Roguesboobfreckles! This one is also yours, because goddamn you came up with some great gifts! ;)

To all of you reviewing, I'm so sorry that it's taken me so long to respond to you—life has recently been trying it's very fucking best to get away from me. Here are all my thanks to you now, so I make sure I miss no one!

Warrior-princess1980: Remy is a devil, isn't he?? And he's a hot one with a sweet(ish?) streak in him, just like we want him, huh? And what's a devil without his super freak in the sheets;);););)

Bustedflipflop: That hc of yours is forever adopted. Lmao

The Real Rogue: Thank you for all the sweet comments! Yeah that awkwardness after mmx 5 bugged me, I wanted that dealt with here. And you're dead right, Gambit's first solo, when Rogue told Logan, is the first time she admits out loud that she's in love with Remy. I loved her and kind of wanted to cry for her throughout that solo, she so obviously loves him. Also, the scrapbook idea is absolutely genius, alas I can't take credit for that one! Anyway, glad you're enjoying this fic, I hope the last chapter lives up to the rest of it for you!

Kalternativa: Hey there:) Glad you're enjoying the fic, thanks for the read and comment! I'll have the next chapter up soon, I just had to re-write a big part of it!

HawkLeBeau: Hey, man, thanks for the read and feedback! Always great to see that I've got their dynamic down, especially after we've missed so much in how they spark off one another in the comics over time! Glad you're enjoying this:)

Couplest: Thank you so much, makes my day that you're enjoying it so much:)

Ludi: Hey, lady! Ugh, you flatter me so, telling me Remy is so on point! And yes, Remy's fucking hot while thieving, gifting, and shutting his wife up;) As for this chapter...well, your wish is my command. Lmao. Also, yes about the notion of 'home'! I figure he'd never learned to get attached to places, but people? Once they're in with him? Yes:)

Random-Gaurdian: Yes, he does got it still, huh? ALWAYS AND FOREVER in my world. Also, Rogue…well, you'll see her reaction;)

Guest: Well, sucks that you didn't enjoy the fic, I guess, but I'm very happily-married-Romy-who-can-joke-about-their-fuck-ups-now 4EVA, so...?

Jokerlover13: Thank you so much! I'm happy to hear you're enjoying this, hope you like the ending, too:)

——•oOo•——

Rogue wakes up with a groan, head-achey from the power suppressor on her wrist, and deliciously sore all over from her husband's rather...enthusiastic...attentions last night. She doesn't know what time it is, but it's been long enough since she'd last had Remy that she feels well napped, and he's been up long enough for his side of the bed to have gone cold.

She rolls into his pillow, and deeply breathes in his scent, then snorts at herself for being such a sap. It's not as though she hasn't gotten a whiff of the man on the regular over the past several years as his teammate and his on again, off again lover. No need to get all girly and dramatic over the smell of his spicy cologne and cigarettes in his sheets.

She closes her eyes and pulls in another deep breath anyway, and that's when the faint smell of bacon hits her.

Her eyes pop open and she scrambles out of the twisted sheets, snatching up last night's pajamas off the floor. Her man's cooking breakfast, and she's never the idiot to miss out on one of his meals.

Besides, it's Christmas morning. Not their first Christmas together (or together), but their very first one together in the proverbial sunset, and she has a hell of a gift for him. She honestly can't hardly wait to watch him open it.

Quickest way to that front row seat is up and at 'em for breakfast, and given that he's as skilled in the kitchen as he is in the sack, she doesn't figure on this being any sort of chore.

——•oOo•——

Rogue pads across the living room, eyes honed in on the tall, lithe man at home in his kitchen, cheerfully whistling as he twirls and tosses a spatula in between flipping pancakes.

She smiles at his play, taking advantage of his obvious distraction to stop at the island and enjoy the show.

The very naked show. Remy's completely starkers but for his green 'Kiss me, I'm Irish' apron.

Gorgeous man. She's always thought so, but he's especially something to watch in action, movements so fluid and graceful, his enjoyment evident in every line of his body.

And then, there's the fact that he's more content and more relaxed than she's ever seen of him.

Marriage suits him. Marriage to her suits him.

She smiles at that. He's happy. And a happy Remy is a disgustingly beautiful Remy.

She drinks in the fine view a few moments longer, then pushes off the countertop to move into the kitchen and slip her arms around her husband's waist.

"Shug, you do realize it's Christmas, and not St. Patty's Day, right?" She laughs softly into his skin, pressing into his back on her tip toes and smacking a loud kiss on the nape of his neck. "And you ain't even Irish, anyway."

He immediately turns and catches her mouth in a kiss, all while still managing to expertly flip a pancake on the griddle. "Mmm, well, they didn' have one for Cajuns, so I settled." He looks back to breakfast on the stove, pushes around the scrambled eggs and checks the bacon, then turns back to give her all his attention again. "'Sides, I might be a bit Irish, no? Can't say nothin' for sure one way or the other, so what say instead you jus' kiss this old boy anyway, yeah?"

"I'd say you missed the point entirely Cajun, seein' as how I pointed out you dressed for the wrong holiday," she laughs, sliding hands up his chest to loop arms around his neck and pull his head down for a kiss anyway.

His chuckle is a throaty rumble up into her mouth til she lets him up for air. "Seein' as how I got the girl to kissin' me, I'd say I'm right en pointe, hmm?"

"Hmmm, yeah, you got the girl, didn't you, sugar?" She smiles up at him, playing with the ends of hair as she leans up to kiss him again.

She loves this man so much, it's embarrassing, and he can damn well have all the kisses, touches, sex, words, whatever, anything he wants out of her. Lord knows, he's done his time in a hell of her own making to get it.

——•oOo•——

"So, I see you were busy this morning while I was sleepin', huh?"

Rogue shoots her husband a teasing look upon noting the new additions under the tree. Seven presents in all, six of them from him, and two of those hadn't been there the night before.

He might have gone just a tad overboard, which knots up her brow, considering her maybe not so tastefully done lonely only under there with his pretty pile he'd kept adding to since the tree went up.

"More like I been busy since you woke me up for some happy holiday cheer at seven this mornin', chere," he shoots back with a waggle of his brows and a filthy grin. "Now," he adds, holding out a present, "quit all that scoldin', and c'mere. I gotcha something."

"Uh-huh, I see that," she drawls at her entirely unapologetic Cajun, settling next to him and accepting the first gift. "Sugar, this is so pretty as is, I kinda almost don't wanna open it," she remarks, gently tearing off the bow for re-use later on, and she's only three quarters joking. Like the others he'd gotten her, this present was clearly professionally wrapped, and clearly from a store she'd never shop, despite her own wealth. She has no doubt in her mind that the gift itself is beautiful as well, and likely outrageously expensive and absolutely perfect for her. Remy's good at that sort of thing.

He snorts at her. "Chere, you'll like what's in it better than the paper, so quit babyin' it, and tear it open already, eh?"

She shoots him a look and pretends to open it slowly just to be contrary, when in all actuality, she's carefully unwrapping for safe-keeping.

This is, after all, their first Christmas as a married couple, and she's practically a rodent when it comes to hoarding shit she's in her feelings over, so...

——•oOo•——

"Well, damn, Remy, you went all out this Christmas, huh? These are perfect, shug."

Rogue smiles over at him, a bit of nervousness maybe creeping into her tone and definitely kicking up her heart rate as she finishes smearing on generous glob of shea butter hand cream that Remy had gotten her. Its scent of magnolias and oak moss is already clashing with the delicate fragrance of the perfume she'd opened earlier and spritzed on, and she probably looks absolutely ridiculous, wearing the softest, richest cream-colored sweater ever made over her Christmas thermal pajamas, but she doesn't care.

He'd taken the time and plunked down the fortune, she will damn well put everything on as she opens them, and wear them all til she takes them off to soak in the sea salt bath he'd lumped in with the hand cream present.

She's kind of starting to feel like a dipshit with it all, honestly.

She'd been so sure about the scrapbook, so certain it'd be perfect. But now, following up the sheer elegance and quality of his gifts, she's going to hand over her larger, clunkier tackier looking present, and it's basically full of trash.

Lovely. Because that's exactly what a rich man who has everything needs, is trash.

"Mebbe I did, chere. Ain't my fault, though. I originally was only gonna get you a couple of things, mais," he pauses, shrugs carelessly, "all this other shit jus' jumped right into my hands, and well," he flashes her a charmer's smile as he hands over his last gift under the tree, the smallest one, "this happened."

She rolls her eyes and takes the gift, also taking the opportunity to lean over and smack a kiss on his cheek. "You're absolutely ridiculous sometimes, swamp rat. But these are all fantastic and I love 'em, thank you."

"Ridiculousness is part of my charm. And don't go thankin' me yet. You ain't done openin' presents."

She sticks her tongue out at him and tears into the gift, and then sucks in her breath. There's no mistaking a Tiffany box, which means the man either threw down some good cash, or he's responsible for the the breaking of Tiffany's flagship store that broke the news earlier in the week.

She slowly lets out that breath and throws her husband a wry look. "I don't suppose this had anything to do with that ring that got stolen from Tiffany's a couple of days ago, huh?"

"Chere, you can rest easy tonight knowin' I did not steal that from Tiffany's," he replies smoothly, without so much as a batted eyelash.

She squints at him. She knows he's a thief, she knows he's life-long criminal straight off the streets of New Orleans since before he was even out of diapers, and she loves him and accepts his occupation on a professional level, but if he'd stolen this for her just because he can—

Well, she supposes it doesn't matter too much, she knew what and who she was hitching up to when she did it. She's not comfortable with it, but…

She guesses all she really hopes is that he hadn't lied about it just now.

"Go on, open it up, beb, and quit accusin' me wit' them pretty green eyes," he chuckles, "woundin' me wit' that look, after all I jus' did for y—"

"Oh, you stop it, you rat," she snorts at him, smiling as she opens the box. "You're so dang dramatic, I swear— oh my god," she breaths, staring at box's contents, "Remy, these are absolutely gorgeous."

A pair of halo yellow diamond studs, and easily more expensive than all her other gifts combined. Utterly stunning, definitely something she'll wear near everyday, and most definitely not that stolen ring she'd all but accused him of lifting.

She looks up at him, feeling the widest, stupidest smile splitting her face. And it's kind of silly, really. She's never been all that into jewelry, and this isn't even the first piece he's given her, nor is it the most significant—the sparkler on her finger marks both those scores. But this is the first time he's gone out and purchased a shiny something for her, and it's doing all kinds of funny things to her insides right now!

She supposes perhaps no girl is actually immune to sparkly presents, after all.

She crawls over into his lap, grabs his face, and kisses him soundly on the mouth. "Best Christmas I ever had, sugar," she declares, idiotic smile still in place.

"Mmm-hm, a regular husband of the year, ain't I?" He readily agrees, arms circling around her as she plants another kiss on his cheek.

"Something like that," she laughs at him, settling her back into his chest, already taking an earring from the box to put it in her ear.

"More like, I am that," he rejoins, dropping a quick kiss on her shoulder as he plucks the stud from her fingers to do the honors, "'specially since I only been doin' this husband thing for a month. Hell, y' Christmas ain't even over yet."

"Oh my god, Remy, are you serious?" She twists around to fling a look at her husband, because dammit, he really did go all out, and she's essentially giving him a trashcan in book form. "Shug, you seriously bought out the state of New York—"

"Pipe down, you," he interrupts, "and be still. I'm almost done."

Rogue frowns at him to hide her heart sweating buckets, but cooperates. God above, that scrapbook was a stupid idea for a Christmas gift, she should have just dumped it on him at whatever time, and gone out to buy him actual gifts, nice things—

"There. Look at you, all sparkly and yellow, wrapped in a soft cloud, and stinkin' of the South—"

"Your fault if I smell," she cuts in, "you're the one who went in on gifts this Christmas—"

"Well, I can take it all back, if y' that unhappy wit'—"

"Well, and I can always divorce you—"

"Well, you do that, and I can't give you…" he pauses, producing another gift, unwrapped, and another unmistakably Tiffany blue box, "this."

Rogue feels her eyes going wide as a cartoon's, and she knows she's about to start catching flies, the way her jaw just hit the floor. Because that is a Tiffany's ring box. A Tiffany's engagement ring box. And little matter that she's already wearing his wedding ring, this is one he picked out specifically for her—

Her train of thought abruptly halts when he opens the box, and her brows knot up a bit at what she sees inside. "Remy," she begins slowly, really not wanting to crap on him or the moment, but unable to just let it go, "this is so incredibly beautiful, and I love it, but…" She bites her lip and looks up at him, "a yellow diamond ring goes missing from Tiffany's, and you were just now tryin' to say you didn't steal it?"

She knows it's stupid to get so stung, they're both still new, they're still figuring out how to open up, and she's never given him reason to be transparent with her (more like she's repeatedly given him reason not to be), and—

It stings, anyway, that he'd lied to her, with a straight face, too, and no hesitation—

"Non, chere, that ain't at all what I'd said." His eyes flick up at hers as he takes her hand, his expression serious. "I said I didn't steal them earrings, and I didn't."

She keeps his gaze, still hurt, though slightly less upset now. "But...you stole this, didn't you?"

He looks at her, calm, not a shred of remorse or defense on his face. Then he kisses her fingers. "Mais, chere, all's I'll ever say is, a Tiffany's started missin' one of these about the same time you got one, and," he shrugs unapologetically, "I'm a thief."

She feels her frown softening, and he picks up on it and nips at her knuckles, his eyes still hot on hers. "Figured I owed you a right proper engagement ring, even if all of it's a bit outta order."

He hadn't lied.

He hadn't lied, and he'd also known she'd realize the theft, seeing as how a bit of a stink had been raised in the media. Which means it wasn't something he'd ever intended to hide from her; he could have made that happen if he'd wanted to.

Her hurt feelings start fading even faster as she watches him slip the ring on her finger, listens as he continues, "anyway, jus' an idea I got to thinkin' about since that talk after the party the other day."

She looks up at him then, expression melting still warmer as realization dawns. She'd said she'd accept him as king of Thieves that night, after the party, but that's not the same as accepting him as an active thief. He's calling her out on that, too.

She's still not cool with him lifting things for her just for fun or practice, but…

This is him. She can either fight it, and sew resentment, or she can accept it, and maybe compromise with some boundaries.

Plus, that ring is gorgeous. And one hundred percent something she'd pick out for herself. And he'd clearly put a lot of time and thought in getting it for her; buying the darn thing would've been loads easier and faster.

Put it to herself that way, and it sounds pretty damn romantic, her husband finessing something as impractical, yet sentimental, as a fancy engagement ring just for her, just because she kind of wanted one.

She snorts at her ridiculous romanticism, then starts smiling at him. "Sugar, it really is beautiful, and it's absolutely perfect." She leans up for a fast, soft kiss, then, "here on out, though, just buy me whatever, alright? No more stealin' for me, okay?" She immediately follows up with another kiss, a longer one, adding a smiled "thank you, Remy, I love it. Love you," against his mouth.

He cups her jaw and deepens the kiss, and by the time he decides to let her breathe again, she's curled her fingers in his hair and her toes into the rug. "Mais yeah. No more stealin' for you. Scout's honor."

"Pfft! You, a Boy Scout," she laughs at him, catching his hand out of the Scouts' sign and pressing it to her other cheek. After a moment, she turns a kiss into his palm, and pulls away, reaching under the tree. "Now, I got you a little something, too, shug."

Heart thumping ninety-to-nothing, she turns to face him, sitting on her knees and holding his gift to her chest. "Now, I just said it was little, so," she shrugs helplessly and then hands it over, "don't expect nothin' like I just got from you."

His eyes flash and he waves off her warning. "Don' worry about that, chere. It ain't a contest, no? And besides," he throws her a charming grin meant to melt worries (and her panties, if she'd bothered to put any on before coming down), "you always did give me the best presents, I don't figure this time be any different."

"Liar," she counters easily, because it's true. She sucks horribly at picking out gifts, and he knows it.

She fidgets as he tears off the tacky Christmas lights and snowmen paper, and then freezes while watching his expressions as he opens the book.

The first few pages aren't as busy as they are further into the book, and the first page in particular only holds flight stubs from Muir Island and a few fierce, scribbled out entries from the journal she'd kept at the time. She hadn't been quite sound or sane of mind back then, still reeling from unchecked psyches and the Shadow King's control, and had chosen to fly home commercial rather than risk using her flight power and poking the psyches or deal with her teammates on the Blackbird (and all their goddamn questions and suspicions). She'd written as much in a series of short, somewhat nutty entries, describing the experience, how it'd messed her up, and meeting him.

Well, that kiss, and how that had impacted her—

"Awww, chere," he looks up with a teasing grin, "your first real kiss! And you wrote it right, it was a helluva smacker you laid on me. Cutest part of this is, is readin' just how bad you felt like drop kickin'' my ass clear to the other side of the island for makin' you want another one—"

"Ugh, shut up," she groans, cheeks firing up, "it was a trying time in my life, okay? Of course, it made me mad—"

"More like, made you wanna ride my ass into the rocks that night, literally," he cuts in gleefully, "and it made you feel—"

"Oh, I did not! Remy, I was scared and being mind controlled and—"

"And didn't none of that have a thing to do wit' that kiss, or any of the ones after it, so quit it," he laughs.

Rogue stares at her impossible husband and flattens her lips, about to go denying it til her dying day, and then stops.

He's right. And that's what this whole dang scrapbook idea was about, is opening up wide and letting him see just how much he'd meant to her, from day one.

She blows out a sigh. "Of course it didn't, shug. I was just too chickenshit to admit it. Among other things. Anyways," she gives him a girlish smile and moves back into his lap, taking the book in hers. "This next page was allllll about that day in the Danger Room, after you'd shown up outta nowhere, and I'd just learned you were my damned teammate…"

——•oOo•——

"...and this one, shug, this one here—oh my god, look at this!—this is where you get to see what a loser I was!" Rogue laugh-snorts embarrassingly loud, snuggling back a little closer into her man's chest and laughing at her own stupid noises. "This is the note you left me that first time you brought up a dinner plate."

She might be a tad buzzed. Remy had long since declared this sort of romantic moment a champagne sort of occasion, and he likes the gooood stuff.

"Well now, I don' know about you bein' a loser, beb. I think it's kinda cute, how obsessed you were wit' me? I mean, I can't blame you—"

"Shut up," Rogue giggles, clapping a hand over her husband's mouth, "I wasn't obsessed with you, genius, I was in love with you." Then she pauses, burps, "okay, maybe I was obsessed. Un peu." She giggles at her awful take on his accent, and adds, with the appropriate forefinger and thumb gesture, "très peu."

"Oh, that right? Jus' a little?" He chuckles, clearly ignoring her not-so-great Cajun French, and looks at her favorite sticky note from him. "Chere, you kept a note I left you on a plate of leftovers from years ago, and you was only un peu obsessive?"

"Yeah, well, it was a rough time, ya know? I was all kinds of crazy back then." She pulls a face and does the crazy whirl at her head. "And then there was you, comin' around all the time, flirty and friendly, and actin' all interested, and I couldn't even begin to figure out why." She flashes him a loose smile and adds, "you'da liked to have driven me as nuts as the folks in my head back then, sugar." She stills, fidgets her fingers along the cuffs of her new sweater, then shrugs. "That day, that occasion...it was the first time I started figurin' out you weren't just being an ass to me, like I was a game or something. I started figurin' out you actually liked me to some degree or another."

"Hoooo, you was real quick on the uptake back then, huh?" He laughs a series of kisses along her neck that makes her shiver and curl even further back into his chest. "So what's the rest of this page all about?"

"Pfft. Don't play dumb," she counters, "the rest of the page is obviously shit from that wedding you stole—shug, we really need to discuss some boundaries on that theivin' notion of yours—"

"Hold up, Miss Law Abiding Citizen, how many lighters you lift offa me all these years—"

"Not the same, I was totally tryin' to save your stupid ass from lung cancer—"

"—pretty sure I counted at least twenty in this book, ain't no tellin' how many others you stole. And I know there's at least four packs worth of pilfered smokes in this thing—"

"—anyway, yes, wedding stuff." She turns and loudly kisses the side of his face. "There's some of the rose petals from the aisle. Flowers from my bouquet. Wrappers from those amazing Dutch cocoa truffles—"

"Those were good truffles," he cuts in, "bet I could re-create 'em—"

"—you do that, shug. Now, that," she giggles, "is a scrap from the neckline of my wedding dress you ripped while tryin' to get at my boobs in the bathroom at our reception—"

"Hope you don' expect an apology, chere. 'Sides, it wasn't even a big tear—you fixed it by stuffing the drapey part under your armpit."

"Irrelevant, Cajun," she declares, then burps again. She'd forgotten that part about drinking bubbly—anything fizzy gives her burps to rattle the windows. "And this is the upgraded wedding invitation." She flourishes a gesture to the invitation she'd gotten, Kitty's and Piotr's names crossed out and replaced with 'Rogue' and 'Gambit' in respective neon green and pink Sharpies. "It got a few modifications."

"I see that, chere," he chuckles a very pleasant rumble into her back, and she finds herself very distracted by his hands, one curled under her breast, the other running along the inside of her thigh. "I see you even changed the parents' names, too, and in the right colors."

"Yes, I did. Not that I see Raven as my mama, mind you, this was all for fun. Hence the doodles, stickers, and glitterbombin' that took place here."

She forces herself to hush and settle, watching him trace fingertips first over the hearts markered around their chicken-scratched names, then the cartoony little Cupids in clouds shooting arrow after arrow into the 'o' in Rogue, and the 'a' in Gambit. She'd felt especially artistic is adding glitter bursts to the shot vowels, like shot hearts splattering and messy everywhere.

Despite the obvious humor at hand, given the nature of their relationship over the years, the 'art' isn't a lie.

He remains quiet, and she starts to fidget, nerves and vulnerability finally pushing ahead of the booze and any softer feelings at the moment. "So, I, uh...I mean, this ain't much compared to what you've given me, but this...this is all stuff—and god, there's more—" she cuts off with a slightly mortified laugh at that admission, "anyway, this stuff is just what I'd kept over the years. Cuz startin' from the very beginning, you meant something big to me. I, uh, haven't been great about letting you know that over the years. So," she shrugs, "here we are."

"Nah, chere, this right here's pure gold," he shoots back, a sweep of his fingers over the glittersplosions flashing them with a charge he immediately pulls back in. "All's I got you was a shirt and some rocks, anybody wit' a bit of cash can do that." He turns in to sharply nip at her ear as he continues, "this, though, this ain't nothing but that heart of yours I been chasin' for what, six, seven years now, smashed all in it? Figurin' I just came out ahead in this round."

She rolls her eyes, because he would say something like that. Reaching back, she pulls his face down to kiss him square on the mouth. She lets him take it over for a moment, lets it deepen to a slow, luxuriant sweep of his tongue against hers, and then she pulls back.

"Smooth talker," she teases him, then turns back to the scrapbook. She flips the page, opening up to the last spread. One side is plastered with as many recent momentos as she could cram in, pictures of him, them, the cats, flirty notes she'd left him on the fridge before leaving (she supposes she'll always have a thing for sticky notes), and printed off texts he'd sent her (a couple of them definitely on the sexting side of things, several of them his particular brand of sweet, and a couple of immature, but funny ones). She'd included several of the few shots she'd managed on their space honeymoon, and the one shot she'd snuck from his phone.

"I remember takin' this," he murmurs, pointing to the image of her, wearing nothing but the bedsheet and standing in front of a spectacular outer-space view from the ship. "You was actin' like you were upset about the honeymoon situation, and I knew you weren't, just...maybe it wasn't what you expected, eh? Anyway, you were so beautiful, and it finally hit me that we was married."

Her heart turns over on itself at the memory, and she spins in his arms to face him. "No, Remy, that wasn't it at all, I wasn't upset or—or—or lookin' for anything in particular. The honeymoon started out far more beautiful than I'd ever imagined. But everything was so…" she shrugs helplessly, not quite sure what word she's looking for.

His mouth quirks up a wry smile, and his eyes are soft and practically flashing up a light show, and his tone is so gentle, "rushed? Cheated, maybe?" And she wants to eat him up.

"Yeah, rushed is a good word." She shrugs. "Cheated isn't a bad one, though maybe a tad strong," she carefully admits, because as true as it might've felt like, she doesn't regret any of it, and she doesn't want him to think she does for even the splittiest of splitted split seconds.

A thought starts ballooning in her mind. He'd harkened back to their conversation after the party earlier, and she's doing the same right now, her mind honing in on the teasing part about doing the wedding stuff 'right'. She has absolutely no interest in another wedding, or a do-over of any kind on anything else, but if he felt like he owed her an impossibly stunning engagement ring, then she damn well owes him a fantastic honeymoon full of nothing but sex and necessities and no interruptions.

After all, it'd been her to answer Kitty's call, partly out of her own sense of duty, and partly because everything had been so fast, so intense, and she'd been a little skittish.

Well, she's done being skittish. And she wants the intensity he brings.

Grinning wide and stupid, she playfully traces their initials over his chest, complete with an arrow-shot heart. "How about this, Cajun. How about I take us on a second honeymoon, huh?" She finishes her imaginary doodle with flirty zip of her fingertip along his collarbone and flicks flirty lashes and a flirtier smile up at him. "No interruptions, no eggs, no aliens, no Kitty. Just perfect weather, gorgeous views, and us."

"Mmm, Seychelles, maybe? Think it was you talkin' about pretty beaches up in space. Unless you gotta place in particular y' thinkin' of?"

"Places," she corrects him decisively, "'Cause I want a little of everything. I want beaches, I want mountains, I want waterfalls, I want snow, I want nothin' but a bed, I want fun shit to explore and look at, and I want at least a month—two—of nothin' but you and me, shug." She cups his face and moves up for a fast, hard kiss. "But yes, Seychelles first, if you'd like."

He immediately pulls her in and turns that kiss into something decidedly more, and it isn't until he starts pulling her up and her legs around his waist that she realizes they're about to be distracted away from the best page in the whole scrapbook.

Rogue breaks away with a huffy laugh and shifts back off of him, reaching for the book. He grunts in protest, and tries to drag her back.

"C'mon, beb, we can look at it in a minute, you got me all wound up wit' all that sweet talk—"

"Remy, no, we—listen, Cajun," she laughs and half-heartedly struggles against his less-than-half-hearted hold on her, "listen, you're gonna get it in a minute, but I want you to look." He lets her go, and she grabs the book and turns it around so he can read the words. "This is important. I want—need—you to see it."

She watches him look at it, watches his expression as he takes in image, listens to his soft snort at the ridiculousness of it, and then feels him go still at the words written.

His eyes fly back up to hers, irises flared so bright, she can't make out the usual color variances, the subtle scribbles of magenta and orange, the tiny flecks of blue and violet that make up the gorgeous red color as a whole. "Chere, this...I said this. That day I thought you ran off but good."

She smiles and nods, and his eyes drop back to the page. Her eyes follow, smiling wider as her very tactile husband runs his fingers over the only picture on the page, a very undignified image of him laid out on the sofa with cat loaves all over him, his eyes closed, his mouth open, fast asleep. She'd snapped the photo after having just come home from work, and it'd hit her on a visceral level that this was home, here, the cats, him… him.

Which had immediately made her think of what he'd said that day, maybe only three years ago or so, when he'd set his boundaries, broken off from her, and she'd so stupidly skittered off to Erik like a stung, scared street dog with her pride and her dumb, stubborn, insecure tail between her legs.

"I remembered what you'd said, Remy. Word for word," she answers quietly, eyes following his script she'd scribbled furiously into one of her many journals, entries she'd carefully torn out (torn, because jagged edges had suited the moment) and arranged across the page, along with answers she'd scribbled right back at him in the margins, directly on the page itself.

"When it comes to love, reasons for and reasons against should fall away. You should just know."

"I know. I know."

He looks back up at her. "It'd liked to've killed me to say all that." He looks back down at the page. "I knew I'd lose y' then, I was jus' hoping I wouldn't lose y' forever."

"And I was hopin' the same, shug," she tells him, glancing back down, too. She feels his hands curling around hers, and she glances over, watching his thumb rub over the back of her hand. Beautiful hands, she thinks, and she's always thought so. "I knew I was in love you years ago, Remy, but I was too scared of it til that day in Paraiso." Her mind is already headed through the next words, and she smiles, her heart in her mouth, "when I finally stopped running to finally start talking."

"I'm your home. Your harbor. Your end point, not a station along the way. Not a gamble or an experiment."

"You absolutely are my home. Where you go, I go. And I couldn't be happier for it."

"That last part, that's what you said when I asked you to marry me, right before you said 'yes'," he murmurs, fingertip ghosting over the words, and her heart throbs for him.

"Yup, it sure was, Cajun. And lord, if only you could've seen inside my head at the time!" She laughs softly at herself, and continues, "there were so many dang psyches with something to say all at once, I could barely even hear myself think, let alone talk, and then there was you, your heart all over your face, kinda like a grounding...I dunno, focal point in it all, and then I was cryin' and couldn't see that either!" She shakes her head. "You turned me into a mess that day, I hope you know."

"I know I definitely turned you into a mess that night," he leers at her, and then he snorts at the last words on the page.

"You'll come to me when you know that."

"And that's what I promise you, Remy. No matter what, I'll always find my way back to you."

"Heh, can't believe you remembered that jackass speech of mine, chere, but that's a nice touch, answerin' back wit' your own vows, yeah? I especially love how you got all this emphasis on 'always'. Might make a boy think y' maybe want him stickin' around a little while."

"Wow, real quick on the uptake, huh?" She laughs his earlier teasing back at him. "Also, you were a jackass, I'm so glad you can finally admit that," she teases more with a dramatic eye-roll, setting the book aside to scoot up on him and loops her arms around his neck. "But I'm pretty sure I had you beat in that arena that night, so we were a pair." She makes a face and burps again. "Thank god I brought your stubborn, runnin' ass to your senses in Paraiso, 'cause—"

"My stubborn, running ass?" He laughs and bites her lip, his hands already in her pants, "who was it wit' her asshole all puckered up in plane allllll the way out to fuckin' paradise island—"

"I dunno, babe, you were all kinds of puckered up on that flight, too, if I do recall," she giggles and shoves her impossible husband to his back, pushing up his blasted wrong apron and dropping to kiss in a ticklish spot right inside his hipbone. "And I most certainly recall you gettin' all kinds of puckered up and bothered during that trip—hey!"

He flips her on her back fast as you please and cuts her off mid-squawk with a kiss to brand her dang soul, and really, the only thing she can do when he's like this is open up, fist one hand in his hair, grab at his back with the other, and just go to total mush under him.

He pulls away, eyes hot, the smirk on his mouth even hotter, and her breath catches and her body clenches in anticipation at the promise etched into every beautiful angle of his face.

She's about to get nailed to the floor, and she wants.

"I did get maybe a little bothered on that trip," Remy flirts down at her, easily slipping her pants off and tossing them off behind him somewhere.

She leans up for more kisses, an arm circling his neck, her other hand sliding down his spine to tear open his apron. She lets him up for air long enough to pull the neck strap over his head and laugh out, "only a little? I remember a slightly different situation, you nasty rat—ishhhhhht!" She sucks her teeth so hard, her breath whistles as her Cajun cuts her off with a grip on her thigh, a roll of his hips, and a deep push in.

"I show you 'nasty'," he promises over her mouth, and he follows up with a move to make her gasp out his name as her eyes cross and squeeze shut before fluttering back open at him.

"And Rogue," he adds, dropping his forehead to hers as she wraps around him, pulling him down on her, in her, arches up into him, because she can't get get him close enough— "thank you for the gift. It's beautiful, perfect, one to top 'em all. And you're right, chere, you finally came to me," he shifts up just so, hits that spot just right, and she squirms under him, it feels so good, and she can't quite pull in a proper breath, she loves him so much— "now, you gonna start comin' for me."

She feels his hand squeeze her thigh, promising fingertip bruises later, watches his eyes flare, his skin wash a faint purple as he calls a charge, and she starts panting his name as she feels him buzzing, all over her, inside her, moving hard, deep— "oh god," she breathes, closing her eyes as the buzzing intensifies, sweet, sharp pleasure— "oh god, oh god, ohgodoh—"

"Now, Anna-Marie, come for me right now," he growls at her, and the sound of his voice does it, the delicious command in it. She closes arms, legs, and body around him, jerks his face down into her neck, and howls his name, a whole bunch of other things, too.

"Tha's it, chere, goddamn, I love you, sweetheart, so fuckin' beautiful when I got you, when you come," he croons at her, snapping his teeth over her ear to make her shiver and twitch around him some more, make her writhe under him again, and bless the man, he doesn't let up on her even a little bit. "Now do it again, Anna-Marie. I want it again, and again after that."

And she does. Rogue grabs at Remy, her husband, her lover, her partner, her closest friend, her king of Thieves, holds him down tight in her body, and loves him right back, for many more times to come.

——•oOo•——

Well. That turned out waaaaaaay sappier than I'd intended! I actually tried to rein that shit in, but it fought me hard enough, so gdi, it stays. Besides, the deserve alllllll the sap. All of it:) Also, that last line is basically xevg-x. I was having the damndest time closing this chapter out, and she just randomly suggested "...and many more times to come", with absolutely no context, and I just couldn't not use it, so here we are:)