For the lovely Narwhallove, from all of us slackers—we love you, and happy birthday!!

—•oOo•—

"I can't believe you're still here."

Rogue stops at the foot of her bed on her way from a shower, hands on her naked hips, and flings Rems a glare. She can already feel her lower lip sulking out.

He just stares back with unblinking eyes and a toothy smile on his face, and even though he's not actually looking her over, he might as well be with all that intensity.

She wants him to, honestly, she wants him to see her like this. A touch-me-not, she might be, but she's fully aware of her own beauty, and she knows the image she presents right now, with her hair soaked, sleek, and plastered to her neck, shoulders, and back, her skin still wet from a shower…

Her heart kicks up and her eyes gloss over at the thought of what he'd do if he was actually waiting for her right now. He'd probably be stretched out like a long, lean jungle cat across her bed, and his eyes would light up at seeing her, would slowly follow the droplets running over her breast. He'd lick his lips at how it caught at her nipple, then dribbled along the curve of her breast and down along her abdomen. Maybe he'd move to the edge of her bed, slide his hands up her hips and pull her in between his legs so he could lick that droplet off her skin. Or maybe chase it with his mouth, all the way down—

She sucks in her breath and abruptly tears herself out of the fantasy. No sense in going down that path, that's definitely not something in the cards for her.

She flushes and throws a daggered look at the grinning stuffed bear on her bed. "Should've let 'im toss you in the garbage after all." She flattens her mouth and huffily reaches down for a clean shirt out of the mountain in her laundry basket she has yet to put away (and probably never will).

Rems (or Remi, short for Remington, because she absolutely refuses to name it Remy) continues to stare unflinchingly at her, and she harrumphs as she turns her back, snatching a well worn-in green and violet flannel shirt over her head.

She knows she's being utterly ridiculous, getting irritated (and shy), it's a stuffed animal, for god's sake, not the infuriating man who had given her the damn thing.

Still, though.

"Good for nuthin' Cajun, anyway," she mutters, digging through her laundry until she finds the pair of panties she's after, the silk-thin cotton ones.

Some might say she's insane, with as particular as she is about what she wears. It isn't as though it matters what underwear she takes to bed, though it isn't really a fashion sense driving it, anyway. It's touch. It's how it feels on her skin.

Just because she can't touch other people doesn't mean she can't touch anything, and she's a pat-pat through and through. As she insists upon wearing the softest flannel to bed, so must she wear the silkiest cotton panties with it, as far as she's concerned.

As she pulls the panties out of the pile of clothes, her eyes snag on the over-sized black hoodie balled up under them. She bites her lip, then twitches her shoulders up in an irritable shrug. "Might as well," she grumps, plucking it up and snatch it down over her head, "I pilfered it."

She turns and stops at that stupid bear's stare. "What?" She demands, clenching her jaw at the red and black eyes (she'd used Sharpies to color them in, and she just dares an asswipe to comment on it), "it ain't like I stole your hoodie, it's his. And besides," she shrugs, smoothing a hand over the gold fleur de lis on the sleeve, "I didn't steal it, I just borrowed it for a minute."

Or however long it takes him to figure out you took it, she thinks, flushing a little at the thought. She can't decide if she'd rather he confronted her on the matter or not. If he does, it's a guaranteed flirty moment, and as much as she snaps at him over them, she positively lives for the attention.

Of course if he doesn't, she'll never have the opportunity to look like a complete moron with the moment he'd make of it, which is always a good thing. That man has the ability to render her completely brainless with just a flick of his eyes or a flash of his teeth, and it's worse when he says something she's expected to respond back to in an actual recognized language.

But then she'll always wonder if he just knows and smirks about it. Because he'd do that, never say a thing to her about the theft, but just know she did it and realize why she did it, and—

"Uuuuuggggghhhh," she groans, squeezing her eyes shut in misery, "this is so dumb. Either way, he's gonna figure out you took it, and either way, he'll know why." She opens her eyes and looks at Remi thoughtfully. "I could give it back. Then it ain't a problem, 'cause the problem is, I took it, and he'll find out, and I'll look stupid."

She chews her lip and dithers for a moment, eyes still on that stupid bear. Then she grins and shrugs. "Naaaah, I don't wanna. It's comfortable, and I like it."

And it smells like him, because she hadn't swiped it out of his clean laundry. And in a way, it's like being held by him, because he wore it, and now she's wearing it, and that man gives absolutely amazing hugs, she'd know, he's snatched her up a time or two, and…

She snorts at herself, because her logic is silly, and so is the little crush she has on Remy LeBeau, the man known as Gambit.

"It's absolutely the silliest thing," she mutters, starting the fuss with her hair that curly hair demands. Silly, because Remy is one of those people who can have his pick. Women titter and practically throw their panties at him right and left. And here she comes, catching his eye in a snap, but what's even the point?

It's laughable. Painfully laughable. The untouchable little twenty-two-year-old country girl who hasn't even had her first proper kiss, crushing on and stealing the clothes of that stud, knowing full well he's out of her league (everyone's out of her league), and she's out of her depth.

Waaaaaaaay out of her depth. Remy is a goddamn living, breathing, walking, talking, bad boy trope, and she's... well...

She's a trope, too. The beautiful virgin no one can have. The naive, sometimes girlish maiden just out of everyone's reach, the isolated princess in a tower—

"Oh hell," she laughs at herself, "I need to quit readin' them trashy romances, 'cause just listen to me! Thinkin' of myself like I'm Rapunzel, and he's Flynn or something. This ain't no Disney life, now is it, Rems?"

The bear just sits there, and her humor deflates with a sigh as she finishes jacking with her hair. It'll probably look like shit later because she's admittedly lazy with it, but she can't be bothered.

Her mood now a tad more melancholy than it'd begun, she crawls into bed, and stares at Remington the bear.

One of many stuffed animals in her collection, and definitely an addition she'd been reluctant to take. Remy had won it in some throwing booth at the local carnival Jubilee had insisted everyone go to a couple of nights ago. He hadn't officially gotten it for her, but she absolutely had not missed him looking to make she was watching when he'd hit his aim with dead accuracy every single time to win.

Naturally, Rogue had pretended not to pay him any attention, blushing furiously the whole while, and when he'd won the bear, he had, in the most casual manner, made to toss it in the nearest trash can (since he hadn't played for anyone in particular, of course, and he had no use for bears).

Rogue hadn't liked it, but she wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of offering to take it, either. She had plenty of stuffed animals already, thanks.

Jubilee had practically snorted her brain through her nose and snatched the bear out of Remy's hands and shoved it in Rogue's face. "Oh for god's sake, you two are unreal," she'd teased, her little teenaged face lit up, "to Rogue, from Remy, here's a thing I won for you, with love, an eventual kiss, and definitely some hot flirting and hand holding tonight."

Remy, naturally, had not missed the opportunity to flirt shamelessly with that in, and Rogue had flushed very unprettily and had wanted the ground open up and swallow her. And maybe she'd wanted to pinch Jubes' head off, too.

...and she'd definitely wished she could kiss him.

And then she'd been mortified all over again when Bobby had added that if nothing else, it'd make a cute addition to her stuffed animals collection. Because there's absolutely nothing like having that perhaps girlish thing of hers brought up in front of easily the sexiest man she's ever laid eyes on.

She flushes, reliving that embarrassment for a moment. Then she shrugs at Remi, smiling a little hopefully, "I guess it doesn't matter, right? I mean, he's already seen my room, so he already knows I like stuffed creatures like you, huh?"

She reaches out to trace fingertips along the bandana she'd arranged just so around the bear's head, making sure to get it just the way Remy wears it (even if it does look stupid, but whatever, the man could wear a burlap sack as a shirt, tuck it into his underwear, pair it up with knee socks and sandles, and still look hot as hell). "I mean, he basically won you for me, so yeah he knows, and it's clearly no big deal, right?" She taps it's nose. "He'd have himself a field day if he found out why I like y'all so much, though," she adds with a huffed laugh, "'cause please, show me how you'd pick apart The Untouchable collectin' stuffed animals 'cause she likes hugs, and those are the folks she can hug without killin' 'em."

He just continues to grin back at her, and she finally scoffs and snatches him up in a tight hug. "You're cute, you know. Not as cute as he is, but he's kinda hard to beat. That man is sin on feet, and he's gorgeous." She squeezes Remi the bear to test hug-ability. "You are pretty squishy, though, so I guess I'll keep you."

She giggle-snorts at herself as she snuggles down into bed, in a hoodie that's three sizes too large and smells like the man who'd given her the bear she's currently wrapped around, because she's being silly.

But maybe… Maybe she'd like to be a little silly over that man, it feels good. Exciting. Fun. It'll only be just for a minute, she won't let it go too long. And it won't matter anyway, he won't ever know of it.

She closes her eyes, and squeezes him again, loudly kisses his soft head. "You give some pretty nice hugs, too, shug."