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“Finally! I’ve been waiting for this forever.” Remy stood in front of the window with the curtains flung back. A bright, diffused light filled the room. Along with the light, a cold draft slipped into the room, sending another chill up Rogue’s spine.
“Waiting for what?” Rogue shivered as she pulled the blankets tighter around her shoulders and snuggled further back onto the couch. Her husband was certifiably crazy if he was going to greet the day with such glee. She'd been too cold to even consider changing out of her pajamas. Instead she'd added robe and blankets to her ensemble. “A snow day?”
“Oui.” Remy scooped Oliver out of the way and deposited the protesting cat on the end of the couch as he crossed towards the kitchen.
Rogue rolled her eyes. “Not me. If it never snowed again, it’d be too soon.”
Remy clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth and shook his head. Long strands of his auburn fringe fell in his face with the movement. “Mon coeur, you’re missing all the potential. The others certainly can’t expect two southerners like us to brave such inclement weather. They’ll just have to go on without us.”
“What potential?” The clanks and rattles of pots and pans obscured Rogue’s question.
Gathering the blanket around her, Rogue shuffled off the couch and followed the cacophony into the kitchen.
“Whatchya doin’ sugah?” Rogue hopped up onto the counter. The edge of the blanket snagged in the open cabinet and pooled on the floor.
“‘m putting some chili in the crockpot for dinner, then ‘m gonna make some hot chocolate for my chilled wife.”
“Mmm,” Rogue hummed. “Sounds toasty.”
“Oui, chère.” He leaned in and kissed her lightly on the lips. Feeling in control of her powers, Rogue leaned in and deepened the kiss.
Only a mere trickle of her husband’s psyche passed across the touch. Before she could absorb more than a general sense of warmth and desire, Remy broke the kiss. Rogue pouted at the loss of his touch, knowing he couldn’t resist the temptation of her lower lip. As if on cue, Remy leaned in once more and playfully nipped at her lip.
Tugging her off the counter, he held her to him with one arm around her waist, the other hand supporting her backside. She kicked up her feet as he spun her around the kitchen before setting her feet back on the ground. While she leaned against him in an attempt to regain her balance, he gathered the blanket and draped it over her shoulders. “Go on. Cuddle up under the covers and I’ll join you shortly.”
With a sultry glance over her shoulder, Rogue winked at her husband. “Ya promise?”
“Oui.” The single word came out in a growl of desire. Then, with a mischievous grin, he added, “And put on some socks! Your toes are freezing.”
——
Mesmerized by the falling snow, Rogue stared out the window. Lacy patterns of frost edged the window, while large snowflakes drifted lazily to the ground. Snow piled in ever growing mounds which wouldn't disappear for days, let alone months, and bedecked the distant trees in glistening white. If any day was destined for indoor activities, surely it was this one.
It was a day for hot drinks and comfort reads. On her way to the bedroom, she’d selected her oft read copy of ‘Pride and Prejudice.’ Ever since her powers manifested, she loved reading Jane Austen and Regency novels where everyone wore gloves and a held gaze and prolonged touch carried as much romantic tension as a hundred more salacious scenes. Back when touch was forbidden to her, these stories gave her hope that love might even be in the cards for her. Yet, despite her propensity for casting Remy in the role of Mr. Darcy, the book laid forgotten on her lap. Figaro curled up beside her like a purring, personal heater. Across the room, a fire crackled merrily in the fireplace and filled the room with a glowing warmth. Rogue tugged the blanket tighter around her shoulders and wiggled her toes between the folds in the covers. From the kitchen, the scent of browning meat mingled with the sharp, potent aroma of spices and filled the air. It was all just so homey. Domestic…
In the cozy warmth of their bedroom combined with the muted glow reflected off the story, their home felt isolated from the rest of the world. Rogue lost track of time as her eyelids grew heavy and each blink took longer than the one before. Her head lolled against the wall, while between blinks she watched the snowflakes dance towards the ground.
I’m glad I’m not out there …
The unfinished thought drifted away with the falling of the snow.
——
“Whenever I look at you…” Remy’s voice filled her consciousness, drawing her out of her stupor. His fingers caught a lock of her hair and followed the curl to the end.
“Hmm?” Rogue blinked up at her husband.
He handed her a mug of hot cocoa, miniature marshmallows floated on top. “Good nap?”
Momentarily distracted by the irony of the mug proclaiming ‘Always bet on black coffee’ when not a drop of coffee of any variety was to be found in the drink, Rogue sipped the hot chocolate. It was perfect (as always)—not too sweet, not too bitter, and just the right amount of creaminess. “Not so fast, swamp rat, I want to know what you were saying when I caught ya playin’ with my hair.”
“Mebbe I was talking to myself.” He drawled with a insouciant grin, which made Rogue want to kiss the smirk off his face.
Grabbing his wrist, she pulled him down onto the bed beside her. The cocoa threatened to spill over the top of the mug with the sudden movement. Acutely aware of what the jostling must surely proceed, Figaro fled from his spot at her side to find a safer haven a moment before Remy crashed down beside Rogue.
Using her lap for a pillow, he stared up into her face. “Oh Roguey, if you so desire, ‘I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes…’”**
“And moreover you will go with me to mine uncle's?” She raised a quizzical brow, curious to see how he would play this one out. “And who, pray tell, is my uncle?”
Remy shrugged. “It sounded good in the moment.” Reaching behind his head, he pulled her book out from under him. He flipped through the pages as though he knew the content of her daydreams which it inspired.
Her cheeks pinked at the thought of him in the high Regency collars and the flex of his hand before he helped her into a carriage. His touch lingering a bit too long to be strictly appropriate. At his all too knowing chuckle, Rogue snagged the book and took it away from him.
“So….tell me…,” Rogue prompted. She ran her fingers through his hair, brushing the too long strands away from his face.
“Mmm.” He practically purred at her touch.
Rogue bit her lip and waited for the moment Remy went boneless. When he relaxed into a metaphorical puddle, she reached over with the hand not combing his hair and poked him in the side at the spot where he was most ticklish.
Unlike any normal mortal, Remy didn’t squirm or squeal at the sudden attack. Instead, he wrapped an arm up past her shoulder and behind her neck in order to pull her down into a kiss. At his touch, Rogue allowed her powers to flow through her. They pulled at his psyche and drew in his memories like a breath.
A moment of vertigo sends her head spinning and she tightens her grasp on her husband’s hand. He returns the squeeze. The pressure of the hold melds into a singular sensation until she can’t tell the difference between her hand and his. Shaking her head, her vision clears and she’s no longer lounging on the bed, but standing. Through eyes almost familiar as her own, she looks down onto herself.
A smile tugs at her lips, as she watches herself doze. The peaceful expression on her face make her pause. Heat seeps through the ceramic mug and into her fingertips. If she doesn’t wake Rogue now, the cocoa will grow cold, but Rogue came home late last night, barely beating the snow. She’s glad her beloved has the chance to rest.
Despite Rogue’s vehement protests against the snow, he’s come to love these snow days. It allows them to curl up together, away from the world and simply enjoy each other’s company. He likes having the opportunity to cook for her, and to make certain she’s warm and safe. Though it’s been years since he’s lived on the streets, never knowing where he will sleep or when his next meal will come, he can’t shake that innate sense of deprivation. That fear of being one meal, one night, away from the end. And, so he lavishes food and warmth and home over his wife. He loves her so much, it flows out of him in these small acts of provision and care.
He reaches for the stray lock of snowy curls which have fallen in her face. His touch is as light as the brush of a feather, and yet, that is all it takes to rouse her. Still more asleep than awake, her eyes flutter open and he peers into the fathomless emerald depths. She has known great sorrow and great joy in her life. ‘ And all that’s best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes…’*
“Whenever I look at you….” The thought remains unfinished with the myriad of possibilities of love and yearning which crowd the tip of her tongue in an attempt to tumble off in a tangle of emotions which only her touch could unravel. The cacophony of all the sentiments culminate into a singular, heartfelt, silent cry…, ‘I love you more and more.’
Snapping back into her memories, her own psyche, Rogue looked down at her husband. His head still rested on her lap. While the fire in the depths of his burning gaze was slightly clouded and dimmed, his smile was reminiscent of the cat who got the cream. She couldn’t help but laugh with the effusion of shared joy and love spilling between them.
“I love you too, Remy.” She brushed the hair away from his forehead and kissed the bared skin. “Forever and always.”
“Bon,” he murmured in hazy contentment as his body regained its equilibrium after the rush of absorption.
Rogue lost track of how long the remained curled up in cozy contentment. There was no need for words to pass between them, they simply luxuriated in the pure pleasure of each other’s company. After a time, she stirred, wishing to get back to her book.
“Non.” Remy lifted the book he’d brought with him. “I want to read to you.”
She couldn’t remember the last time someone had read to her, but she wasn’t opposed to the idea. In fact, the more she thought on it, the more she liked the idea. Settling back against the brick wall, she allowed her body to relax as she resumed playing with her husband’s hair. “All right, sug, what are we readin’?”
“A little tale of a couple reuniting on a trip to Paradise.” His mellifluous tones rumbled through chest and into her bones.
“Let me guess, it involves couples therapy, stolen powers, and one hell of a fistfight.”
“Oui.” He caught her hand and kissed the back of it before letting return to his hair. “Now, hush if you want to hear the rest of the story.”
She stuck out her tongue at his teasing chastisement. “I think I know how it ends, but, please continue.”
“Oh?” Remy raised an eyebrow challenging her powers of prognostication.
“They returned home, stole a wedding, and lived happily ever after,” Rogue recited the memories and capped them with her hope for future.
“Oui, mon couer,” Remy agreed. “Together, they lived and loved, forever and always.”