What up, dwag?

I hope you all know that I am working furiously on the next chapter for Long Black Gloves. I've already got ten pages done and still quite a bit more left to go.

But I kinda really wanted to spit this out.

I know that I don't necessarily describe Remy and his sins the exact way they are defined, but I have a creative license (bought it at Walmart) so I can bend the rules a little.

Also: has anyone noticed how much I love having Remy's name in the title of my stories? Because I love it. I love it bunches. It's fun.



Remy LeBeau was a proud man. That was never a secret. In fact, "proud" might be an understatement.

Remy LeBeau was downright arrogant if one caught him in the right mood.

He'd done a lot in his twenty three years on earth. A lot of stuff most people would never be able to do or begin to fathom doing in the first place. He had been adopted into the Thieves Guild and quickly worked his way through the ranks from orphan with odd eyes to the Prince of Thieves. He'd broken into the homes of Tony Stark and Norman Osborn just to see if he could. He out burglared Black Cat. Stolen from the most heavily guarded museum in Europe.

Remy LeBeau had outwitted and out conned some of the greatest minds around the world. He had talents and skills his fellow thieves could only dream of. He'd faced the most terrifying villains on the face of the earth and Wolverine without ever letting his rakish smirk fade.

And he was absurdly handsome, to boot.

Remy LeBeau had a lot to be proud about. And yet, he had never felt so much pride swell in his heart than the moment Rogue bestowed him with a tiny but approving smile after he humbly asked to join the X-Men in an attempt to turn his life around for the better.

Perhaps he could add something positive to the list of things he felt proud about, he thought, never taking his eyes off the girl with the two toned hair standing across from him.



Lazy, he was not.

In fact, Remy LeBeau was miserable when he wasn't actively doing something.

He trained. He ran. He worked out. He stole. He rode his beloved motorcycle. Push ups. Stealing. Sex. Stealing. Crunches. Pull up. Hand stands. Stealing. Another run. Danger Room sessions. Practicing his aim with cards. Stealing.

Always active.

He was praised for being one of the most active and helpful X-Men in the field. Which wasn't to say the others were lazy. They all worked hard. It was just that Remy, the active freak that he was, did not like to be still. Did he just get punched in the stomach? Shake it off and punch back. Then, after he was done punching, he would backflip to the other side of the room to see if Nightcrawler needed a little help on his end.

There was very little time for relaxation in Remy LeBeau's life.

Except for the one day where he found himself falling. Luckily for him, there was the lovely Rogue there to break his fall. But even with her feminine form to help cushion the blow, he found himself in quite a bit of pain. But not so much pain to allow the fact that not only was he sprawled out on top of Rogue, but his head had found the heavenly resting place between her breasts escape him.

And for the first time in awhile, Remy LeBeau felt like maybe he could be a little lazy for an extra moment or two.

"Get off me, Cajun!"

"Can't. The pain."

"I know you're lyin'."

"Can't move."

"Convenient position."



Money was cool and all but Remy LeBeau stole mostly for the thrill. And because he so enjoyed causing chaos wherever he went.

In all actuality, Remy LeBeau was quite generous. He didn't like to flaunt this trait of his (he had a reputation after all), but he was a giving man.

But one day, he and the X-Men faced a particularly bloody battle. Once it was over, he found himself frightened. Worried, scrambling to look for Rogue. After a brief search, he found her working her way through the wreckage. Blood trickled down from her temple but that seemed to be the worst of her injuries. Limping and bleeding himself, Remy rushed over to her.

And he kissed her.

In hindsight, he realized that wasn't the greatest idea. But in that moment, he was just so thrilled to see his Rogue was okay.

And kiss her he did.

She was as soft and sweet as he imagined. With just a hint of spice, true to her nature. He tangled his fingers in her hair, to keep her close. To feel as much of her as possible. And best of all, after her initial shock had passed, he felt Rogue's lips move against his as she kissed him back.

She was sweeter than sugar and honey.

And after Remy woke up from his coma a few days later, all he could think about was how he wanted more.

He was greedy for her deadly kisses.



In his lifetime, Remy had made a lot of people angry. He'd faced a lot rage and wrath in his day.

There was, however, one incident that topped them all.


Remy ducked, barely avoiding the steel toed boot aimed at his head. He raised his hands defenselessly.

"Almost married!" he yelled, hoping to stave off Rogue's anger.

"You've been here for months and you never mentioned that you almost got married?"


This time, Remy did not duck in time to miss the second boot aimed at his head. He ran to the other side of the room, hoping to find something to shield himself with.

"I cannot believe that you no good, lying, stealing, slimy, stupid, string of spit got married and didn't tell me!"

She lobbed a text book at him.

"Almost married, Cherie. Almost!"

"You can go 'cherie' yourself!"



He hated her gloves.

It should be known that Remy LeBeau didn't have a whole lot of reasons to be jealous of anyone. He knew he was lucky. He knew he was blessed. He was very grateful.

He escaped poverty. Adopted into a loving (if not dysfunctional family). He was secure financially. He was secure emotionally. His mutation was not only cool but, with the aid of sunglasses or contacts, was inconspicuous so he didn't have to face the hateful actions of others. His mutation was also pretty cool.

He'd had the opportunity to tour the world. Now he was an X-Men. He had a slightly more functional family. Got to use his awesome powers to help the world. He was looked up to, for the first time of his life.

And, in case you forgot, he was really hot. Like.

Really hot.

Remy LeBeau knew he was lucky so he so rarely became jealous of anyone.

But her gloves. Those lucky bastards.

They were her security blanket. Always palm to palm with her. Always wrapped around her. So close. They protected her. They comforted her. It was almost as if they were holding her hands.

They did all the things Remy LeBeau wanted to do.

Jealous of other people? No. Never.

But apparently a pair of Rogue's gloves could make him green with envy.



Those washboard abs of his everyone loved so much? Do you think that just happened?


Remy LeBeau worked hard for his rockin' bod. That work included a careful diet. Nothing too extreme. But the Cajun so rarely allowed himself to over indulge. That didn't mean he didn't enjoy a slice of Ororo's pound cake.

It was just a really tiny slice. And he may or may not add a few extra minutes to his jog the next morning.

There was only one occasion where Remy found himself unable to control himself.

The circumstances weren't exactly ideal. In fact, they were the opposite. They both probably should have reconsidered what they were doing. But there they were, trapped and prisoners of Trask and his newest inventions. Which included some power suppressing collars.

Maybe he should have realized that making out with Rogue while waiting for the X-Men to rescue them was a bad idea, but Remy LeBeau had no regrets.

The second (or third, if that one while she was under mind control counted) was so much better than the first. Because he knew that she would kiss him back. And because he knew he wouldn't end up in a coma for several days.

She allowed for him to kiss every inch of her face. Take long, lingering drags from her lips. Trail greedy kisses along the curve of her neck. Her apple white skin was as soft as it was sweet. If he died that night, he wanted to die with the taste of her on his lips.

Hell, he always wanted the taste of her on his lips.

Kissing Rogue was the most amazing, spicy-sweet experience of his life and he wanted more. And, had the X-Men not interrupted, then he would have happily over-indulged right then and there, crappy circumstances be damned.



He liked sex. Hell.

He loved sex.

Sex was awesome. Remy hoped to have as much (responsible, protected) sex in his life as possible. Sex was almost as fun as stealing.


Some would say if there was one sin Remy LeBeau was most guilty of, it was lust. The person who most frequently said this was Rogue, usually after he finished describing to her in vivid detail all the things he wanted to do to her.

The phrases "drizzle chocolate all over you" and "take you like a Cajun beast" had been used on occasion.

But she didn't know. None of them knew that despite his passion for copulation, when it came to Rogue, he had never felt so incredibly satisfied than when he was able to hold her ungloved hand with no ill side effects.

That didn't mean sex wasn't good (because it totally was).

It just meant being with Rogue was better.


Remy LeBeau was sinful. He never denied this. Sometimes, he was proud of this. Even when he was helping society by joining the X-Men in their good fight, the (sort of) ex-thief never claimed to do the work of angels. He was trying though. Trying to be and do better.

But it was hard. Because he was with Rogue. And being with her was so good, it should have been sinful. But Remy LeBeau smiled anyway. He always figured he was going to hell.

Why not enjoy the ride there?