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FIC: Jubilation 1/1 [G/J, R]

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  • tosh
    Jubilation. ... E-mail: tosh@opera.iinet.net.au Rating: NC-17 Archive: XMMFF. Classification: Jubilee POV Series: Love & Lust at Mutant High Spoilers: The
    Message 1 of 1 , Aug 10, 2001
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      Jubilation.
      ------------

      E-mail: tosh@...
      Rating: NC-17
      Archive: XMMFF.
      Classification: Jubilee POV
      Series: Love & Lust at Mutant High
      Spoilers: The Movie
      Synopsis: Jubilation Lee introspective piece
      Feedback: Please. The more feedback, the more story you get.
      Authors Note: Jenn let me play with her Jubilee. Isn't she nice?!
      Dedication: To Jubilation Lee... Hon, you are my avatar into X-ness. Everything you
      utter, I know how you feel. I feel glee and laughter at your words, and I understand
      totally the fascination with Logan in the comics. I give you the spare Cajun, cause
      you're just too damned cute together. Stay funky, keep lovin' yellow, and thank you for
      inspiring me.

      ~~~~X~~~~

      Television was good. Television was distraction. The sleeping body next to me was warm
      and heavy against me, and I felt security knowing he chose to fall asleep there. He's
      not too trusting of his environment, even here, and letting himself be this vulnerable
      around me - well, it's a muted sign of a deep rooted trust. I guess he's good too.
      Distracting.

      Distracting from the constant drama that is Rogue. I love her, I do. That's why I'm
      stressed, why I wanna destroy stuff and why I'm shouting at him more. I just wish she
      didn't get hurt so much. It's so easy... not that she's weak. She's strong, really
      strong, and bad stuff happens to her, because she's not afraid. People think that's
      Logan, but nuh-uh - that's Rogue through and through. Rogue runs in where angels fear to
      tread, brown eyes blazing with confidence (or are they green now?) and leather gleaming
      around her figure. That's her - bold as brass and not afraid. I wish that she'd be
      afraid, just once.

      I was afraid, for her and for Johnny. I couldn't stop thinking about it, couldn't let it
      slide or let Jean handle it. The woman, despite her telepathic abilities, has the
      collective clueage of a pack of cheerleaders on a red cordial high. Don't get me wrong,
      she's smart n' shit, but she's smart in the wrong way. She's all logic and science, and
      she kinda forgets about human nature, or what it is to be someone else. Hank is really
      smart and he still remembers that. That's kinda why I've got a slight case of hero
      worship for him now. When I see him I get a sense of awe and just wanna hug the big furry
      genius and let him know how much he saved all of us. When I smile at him, or invite him
      to watch tv or have an oreo - I think he knows.

      I never thought he'd like oreos as much as I do.

      What's really great, is that he's good to talk to. What's annoying though, is when I'm
      around him I always seem to start bitching about the doofus that's asleep in my lap right
      now. I look down at him, at the jerk in my lap. That bizarre rich auburn hair that
      should be a bottle colour but isn't, is all fanned out on my arm, all warm and red looking
      in the light of the lamp next to us. His eyes are closed, long dark lashes resting
      against high cheekbones, his face that should be in a magazine or on a rock-star so
      sculptural, sheer perfection. There's a light dusting of a five o'clock shadow (he
      shaved for once, I see...) and there's a hint of a smile on the curve of his lips. He
      looks so happy.

      Sometimes, we let each other be happy.

      With a little bit of fear, and a lot of affection, I reach out, letting my fingertips
      slide through the soft silky hair, and that curl of a smile gets a little deeper.

      "I hate him," I said to Hank once, in the kitchen, munching on cookies and drinking
      chocolate flavoured milk. Hank just laughed at this. For all his smart heroness, he
      could be annoying himself once in a while.

      "Ah, young relations," he said, sipping at a tea, "Tumultuous, yet enlivening."

      I started at him unblinkingly. "Try living them. They suck."

      "I have lived them, Jubilee," he said, "And bear the scars of such foolish years. Why not
      sit down and tell me what's bothering you?"

      He always asks. I wonder why he does - I mean there's gotta be a hundred thousand things
      that this smart Einstein of a guy would rather talk about or occupy himself with than my
      failing social life. He asks me to sit down, though, and it's usually around the kitchen
      table over tea and chocolate milk.

      "What is it that Master LeBeau has done this time?"

      He said this whilst blowing the edge of his teacup before taking a sip.

      "Ugh. Not a lot. No... everything, or maybe nothing..."

      Hank blinked at me.

      "He worries about Rogue."

      With a slight tilt of his head, Hank smiled. "So do you."

      "Yeah but... he touched her. He's all - weird about her."

      "How so?"

      "He looks at her funny." I probably pouted at that point, because Hank looked
      sympathetic.

      "I think you all have a certain degree of protectiveness concerning Rogue. She's a
      delicate young woman who needs much guidance concerning her powers."

      I nodded. "I know, and I want her to have it. Sometimes I think life is all about
      everyone else, and I'm always making sure everyone else is okay and I stop and think -
      shit. What am I doing about me?"

      Hank nodded.

      "I mean - look at Bobby and Johnny. They have their own shit going on, and they seemed
      to somehow construct a stable functioning relationship through all this crap!"

      Hank still nodded, and I waved my arms about wildly.

      "What the hell is wrong with me that all I can do is be the comic relief for everyone and
      hide my head in habit? I wanna know what the hell it is about change that I keep running
      from it!"

      Hank, good old reliable Hank, nodded. "Change can be unsettling."

      "Bobby deals! Johnny deals!" I frowned then, shaking my head a little. "Remy isn't
      dealing."

      "I'd say neither are you."

      I sighed, propping my face in my hand and pouting indignantly. "That's stating the
      obvious."

      "What you need to do is ascertain what possible change could be troubling you..." Hank
      said over steepled, clawed fingertips.

      "Change means losing something."

      Hank gave a light laugh. "It also means gaining some things."

      "I dunno if what I have is worth risking for something that might not last anyways."

      Hank frowned lightly then, just looking at me softly.

      "You will never know, Jubilee," he said. "Not until you seize life by it's roots."

      I pouted at that. "Roots are gnarled and icky looking."

      Hank nodded sagely, "They also sustain and bring life-giving nutrients. Without them, the
      tree would be nothing."

      Ohh, he was getting metaphorical on me. I patted his arm, nodding, and slunk from the
      kitchen with my tail between my legs. Hank told me how it was, and dude - I didn't like
      it at all.

      I remember once we were on a mission. Taking out a band of militant anti-mutant spazmos
      by destroying their supply of arms and hopefully their hide-out in the process. Okay - I
      added the hopefully part. We weren't *supposed* to destroy the place, but I hated the
      decor and they followed the teachings of Hitler a little *too* closely. When we were
      supposed to be transporting the bad goods out, I tripped over. Accidentally on purpose.
      And booked my ass out of there, grabbing Johnny and making trails.

      Let's just say that never had the New York area seen such a colorful display of
      pryotechnics since the last 4th of July. I was incredibly proud. I stood there,
      grinning, arms folded, long yellow pleather jacket fluttering around my black leather-clad
      body. I slid on my sunglasses and sighed.

      "That's what I call a job well done!"

      Rogue ran up to me then, those eyes wild, and she grabbed me. "Are you fuckin' INSANE?!"

      I frowned at her. "Huh?"

      "Remy's STILL IN THERE!"

      Then I had one of those, you know- heart stopping moments. Like the bottom fell out of
      everything. I mean EVERYTHING. Dude, I've worried about missing team members before,
      but I'd never - I'd never felt anything like this. My eyes almost burst in pain,
      pressure behind them giving way to a rush of tears, and I cupped my hand over my mouth.
      It was when my other hand found pavement that I realised I'd fallen over.

      "No," I breathed. "No..."

      There was no way he could have survived the blast. It was huge. It was devastating.
      The abandoned buildings next to it had gaping holes in their side, and the rest of the
      team were already running like bats out of hell before the authorities came. Despite my
      body emblazoned in X's, I wasn't going anywhere. Apparently, neither was Rogue. I heard
      whimpering, and Remy's name, and my head span. I was whimpering. I was repeating his
      name, over... and over.

      "Remy!"

      That wasn't me. I glanced up, and I had my second mind-altering experience for the day.
      I swear to God, I'd never seen him before and felt so floored. My jaw dropped, tears
      blurring my vision. He stood there, looking rather surprised at Rogue's arms tight around
      him, her hair mussed in her face, the sounds of weeping falling from her. I looked up to
      his face.

      Not a mark. Not a bruise, not a charred bit of skin - nothing. When I spoke, my mouth
      barely moved, my words slurred and dull with shock.

      "Where the hell were you?"

      He didn't look at me as he ran his hand over Rogue's cascading tresses.

      "At de McDonald's up de street."

      Something in me broke. Reason flew out the window and I jumped to my feet, arms waving
      wildly, throwing my sunglasses from my eyes.

      "WHAT THE FUCK WHERE YOU DOING THERE?!" I howled, jumping at him, grabbing Rogue and
      throwing her out of the way before collaring Remy and glaring deep into those ruby eyes
      with rage.

      "I was GOING to de MEN'S ROOM!" he cried back at me.

      My eyes were wide, probably bobbling insanely, and a laugh with absolutely no sanity
      cackled it's way from my chest.

      "The bathroom," I said in a crazed high voice, "The BATHROOM!" My voice broke and I
      screamed, "YOU WERE IN THE FUCKIN' BATHROOM?! DURING A MISSION?!"

      He shrugged, rage filling his voice. "NATURE WAIT FOR NO MAN EH?!"

      God. That was so him. That was such a - HIM - thing to say. My grip on his collar
      weakened, and my lips crinkled as I pressed them together, tears spilling down my face.

      "I -" I stopped for a sob, taking a shuddering breath in, my voice husky and quiet. "I
      thought you were dead." I sniffled before breaking down, weeping helplessly, trying to
      stop myself but having no luck whatsoever.

      His eyes... they were so warm that moment. As if he was realising something, and I felt
      his hands run through my short locks. He pulled me to him then, caressing my back
      comfortingly and tutting lowly in my ear.

      "Non, Petite, non," he said, "I am quite safe. I am here, Petite."

      It made me shudder again, hugging him tightly, hugging him with all I had, breathing in
      the smell of leather and smoke and his spicy young smelling cologne. For a terrible
      terrible second, I knew what it would be for me if I lost Remy. If Remy was gone, never
      to come back.

      It was the most terrifying few moments of my life.

      The movements of Remy snoozing in my lap pulled me from that painful moment. He rolled
      onto his back and snuggled against me. His eyes fluttering open, he frowned softly at me,
      even though I thought I was smiling.

      "What?"

      He hmmed for a moment, then touched my cheek. "Your eyes look sad, petite. Very sad."

      I laughed in a breath, shrugging, my heart twisting inside of me. "I was just - um -
      remembering stuff."

      "Oh." He nodded, fingertips at my cheek still. "Mus' have been very painful to make your
      eyes look like dis."

      I sighed, closing my eyes. Damn it. How dare he be so perceptive. I just nodded.

      "Yeah, yeah it was."

      Settling onto his back, squarely in my lap, he draped an arm behind his head and jutted
      his chin with decision.

      "Then you tell Remy about it."

      I snorted. "Yeah right."

      He frowned and looked at me. "Why not?"

      "Cause..." I rolled my eyes and looked away, and embarrassed grin on my face. "I'm not
      telling you."

      "You mus'," he said, "Is still upsettin' you, Petite."

      God I hated when he called me that. Petite meant 'small'. Petite meant short and little
      and they were things I hated about myself. I wasn't a 'Cheri' or 'ma chere' like Rogue
      was, or 'Belle' or 'ma chat' like Storm was. Nope, I was always 'Petite'.

      "It's not upsetting me," I said, my words gaining an edge to them.

      "You try an hide it from Remy - it won't work."

      I growled. Something about tonight was tense, stressful, palpable. With all the crap
      with Rogue, with all the dramas between Bobby and Johnny, with just - with everything -
      something inside me was close to breaking-point. When I glanced down to Remy, to those
      candid, concerned... beautiful... eyes - I think I finally lost it.

      "Fine!" I snapped. "Ya wanna know what's upsettin' me?!"

      His frown grew deeper and he nodded, sitting up slowly, leaning on the armrest so that his
      body was close to mine, his face only a breath away. I shakingly struggled to keep my
      angry composure.

      "You!"

      "Me?"

      "Yeah!"

      He gave a low rumble and sighed. "Well, what did I do?"

      My eyes flew to his and I wondered what the hell he was getting at. Usually, if I said
      something like that to him, he snapped back with some cool retort and we'd end up in
      another shouting competition. For some infuriating and mysterious reason, he didn't do
      that. He just looked - really worried.

      "No," I said, shaking my head, "Nuh-uh. You're supposed to shout at me or somethin' - not
      look worried!"

      He licked his lips, concern deep in his eyes. "Jubilee-" Woah. Name usage. He referred
      to someone of the opposite sex in something other than Cajun vernacular. "I wake, and I
      see somethin' in your eyes. It make me sad to see it dere. If I have done somethin' to
      make you feel like dis - please, tell Remy what and I fix t'ings."

      I tilted my head, sighing myself this time, those damned tears making pests of themselves
      again.

      "You didn't... you didn't do anything, Remy."

      His brows lifted in question and I shook my head. Now he just breathed, "Why you look so
      sad, like somethin' inside you break?"

      I licked my lips nervously, gazing into those eyes, my heart tight as a knot. "I was...
      thinking... of how I felt when I thought you were dead." My words cracked and wavered
      with emotion, and Remy's eyes fell down to gaze at my trembling lips. "Of..." I
      swallowed. "Of how empty I was, when I thought of a world without you in it."

      "I did make you sad," he said softly, gazing at my lips still, the gentle touch of his
      fingertips sliding along as his hand cradled my jaw.

      "I guess..."

      My head span. He tilted his head a little, a slight crease of thought in his brow.

      "I mus' remedy, hmm?"

      "I-"

      As my mouth opened to mutter some meaningless phrase his lips made contact with mine,
      pulling them together, blowing my mind with one long lazy pump of his tongue before
      finishing our first kiss with a chaste purse of his lips. I swallowed, thoughts crashing
      into one another as I gazed into his eyes searchingly, brows twitching down. I felt
      myself gasping a little, not for air, but with emotion, confusion trying to gain a
      foothold through a rush of... of... oh my God... Please God, not that. Not for Remy.

      I felt my breaths growing frantic as I grabbed the couch underneath me, shaking my head,
      trying to slide away from him. Those slender nimble hands of his wrapped round my upper
      arms as he frowned.

      "Petite?"

      "No!" I whimpered, looking away, "No, I can't do this Remy, I -" I closed my eyes,
      feeling tears prick to life, "I can't!"

      "What?"

      I clamped my eyes shut, my heart full of panic, my whole body shaking. Tears sprung and
      spilled down my face, and I sagged against the back of the couch. "Remy... don't play
      stupid..."

      He tipped my jaw up so my eyes met his, a deep frown of loss, of confusion, of his own
      panic, in his features.

      "Petite," he breathed, a tender caressing sound, "You are scared, oui? We all feel dis
      sometimes... sometimes when we fall-"

      "No!" I gasped. "No, Remy, don't say it!! For God's sake!" I threw my head back, the
      warm line of tears running down my face. "I don't want you to say it..."

      "Say what? That I-"

      "No!" I cried again. "Don't!"

      I expected him to get angry, to raise his voice. He just looked bewildered.

      "Do you not feel it?" he asked. He was giving me that deep, riveting stare that I felt
      pinned down by. God his eyes were so compelling.

      "I..." I gulped. "I do... but I can't!"

      "Why? Why not?"

      I looked at him then, meeting that stare with a fixed gaze of my own. I think it was the
      first time I'd ever seen Remy look desperate when dealing with this sort of thing.
      Decision, candidness - it all bubbled up inside of me, and with Remy's expression it broke
      from my lips.

      "Because if you love me then you'll be gone, just like my parents, just like the friends I
      had at the mall before I came here. Just like you were nearly gone."

      Remy went to open his mouth but I covered it with my fingertips.

      "And think about it! Think about what we do! Any day... any day one of us could go."
      His brows tilted up as I said this, touching me deeply, telling me what he was not
      permitted to say. "I couldn't live... not if I let myself feel this... not if you were
      gone."

      Tears were rimming his eyes now, and I think he was shaking. Yes he was... the hands that
      cupped over mind and pulled them away from his face were trembling, and his lips were too.

      "And anyway," I continued, making noise before anything else could be said, "We fight all
      the time! All the time! We can't even open our mouths without breaking down into
      fisticuffs! I mean face it! We're-"

      "In love," he said, breaking in, a sad tearful smile on his face. "We fight because we're
      afraid, oui?"

      God, I was so scared. I could feel myself shaking like him.

      "We fight, because things we say to each other are important. We care about what we say.
      Dis is why we fight. Dis is why we are together always, in each other's faces, deep in de
      dirt and de battles. Cause what we do means somethin' to us."

      "Remy..." I moaned in a tight, high breath, "If I let myself feel this, I won't ever be
      able to stop myself!"

      A smile cracked on his face, eyes still deep with that fear, his fingertips shuddering as
      they skidded over my face. "Aaah... ma petite... Remy like de sound of that."

      "Nooo," I whimpered. "Rogue! Remember Rogue? Your great huge love affair-"

      He sighed, shaking his head. "She... she is the great mystery. De siren, eh?"

      "Oh great! And I'm your dumpy reality!" I folded my arms and looked away with a hurt
      snarl.

      "Non!" He shook his head, eyes gleaming as he cradled my face. "You are my heart."

      I felt a fresh spring of tears down my face, shaking my head, the beginnings of a smile in
      the corners of my mouth. "You bastard!"

      He lifted his brows, a bemused smile on his own lips as he leant in closer to me.
      Sniffling back tears, my heart brimming and afraid, I sighed.

      "You're holding no prisoners, are you Romeo?"

      "Only you," he smiled, fingertip tracing the collar of my shirt. I nodded, my fingers
      tangling themselves in the loose wrinkles of the sleeve of his shirt, digging for the warm
      silk of his skin.

      "Remy..."

      "Hmmm?"

      I glanced up to him, to his sweet face, to those fiery red eyes and the body that leant
      over me. "I'm afraid."

      "Oui," he nodded, shifting a little, his fingers sliding underneath my fuzzy yellow
      jacket, pushing it over one shoulder. "Fear arrives in hand wit' love."

      Love. Love! Was that it? Was that what I'd been feeling all this time? I remember
      hating him. I remember wanting to beat the living crap out of his smug Cajun face not a
      couple of months ago. I remember fearing and crying and worrying over Rogue, and trying
      not to think about Remy in intensive care, because I couldn't deal with that, I couldn't
      stay sane and deal with that. I remember being in my bedroom, late at night, not being
      able to sleep, Kitty dead to the world and feeling more alone that I ever had in my life,
      despite being in a school fool of people. I remember going into the kitchen, knowing that
      Rogue had Logan, that my Johnny had Bobby, that Kitty and other assorted friends had their
      own lives, and that I often dispelled gospel to a lot of them when they were in need.
      Sure, Hank was help, but Hank was older, and wiser and distant. I didn't have that
      clinging, deep rooted understanding that filled one with a sense of security. I never
      ever had, not here.

      I think I knew from the beginning that Remy held what I needed inside, and that so easily
      I could fall into a secure, sweet safe situation that would end.

      They always end.

      So that night I traipsed down to the kitchen in search of a box of sugar bombs and a
      bottle of whisky. I found them, I cradled them, and stepping out onto the back porch, I
      hugged my jacket around me, my socks catching on the wood of the floorboards underneath
      me. I sat on the back step, one hand digging into the sugar bombs as the other unwound
      the cap of the whisky. As I slugged back the alcohol, the woody taste wracking my tongue,
      I readied a handful of sugar bombs to follow it down.

      I frowned, the scent of smoke catching in my nose.

      "You save some of dat whisky for ol' Remy, oui?"

      I remember the aggravation that welled within me.

      "Go away."

      He tisked, coming out from the darkness. He'd been hiding in the shadows in the corner of
      the porch, cigarette hanging from his lips.

      "What the hell are you doing there anyways? You dirty pervert."

      He blinked, sitting down next to me. "Jus' thinkin' petite."

      I growled, swigging the whisky again, cause I really really needed it. "Wow. There's a
      new habit for ya."

      He gave a little laugh. He always found me so damned amusing. Swig whisky. Don't think,
      Jubes.

      "So..." I ticked a nostril as I sniffled. "Taking Logan-ducking to whole new levels or
      are you moping?"

      "I not be the only one moping."

      I double glanced at him, and scowled. I grabbed his cigarette. "Gimme that!" I took a
      long drag, letting him take the whisky from my hands and gulp some down. He grunted and
      'aaahed' after downing some, and I tilted my head back and blew pretty smoke patterns in
      the air. "Wassup, Cajun?"

      He just gave me a guarded smile, pulling out another cigarette and lighting it. I
      narrowed my eyes at him, my aggressive and curious personality jumping out to play.

      "Come on, you can tell Auntie Jubilee!" I nudged him roughly, offering him some sugar
      bombs. He looked at them with slight disgust. Oh yeah - food connoisseur. Mr. 'I Should
      Have My Own Cooking Show'. He was so snooty when it came to food, it was a miracle he
      wasn't gay. Maybe he was gay. "Is it that you're gay?"

      He double glanced at me and smirked. "I'm not gay, Petite."

      "Oh. Hazarding a guess here, Cajun, cause you're not exactly being forthcoming."

      His smile calmed and he tilted his head at me. "You like to be like this, hmm? Always
      confrontational. Bein' the first to jump in, to dirty the scene."

      I snorted and swigged whisky. "Sure, you got a problem with that?"

      "Non," Remy gave me that really REALLY irritating knowing smile. "I find it amusing."

      "Tpfft!" I flicked my hair and glared at him, throwing a few sugar bombs at him for good
      measure. "Do I look like a television set to you?! Geez."

      He grew quiet then, and took a drag on his cigarette. At this point, Remy and I hadn't
      been incredibly close. Okay, honestly - we barely got along. I got along with him
      enough in a group situation, and it was enough that I could work with him. From this
      tension came friendly fire in the form of shouting matches and puffed chests. God. So
      safe to be like that, so innocent and playful. Something was wrong with Remy though, and
      I frowned.

      "Seriously," I said, making patterns in the air with the glowing end of the cigarette,
      "What's wrong?"

      He turned about, leaning against a column of the veranda, gazing at me softly. "Remy
      wonderin' why you care."

      Wow. Caution. I'd not really felt that from him before. I shrugged. "I don't know." I
      looked at him, tilted my head, pursed my lips. "I think... I don't like seeing you sad.
      Makes for limp fisticuffs."

      This earned a smile from him. A real, soft, enchanting smile. I crawled along the back
      porch, dragging my cereal snack-food and whisky along with me, making camp on Remy's
      chest. I tilted the whisky at his lips.

      "Drink up," I said, "We have a lot of You-Angst to get through."

      That was the moment that I decided I was better off being friends with Remy. Snuggling
      with him on that porch, that was the day I started feeling a little more at ease, the day
      my steps started being perceptively lighter. It was also the day I started the ritual of
      watching TV with Remy and letting him fall asleep in my lap as he mumbled his troubles at
      me. It was always late at night, when we could be alone, and it was always quiet and
      comforting and rejuvenating. When I nearly lost him in the anti-mutant job, losing those
      moments with him was death to me, and when I held him and buried my face in his shoulder,
      I realised that they made me whole.

      Maybe this thing was love. Maybe.

      His trailing fingers at my collar-bone brought me back to the present, his eyes following
      the curve and rise of the skin there.

      "Remy?"

      He closed his eyes, the touch of a smile lifting his lips, and he descended upon my
      shoulder, planting a delicate soft kiss. "Oui petite?" he breathed, his lips brushing
      over my skin.

      I whimpered. "I dunno. I was stallin' for time."

      He looked up at me then, cocking a brow.

      "I have surrender issues."

      He gave a low chuckle, cradling my face and pulling me down into a kiss. His lips tugged
      and parted mine, tender and exploring, and I felt a swell of pure joy inside of me. I
      gulped when he finally pulled away, his thumb running circles over the shell of my ear.

      "Wh-" Another gulp, "What was that for?"

      "Bein' yourself, Jubilation."

      I blushed, shrugging and looking away coyly. "It's a skill."

      When his lips touched my neck, that fear broke within me, and wriggled, a restlessness
      within me.

      "What if you die in the next mission?"

      He glanced up at me, and taking my hand, he dotted tiny kisses on my knuckles. "Then you
      cry for ol' Remy, then you move on."

      "Mmm, no," I shook my head. "I couldn't do that."

      I think this amused Remy somewhat, as he planted kisses on my jaw line, moving closer to
      my lips. "I," Kiss, "Think," Kiss, "Mmm... you could."

      "No no no," I pouted, then his lips covered mine and any expression I had on my face
      quickly slid off. Oh God he was very good at that... damn it, what was I thinking, hating
      this guy? What the HELL was I thinking?

      I doubted myself. I knew I'd fall in love with him, I *knew* this would happen, so I
      tried to keep him away from me. And I assumed he'd never be interested in me, because he
      was *exactly* the type to ignore me.

      So I hated him.

      God I loved him.

      "I would cry," I said, sliding down on the leather couch, onto my back, letting Remy
      settle on top of me, his knee between mine and his thigh pressing against me in all sorts
      of lovely ways. He ran his fingers through my hair, as short as it was, sighing softly.
      " I'd cry and I wouldn't eat."

      "Non?"

      "Non," I said, "I wouldn't. I'd break things and tear my hair out and cry some more and
      if you had a body left I'd wail over it like one of those Muslim women at those weird
      funerals they have."

      He smiled a little, looking bewildered, his hand now running up my arm that was buried in
      his shirt. "Why would you do that to yourself, petite?"

      I pressed my lips together, frowning, my body stumbling over what my heart was bursting to
      say.

      "Cause... I love you."

      The smile on Remy's face sort of shifted, and the look... wow. The look he gave me...

      "Oui?" he breathed, as if I'd run off at any moment.

      "Yes," I nodded, "Oui. Ja. Da. Auf Wiedersehen. Konichi Wa!"

      He chuckled, sinking down to my neck and running the tip of my tongue over the pulse
      point. I shuddered from head to toe, the heat and suddenness of it all swamping me. All
      of a sudden, his voice moved through my skin as his lips pressed against me over and over.

      "Mon chou..."

      Ohhh.... that bastard.

      "That ain't fair!" I moaned, and then... then he ground a little, just so slightly, his
      thigh pressing into me harder. He smelt like fine oils, he felt like silk and his voice
      was like mahogany. If a voice could like - be a wood. If it were a wood, it'd be
      mahogany.

      Oh sweet God above, I think my legs were twitching.

      "Ma tourterelle," he whispered, his lips skidding up over my chin, pressing down on mine
      and suckling gently.

      I think I lost all thought. His hand that wasn't supporting him slid up the side of my
      body, finding my breast, squeezing so slightly, pressing and cradling. My body fought
      back at him with pure instinct, tongue stealing into his mouth, my hands under his shirts
      and rippling over that gorgeous olive skin of his.

      The heat within me was drowning me, and with a mildly amused shock I realised I was
      grinding against Remy's leg like a horny dog in the middle of the rec room where children
      of 12 watched Power Puff girls. In some kinky naughty dirty way, it drove me wild.

      "Floor," I breathed, "Couch, no room."

      Wow. I was reduced to maximum three word sentences. Remy cradling my breast and running
      his tongue around my own would do that to a Jubilee. We tumbled off the couch and onto
      the carpet in front of the tv, shoving the coffee table out of the way roughly. He
      continued mumbling sweet Cajun nothings in my ear whilst sliding his hand up underneath my
      shirt. The sensation of the warm and yet rough palm of his hand against the round of my
      breast made me hold my breath a moment, my head swimming delightfully. The pad of his
      thumb ran a ring of rosy around my nipple, and I took my bottom lip in my teeth, brows
      creeping up as I gazed at him. He looked like he was *really* really enjoying that. He
      gave me that naughty smile then, and I could tell he was promising me great things. As if
      he needed to.

      He shifted down, his body dragging against mine, as he slid his hands under my t-shirt and
      began to gather it up and over my head. His eyes met mine a moment before wandering down
      to say hello to my breasts which were very very happy to see the Cajun indeed. He kissed
      the soft part of my belly just below my ribcage, the firm jut of the tip of his nose
      leading the way of the soft wet press and lunge of his lips and tongue that followed.

      "R-Remy...."

      I breathed his name, it was barely audible, and he moaned gently back at me, nuzzling the
      swell of my breast before taking a mouthful and suckling gently.

      My jaw dropped. Oh God. I felt my leg twist around and latch onto him, but I wasn't
      really conscious of what I was doing. No, I was too busy floating in sensation and
      whimpering for my life as my heart thumped a Lord of the Dance beat against the inside of
      my ribcage. My fingers dug into that silky soft hair of his, one hand burrowing under his
      shirt and sliding up his lithe back.

      "Yes," I gasped a little, "Yes."

      I had to whimper again when he left the nipple he was lavishing attention upon, but he
      shifted up again and dropped in to say hello to my lips. In a fit of impatience I tugged
      at his shirt, trying to get it up over his head. He chuckled, pressing butterfly kisses
      against my lips before letting me pull the grey x-shirt off of him. I gasped softly at
      the sight that greeted me.

      Lean, lithe, muscular chest encased in the most delicious shade of olive skin I'd ever
      seen stretched on down to tracksuit pants that hugged his hips and barely concealed his
      behind. I shuddered and cooed, running my hands down over the planes of his chest,
      fingers rippling over ribcage, nails dragging over light covering of chest hair between
      pectorals and the dark line of promising and directing hair at his bellybutton.

      "God you're beautiful," I growled, touching kisses all over him possessively.

      Again, he chuckled, pulling my hand away from his side and drifting his lips over the
      knuckles. "No more than you, petite." He draped my arm around his neck and lowered his
      body against me, his lips sinking into mine and beginning their dedicated caressing once
      more.

      God. This abandon was terrifying, truly terrifying. Inside, a part of me was gripped
      with fear, pleading me to stop, not because I didn't want to do this with him (oh Lord I
      did more than anything I've remembered wanting before), and not because I'd never done it
      with him before (though I did intend to impress), but because some irrational part of my
      mind was convinced I'd lose him now. That in some way, some how, some bizarre chance
      thing would happen, something that would only happen to somebody linked with me,
      Jubilation, and I'd lose him.

      The leg I had wrapped around him gripped tighter, and the warm hot and firm throbbing of
      his groin made itself known to rather tender and receptive parts of my groin. By God,
      Buddha and all the Gods in Olympus, that felt fucking good. I kissed him deeper and let a
      hand wander down to the behind that had always looked so damn good to me, pressing it and
      gripping it hungrily.

      Okay, so I was losing it. I was going mad with these feelings broiling inside of me,
      bubbling, sizzling, hissing and spitting and wanting to scald things. By the strength of
      his grip on my hip and the fervour in which his tongue was thrashing inside my mouth, I
      guessed he was feeling pretty much the same. It was nice to know.

      I spread my legs, letting my socked feet nestle on his hips, and with a naughty grin I
      pushed down the dark-grey regular issue tracksuit pants. Seemed Remy was commando-boy
      today, which was good because it saved me the time of taking off his underwear for a lack
      of them.

      My heartbeat skipped and thumped around when I saw his engorged member, my mouth drying
      and failing me. I'm no virgin, I'd seen some dicks in my time. This one... this one was
      nice. Not too long, not too wide, a nice shape with a well-defined head. Pulling my
      lips down to the dip in his neck, I let my fingertips drift up it's length, caressing it
      with feather touches.

      I could feel him shudder, his touches growing more fervent, his fingers tagging and
      pulling down my slacks.

      "Mon petite meenoo," he breathed, "oui..."

      I didn't want to get him too excited, so I kept the touches down there to a light stroking
      of the fingertips, enough to drive him wild, enough to get him frenzied. Once he'd
      slipped my slacks down around my ankles, he kissed me again, fingers drifting to my
      nether-region pressing gentle strokes over my lips and clit.

      "Mm...mpph," I gasped, "That's playing dirty, boyo."

      "Tell me you don' like it dis way, eh?"

      "I don't," I grinned, "I love it."

      The way he moved, the way he looked over me, there was a sense of curiosity about it,
      discovery, each touch lingering and learning, his eyes looking to me every now and again
      with a keen glint of judgement. I mumbled soft words to him, encouragement, guidance,
      adoration. He let a finger press at my entrance, and with lengthening strokes his digits
      sank into me, the fingertips running firm up the rippling front of my passage. I could
      feel the pressure he caused, the burning, dancing sensation that it caused within me. I
      arced, hungry to run my body against his. He was endless skin, smooth and delicious,
      salty and shifting. His auburn hair was soft and tickled my ears as it hung down around
      me. His hand pumped my entrance solidly, and the tips of my brain synapses were
      shuddering and making my eyes loll.

      "Oh God," I let my head roll back, "Oh God... Rem... oh baby... I can't hold on! I
      can't..." I took his face in my hands, meeting those red eyes firmly. "I want you in me,
      you. When it's the first I want-" I closed my eyes, gulping, shaking all over, sweat
      breaking on my skin.

      "Oui," he breathed, cradling my cheek, running his lips at the corner of my mouth, up my
      face, over my eyelid. "Petite, will there be anything we be needin'?"

      I shook my head. "Pill."

      He sighed, as if in relief. I could feel the tip of him running over my netherlips, a
      pulsing hot touch that reverberated through my body with every beat. It was a strange
      feeling, that it was Remy with his arms around me, Remy pressing his mouth against mine,
      muttering Creole dotings into me, his breath hot against my lips. I tilted my hips, my
      breath rushing in as he slid slowly into me. I had to let my head fall back, Rem dragging
      his mouth down my neck, open against the skin, his tongue swirling and exploring. He
      began it then, the slow easy strokes into me, his hand resting on my breast and thumb
      rolling my nipples. He planted soft kisses down the plane of my chest, from the sternum
      up the breast to my nipple. Upon arriving at the nub of flesh he circled his lips around
      it, tongue feathering over it lightly. Pressing his mouth over it he ran his tongue up
      the underside then sucked firmly, filling his mouth with my flesh. He was gentle though,
      careful, his teeth only just brushing the flesh before his tongue took their place and
      laved fervently.

      During all of this his length ran in and out, liquid movement with solid thrusts, climbing
      delirium gripping me as he went. Every breath had a light, burning tension to it that ran
      tension into all my muscles. I was tight but kept my pelvis loose, rolling, rolling, hot
      and smooth and tingling all over, all at once. I pulled him up, covering my mouth with
      his, thrusting my tongue into his, mirroring the action taking place below, stroking his
      own, flicking, wrestling. He felt good, too good. He was a God. Ohhh yeah he was.

      I began to really grip his arms, his shoulders, my fingers digging in, my legs curling up
      and around his hips. I ran my hand up, against his face, looking into his eyes as he
      thrust into a frenzy.

      "Damn it..." I clenched my eyes, a moan breaking through my control, "God... Oh God..."

      He flashed a grin, lips shuddering as he threw himself into pleasuring me, his hips
      jolting up and down in a steady rolling rhythm. I squeezed him between my legs, clamping
      my vaginal muscles around him just to try to spite him. He let out a gasp, his arms
      nearly buckling beneath him, and he growled softly.

      "No fair, petite..."

      I giggled, but it was all cut short by a violent thrust that had me wailing to God some
      more. I did the muscle clamping again, and he ground down all special, just to create
      blessed friction at my clitoris. This combined teasing at two effects. We were losing
      it, the both of us, grinding and thrusting and sweating, and we were also making a lot of
      noise. I couldn't help it. Every blessed touch was burning and my heart was shaking
      inside of me like a go-go dancer in a cage, whimpering to be let out before it died of
      exhaustion. I stuck against Remy, sweat slicking our bodies, and our lips touched, wet
      and gentle, eyes meeting with a direct burning passion that equalled our actions.

      "Oh yeah," I breathed, nodding, "Yeah..."

      Shock, complete shock and bliss broke out on my face, my body arcing. Oh I was there,
      almost there, just needed a little more... more...

      "Oh petite," he said, nuzzling me gently, "Je t'aime, Jubilee..."

      "AUH!!" My body bent back, limbs flailing as the release rocked me. Yep. Confession of
      love - that did it right there. I grappled for his shoulders suddenly, locking my ankles
      behind him, riding out the thrilling maddening orgasm, biting gently on his deltoid and
      hoping to God that my poor heart would hold out from all the thumping and shuddering going
      on. Remy ground on, and amongst all of this I barely caught the hot rush inside of me
      heralding his own climax. His hand fluttered about my face, my breast, his forehead
      brushing against mine as he nuzzled softly. I gulped, caressing his face gently.

      "Thank you..."

      He frowned slightly, then pulled my top lip into a tender kiss, slipping down into a
      deeper caress. After a moment he pulled away, running his lips over mine, still breathing
      heavy from exertion. "Non," he breathed, "Non... I thank you, mon chou."

      We tumbled over in a sweaty limb tangled mess, gasps and moans the current volley of
      conversation. I gulped, shaking my head.

      "Woah..."

      Remy nodded. I sighed.

      "Woah..."

      Remy still nodded.

      "Why didn't we do that ages ago?"

      Remy shrugged. He looked over to me then, love evident in his eyes, a tired smile on his
      face. I was laying there, leaning against the couch, arms and legs splayed, hair a mess,
      sweaty and pretty much revolting. He lifted his hand, brushing a lock from my face before
      caressing my chin tenderly.

      "You are beautiful, Jubilee."

      I scoffed, rolling my eyes and looking away "Sure."

      He pulled my face back, and met my eyes. "You are."

      I smiled, doggedly, and shrugged. "Okay."

      The clean-up was less fun that the event, but we really had to clean up the rec-room and
      get the sweaty sex smell out of there before the morning when there'd be youthful
      thorough-fare. Of course, this was harder than one would think with the impromptu
      make-out sessions taking place during the event.

      We staggered into the kitchen, grabbing some vodka and a spare tumbler, some heavy wool
      blankets from the downstairs linen closet, and made our way outside for some private time
      on the grass.

      We collapsed into a heap, wrapped in blankets and in each other, sipping at the vodka and
      gazing at the stars. I snuggled to the nape of Remy's neck, finger trailing the neckline
      of his shirt, an amazing sense of relief becoming me. We both chose the lawn, as a silent
      decision between us, because we had no room to go to, and I didn't want to leave his
      side. I don't think he wanted to leave mine either.

      "When ourtieeen byes harrrrrrrrr... an' innernu turrs low.... and resentment rides high...
      and emotions were sooooo, and when sooneee ren sururrrrrrrr and weenee was wen wooo....
      Loooove! Looove will tear us apaaaaaart, uh-gaaaaaaain!"

      Remy sniggered, swigging on the bottle, squeezing me to him. "Tha' song has words, non?"

      I giggled. "Sure but who understands them? It's like Footloose."

      He looked at me, seemingly lost.

      "Oh you know! Fooh-loose! Fooh-loose! Kick off those Sunday shoes! Ooweee! Oweee! Sin
      up da sum dooweeee!"

      He laughed, and I bopped away to silent music, humming and sipping the vodka. "So um...
      what's gonna happen now?"

      "Hmm?"

      "You know... we're here, on the grass. Tomorrow we'll go to our rooms and... and we'll
      eat breakfast and have to go fight the good fight eventually and - and"

      "Thin's will go on," he said. "We will jus' be by each other's side, huh?"

      I tried to contain a smile, tilting my head. "Groping each other and being generally
      randy towards one another..."

      "Def'ni'ly," Remy nodded, "Especially the randy part."

      I giggled. "God I love ya." I felt his hand at my face, and he turned it to meet his
      gaze.

      "I think I like it when you say this to me."

      Wow. I guess it was. I shrugged, leaning on his shoulder and sighed contentedly. "Yeah
      well - it won't be the last time, baby."

      Beast was right, about the change stuff. Then again, Beast has been right about so many
      things people have stopped keeping count. So yeah, the change was scary. It had me
      weeping and wailing and hiding in my room, but Bobby and John (despite their endlessly
      dramatic infighting and infucking), are on to one hell of a good thing. All things
      considered, including hot gorgeous Cajun comrades, so am I. I don't know what will come
      of this. I don't know if it'll end up good, or bad, or what. I guess that night I
      decided to stop worrying about it, and just enjoy it. It was all I could do, when one
      takes my vocation into account, because for an X-Man, tomorrow may not come. Sure, that
      frightens the crap out of me, but looking back on everything, I'd hate to think that I
      arrived at that moment, and not known the love that Remy came to give me, not known his
      touch or the joy of our consummation. The thought of not knowing these things frightens
      me more, believe me.

      Hot chocolate with an extra marshmallow was the order of the day the following evening
      when I had my usual chat with Hank. The bastard seemed rather pleased about it all, as if
      he knew it would happen eventually. The only thing that annoyed me is that he didn't warn
      me fully about this. He didn't bring up Remy though. He just smiled gently, patted me on
      the shoulder with a big blue hand, then sat at the kitchen table with me.

      "How was your training today?"

      I sighed. "Better. I guess. I dunno. It was hard to concentrate with Remy copping a
      feel now and then."

      Beast shook his head. "Fondling is not a combat skill."

      I sniggered, "I dunno, it's a sure way to piss off your opposition. Or distract them at
      least."

      The blue furry man grinned and nodded. "Indeed. How does Rogue feel about this..."

      "What - with Remy?" I snorted, "Dude - she's spending time with the Wolverine, man!
      She's totally fine with it." I gave a huffed laugh. "Hell! She's seen inside Remy's
      head! She probably saw this coming before either of us did." I frowned at him. "Hey.
      You ever... you know... go dating or whatever?"

      The smile Beast gave me was a secretive one. "Like you're probably guessing, it is not
      easy for me considering my appearance, but yes, I do spend time with a lady from time to
      time."

      I grinned. "Woohoo Henry! Way ta GO! Any clues or you gonna leave me guessing?!"

      "Let's just say we're guaranteed no rain should we go on a picnic."

      I gasped, covered my mouth and laughed. Our own Beast was scoring with the beauteous
      Goddess Storm?! Holy cow. I punched him on a large bicep and shook my head. "You been
      keeping too many secrets from me boy."

      "Not intentional," Beast said, "I just tend to wait for you to finish talking... sadly
      that occasion is rare."

      "Oh my God," I laughed, shaking my head, "You bitch..."

      Beast cocked a brow then smiled. "Of course I jest."

      "Yeah I know," I said, nodding and smiling. I looked at him seriously then, and taking
      his clawed hand, I squeezed it. "Thank you, Henry. For you know-"

      "I know," Hank said, stopping me with a nod. "We're friends. These talks are something
      that we share without thought. No thanks are necessary."

      "I think they are," I said, "Just so you know that I appreciate you."

      "I appreciate you too, Jubilation," he said, "Even during your less quiet moments."

      I laughed, enjoying the playful ribbing but knowing that behind it all there was a vein of
      pure affection, the kind you have with a family you treasure for always.

      The real amazing thing about all of this was the freedom of heart I suddenly acquired.
      Not that I would never have had it without Remy, it was a change within me, but he helped
      that along. I thought all I could ever be was the loudmouth mall rat with a quip for
      every turn, and he helped me see that I could be more. I could be insightful, I could be
      wise, I could be tender. I could be quiet as a mouse and as fearful as a cobra.

      Remy's given me a lot, and it's not all roses now that he's mine. We fight, just as
      ferociously as we ever did before, but now there's all the fun of making it up to each
      other later on. I love that, I love our foibles and our challenges, and I love him.

      We still worry about Rogue on occasion, but Logan's constantly at her side to look after
      her, so the pressure is off. I still talk to Beast about Remy, but usually it's me
      telling him what he said that morning and wondering why men were the way they were and why
      things worked out the way they did. Secretly, I think Beast preferred the conversation
      prior to my fully consummated love affair with Remy LeBeau. I'll have to think of
      something else to talk to him about, I suppose.

      Heh... naaaah!

      ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


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