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[Disclaimer from the archivist: The characters used belong to Marvel Comics, and no money is made from their use.]

Night Out
By Raietta

They decided to see a movie together, just because they could. It would be romantic, or something. They went and saw "Erin Brockovich", because Bobby, aside from being in love with Remy, natch, was also in love with Julia Roberts.

"Her in ‘Pretty Woman,’ siiiigh," Bobby drooled, reminiscing, while he and Remy perused the Entertainment section of the newspaper for showings and times in Westchester.

Gambit smirked at him, elbows on the kitchen table, his demonic red eyes shining from behind a silky curtain of hair. "I outta be insulted, Icecube," he teased, "what wit’ you obsessin’ over Julia Roberts an’ me bein’ yo’ boyfriend an’ all. Dat ain’t polite."

It took all of Bobby’s will not to blush bright red. Boyfriend. Whew! Instead, he leered at LeBeau lasciviously and said, "Awwww, don’t be jealous, snooky-wookums. You’re way hotter than Julia Roberts, lemme assure you."

Remy sat back in his chair. "Uh huh."

Bobby went on, tracing airy gestures with his hands, "The great hair, the pouty lips, the first-class butt, the beguiling eyes, the incredible grin--"

Remy raised a graceful brow at him. "Pouty lips?"

"I could go on and on," Bobby smarmed, rolling his eyes in mock ecstasy.

Remy snorted. "Please don’. Much as I hate t’admit it, hearin’ you ramble on ‘bout my first-class butt an’ beguiling eyes is makin’ me feel funny. An’ not de good kinda funny."

"Okey dokey," Bobby said, straightening in his chair and snatching up the Entertainment section. "Don’t say I never do anything for you. Yeesh." His blue eyes fastened on a large promotional photo of Julia Roberts and his expression glazed over. "Speaking of pouty lips…" he mumbled.

Remy sighed and slouched way down in his chair. "If I had a purse, I’d hit you wit’ it."

"You with a purse. That would certainly be an interesting image. I ever tell you about the time I got Hank to dress up in one of Jean’s skirts? Eight o’clock ok?"

Ignoring the Hank-in-a-skirt comment, Remy replied, "Sounds good, cher."

"Excellent," Bobby hissed sibilantly, doing a very good Mr. Burns imitation.

"Smithers, you jackanapes!" Remy shouted, and Bobby tried to hit him with the newspaper, but Remy was stretched out across the table before he could move and giving Bobby a huge, delightful, sloppy, wet kiss.

"Mmm!!" Iceman could feel his toes curling in rapture. Gambit broke off the kiss way too early, though, a strange look on his face as he sat back.

"I jus’ swallowed y’r gum," he gasped.

"Ooops," Bobby grinned sympathetically. "Sorry."

"Warn me nex’ time y’ got gum in yo’ mout’, Drake!" Remy poked Bobby in the arm. "I coulda choked to deat’!"

"Oh, excuse me," Bobby replied with elaborate obsequiousness. He rolled his eyes. "Excuse me for not personally alerting you every time I feel like popping some Bubble Yum."

Remy grinned charmingly at his lover. "Dat’s ok, sweetheart. I forgive you."

"Yeah, whatever." Bobby stood up and pushed in his chair. "Let’s blow this pop stand."




To Bobby’s unending consternation, Remy insisted that they take Bobby’s car.

"But… but it’s a freakin’ junkheap!" Bobby was scandalized. "Why don’t we just take your bike? It’s cool-looking and stuff."

"An’ ride aroun’ Westchester wit’ you on wit’ me?" Remy gave Bobby an offended look. "I don’ t’ink so."

Staring at him, Bobby lived up to his code name, and froze up. Suddenly his stomach hurt and his chest was too tight. "Oh," he said frostily, his voice tight and cold, "I get it. What a weird turnaround. Too ashamed to be seen in public with me, huh?"

Remy looked swiftly at the other man, saw the sweet blue eyes turn into blue ice, and frowned. "Non, non, cher," he explained, leaning against the wall of the garage and pressing for the garage door to open. "Not dat way at all. But look at how close we’d be if we went on de motorcycle. Too close. All pressed up against one anot’er. If y’ don’ mind me gettin’ distracted halfway down de road, pullin’ over, and tearin’ y’ clothes off an’ never makin’ it to de movie, den dat’s fine." He grinned beatifically. "We’ll take de bike."

Bobby softened somewhat.

"Remember what happened de las’ time we tried takin’ de bike," Remy reminded him, and Bobby, thinking back, suddenly grinned. "You still wanna take it? Your call."

Bobby’s stomach stopped hurting, and his face melted from the grin into a wide smile. "Tempting," he said, pretending to weigh the options, "but I really wanna see Julia Roberts in a teeny tiny miniskirt."

"Den get de hell in de car, Drake, an’ quit givin’ me trouble," Remy ordered, and Bobby, grinning like a crazed monkey, complied.




Slouched in the passenger seat of the car, knees drawn up and shoes plunked on the dashboard, Remy watched Bobby from behind a concealing fall of hair. Drake was humming softly, then loudly, some 70’s song, or maybe it was Blur, Remy had no idea, but it was very much off-key, whatever it was. It was so cute Remy could barely stand it. He sighed internally with disgust at himself that something as silly as Bobby humming off-key to an unknown song could make Remy’s insides turn to jelly and give him the strongest urge to jump Bobby, right there in the car. Oh, well. Just so long as he kept it under control, all was good. Remy nodded to himself in agreement, then, since looking never hurt anything, he let his eyes glide over his companion’s profile, from the short, nondescript hair to the gently sloping nose to the slightly smiling lips—lips—lips—

Oh, hell. Remy turned away in even more self-disgust and gazed out the window. Some self-control he had, there. Years of poker expressions and mental tricks and forcing himself to be detached, and it had come to this. Salivating like a fool every time he glanced in Bobby’s direction. Lord.

"What’re you humming, Bobby?" he asked, to distract himself.

"Huh? Oh." Bobby made a left down Main Street, smiling happily. "It’s the ‘Scooby Doo’ theme song, of course!"

"Oh. Of course." While Bobby now sang the song full-throttle as he pulled into the Cineplex parking lot, Remy couldn’t help but grin, thinking, Wow. Blur, my ass. Dat was way off. Then, as the singing continued; I’m in love wit’ a twelve-year-old trapped in a twenty-year-old body. Dieu.




"You’re not paying for my ticket?" Bobby gave Gambit an affronted look. Gambit rolled his eyes and slapped down some bills on the box-office counter.

"I’m offended!" Bobby announced, putting his hands on his hips and huffing. "Some date this is! Hmph!"

Remy scooped up his change and his ticket and stepped aside as a bored box office girl accepted Bobby’s crinkled dollars. "Didn’ Rogue ever tell you what a cheap bastard I am?" he asked.

"No, of course—oh, wait." Bobby grabbed his ticket and strolled with Remy into the movie lobby and up to the concession counter. "Yeah, actually, she did. Oooh!! Jujubes!! Gotta have some!!"

"What?" Remy teased, discreetly tugging on the loop of Bobby’s jeans. "You don’ wan’ Gummy Bears? I’m shocked."

Bobby wasn’t listening, so enamoured of the candy selection was he. "Ooooh!! Sour Patch Kids!! I want, I want!! Oooooh!! Kit-Kat bars!! It just gets better and better!"

"Can I help you, sir?" the concession attendant asked in a flat drone, looking just as bored as the box office girl.

"Uh… wait… I dunno… oh, jeeze!" Bobby turned from one glinting, shiny candy box to another, clearly torn. Remy snickered. "Decisions, decisions! Where’s the Whoppers?"

A tired-looking man with three little monkey children hanging off of him sighed impatiently and shifted his feet behind them. Remy stepped up to the counter, grinned engagingly, and said, "I’ll take a large popcorn, large Coke, a box’v Kit-Kats, a box’v Jujubes, an’… what was dat ot’er one?" He frowned questioningly at the glass case of candy. "An’ de Sour Patch Kids."

"And Junior Mints!" Bobby piped up.

"An’ Junior Mints," Remy agreed diplomatically.

"Ok, then," the concessionist said, rolling his eyes, and started making a stack of all of the candy.

As the counter boy went to go fill up a tub of popcorn, Bobby pulled out his worn leather wallet, grinning. "Yay for me!" he crowed, pulling out money, but Remy’s hand over his own stopped him.

Bobby looked up, puzzled. "What?"

"I got dis one," Remy explained nonchalantly, tossing down a bill. "Don’ worry ‘bout it."

Bobby was immediately chagrined. "Oh, hey, no," he began, "I didn’t, I mean, no way--"

"Don’ make me beat you up, Bobby," Remy warned, grabbing his Coke and his change. "Now get y’r stuff an’ let’s go. De guy behind us is jus’ about ready t’ strangle us if we don’ get lost."

"But… but…" Weakly, Bobby gathered up his candy and tagged after the lithe, red-eyed man. "Hey, really. I was just joking around, back there. You don’t need to--"

Suddenly Bobby found himself against the wall, Remy against him, lush, fine-drawn lips covering his own. Bobby nearly dropped his snacks in surprise. Softly, sensuously, his bottom lip was drawn between Remy’s, then gently nipped. Bobby’s veins were suddenly coursing with molten lava.

Remy stood back and grinned lazily at him. Bobby realized that he was paralyzed with astonishment. Oh, wait, no. That was earth-shattering lust.

"You gonna give me any more trouble, cher?" the Cajun asked, smiling cockily.

"You just…" Bobby swallowed, his eyes saucers. "You just… in front of the whole…" Heart, stop going so fast! Slow down, dammit!

"I don’ mind PDAs," Remy grinned wickedly, "but don’ make me haveta shut you up again, Drake. De manager of de Cineplex won’ like it. Liable to kick us out f’r improper conduct in a public place."

"You… you…" Bobby couldn’t get his brain to function properly.

"C’mon," Remy ordered, and Bobby meekly followed, dazed, into the dark theater.




"This is creepy. I’ve never seen Julia Roberts in a serious movie before."

"Y’r hoggin’ de popcorn, Bobby. C’mon, hand it over."

Bobby silently passed over the popcorn tub, then proceeded to stuff Junior Mints into his mouth, by the handful. "I didn’t know she could even act," he continued, amazed, gazing at the bright screen with rapt attention.

"She sure does a lot’v screamin’," Remy commented sourly, digging into the popcorn. It being a Tuesday night, the theater was only half-full, and the couple was relatively isolated in the sea of darkened seats. Remy and Bobby both had their feet propped up on the chair backs in front of them. Just like in high school. All they needed to do now was start a popcorn fight.

"What the hell is wrong with that old guy?" Bobby demanded around a wad of Jujubes. "He looks like he’s about to have a heart attack at any moment. Jujube?"

"T’anks, I’ll pass."

Suddenly, Julia Roberts appeared on the screen in a bra and a tiara. All the men in the audience sent up a collective cheer, Bobby included. Remy let out a soft, appreciative whistle.

"Damn, she’s hot," he admitted, grinning.

"You’re hotter," Bobby muttered absently, eyes glued to the screen. "Toldja before."

Remy’s eyes left the randy Ms. Roberts and settled on Bobby. He watched him for a moment in silence, the darkness sending out sharp planes and soft angles in his face. It would’ve been a pretty picture, if Bobby didn’t have his mouth full of crystallized sugar and melted chocolate, causing his right cheek to bulge out, ruining the effect. No, it wasn’t pretty, it was cute. It was infuriatingly cute. Rogue had never been this cute.

Bobby sucked loudly on the Coke straw, then crammed in more junk food. Even cuter. Now he was downright adorable.

"You’re right," Bobby said, "she really does scream a lot in this movie."

Julia Roberts shrieked at someone on the screen. "Fuck you!" she howled.

"Right on!" Bobby encouraged, giving a thumbs-up sign. "Kick some ass, Erin!"

"I had a bike like dat, once."

"Jeeze, even the kids’re good actors. This is really freaking me out. She’s even interacting with the kids in a realistic and believable fashion."

"Aw, man. Dere’s dat creepy man wit’ de blue ball cap again."

"Uh-oh. The boyfriend’s getting antsy."

"I had a car like dat once, too."

"What? That lemon? You’re joking, right?"

"Shaddup, Bobberoni."




At about the time of the town meeting scene, Remy stopped paying attention to the film altogether. He knew how it’d end, anyway. Instead, empty popcorn bucket on his lap, slouched down in his seat, Remy kept on finding himself glancing over at Bobby, who was down to chewing on the ice left over from the Coke and savoring the last of the Sour Patch Kids.

He watched him for a couple of minutes, half wondering at this odd, warm melting feeling inside his chest, as if his heart was dissolving into butter. It was so strange. His other lovers had been like fireworks, dazzling and hot, and over so quick, but the ones he really loved, the ones whose ghosts never let him feel alone, were more like butter slowly melting in the sun. Soft and slow and warm.

Soft and slow and warm, Remy reached over and slid long fingers along Bobby’s side, then over his hip, and rested them on his stomach.

Bobby abruptly stopped chewing at his ice. Inconspicuously, Remy slid his hand under Bobby’s T-shirt and softly pressed his fingers and palm against his warm, hard flesh.

Staring fixedly at the movie screen before him, Bobby whispered, "What are you doing?"

"I dunno," Remy replied truthfully. He kept his hand flat, unmoving, savoring the feel of Bobby’s skin.

"We’re gonna get in trouble," Bobby whispered, still staring at the screen.

"Non, we’re not."

"This isn’t a good idea," Bobby tried, but made no move to stop him as Remy slowly kneaded his thumb against a stomach muscle.

"Don’ worry," Remy murmured seductively, his beautiful face lit with softly wicked pleasure as his hand continued to play on Bobby’s flesh. "No one’ll notice. I done dis millions’v times."

"Oh, really." Huh. Bobby started crunching his ice again, momentarily peeved. Then Remy did something particularly nice and novel with his hand, and Bobby could feel his brain slide right out of his head, via his ear, and splot onto the sticky floor.

"Holy mackerel," he muttered, tensing.

"Shhh," Remy murmured, leaning over briefly to brush his knuckles across Bobby’s cheek. "Relax. Don’ tense up."

"Uhhh…" Bobby began, but Remy’s fingers were suddenly making magic, and what was left of Bobby’s intellect threw up its hands and said, "What the hell!" and Bobby leaned back to enjoy the private entertainment.




Bobby’s mouth tasted like all kinds of crazy stuff. Remy could make out Coca-Cola, popcorn, chocolate, salt, mint, sugar, something sour, something sweet.

"Mmm, Kit-Kat," he purred against Bobby’s mouth, and Bobby’s body shook against his own as the blue-eyed man burst into laughter, muffled by Remy’s tongue.

Remy grinned himself, and would have kept on kissing him, but Bobby wouldn’t stop laughing. Finally Remy sat up with a sigh and let Bobby convulse by himself.

The two had made it all the way to the car before uncontrollable lust stopped them both cold, and somehow they’d ended up in the back seat, Bobby practically on the floor, his head pillowed on a pair of sneakers he kept in the back, just in case, Remy’s knees crushing some old M and M’s wrappers.

Remy leaned against the door and ran a hand through his hair, smiling, and waited for Bobby to collect himself. Eventually Bobby was able to stop guffawing long enough to try and haul himself into a sitting position, and Remy grasped his hand and helped him up.

Bobby couldn’t stop chortling. "Sorry, sorry…" he gasped, and Remy traced a finger along one light brown brow before asking, "What for?"

"I dunno… just… I dunno…" Bobby shrugged helplessly, and Remy shook his head. "For tasting like a Kit-Kat, I guess," Bobby said, and Remy burst into a loud chuckle.

"C’mon," Bobby said, smiling wistfully. He opened his door. "Let’s head back. We’re both too tall to really be able to do anything in the back seat of this car."

Remy slid back into the front passenger seat and resumed his normal pretty slouch as they pulled out of the parking lot and started back home. Bobby got through two stoplights before he started humming again. Remy smiled.

"Well," Bobby said, pausing in his song, "that was a pretty cool movie. I liked it."

"Me, too, surprisingly."

"Did we even see the end?"

"Uh… non. But I’m sure we didn’ miss anyt’ing. I’m pretty positive it was a happy ending."

"Of course, of course. Didn’t miss a thing."

Remy smiled a conspiratorial smile, and Bobby, happy, started humming again. Telephone wires swooped and dove past the passenger window as Bobby sped back to the mansion, and Remy counted the poles, feeling happy and content. Soft and slow and warm.

"What’re you hummin’, now, Bobby?" he couldn’t help but ask.

Grinning like a maniac, Bobby replied, "The ‘Reading Rainbow’ theme song, of course!"

Remy groaned as Bobby burst into song. "‘Just take a look—it’s in a book—it’s a reading rainbowww! A reading rainbowwww!!’"

"Bobby," Remy said, trying hard not to grin, "you are one whacked-out individual."

"Why, thank you!" Bobby gushed, and Remy couldn’t help but smile as the car sped on through the night, hurtling them home, and altogether it had been a good night, yes it had, a very good night out.


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