A.N.: At present this is just a little one-shot since the idea absolutely refused to leave me alone making it impossible to concentrate on the story I was trying to work on.
Disclaimer: They belong to Marvel and the fact that I can't get enough of them just shows Stan Lee's brilliance.
Rogue stood at her locker shoving books in and jerking others out as she tried to block out the snarky comments the cheerleaders walking by were making about her. Biting back the harsh words bubbling up inside, she took a half step back to slam the door shut. She knew if she mouthed off she would be the one punished while they got off with not even a proverbial slap on the wrist.
Instead of the empty space she'd expected to step into, though, Rogue found herself coming up against something solid, hard, and warm. "What's with the Goth look, freak?" The instant she heard his voice she knew she'd just been cornered by that dork Duncan and his creepy jock lemmings. What Jean saw in the guy she'd never know, but he was enough to have her ready to lose her breakfast. Rogue spun around ready to spit out an angry retort when he spoke before she could get the words out.
"You know, if you lost all that junk on your face and with some decent clothes, you could be kind of hot. I might even give you a thrill and let you get some action off the most popular guy in Bayville before giving these others a chance at you," he leered while leaning into her space and placing one beefy, sweaty palm on her covered shoulder.
Rogue couldn't decide which she wanted more, to hurl or to deck the guy. Before she could choose one there was another bizarre development in her already weird day. A lean, muscled arm wrapped itself low around her hips tugging her to lean against the whipcord form that had come up behind her without her notice. The arm's mate dislodged Duncan's unwelcome hand when it wound high around her chest as the owner of those arms rested his chin against the side of her head brushing her hair with a whisper of a kiss before asking, "Are dese fou petites boderin' ma chère?"
She'd know that accent anywhere and she was going to kill him for this later. Right now, though, Rogue saw that there was nothing she could do as both guys straightened and faced off as if they were friggin' gladiators or something. Rogue rolled her eyes and pulled away from all of them as the first warning bell sounded. "Y'all have fun beatin' each othah up. Ah'm goin' ta' class now."
Rogue left singularly unimpressed with the thinking of young males in general and disgusted with almost all of those she'd just left behind. She snorted in disgust as Duncan's words and his friend's expressions ran on replay through her mind. "Jerks!" she grunted as she entered her classroom. Rogue sat and saw her… well, the guy who'd just attempted to 'rescue' her from those idiots slide into a seat just behind and to the side of hers as the final bell for that period split the air.
The confident smirk he shot her withered when she just glanced blankly back at him before turning forwards and ignoring him for the rest of that class. He just didn't get it. He was the good guy here. Why couldn't this femme see that? He'd just defended her honor and protected her from those batards like any chivalrous southern male would and she acted like she didn't care… as though she didn't even need or want his help. What was even more confusing was the question of why he cared one way or the other. She wasn't the first girl to resist him. Admittedly, there weren't many that had, but he'd never had trouble just writing it off as the girl's loss and promptly moving to the next willing ornament for his arm. This girl was rattling his cage, though, and it was a feeling he didn't care for at all.
His firm lips twisted in wry acknowledgment of the likely reactions of his various family members. His cousins would be laughing it up, his brother would say she must be smarter than average, and his Tante Mattie and father would probably say it was good for him and he ought to keep this one around. Deep down he knew they might all be right, too, and that's was left him so unnerved. When he'd first spied the scene being played out and his empathy had picked up on her anger and the way the guy in the lead was getting off on thinking he was intimidating her Remy's path was obvious.
As his arms found their way around her, feeling the sleekly strong, curvy figure covered by layers of protective covering and he breathed in the fresh scent of her while settling her against his body, the two fitting together like connected pieces of a puzzle, he realized how totally comfortable and yet tantalizing arousing it was to have her close. This was something he didn't remember feeling before, not even with Belladonna. It was similar to the way things were with the blond at first, but still its own unique experience and he didn't know what to think of it. Remy LeBeau was a lot of things, but a coward wasn't one of them and he knew he'd be exploring this new sensation.