A/N: It’s been ages, and I’m sorry.

Thanks to all who have reviewed, are reviewing, and will review. Your words (as clichéd as it sounds) are a huge source of inspiration!

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own the X-Men or anything related.

This chapter contains crude language and moments of sensuality. So, if this bothers you, turn back now.

The Noctambulist, Chapter Four

The remnants of Mississippi Mud ice cream swirled about vainly fleeing from the attacks of the spoon that was stirring up eddies in the bowl. Rogue’s face was supported by one fisted hand, causing her cheek to puff out, giving her an air of petulance. A line of chocolate graced her bottom lip, but Remy would never tell her it was there. It was all he could do not to lick it off her. Ignoring it didn’t sate his desire, but it didn’t inflame him to action. She was slouched over in her chair, leaning heavily on the counter of the island in the middle of the Mansion’s kitchen. Her feet dangled restlessly, swishing back and forth; the motions carrying her virginal white nightgown with it. How could she look like a child, but make him feel so…so…

Remy’s thoughts were interrupted by the clattering of Rogue’s spoon against her bowl. As chipped as it was, (owing to years of use by the superhuman residents of the Mansion) it didn’t deserve that kind of abuse. The sound rang in Remy’s ears, roaring in its finality. Rogue was going to give him a piece of her mind. It was only a matter of whether or not he was going to listen or just disarm her completely. He watched as her mouth stretched open to speak and then snapped shut. Her face contorted through a thousand different emotions and finally settled into a look of sheer determination.

“I thought we were gonna talk.”

There was hurt in her tone, but also eagerness. Was she really itching for a fight? Did she really think that he was going to spill his guts to her that easily? Honestly. He hadn’t really thought of her as that naïve.

“What would you like to talk about, chere? World News? Business? Sports? Arts and Lesiure? The Crossword?”

Rogue couldn’t help but laugh. “Are you just listing off the sections of the New York Times?”

“Frankly, I’m insulted Roguey. I just happen to be a well rounded conversationalist.”

“Why do you always do that?”

“What?”

“Turn everything into a joke or an innuendo?”

“Would you believe me if I told you that’s how I get all the ladies?”

“Oh, are you trying to get me?” Rogue’s eyes glinted mischievously.

Remy faltered at this. “Well, I’d have to say yes.”

“Maybe you already got me.” Rogue shifted, subtly, but enough for Remy’s thief’s eyes to notice how she was leaning into him.

“Well, I can’t kiss you for more than a few seconds without dying, so I wouldn’t say I have you completely.”

Now it was Rogue’s turn to balk. Should she be insulted or excited at the prospect of having become one of Remy’s conquests so easily? No witty retort immediately came to mind, so she settled on a half-formed thought that randomly surfaced.

“A few seconds with me is better than hours with someone else. You’re attracted to me, Remy. Admit it, and we can both go to bed satisfied.”

Remy was once again taken aback by Rogue’s downright bluntness. This was a girl who wore Looney Tunes socks, for Christ’s sake. She couldn’t be essentially propositioning the Prince of Thieves! Could she? More disturbing still – did he actually like it?

“Chere. First and foremost, we’re gonna have to reeducate you on a coupla things. A few seconds ain’t gonna accomplish much. And secondly, I’m a man who likes ta take his time. Ain’t nothing short about me,” Remy finished. His face was set in a wolfish grin, his eyes softly glowing at the prospect of Rogue’s challenge. The part of him that was governed by Tante Mattie was concerned at his actions: this was a girl, a teammate, who probably couldn’t handle his advances, and thus, he was taking advantage of her naïveté. The part of him that was governed purely by himself was enjoying the hell out of his supposed ‘heart to heart’ with Mutant Manor’s resident skunk.

Wordlessly, Rogue rose from the stool she had been so carelessly disarrayed on. She straightened out her shift-like nightgown in a fashion that was obviously intended to be nonchalant, but at the same time alluring. Her hands trailed slowly over her well-formed hips - under the pretense of chasing away invisible wrinkles - and down her thighs. Remy’s position, which had once mirrored Rogue’s own, carefree rag-doll one, immediately straightened. His feet rested on a lower part of the stool, his palms were downturned on his thighs, idly rubbing off the sweat that was accumulating on his hands.

Dieu. Did this little girl actually have him sweating?

Without any hesitation, Rogue placed herself in between Remy’s splayed legs. She stood so that her own hips were between the ‘V’ his legs had created. Silently, she traced the lines of his body with her hands, making sure to go over every contour of his form with the care of a sculptor. Remy watched in equal silence, as her pale, glove-free hands roamed over his body, completely uninvited but not at all unwelcome. Her hands slowly moved down his torso, to his angular hips, to his thighs, where his own hands were currently resting. Rogue carefully avoided Remy’s bare hands, and continued on her exploration. By the time she had reached the tops of his shoulders, Remy was pretty sure he was in well, deep shit.

If he stopped her now, she would be offended and think that he didn’t find her attractive.

Which he didn’t.

Or maybe did.

Either way, if she continued in her bizarrely chaste exploration of his planes and angles, he was likely to do something stupid.

Abruptly Remy stood, drawing himself to his full six feet, four inch height. In that one simple action of straightening out his body, he was able to regain his normally unflappable composure which had uncharacteristically been overwhelmed by Rogue’s femininity.

“Good night, chere.” And with that, Remy tried to walk with even footsteps out of the kitchen.

A/N: Reviews would be wonderful, if you are so inclined.