your best and no one can prove otherwise. Move on, already.”

Kitty was ready to make a sharp retort –Frost hadn’t endeared herself to anyone, and thought that being a bit older made her automatically better and wiser than the other students. Something she had in common with Argonaught, if only she’d known it!

Bobby chimed in, interrupting. “Remember the question on the Internet? Which guy would you save, and it listed a bunch of personal habits and acts, one list mostly good, the other mostly bad? And most people picked saving the good guy. Who turned out to be Hitler, while the other was Gandhi! We can’t know the future. We can only work with what we do know.” He sighed. “And having someone we care about in the smaller group… well. We all know that we’d give up our own lives if we had to. So that should make it easier. You already know that your teammate would decide to die if it meant others lived. Why should it be so much harder to decide it for them, in the moment? It’s not logical.” He tugged at his collar, feeling terribly overheated and wishing he knew where Cipher was. She’d had to leave school for a short job. “Then again, neither is having the X-gene in the first place.”

*

Free time. Rare, precious free time. Rogue knew just how she wanted to spend it… but some of the other teens were already wrapped up in death-or-glory scenarios in a massive video- and other-game fest. Fine. She could be patient… for all of an hour or so. And then she was going to kidnap Remy away to her room and do something about the horrendous levels of desperate need and want and desire that had been riding her like the proverbial monkey on an addict’s back for what seemed like forever. Sometimes, having a love who didn’t expect sex could be immensely frustrating!

So. Shower. The perfume that Remy had so favored over Spring Break, a not-very-subtle sensual reminder of the twenty-four hours when they’d been able to touch with impunity. Sexy tiny shirt under sheer blouse, sexy tiny skirt over sheer tights. Silk handkerchiefs in strategic locations around her room. Even –and she blushed at the memory of purchasing them— condoms. She’d take every care, she never wanted to hurt him, but… but…. Rogue was nothing but a desperate puddle of hormones. She knew it, she knew what to do about it, and she was by God gonna get her some Remy!

Clean, smelling sinful, and barely dressed if you discounted the sheer parts of her outfit, Rogue sashayed her way into the lounge, eyes falling unerringly on Remy. Hers weren’t the first eyes to be there, either. Emma was watching like a sleek, predatory white tiger. It had to make her crazy that the boys she’d first targeted –Remy and Bobby— were also the most faithful in the school. Didn’t stop her from plotting, though. The bitch.

Remy, ignoring her utterly, was whooping and hollering at the screen, fingers flying over the controller for yet another round of whatever video game it was this week. He was soundly trouncing Piotr, who was operating under the handicap of Kitty, perched in his lap with her dancer’s legs locked together behind the big Russian’s back as she gave totally irrelevant advice (since she couldn’t see the screen) and wiggled at distracting moments.

“Just punch all the buttons at once,” she advised, her own fingers doing a little button-punching of their own across Piotr’s ribs and chest. “Works for me,” she giggled. And wiggled some more.

“Katya,” he half-groaned, shifting beneath her. “There is a science to Tekken. It is not so simple as punching all the buttons at once.”

“You are so literal,” she pouted, and licked his neck.

“Katya!”

At the other end of the lounge, Aaron played chess against Sid, Laurie, and Jean-Paul simultaneously on three different boards. Laurie giggled incessantly, Jean-Paul fought with snark as much as skill, and Sid simply looked bemused at having been pulled in to a game with no circuitry involved anywhere. Aaron was handily winning all three games. Tim matched Jean-Paul snark for snark with color commentary while Callie perched on his back, occasionally shouting such things as “Forward, my minions! Death or… more death! With a side of glory!”

Rogue sent a wave and a smile in her direction, but didn’t alter course towards Remy. Target acquired and locked, she giggled to herself, amused that the metaphor had crossed her mind.

In between, Bobby, Nightcrawler, and Argonaught, of all people, rolled dice and shoved pewter miniatures of robots and tanks along a sheet of paper terrain. Patiently, Bobby was explaining to Argonaught once again that no, none of the ‘mechs had mutant powers.

“Their pilots might,” Argonaught pointed out.

“Zhey don’t.” Nightcrawler plucked up a piece with his tail and moved it across six hexes.

“But, old man, how do you know that?” Argonaught rolled his dice and came up with boxcars. “Ha! Head shot! Take that!”

“Because it’s not in the rules,” Bobby pointed out, for what sounded like the thirteenth or fourteenth time.

“Pish-tosh,” said Argonaught. “We make rules up for mutant basketball, mutant softball, mutant everything. Why not for Battletech?”

“Because,” Bobby sighed, missing Cipher, who was due in that evening, “if there were mutants in the game they wouldn’t be pushing ‘mechs. They’d be infantry. Or air troopers. Not ‘mech pilots.”

“What about Iron Man, then?”

“He’s not a mutant. Just a guy in a suit.”

Still giggling, Rogue went to Remy, Piotr, and Kitty. “Hey, y’all,” she said, leaning against Remy’s back and wrapping her arms around his waist. “How’s every… little… thing… goin’ for y’all this lovely early afternoon?” At the loaded pauses in her greeting, her fingers fluttered up and under Remy’s untucked tee-shirt, and toyed with his belt buckle.

Her mouth right next to his ear, she added a warm whisper meant only for her Cajun boy to hear. “Was really hopin’ for some quality alone time with y’all, sugar. French… and Latin too,” she purred, blushing but determined, sliding her words and heated breath along his ear and throat.

Remy jerked under her fingers as if she were electrified. "Hey, chere," he said, his voice gone thick. "How you doin'?"

Like he had been able to concentrate before this. He'd already been on edge, mostly hard all day, trying his best not to be a randy freak, slavering all over her. His cheeks were hot as he tried to avoid looking at Piotr and Kitty.

Piotr cackled in triumph. "Now, at last, this game is fair," he proclaimed, solidly slamming Remy's neglected character into oblivion now that the other boy was distracted as well.

"Good," Kitty said, and phased the controller right out of his hands. "Let's celebrate." She fastened her mouth to Piotr's, and began grinding in his lap. His big hands came up, one on her back, and one tangled in her hair. He didn't seem to care about the game anymore, even though his character was doing her patented victory giggle.

"Ain't doin' nothin'," Rogue returned, lips nearly touching his ear, gloved hands riding up to brush against his nipples beneath the loose T-shirt, desire throbbing in her voice. "Yet."

"Oh, we both know dat's a big, whopper o' a lie," Remy said, smiling even as he leaned back, helpless to do anything other than let her do whatever she'd want. Across the room, Emma rose and stalked over to the Battletech players, her ass swaying in yet another of her all-white streetwalker outfits.

Rogue barely registered her departure, far more intent on touching Remy. She flicked her gloved fingers across him, pinching one nipple as she bit down on his shoulder, a tiny growl vibrating through her lips and against his flesh. "Callin' me a liar?" She did it again.

"Damn straight." Remy caught her wrist, marveling at the fragility of it in his fingers. "Actin' all innocent an' such, it don' suit you." His lips kicked up. "Specially no' when you' dressed dat way."

She tugged at her captured wrist, not really trying to free herself at all. "Y' missed one, sugar," she told him, and let her free hand slide downward across the muscular terrain of his stomach to his belt again, breasts pressing against his back and shoulder as she leaned down, extending her reach far enough to slip her fingers inside his waistband.

Some part of his brain was screaming that she was feeling him up in the damn lounge, less than five feet from one of her best friends. But then again... Based on what he was seeing out of the corner of his eyes, Kitty probably wouldn't be doing much judging about these matters.

Then her fingers flipped open the button of his jeans, and he stopped thinking about anyone else.

Rogue moaned against his neck as her fingers closed around him, the sweet, hard heat filling her palm and teasing her fingertips with all kinds of wicked possibilities. "Want t' touch y' more," she whispered, her breasts swollen and tender at the thought, the secret flesh between her legs slick with need. "Need y' to touch me, too," she told him, raising her trapped wrist and his encircling fingers to press against her bosom. "Please," she said, shameless, as her fingers encircled him and stroked beneath the cover of the denim.

Remy's fingers stroked the tight little bud that pressed against them, unable to resist. Two things his fingers could not leave untouched; unguarded jewels, and her breasts.

Which were guarded jewels, but jewels none the less.

He turned in his seat to put his mouth to use where his fingers played, his head filled with her scent. The cloth was a splash of cool against his lips, his tongue, heating almost instantly to the spiking level of her body.

And whatever brain cells he still had functioning snapped to LeBeau programming rule number one, of thievery and debauchery:

Never, never, where one could be seen.

He snapped back. "What're we doin'?" he gasped out.

Rogue whimpered with deprivation at losing the incredible heat of his wet mouth against her, and gave the straining flesh of his erection one last hungry caress before letting go and removing her hand from the haven of Remy's pants. "Apparently," she growled, frustrated and hurt at what felt horribly like rejection, "nothin'. Guess Ah ain't a liar after all," she spat, taking advantage of the fact that he'd released her other wrist a moment earlier to toy with her nipple. Toy was right! She pushed herself away from behind his seat and fled for the door.

Remy was over the back of the couch and hit her before she had time to go more than a few steps, sweeping her off her feet. "No' here," he growled. "No' in front o' dem. Don' wan' dem seein' ya."

Rogue's head was a swirl of conflicting emotions. Rejected, protected. Desperately hungry for Remy. Angry. Weak with desire. Hot and trapped. She shoved futilely at his chest, stolen powers in the ‘off’ position, even as her body softened and yearned against him. "Damnit, Remy," she snarled, back arching as she fought herself and him both, wanting to be free and wanting to wrap herself around him at the same exact time.

Remy took the stairs at an easy lope, propelling them up with no concern for anything or anyone that got in his way. Her struggles didn't really interest him either, he had a goal, and he wasn't stopping until he achieved it.

"What exactly," Rogue snapped, hands torn between struggling for escape and caressing the fine play of muscles beneath Remy's shirt as he carried her, "do y' think y'all're doin'?"

He kicked open the door to her room, and shoved it shut with his shoulder as they got inside. It bounced off the frame and gaped open again, something he should correct, but there was a bed, a bed, and her, alive and wriggling in his arms, all heat and feminine outrage. He bore her down, his weight following her instantly.

Rogue gasped at the impact, frighteningly aroused and slick as she'd ever been at the weight of Remy above her. Her nipples ached, they were so eager to be touched, and her hips arched against him in welcome. Even so, she shoved at his shoulders, mind fogging with desire but still holding the remnants of the idea that she was angry with him.

Remy leaned over her, panting. "Mine," he growled. Which wasn't good, wasn't right, wasn't what he'd meant to say, but it was the only word left in his brain. He arched against her, his hands braced on either side of her, holding himself against her firmly "Mine," he repeated, and this time, it was less a demand, and more a plea, a needy, almost helpless sound.

Rogue's brain blurred with need. "Not yet," she taunted on a moan, hips arching again as she tipped her head back, body and gesture challenging him to change that.

Remy's hips jerked against hers, hard. "Mine," he snarled again, wanting the acknowledgement. "Mine." One hand slid behind her back, tipping up her slim little torso so he could suckle at her breast through the shirt.

Her hands flew to his hair, twining into the coarse and silky locks to urge him closer. His lips and tongue felt like pure sin against her, and the only way she was going to let him stop was if he pinned her hands. But that could lead to even better things…. “Feels… so good,” she gasped, fingers sliding deeper into his hair and cupping the back of his head.

Remy's mouth was busy against her breast, his fingers digging into her back as he tilted her to his whim. He was stronger than her, bigger than her; there was no time when it was more obvious than now. He loved this moment, when he wanted her and she wanted him, and he could do as he pleased. He growled against her nipple.

She tugged him closer still, desperate for more, her legs parting with a helpless need, all shyness gone in the offering she made of herself. "Rem—" she gasped, "please—" Her body twisted against his, soft welcoming warmth against insistent male hardness.

Remy pinned her easily, uninterested in what she wanted at the moment. His hips settled in the cradle of her body, a warm, soft hollow custom-made for him. He licked the fabric of her shirt, and bit hard, hard enough to mark her through it. His hand played with her other breast, toying with her flesh and the idea of moving.

Rogue gasped at the sudden, sharp sensation, pain and pleasure intermixed so that she couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. Her fingers tightened in his hair, and her hips tried again to move against him, but his weight held her at his mercy. Sharply, now, she pulled at his hair, demandingly.

He snarled at the tug, and raised his head, his eyes gleaming and wild, narrow on her. "Mine," he managed. He turned his head and bit her gloved wrist, hard enough for her to feel it. "Mine."

She squeaked at the unexpected snap, and her own eyes narrowed, green and glittering. Chin jerking up in defiance, she reminded him "Not yet," complete with another attempt to raise her body against him, to have him fill her achingly needy self, hot and slick with desire.

He growled, loud now as he pushed himself up and caught her wrists in one fluid movement. Holding them both in one large, hot hand, he pinned them above her head and studied her. She was twisting and panting beneath him, the sweet, hot smell of her arousal obvious to him now. He smiled, his body hard and aching. "Mine," he repeated, eyes narrowed, a verbal dare for her to argue.

"Mine," she tossed back defiantly, unable to free her wrists and touch him as she wanted, needed to do. Her legs scissored beneath him, as she tried without hands to tempt him into more, the more that she was crazy to have.

His teeth flashed in a sharp smile. "Yes," he agreed. He lowered his head, wanting to kiss her so badly that his brain almost failed to stop him. He paused, nearly touching her, his breath feathering over her trembling mouth. "Always." He arched his hips, driving the hard line of his erection against her core. "Need you."

"Gawd, Rem," she panted out, whimpering at the feel of him. "Take what's y'all's, then." She arched her back, shuddering at the heat between her thighs, lashes fluttering over her eyes and then lifting again. "Want y'," she half-snarled.

It was not a good idea. He knew that on some, vague, far off place in his brain, but he couldn't remember why. All he could come up with was he wanted her. It was the only thought in his scattered brain. His free hand slid down her body and between them to play with the slick spot between her parted thighs. "This?"

Rogue groaned deep in her chest at the touch, legs parting and flexing to draw him deeper. "More," she whimpered, knowing only two things with certainty. She needed him more than anything she'd ever needed, and he needed her, too. "All of y'," she begged, freed hand scrabbling at her desk for something that, she remembered vaguely, promised safety, satisfaction. Small flat squares of plastic scattered at her desperate grab.

Remy growled, displeased by the fabric under his fingers. Removing her sheer tights seemed to be too much effort, and his fingers went to his back pocket. Pinning her still, he used a penknife to cut a small slit, and moments later, his gloved fingers were deep in her moist sheath. He let out a growling purr, pleased by her slick folds.

She jolted against him, crying out at the touch, so intimate and deep. "Gawd, yesss," she hissed, rising to his hand.

He pulled back and added another finger before thrusting deep into her again. "So hot... Tight," he whispered. "Mine. This... is mine." His eyes met hers, hot and gleaming. "All mine. No one else will ever touch you. Mine."

She trembled at the look, intense and predatory, beautiful and so very insistent. Demanding, even. "Y’all’s," she agreed at last, voice thick with passion and surrender. "Always." It had the sound of forever to it, something weighty and larger than both of them tangled together in a heated embrace. "Y’all’s," she repeated, her free hand leaving the packets on the desk and stroking through his hair, weaving deeply into the locks at the nape of his neck. "Please, y’all’s."

He growled, pleased. His hand went to the condom packets, almost by rote. He'd been well trained. He ripped it open with his teeth, as she fumbled at the waistband of his jeans. He pushed her hands away, not even bothering to take his pants off. He merely opened them enough to get the condom on, and then he was driving deep inside of her with one hard, powerful thrust.

She screamed, almost hurt by the sudden, startling possession, but her body wanted this, needed it desperately, and had been eager and ready for him. Her legs locked around his lean hips, rising up against him, driving them closer together. Broken sounds of need and pleasure tumbled from her mouth, begging and encouraging all at once.

He snarled, the pleasure spiking through his brain like a shot. He knew he should stop, to make sure that she was all right, that he wasn't hurting her, but... His hips moved, pounding hard into her, using her, having her, taking her. She was his, to take as he pleased, to use and fill and have. He growled, pleased with her, her tight, hot body beneath him, open for him. "Mine," he snarled, his hand sliding under her to tip her hips up, to give himself a better angle to thrust.

Her head flung back in a gesture of submission as old as life, baring her throat to anything he should wish to do with her. "Yesss," she hissed again, the simple syllable shattered by his hard, fierce rhythm above her. Rogue held tightly to him, nails digging through her gloves and into his tee-shirt, pricking and puncturing with the ferocity of her grip.

Remy purred, pleased by her ferocity. His fingers slid between them, touching her breasts, her hip, the sweet little bud hidden beneath her curls. "Come," he ordered. His hips moved hard, never letting her rest.

Her hands spasmed against his back, her core spasmed around the merciless hard arch of his erection, and Rogue shattered into a whirlwind of pulsing pleasure at the word, screaming her release and surrender through a throat gone raw and rough.

Remy followed in almost the same breath, the tight flex of her muscles along his length all it took to push him tumbling over the edge. He gritted his teeth and yelled, the only thing in his mind. "Mine!"

She quaked beneath him, aftershocks pummeling her almost as mercilessly as he had, every muscle a-tremble, stomach jerking as the sensations rippled through her, making her moan again, the sound barely recognizable as another offering of herself to him. "Y'all's," she breathed unevenly, clinging.

He collapsed, his brain kicking in enough to remind him of the condom, and he rolled off of her, pulling her against his side as he stripped it away and hurled it unerringly into the trash can. She made a little noise, and he instantly focused on her again. He sniffed gently at her neck, her shoulder, petting her and stroking her, touching and checking her over. He nuzzled her shoulder, making an inquiring noise, worried now.

She burrowed close against his warmth, limp and happy. One hand stroked lightly across his shoulder, and she turned her face to brush her lips against his hair, knowing somehow that to linger there would be bad. Words beyond her, she purred at him, breath stirring the hair above his ear.

Relieved by the happy noise, he settled down, giving her the warmth of his body as he continued his careful examination. He stroked her, his hands gentle and careful as he arranged her delicate body against him. "Mine?" he whispered, needy now that the initial storm had passed.

"Y'all's," she returned instantly, feeling tenderly protected and lovingly cosseted. "Mine?"

“Yes," he said, pleased. He snuggled down against her, purring with the rusty rough sound of a big cat. He kissed her breast. "Yours."

"Mmm," she purred in return, fingers tangling in his hair as she turned her face into his chest, close as possible. "Yes," she whispered, slipping into a blissful half-awake state where her hands roamed and petted, caressed and stroked, for the pure pleasure of touching him.

*

Barely able to think, certainly not able to walk straight, Bobby fled for his room, shaking off Emma’s naughty hands and bad, wrong suggestions with a desperate fear that if he didn’t hurry, he’d be fucking her up against the wall. Hard. Maybe twice. When she’d torn off her blouse for him…. Holy crap, but the woman was hot!

“I’m sorry—“ he said again, really meaning it. “Please. Go find Sid. Go find Kurt. Go find Jean-Paul!” He slammed his door in her face and locked it, panting hard. One hand flew to his crotch and squeezed hard, trying to calm things down in there, but his dick so had a mind of its own. Sweating and flushed, he tore through his bureau, flinging things carelessly to the floor until his hands fell at last on a pair of handcuffs taken from Remy and Rogue a year earlier. He didn’t have the key. No one did. But that seemed far less important at the moment than avoiding doing something monumentally stupid with a girl who wasn’t Cipher!

Leaving the mess strewn about, he flung himself onto his bed, whipping one cuff around his left wrist and latching the other to the bed frame. When everyone was sane again, someone would miss him and they’d let him loose. But right then and there, he really didn’t need to be a part of the inexplicable orgy that had broken out all over the mansion. Not without Cipher.

Groaning with need, he used his free hand to unfasten his jeans and shove them and his shorts down past his raging hard-on. Wrapping it in his fist, totally unable to stop himself, the Iceman gave in to meltdown.

*

that evening

Cipher paused just inside the front door. Something was off. Strangely off. She paused, her overnight bag over her shoulder, considering the emptiness. That was it.

"Where is everyone?" she asked aloud. She checked her watch again. Early evening, dinner should still be going on. There was something off here. More so than usual.

She glanced up, and was surprised to see Argonaught standing on the far end of the hallway. "Hey," she said. "How's it going, Argo?" She glanced into the student lounge as she walked past the open door. "Where is everyone? I haven't seen a single person since I walked in. I cannot even remember then last time that happened." The lounge was empty; so was the classroom on the other side of the hallway. She looked up, but the landing was empty as well. "It's beginning to—"

Argonaught's huge hands closed on her shoulders.

For a moment, she was so startled by it that she just stopped dead, confused. She jerked backwards. "Okay, don't—"

His hands were on her, on her hips and waist, and some part of her was just amazed that he was even attempting it. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she said, shoving his face away as he made an attempt to kiss her.

There were fingers on her breast, and wow, was that ever wrong. Cipher didn't even react, just brushing his hand away as if it were a bug. "Get off of me," she said, her voice calm and cool. "Right now. I don't like being touched, I don't like being manhandled, and if you don't get off of me, right now, I will break your arm."

He seemed oblivious, and she managed to fend him off again, one hand hard on his throat, shoving him back. Gritting her teeth, she made one last try. "Robert, I've got some small amount of affection for you. You're a lunkhead, but you're an affable lunkhead. So I really don't want to hurt you. Let. Go." The words were a snarl now, her natural resistance to being held against her will rearing its head.

His mouth closed on hers.

Her knee came up, and before he had time to do more than jerk backwards, she followed it with a blow to his nose, the heel of her hand smashing against the bridge. He staggered back, his hand closing on her breast, and she flipped around, catching his knee with hers and jerking backwards. He fell, and her shirt ripped, tearing down the front, the fabric still clutched between his fingers.

But he was remarkably sturdy. Even before he had a chance to hit the ground, he was stumbling back up, his hands reaching for her. "Get. OFF!" she yelled, frustrated now. She grabbed his wrist as he reached for her, and slid around him, twisting around and throwing her weight against his. His shoulder came out of the socket with a hollow, nauseating pop, and he finally seemed to be aware of what was happening.

He blinked at her, confused and in pain. Cipher wasn't taking any chances. She dropped him with one sharp blow to the chin, a hit that shook her all the way up to her shoulder.

He went down, a ton of bricks in a broken bag, and Cipher took a step back, her breathing just a little harder than usual. "Great," she said, staring down at him. "Now what am I supposed to do with you?"

There was the sound of pounding feet behind her, and she turned as Logan burst through the kitchen doors. He took in the scene in a moment, and before she knew what was happening, he had his jacket off, and wrapped around her shoulders, and was moving past her. "Do not kill him," she said, pleased with the gesture. "It's fine. I handled it."

Logan growled, rather incoherently, and bounded away from her to the unconscious Argonaught, where he crouched on toes and fingertips briefly, sniffing the downed boy, and then raised his head to look at Cipher, teeth bared in an expression that looked like nothing quite so much as a dog’s happy grin. He bounded vertical again, and came back to her, then proceeded to sniff around her throat and ears, and down along the slight curves and dips of her cleavage as his hands flexed without touching her. He withdrew, just a bit, and emitted a small, hopeful whine.

Cipher stared at him. "Oh, you must be joking," she said. "I really, really do not want to fight you, because unlike Dingus McGee over there, you can and will hurt me." Her eyes closed, and she took a deep breath. "What the hell is going on here?"

Concentrating hard, she disappeared from his radar. She caught the confused look on his face, the minor spark of annoyance, then he stood there, sniffing the air. "You're interested in me because I'm female," she said, thinking aloud. "Because I took down a larger male." Even his initial approach had been almost deferential.

She glanced at the stairs. "Maybe it's best if you stick close. I really do not want you wandering off." A hint of her scent reached him, and his head snapped in her direction, padding towards her. Wrapping his jean jacket around her shoulders, she headed upstairs. "Why," she muttered, "do I continue to come back here? Damn loony bin."

Logan followed her, head raised to catch her scent on the air, growling just a bit. But it sounded more like a purr.

Cipher moved through the mansion at a swift clip, but most of the rooms on the main floor were empty. A few students, all younger, were asleep in the public rooms, sleeping solidly but safely. They would wake for a few moments when she shook them, and, annoyed, roll over and go back to sleep.

She paused at the stairs, considering heading up, or down to the lower levels. But concern for Remy and the others won out. For some reason, her head hurt, a faint ache that made it hard to concentrate. She bounded up the stairs and nearly tripped over a couple on the landing, entangled and mostly naked. She skidded to a stop, but they didn't seem to notice her.

Only when she reached out to touch the girl did either of them react, the boy snarling at her. When she jerked backwards, he went back to what he'd been doing, to the girl’s obvious delight. Afraid for Remy and Rogue in equal parts now, Cipher stepped over them and took the rest of the stairs at a run.

She didn't realize how much she'd slipped until Logan caught her from behind, one hand going unerringly to the place between her legs, his big rough hand cupping her and lifting her up to her toes without any effort. Her breath left her in a gasping moan, and he growled his approval as his mouth came down on her neck.

His hand was hot there against her core, his fingers rough as he tested her through the denim of her jeans. Apparently pleased with what he found, he shoved her against the wall, letting her feel his heavy erection against her soft rear. His free hand found her breasts, playing roughly with the tight little nipples through her bra.

Cipher whimpered, hot and needy, wild as he bit and sucked at her skin. He growled against her, and she was overwhelmed by the desire to go down on her knees, to present to him, and let him fill her.

Her eyes snapped open. "Jesus," she snarled. "What the hell am I doing?" She whipped her head back, catching him in the nose with her skull. He released her, more out of shock than anything else, and she turned on him with one fast swipe of her hand, her fingernails aiming for his eyes. He dodged, and she left four scratches on his cheek.

She dodged to the side, falling back in a defensive crouch and snarled at him, her blood spattered hand at the ready.

His head went to one side, and he sniffed again. She wanted him, but she’d clawed. Logan didn’t even touch the marks on his face, much more interested in getting closer to this little bitch. He emitted a curious sound, half-growl, half-purr, and sidestepped toward her, fast and light but without menace. Her arousal, denied though it was, filled his senses. What did she want besides that?

Well within her arm’s reach, his head went to the other side again, and he reached one hand toward her, palm up and the back of his hand offered near her face, then brushing lightly against her cheek in a way that couldn’t possibly be interpreted as an attack. That same strange soft growl rumbled from his chest.

She snapped at his fingers, a clear warning. Some small, human part of her marveled at the scene, but it was far off in the distance, a bare whisper against her mind. "I have a mate," she growled. "And it's not you. So, thanks, but don’t touch me again.”

Wolverine withdrew the hand, and growled back at her, a sound this time of annoyed frustration. But the warning was a clear one. This bitch didn't want to be covered. At least by him. He drew up to his full height and flexed, thinking that perhaps she doubted his strength.

Turning, she bolted the rest of the way up the stairs, no longer caring if Logan followed. She should, but her mind was hazy now. Empty of the thought of anything other than finding the one who she needed.

Still posturing behind her, Wolverine emitted a snarling growl of frustration, and loped in pursuit. If he had to prove himself in combat, that was possible too. Once he knew what she was after, smelling so ready for mating.

*

Rogue’s breath hitched in her throat, slowing and deepening as she more or less found herself again after utterly losing control beneath Remy again, pierced and dominated and owned and very, very happy. Also exhausted, and sore. “Mmmm,” she purred, running her hands along his spine, gloved fingers finding the tears and holes she’d put in his tee-shirt. Smiling to herself, she ran her fingers into them, and pulled, rewarded by a rich, tearing sound as she half-destroyed the garment, leaving it to hang loosely across his back, from his shoulders and between them, while she caressed the gorgeous expanse of his back with only her gloves between her hands and his skin.

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