Author's Note: So, kinda popped in my head and wouldn't let me do my homework until I got it out. Hope you enjoy.


"Rogue, can you cover my dishwashing duty?" Kitty asked in a tone that could only be described as pleading. While she wasn't on her knees begging, it was definitely next if Rogue didn't say yes. "Please, Rogue? Lance is taking me to the movies and if I have to do the dishes we're going to be late!"

"Ah took yahr dishwashin' duty last week," Rogue reminded her as she stared down at her best friend.

"Please, Rogue! I promise I'll do yours for the next two weeks to make up for it! Please!" Kitty dropped to her knees, overdramatically tugging on the hem of Rogue's pants.

"Fahne. Ah'll do it. But yah will do mah duty for the next two weeks," she answered, her voice resolute. Kitty sprang to her feet and embraced her friend, before diving into the closet to pick out the perfect outfit. Rogue just shook her head and strode towards the pool before she could get suckered into doing something else.

She sat beside the pool, just watching the others. Kurt was dangling from the diving board by his tail, dodging splashes from Tabitha. Scott was in the shallow end, Jean lingering in his embrace. Generally they were a low-key couple, but everyone knew what was going on. The minute they were in private, they couldn't keep their hands off each other. And who could blame them? They knew each other better than anyone else. They were disgustingly perfect for each other.

Watching them, Rogue felt a pang of jealousy. She knew that she shouldn't hold it against them, but sometimes she just couldn't help it. Her last memories of touching another human being with her bare hands—without serious consequences—had long since faded. She couldn't remember the way it felt to hug someone or kiss their cheek. She would never know the feeling—not when she kept draining someone at every touch—so it was hard not to be jealous every now and again.

Of course, the kind of intimacy that Jean and Scott shared was more than physical. Even a blind man could see that. But then, she had that. She knew damn well that Remy knew every thought that passed through her mind, and he wasn't even telepathic. No, he didn't understand what it was like to never be able to touch another human being, but he did understand the limitations of her condition—probably because he had been on the other receiving end of it so many times.

The thing about Remy was that he just didn't give up. Some would say that this was one of his better qualities, but Rogue was thinking that it was one of his more dangerous ones. The same drive that lead him to complete a mission was also the one that wouldn't let him give up on her. Every time that he had the chance, he was touching her. Sometimes, it was something as simple as holding her hand. Other times, he would wrap his arms around her and pull her tight against him. When he was feeling particularly dangerous, he would kiss her lightly—just enough for her to get a taste of his mind before he pulled away.

It was comforting and frustrating to her at the same time. She wanted to hold his hand—without her gloves. She wanted him to hold her—unclothed and in bed. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him like there was no tomorrow. But that was the problem: if she did kiss him like that, he wouldn't have a tomorrow. So they were stuck in a strange sort of holding pattern. He touched her, she reveled in it, but she always stopped him short of doing anything seriously dangerous.

But she wanted more. She wanted to cross that line into dangerous territory. She wanted to know what skin-on-skin contact felt like without having to worry about killing Remy. Every time she mentioned it, he would just say "Remy's strong 'nuff, chere," but her conscience just wouldn't let her continue. Settling for outside-clothes groping was just going to have to be enough if she wanted to keep him alive.

"'Y t'inkin' 'bout Remy, chere?" a voice asked from above her. A shadow fell across her chair, and she knew who it was without even looking up. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and she couldn't repress it.

"Why would yah think that, swamp rat? Ah don't spend all mah tahme thinkin' about yah, yah know," she answered, her voice light.

"Non, but Remy spends lotta his tahme t'inkin' 'bout 'y." Almost without thinking, he took her hand in his and sat on her chair. "We should go out tonahght."

"Ah can't. Ah told Kitty Ah'd take her dishwashin' duty," she said, though her regret was obvious. She was expecting disappointment from Remy, but instead, she could see laughter dancing in his eyes. He grinned. She tried to focus on his words, but was slightly distracted by his thumb tracing the back of her knuckles. She was acutely aware of how close he was, and it was highly distracting.

"Remy's gon' hafta have a word o' prayer wid' Kitty 'bout ruinin' his date nahght." His words were serious, but his tone was not. Rogue couldn't resist a laugh.

To most people, the sound was strange and totally foreign. Rogue was not the kind of girl that laughed often…unless she was with Remy. He had a way of making her laugh, even when she didn't want to. Even though he heard her laugh all the time—and was often the cause of her giggles—it was never any less enchanting for its frequency.

"Good luck with that. She only comes outta Lance's room long 'nuff tah eat dinner and go tah school," she said.

"Remy'll just hafta sneak in 'dere, 'den, won't he?"

"Ah think that could be a really bad idea…Maybe we could just watch a movie after dinner?"

"M'kay…'dat'll do. 'Y not gon' be tah tired from all 'dat dishwashin'?"

She rolled her eyes. "Hardly."

"It's a date, 'den." Then, with a kiss on the forehead, he was gone, leaving only his feelings of anticipation running through Rogue's mind. She smiled at that, and wondered why she had ever been jealous of Scott and Jean.


Dinner was a rather boring affair. Of course, things that were boring at the Institute wouldn't have boring anywhere else. Kurt ate his body weight in spaghetti, Kitty and Lance were making moon eyes at each other, Logan grunted and shoveled food into his mouth as quickly as possible, and Scott and Jean carried on conversation as normal. Rogue tried not to blush when she looked at Remy, who was giving her looks that clearly said "Come hither."

The thing that Rogue mostly hated about dishwashing was that everyone just left their dishes on the table. It really wouldn't be anything to carry them into the kitchen and put them in the sink, but instead, they just left them on the table for whoever was doing the dishes to pick up. Nine plus dishes was actually quite heavy.

The other thing Rogue hated about dishwashing was that she had to take off her gloves to do so. This put anyone who came into the kitchen at a higher risk, and Rogue didn't really want anyone else up in her head. But if she left her gloves on, they got wet and soggy, and irritated her hands.

She was elbow deep in soapy water when she felt someone wrap their arms around her waist. She stopped for a moment, just to take in the normalcy of the moment. How many times had she imagined having a boyfriend just come up behind her and take her in his arms? More times than she could count. He pulled her against him, and she could feel his muscular body against her back.

"Remy, Ah'm doin' dishes. Yah gonna get wet."

"So?" he whispered. She could feel his breath on the nape of her neck, sending shivers down her spine. With a sigh of contentment, she leaned back into him, knowing that he would support her. His hands were moving in circles over her belly, making her feel slightly weak at the knees.

"Dishes…Ah have dishes…"

"'Da dishes can wait." He turned her to face him and kissed the palm of her hand, then the sensitive skin of her wrist. There was a familiar draining sensation, but he broke the kiss before any real damage was done.

Rogue smiled at the bits and pieces of Remy's thoughts that were running through her mind. She minded absorbing him because she knew that he could get hurt, but his thoughts never bothered her. There was genuine warmth there; he wanted her because he loved—loved!—her, not because he couldn't have her. Of course, had she not been deadly to the touch, he could have her, but that went without saying.

"Yah love meh, Remy LeBeau," she whispered with certainty.

"O' course, chere," he answered, as if it were only natural. He answered as if there was no other possibility in this world, as if he had no other choice but to love her. But the truth of the matter was, he had seen her courage and her strength, and there was no other choice for him. After seeing that, how could he not love her?

"Ah love yah, tah."

"O' course, chere." He had that same tone of certainty, and she knew that he was right to have it. How could she love anyone else, when he was the one that understood her so completely? The idea that she could love someone else seemed ridiculous to her.

"Where mah gloves?" she asked, breathlessly. She wanted to touch him, and she wanted to touch him now. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair, over his face. She wanted to touch every inch of him, feel his sleek, hard muscles…but not without her gloves.

He handed them to her, and she had them on in less than a second. Grabbing some saran wrap, she slid it between them and pressed her lips to his. It wasn't enough for either of them, and before she knew what was happening, Remy had picked her up and set her on the countertop. She wrapped her legs around him, wanting him closer.

"Closer," she whispered. He pulled her tight against him, and let his hands wander down her back to the waistband of her pants. She sighed as she felt his fingers on her back. He was gentle, but there was an urgency underneath it all, like he couldn't get enough of her, either. Without thinking, she pulled his shirt over his head, and dropped it to the floor in a puddle.

Grabbing the saran wrap again, he kissed her. Completely lost in the kiss, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and pressed her hips against his. This time it wasn't the suffocating saran wrap that parted them, it was the surprised shout of onlookers.

"I thought Kitty was supposed to be—oh!" Scott stood in the doorway, his mouth open in shock. Beside him, Jean looked equally surprised and also a bit amused. She had thought they were the only ones using the kitchen for that sort of thing.

"Hi Rogue…Remy…Scott and I were just, um, looking for, uh…" She couldn't finish her sentence, and opted instead to look at the floor, the ceiling, the refrigerator…anywhere but Remy and Rogue. They hadn't bothered to separate, and just stayed as they were, staring at the intruders.

"Um, right, well…I see that you two are…occupied, so we'll just, um, go…now, and find somewhere else to…" Scott couldn't finish his sentence, either, and was blushing as red as his ruby-quartz glasses.

"Study," Jean finished for him. "We'll go…study, somewhere else." She, too, was bright red.

"Have fun…studyin'," Remy said with a smile.

"Next time…get a room," Scott grumbled as he and Jean turned to leave. As soon as they were gone, Remy and Rogue broke into fits of laughter.

"He's rahght," Rogue whispered. "We prob'ly should get a room." Remy just grinned and shook her head.

"'Da kitchen is a room, chere…"


Author's Note: So, there you have it. I hope you enjoyed. If you did, or if you didn't...let me know. Feeback=awesomeness. =)