Whoo! I have been writing this sucker like crazy for the last week and a half. I was worried I wouldn't get it up in time for the holidays!

So, ladies and gents, here is my holiday gift to you: my first venture into writing in the first person. It's way harder than it looks, and I also thinks it makes adding humor wayyyyy more difficult. So, my apologies if this doesn't live up to to humor genre it's marked as ;-).

Enjoy!

Flying South

I can feel my chest heaving as I try to catch my breath. Ever have that feeling? Like you can't breathe?

Not like you're drowning though. More like you're just overwhelmed, like there's too many sensations that you can't even just focus on one, and you're getting too dizzy trying to do just that.

My jaw drops, and as I think that I'm going to gasp for air, I let out some ridiculously breathy moan. Like some kind of porn star or something.

But I really can't freaking help myself.

At least I didn't say anything embarrassing and porn-like, like "hey, big boy" or "is that package for me?". I mean, jeez, you call somebody tiger once (it was the heat of the moment, I swear) and then that stupid freaking Swamp Rat will never let you forget it.

I feel his two large (and very skilled, I might add) hands making their way up my sides. His palms are hot. How did he get so hot? I think my skin is on fire.

Shit.

My head tips back and there's a hand tangling itself into my hair. He gives a little tug, knowing I like that feeling, knowing everything about me.

Over-flooded with sensation, my head turns to the side, and I find myself staring at a large, partially decorated Christmas tree. There are lights wrapped around it, the only light in the room actually. And there's an open box of ornaments sitting on the floor next to it. How cute. How devastatingly domestic.

Yeah, that's right, I'm in the living room.

Naked. (And maybe a little drunk.)

Well, not quite naked, my panties are still on.

Never mind, now they aren't. Forget I said that. I hope he didn't rip them this time; I need something to wear home. The walk of shame is at least 67% less shameful if you're wearing your delicates, or if they're at least still in one piece.

So, yeah, I'm lying on my back on this plush, black leather living room couch. We didn't have enough time to make it to the bedroom.

And, besides, what of it? I never claimed to be a lady.

But, damn, I miss those super something thread count sheets.

My tongue trails out to wet my bottom lip, seeing as it's long since dried out; my mouth wide open and gasping for air and all.

Told you I couldn't breath.

I feel the weight of his body pressing into mine, and my hands are clutching at his thin undershirt, trying to pull it off of him. I want that hot, tanned skin pressed against mine.

Oops.

Whatever. How was I supposed to know that that cotton was so thin? They should make it less easy to rip. Besides, it serves him right! Like I said, He ruined a whole lot of panties that way.

"Remy," I moan aloud as I feel the silk of his boxer shorts grinding against me. The fabric is so smooth, and slightly cool against my heated skin. I'm still on fire.

He just feels so damn good.

I feel the stubble on his chin scratch the underside of my breast, in sort of a rough, I want you, sort of way.

As a wet, hot mouth wraps itself around my nipple, my back arches off the couch and I'm squeezing a couch cushion between my sweaty fingers.

As I gasp in response, I can't help but wonder: How the hell did I get here?

I wanted this vacation, really I did. When everyone asked what I was doing for the holiday and I responded with "Ah need a vacation," I was completely serious.

They got it, I'm sure. I mean, college classes are hard, and I only have one semester left before I graduate so there's been a lot to do. It's been stressful, I needed a break. Maybe moving back into the Mansion to save money so I could spend more on my tuition was a bad idea?

Not that I don't love living at the Mansion, because I do, but again: I needed a break.

So why Louisiana, you ask? It's close enough to Mississippi, I suppose... But Mississippi isn't home anymore, so I wanted somewhere warm and southern. Southern in the way where it always feels like home.

Really, I wanted the vacation.

I mean, most people spend the holidays with the friends and family or whatever. I live with my 'friends' so I all ready see them all the damn time, and I don't really have any family.

Sure, I guess the people I live with have become my family, but they all have other families to go visit over the holidays.

Except for Logan, who, I suppose, is more like family than the whole lot of them. But he gets it, why I needed a break and all. College has been stressful and living with a whole mess of young pain in the butt mutants isn't really a picnic either.

Like I just said a half dozen times, I needed a break.

And it's been great, it has. I saw the sights, walked the streets of the Big Easy, laid by the indoor hotel pool reading smutty novels, and just relaxed.

I wasn't lonely or missing Logan or anyone the rest of the week, but something about Christmas Eve makes you want your family.

Maybe it's all those movies we watched as kids? Like, for example, it doesn't matter who you are, you wanted Kevin to be with his family for Christmas. I mean, the title of the movie should've given us some idea that he would end up being Home Alone, but you still wanted him to be with his crazy red haired mom and the rest of his family.

Even this morning, I was fine. It's just something about tonight. Something about Christmas Eve.

You know that everyone else is somewhere sitting around some tree somewhere or in some church filled with that weird warmth you can only feel around the holidays. You know that somewhere else, like Chicago, a certain family has all ready celebrated Hanukah and they're with their dad's cousins looking out some window watching snow fall as they put presents underneath a well decorated tree.

So that scenario was strangely specific. Don't think anything of it.

As great as this morning was, and even though I'd probably never admit it out loud, I didn't really want to be alone on Christmas Eve.

Not that I'm lonely or anything, because I'm not.

I just don't want to be alone.

"Oh Cherie," I hear the low rumble of his voice. He's murmuring against my skin.

How sexy is that, by the way? To murmur against someone's skin? I mean, that's really effing hot. Maybe I should ask him where he learned that move?

Actually, it's probably not the time to ask. I should remember that question for later.

His lips are soft and I can feel his tongue sliding between the grooves in my skin, delicate little indentations between every rib in my rib cage.

I feel, rather than see, because I'm completely closing my eyes at this point, his open his mouth wide and he rubs his teeth against my ribs.

Oh yes, I love that move too. It might be a little big headed, but I like to think that he learned that one from me.

With the small nips he places against my skin, I feel my body shiver and I'm moaning again.

"Dammit, Remy!" Do I sound as breathless as I feel? Probably; I all ready told you that I couldn't breath.

I can hear him laugh as I curse. He's enjoying this.

Not that I'm not enjoying this, because I am, which he would clearly know if he would just move that hand from my hair and put it between my legs. He enjoys this part, toying with me, winding me up; he's always been like that.

Not that it's not great, because it is; it's amazing even, but after so much sexual tension and teasing? Sometimes a girl just needs to get off.

And, moreover, why would anyone want to be alone on Christmas Eve night? You've heard the songs, y'know with goodwill to men and all that.

I guess it doesn't matter who I'm with, but sitting in an empty hotel room just seems kind of lame.

Seeing as my leather jacket is by the door, I grab it and slid my feet into my black motorcycle boots. I stuff my wallet Ito a zipper pocket of the jacket and head out. I will not mope. Moping is ridiculous.

I'm gonna get myself a drink.

Exiting the hotel, I'm right in the middle of the French Quarter. It's a great location. I chose it so that I could leave and be able to walk up and down the street rather than have to drive everywhere.

I walk past some small shops, eyeing the holiday displays in the window. There are some other people on the street, mostly couples all gross lovey dovey and holding hands. At least I'm not the only one looking at the lights.

I approach what looks like a bar or pool ball or something. Lucky for me, it's still open. (Of course it is, us loaners need some place to go.)

Pushing open the door, my eyes are quick to adjust to the lower light. There's a handful of pool tables in the far corners and a couple of them are being used.

The folks at the bar look similar to the ones playing pool, half drunk older men with nothing better to do on the night before Christmas.

With my jacket still on, I take a seat at the far end of the bar, away from the door. A few of the scraggly old men look over at me (the others too drunk to notice); clearly I'm not the type of person expected to show up at a bar at 9pm on Christmas Eve.

Hey, at least I'm not alone. Beggars can't be choosers.

The bartender heads my way unhurriedly. He's an older man, with some unkempt facial hair, and what looks like bed head, "Wat'll it be, petite?"

Surprised to be called little one, but not be carded for my I.D., I take my time to think about it. It's a holiday right? And I'm on vacation? I should be celebrating. I give the bartender an easy smile, happy he's kept his business open today, "Champagne, please."

He returns my smile with a nod, "Coming right up."

Feeling a vibration coming from my pocket, I pull out my phone. Huh. I must've missed the call.

A smile again as a flute of champagne is place on the bar in front of me. I hit the button for my voicemail as a take a small sip.

I'm immediately greeted by a familiar, gruff voice, "Merry Christmas, darlin'."

The voice message ends after that one short line, and I feel a stabbing of homesickness in my gut. I may not have much in the way of family, but I have Logan. And I love him. And I guess this is the first year since I joined the team that Logan and I aren't sitting in the couch on Christmas Eve watching Ernest Saves Christmas followed by It's a Wonderful Life.

What would Jimmy Stewart think of me now?

Feeling more melancholy than I intended, I finish my drink rather quickly. I give the bartender what I hope is not too pathetic of a look and he places another flute in front of me.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it. I was the one who 'needed a break.' I took this vacation.

And now?

Well I'm sitting alone in a bar on Christmas Eve.

This sucks.

At least at the mansion, after everyone left for the holiday break, I was never completely alone. I had the Professor and Hank and Logan.

"Oh, Remy," I try to say something else to him, but it ends as I have to stop to inhale.

His lips are soft as they're kissing the center of my stomach. I can feel his tongue dragging along the center line of my body. His tongue is travelling lower.

Ohhhhhh. Now that tongue is dipping into my belly button. My teeth are clenched together and as I breathe, the air is hissing out between my teeth.

How does he do that? How does he make me feel like I'm on fire?

"Mon Dieu," I shiver as I hear his words. I get wet every time I hear that accent. He's pressing a wet kiss to my abdomen.

You know all those rumors about guys with accents? All freaking true. Every time I hear that dark-chocolate covered voice? Well, might as well just let my panties drop then and there because I can't resist it.

That's if I was wearing panties. Apparently, that's something I often forget to do around Remy.

I watch his head tilt down slightly, and it causes his stubble to rub against my skin. The slight burn is one of the hottest things I've ever felt.

"Yo' body," He placing more kisses on my skin, "Is perfect." I feel those large, hot hands gripping the outsides of my thighs, "Yo' body is unbelievable. Everyting 'bout yo', Rogue. So sexy." His tongue is lapping at my stomach, "So delicious."

He exhales and it feels cold against the wet spot on my stomach. I shiver again before I can stop it.

I twist my hands into his too-long hair. It's inches past his shoulders now and I know he's been growing it out for me. He knows how much I love it; I've told him as much before.

I twist my hands in farther, enough so that I can feel the strands begin to get taught, pulling on his scalp.

"Oh Rogue," His voice is more of a groan than anything else. I can feel the immediate response of his body, as he pushes it hard against my thigh.

Somehow, that silk still remains relatively cool (which seems impossible in all this heat.)

His lips are back at my neck now, and he's sucking on that extra sensitive patch of skin below my ear lobe.

I can feel my knees literally go weak, and I'm silently thankful that I'm laying down rather than standing up.

I'm not sure how quickly I finished that glass, but I see the bartender look over and me and I nod.

A third glass of champagne? Sure, of course. Hey, I can run up this tab as much as I want; I've got Christmas money to burn.

Honestly, why would Jubilee want to spend her holiday cash on new boots when you could buy alcohol instead. I take a sip; it's the gift that keeps on giving.

I hear the bar door creak as it opens, no doubt another poor sucker lamenting being alone for the holidays.

Or the town drunk. I mean, I am in a bar. Towns still have a token drunk, right? I live at a boarding school, how am I supposed to know?

My phone starts buzzing in my pocket and I take it out again, pulling up the new text message. It's a picture message from Kitty, of her uncle's Christmas tree, no doubt. I can't help it, but I feel a bit of homesickness -again- as I read the 'happy holidays' that pops up on my screen.

I take another sip, slightly longer this time.

Jeez, Kitty. You think she could've at least sent me a photo of her menorah or her potato pancakes or something. I'd like to think that I'd be way less likely to get this mopey stupid feeling if I was looking at pictures of a holiday I don't even celebrate.

Still staring at my phone (with no longing in my eyes whatsoever), I feel a stranger sit next to me.

Granted I am alone in a bar (looking pretty hot, I might add) and it is Christmas Eve and I did say I didn't want to be alone... But that does not mean I'm here to be chatted up by the town drunk. I've got better things to do, ladies and gentlemen.

I stay focused on my phone, and reply to Kitty with some stupid Emoji animal face or something, hoping Drunky McGee will get the idea that I'm not interested.

There's a difference between lonely and desperate, people. Remember that.

I hold my tongue when I feel an arm brush my own, but when I see a hand grab my glass of champagne, I turn quickly, narrowing my eyes.

Pausing in shock, I watch as none other than the Devil himself brings the flute to his lips and downs my nearly full glass of champagne.

And looks damn good doing it.

The temperature in the bar just went up about ten degrees.

I'm about to tell him that he better pay for that drink, but I stop as he motions to the bartender while holding up two fingers.

I feel my heart skip a beat and my cheeks redden slightly as I watch. I can feel a grin spreading across my face. I try to fight it, but it's getting so big that it's going to split my face in half.

"Well, well, well," His voice is as smooth as I remember it and I feel the overwhelming urge to wrap myself up in that rich baritone. He reaches out and his gloved fingers tuck my white streak behind my ear, "Wat do we have 'ere? Un little sno bird, flyin' sout fo de winter?"

The bartender places two more glasses in front of us.

I'm well aware that I'm grinning so broadly that I might burst. I fight to keep my blasé tone consistent, even though I know that this damn grin is giving me away, "Look what the gators dragged in."

He grins back, and I can see laughter in those red eyes.

I've missed those eyes, all hypnotizing and shit.

"Remy," my voice sounds strong, but I'm only able to turn the wattage of my grin down slightly, "What are yah doing here?"

Who is Remy, you ask?

Well, lets just say that Remy Lebeau is a mistake that I made once...

And then continued to make many more times.

"Jus on de way home from a party, Chere. Tought I'd stop fo' a drink."

It's at that minute that I notice his outfit; he really did look like be was heading home from some kind of holiday festivities. I don't know how I didn't notice it a second ago.

Scratch that, I know exactly how. See, Remy LeBeau has a face so dangerously beautiful that it could make angels cry and nuns drop their clothes off instantly. He also has the eyes of the devil, all red-on-black and mysterious-like. My hypothesis is that God gave him those devil eyes to give nuns the best resource to help them resist taking off their clothes. This is providing at they're sexy of course. but aren't all nuns sexy? Is that a stereotype? Ehhhh; I might be wrong about that.

Either way, I've never shared that thought with Remy, but true me when I say that the man is beautiful. It's so easy to get lost in his eyes, and staring at those lips, that I can see why I didn't first notice what he was wearing.

Oh, and by the way, when I say that Remy LeBeau's face is beautiful? Well, wait until you see his body.

He's got a long dark jacket resting on his shoulders. I'm used to him in a dark brown duster, but I can see why his trademark jacket would match his outfit.

That gorgeous body of his is showcased in a dark gray suit, all perfectly tailored and pleats perfectly pressed in the pants. Underneath he's wearing a dark red button up shirt, which is a perfect contrast to his long, black tie. It's a drool worthy combination.

You know that saying about how women feel about men wearing suits? And it being the equivalent of how men feel when they see women in lingerie?

Case and point.

I'm sure he's watching my eyes roam over him like a hungry dog looking at a steak, but I can't help it. He looks good.

He looks even better than I remember, actually. His auburn hair looks like its grown out. If I lean back slightly, I can see that it's slicked back into an elastic at the nape of his neck.

I wonder how long it's gotten? I wonder how it looks down?

He reaches out to lift a glass from the bar and I see his eyes looking up and down my body. I'm not upset about it; clearly I just did the same to him.

I watch intently as his tongue run itself along his bottom lip, wetting it slightly.

I miss that tongue.

"Yo look good," His words are punctuated with his eyes running salaciously over my body again, indicating that he's clearly not talking about my health. You might think its not possible, but I swear to you that Remy has this look he gives which can literally raise your body's core temperature about 12 degrees.

I know this because it's happening to me right now.

Feeling overheated, I start shrugging out of my jacket before I can even respond.

He's behind me within seconds, placing his hands at the collar of my jacket and helping to slide it off my shoulders. His chest brushes against my back and it takes every ounce of control in my body to sit still while he does it.

"Remy!" I shriek out loud as he throws me over his shoulder, a large hand tightly gripping my rear end.

Why he jumped up from the couch, I have no idea, but I sure as heck didn't expect him to pick me up.

Watching the living room recede from my vision I have exactly one guess as to what room we're heading towards.

He flips me back over his shoulder and I land on his soft, unmade bed. The only place I want to be at this point.

As soon as I inhale, my mind is assaulted with all kinds of memories and visions of my favorite Cajun. The sheets are rich with his scent and I'm mentally transported back to our previous times together. I think that scent is permanently etched in my brain; a heady mix of spice, motor oil, nicotine, and cayenne pepper.

"Dis is de best Christmas ever!" His eyes may look devious, but he's smiling.

I laugh in response, unable not to. Spending Christmas Eve naked, in bed with a certain Swamp Rat? Not a bad way to go.

See, you know how I mentioned he was a mistake I made? Well, about that...

Remy oozes sex out of every freaking pore, and I guess it just boils down to the fact that the Swamp Rat is utterly irresistible.

Obviously you all ready know I'm a mutant, but I haven't always had control of my mutation. It used to suck the life out of people via skin contact.

Yeah, not pretty. And I couldn't control the little bitch.

I had just graduated high school, and I was trying to save the world while Remy was trying to destroy it (that's the cliff notes version, I swear that it was a lot more complicated).

I developed a teeny tiny crush on this bad boy, and then it turned into full blown case of lust after I had the lucky break to see him shirtless. Of course I couldn't have any skin to skin contact, but Remy was hot and if his sexual prowess lived up to the rumors? Well, then I thought he'd be creative enough to deal with my problem.

And, boy, did he deliver.

It took some layers, gloves, condoms, and creativity, but man oh man, did he deliver.

Basically, the summer after high school graduation and before college is a blur of late nights, sneaking out, and Remy's sheets.

What? Teenagers are supposed to have a lot of sex, right? Hormones and all that?

Anyway, multiple orgasms via Remy LeBeau aside, after that summer, I took a year off before heading to college. I wasn't sure what I wanted to do yet so I took some time to figure it out. I spent that year working to save money for school and sleeping with Remy. After I started school, my double major put me on the five year plan and ate up all my free time.

Remy and I still had time for each other, although our little rendezvous became fewer and farther between throughout all of freshman and sophomore year. Although every time was freaking electric.

He's not picky though. I mean, he honestly had no qualms about me dragging him into my dorm and doing it on my twin XL mattress and Target brand jersey knit sheets. Although, you should have seen the faces of my dorm mates when Remy showed up all black leather and devil-may-care on his super expensive motorcycle.

Anyway, Remy moved back to Louisiana after that. It was a family business thing. I can't exactly tell you what that business is though. Sorry.

The end of sophomore year, I finally got my mutation under control. Bout freaking time, too. It felt only right to let Remy know. And what did he do about it?

Let's just say that the first two weeks of summer break were spent on a secluded beach somewhere. Clothing optional.

I've seen Remy once since then, about a year and a half ago.

Until now, I didn't realize how long it's been.

I watch him move silently to the edge of the bar and place my jacket on the rack there. His back is to me and I find my eyes focusing on one spot in particular.

As if the rest of his Adonis like body wasn't enough, he's got a perfect ass.

"Yah look good too." I return his compliment as he returns to the stool next to me and picks up his glass.

He grins, and I'm sure he knows what I was thinking. "Imagine mon surprise; walkin' in an' seein' yo in my favorite bar." He gestures to my glass using his, "Yo celebratin' someting?"

I shrug, trying to look coy. Again, I know that I look nothing like I want to because I still have a ridiculous grin on my face. "It's a holiday, right? Ah think that's as good of reason as any."

He looked contemplative for a second, "I guess yo right." He smiles. Y'know, one of those smiles that launched a thousand ships or something. "Wat are yo doin' in 'Nawlins?"

The Cajun accent rolls off his tongue like butter on toast.

I sip my drink, enjoying that the little bit of bubbly feeling is going to my head. "Ah'm on vacation, Swamp Rat. Ah'm relaxing."

"Hm," I swear I can see the gears in his brain working, "Bet dis Cajun can tink of a better way fo yo to relax."

Yup. There it is.

Merry Christmas to me.

Although I have to say, the proposition came quicker than expected (Heh, which is completely unlike Remy, heh), but I'm not that unsurprised. There is exactly one thing that Remy and I are really great at together, and I've sure as hell missed it. I wouldn't be surprised if he has too.

I've slept with other men. I mean, of course I have. I'm a college student in her early twenties. What do you expect? I have needs. Out of the handful of guys I've slept with (don't worry, I've kept my list relatively short), none of them can measure up to the enigma that's currently seated next to me.

I don't know if its because we carried on our tryst for a few years or if its because Remy is just that good, but that boy can play me like a fiddle. It's like every little hidden erogenous zone I have is a magnet for his lips and mouth and heat.

Let's just be honest: the boy can make me beg.

Don't worry, though, I'm positive it was mutual. Some people you just straight up have chemistry with. There's no two ways about it. I haven't found such electricity with anyone else.

Leaning forward, I stop as my face nears his. My eyes flick up to make contact with his, which they do, and his gaze is firmly focused on me.

His eyes are glowing the bright way they do when he always looks at me. I love it.

Closing my eyes and pursing my lips the slightest bit, I lean my face forward a bit more and wait for him to meet me.

It takes possibly half a second, if that.

He presses his lips hard against mine, and I swear to you that I can hear fireworks going off somewhere or something.

He quickly wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me even closer to him. It nearly knocks me off my bar stool, but I don't care. He doesn't let me fall and the arm around me pulls me up against that hard, taught body.

I moan against his lips. I've missed that body.

His other arm makes its way around me and he wraps a hand around the back of my neck, holding us even closer together.

His lips are soft and I feel his tongue pushing against my mouth. I gasp in surprise (although let's be honest, I really shouldn't be surprised by that) and he's sliding that golden tongue into my mouth, rubbing against mine in a way that I've missed for a long time.

I tilt my head down slightly so I'd be at a better angle to press my mouth harder against his, and my chin brushes against his, stubble scraping slightly.

I've missed that stubble.

I pull away from his ravenous lips to try and catch my breath. My face is still close to his and I press my cheek against his, panting as I try to stop my heart from beating so fast.

I lean forward, my lips just next to the shell of his ear and whisper the words that I've said a hundred times before, "Take meh home, Cajun."

Stepping off the stool and away from me, Remy is smiling. I'm sure he didn't expect the request this soon, but I know he doesn't mind. Clearly this is something we both want.

And suddenly, I want Remy like a thirsty man wants water.

He grabs my jacket from the hook where he only just placed it and helps me slide it onto my shoulders.

I giggle when I look up and see him grinning down at me. Yeah, so what? I giggle sometimes, and the grin he's giving me coupled with the three glasses I drank are making me just as bubbly as the champagne.

At least half a foot taller than me, he offers me his arm. I gladly wrap my arm within his and place my opposite hand on the same sleeve of his coat.

His body is so warm.

Remy drops a Fifty on the bar, nods at the bartender and leads me out.

He's walking me along the Quarter, completely relaxed as if we have all the time in the world

Maybe we do; Christmas is supposed to be magic after all.

He lifts the arm that isn't tangled with mine and points out lights, decorations, and the places he knows. He shows me where to get the best gumbo and tells me how the got they plastic Santa on the postmaster's roof.

We stroll along slowly and he stops, catching me off guard. I look up to meet his eyes and he surprises me with a kiss, pressing his hot mouth against mine. This kiss has just as much passion as the previous one, but it's much less hurried.

He climbs on top me and I relish the felling of his weight pushing me into the mattress. His body feels good against mine and I tell him as much.

I know he's smirking, "Glad yo like it, Chere."

Before I can come up with some equally smart retort, his mouth is back on mine and I think he's trying to devour me. I don't mind.

I feel my breasts push against his smooth chest.

Desperate for friction, I wrap my legs around his waist.

Remy moans in response, clearly happy with my choice. He grinds his pelvis into mine and I gasp at the contact. I know he can feel how hot I am.

As he repeats his action, I thrust up to meet him and the feeling is indescribable. He's rubbing against me in exactly the right spot.

I can feel how hard he is beneath his boxers, and the silk feels like pure heat as I feel it against my sensitive flesh. I use it to my advantage, crossing my ankles behind his back to pull myself as close to him as possible.

He nips at my bottom lip and I turn my head to the side, placing my smooth neck near his lips. He takes the hint and starts sucking on the skin right about my collarbone.

I push body against his and I start panting. Shifting my hips downward slightly, I find the perfect angle for Remy's hardness to rub against me just so.

I moan out loud.

Keep my ankles locked, I start rolling my hips up and down. I'm shamelessly rubbing myself up and down his length and it feel so good.

"Rogue," His voice is barely a growl as he slides his hands underneath me, between my body and the mattress. He's holding my body even tighter to his and he's trailing his tongue along the shell of my ear.

"Oh," my voice shudders, "Ohhhhh." I don't even try to keep quiet anymore. I'm rolling my his up and down and up and down, and I'm finally getting close to that feeling I so desperately need. I start moving faster, tongue hanging out of my mouth and breasts heaving, all pressed up against his chest. My palms are flat against his back.

Arching my back as he pushes his hips against me, I feel the pressure build higher and higher.

"Oh gawd, Ah'm gonna -" my eyes close tightly, "Oh Remy!" Biting down on my lip to avoid screaming, I explode. It starts in the very tips of my toes and overwhelms all of my senses. I feel the orgasm work its way throughout my entire body. It feels like paradise.

My limbs feel like jelly as my ankles unhook and I land, completely spent, onto the mattress.

He was right, you know: I feel completely relaxed.

"Mon Dieu," His eyes are glowing and he's wearing that favorite smirk of mine. He kisses me hard on the chin, "Yo are beautiful."

He leans back and sits up, and I raise my noodley arm so I can run his fingers between those glorious pectoral muscles. I press my flat palm down and run it along the smooth planes of his chest. I reach his abdominals and let my fingers dance between the perfectly defined cuts in between them. My hand slides down past his abdomen and on top of the small trail of hair he has there. My hand stops at the waistband of his boxers and I look up at him curiously, ignoring the large wet spot on the front of his underwear (Whatever - SO worth it).

He reaches down to pull off his boxers and drops them somewhere near the bed.

Not wasting any time, he's back on the bed and on top of me.

I can hear the lust in his voice, "Condom?"

I shake my head distractedly as I can feel him positing himself, "Ah got back on the pill."

Just a PSA for you folks, I typically don't recommend forgoing protection. Have I made myself clear? Good; I don't want anyone running back to me when you've got some nasty case of Gonorrhea or Oozing Green Penis or something.

See, when Remy and I first started hooking up, I was a virgin. I was clean. Well, I still am clean, but you know what I mean. I had to give Remy more credit than I expected, the Swamp Rat was actually smart enough to suit up every time he got busy, even from the very beginning. I always have my partners wrap up, too. I'm not a sixteen year old girl watching MTV; trust me, I'm smart enough to engage in safe sex.

We're each other's only exceptions. I don't even remember how it started at this point; I think it was after I started college and got on the pill. Either way, Remy is the only guy I do it with like this, and I know I'm the only one for him, too.

He nods, and kissing me hard again, tugging on my bottom lip with his teeth. His voice is husky and low, "Yo ready, Cherie?"

I answer honestly, "Always."

And with that, he's inside me.

Walking away from the café, Remy hands me the open cup of hot chocolate after taking a drink.

I look up at him and giggle.

He cocks an eyebrow, "Wat?"

I giggle again (damn champagne) and reach my hand upwards towards his face. Placing my palm against his cheek, I use my thumb to wipe the whip cream off his upper lip.

Grinning, he laughs out loud and catches my thumb between his lips, slowly sucking the cream off.

My heart rate increases and, just like that, the atmosphere changes from light and upbeat back to all sexy and smoldery.

I take a drink of hot chocolate, finishing what's in the cup, and toss it into a trash bin in front of the building we've stopped near. I ask him what's been in the back of my mind the whole way, "How far away is your place, Cajun?"

He gives me that mega-watt, panty dropping smile, and gestures over dramatically to the building to his right, "Here we are, Chere."

In the blink of an eye, we're in the elevator. His coat is on the ground, as is his jacket. He pushes my leather coat off my shoulders and it hits the floor too. I'm pulling at his tie and kissing him at the same time.

He growls and pushes me away, just long enough to untie the tie at his neck. As soon as he gets it undone, I thrown myself back at him. We're kissing and our lips are hot and wet and pushing against each other's mouths.

I work my hands into the ridiculously small space between us, just so I can get the buttons undone on his shirt.

His tongue is in my mouth, fighting mine for dominance, and I feel his large hands running down the side of my body. His hands roam around to my back and he squeezes my ass. Hard.

I love him.

His hands move down to my thighs, and anticipating his move, I jump. He catches me, hands beneath my butt as he pushed me up against the elevator wall. Even with all this moving around, I can't tear my lips off of his and I don't think he can do the same either.

He pushes his hips into mine and I moan at the contact. I can feel him, beneath his pants and, assumedly, his underwear. He's all ready hard, which, I guess isn't that surprising at all seeing as I'm pretty sure I've been wet since he kissed me in the bar.

Okay, okay: I kissed him. I'm making out with Remy LeBeau in an elevator, why are we wasting time splitting hairs?

Speaking of which... I quickly move arm from where it was wrapped around his back, and tear out the elastic at the nape of his neck.

His hair is as glorious and thick as I imagined. I dig both of my hands, running them from tip to root. I fist a handful and pull, reveling in the obscenely hot growl he makes in response.

The elevator dings and stops moving. Only after the door opens, does he move his lips from mine and puts me down. We both bend over to grab the clothes that are on the floor as quickly as possible.

I follow him down the hall and wait as he unlocks and opens a door.

As soon as we're inside, he tosses his handful of coats on a chair near a door.

I'm on him again, our bodies pressed together and all of the sudden he's pulling my dark blue shirt over my head. He pauses and I watch as his eyes focus on my breasts, all decked out in light blue lace.

He licks his lips and continues to stare. I take the opportunity to finish unbuttoning his shirt. As I slide the garment off his shoulders, he snaps back into action and his hands are on the fly of my black jeans, unzipping them at lightening speed.

I'm down to my panties, and he's in just his boxers and undershirt. I shriek in excitement in surprise when he scoops me up in his arms, bridal style. He walks purposely though his apartment and drops me onto the couch before claiming my mouth once again.

Yawning, I open my eyes slowly. It takes me just s second to remember where I am and what I did last night.

I'm laying on my back in Remy's bed, sheet pulled up just over my chest. Remy's laying on his stomach next to me, arm lazily draped over my waist.

He's laying on top of the sheet.

Obviously this is my Christmas present; getting to wake up and look over and see Remy LeBeau's naked ass. Ho ho ho, indeed.

His eyes open and a slow grin spreads across his face. Clearly he's happy to see me. "Mornin', Chere."

Stretching my arms out, I smile back, "Mornin' yourself, sugah."

"Hungry?"

After a marathon like last night? Of course. "Why, yah gonna make meh breakfast?"

His smile widens and he starts to sit up, "Pancakes an' bacon?"

I don't admit it, but something inside definitely feels warm as Remy mentions the breakfast he always used to make me. "Yah bet."

"Yo gonna shower first?" You'd think after all these years my morning-after-sex routine might change at least a little bit.

I nod and he rolls of the bed and stands up, gloriously naked. Unabashed, he walks to the dresser nearest him and takes a pair of sweatpants out of the third drawer. He pulls them on.

He starts to head toward the kitchen - I guess his morning-after routine hasn't changed either - and stops to kiss me on the forehead before he exits the room. "De batroom is de next door on de right."

I take my time, only partly because of the soreness between my thighs. Stepping into his bathroom, all sleek and modern and clean line, my mind goes back to the bathroom back in the apartment he used to have in New York. We had some good times in that shower.

I turn the water on in the shower and while I heats up, I open the medicine cabinet above the sink and take out his toothbrush. Grabbing the tube of Aquafresh, I brush my teeth.

That's another thing Remy and I share with only each other: unprotected sex and toothbrush use. Trust me, he'd kick another lady out of his place before morning sex if she tried to use his tooth brush. Boundaries, people, boundaries.

You might wonder how I know that I'm still the only woman using Remy's toothbrush, even after a year and a half? Well, it's a gut feeling, I guess. The same gut feeling that tells me I'll find a small bottle of my magnolia scented shampoo and vanilla body wash in the very back of his bathroom cabinet. I open the cabinet, and low and behold, there it is, subtly peeking out behind a half opened Durex box and a bottle of KY.

I step in the shower and the hot water feels heavenly on my sore body. I definitely used muscles last night that I hadn't touched in a very long time. I pick up a bottle of Remy's body wash (all organic and expensive and shit - trust me, I have the travel size one hidden in the back of my dresser and it was super pricey) and bring it near my nose, it smells like sandalwood and spices and until last night, I didn't quite realize how much I missed that smell.

Setting his bottle back down, I pick up the small bottle of my shampoo and began to massage it into my hair. I hear the door open; I knew it would, that's why I didn't lock it behind me, and I know Remy is brushing his teeth before he goes back out and checks on the bacon.

Maybe I missed this little routine, too.

After I wash my hair and body, I linger under the spray for a moment. It's hard to believe that this is how I'm starting Christmas morning.

Turning off the water, I pull the curtain to the side and see a stack of fresh towels folded on the counter. I lift one up and wrap the plush material around my body. I pick up the other articles of clothing that were placed beneath the pile of towels: a soft pair of brown sweatpants which have all ready been rolled and cuffed at the bottom, a pair a gray spandex boxer briefs, and a plain black t-shirt.

Seriously, a girl can get all dressed to the nines with smokey make up, hooker boots, and shit to feel hot. But honestly, what could be sexier than getting to wear you guy's undershirt and briefs? It's freaking unbelievable.

I find Remy in the kitchen, smiling as he flips pancakes with a spatula with one hand and bringing a mug of coffee up to his lips with the other. It doesn't hurt that he's shirtless and bare foot as well.

Eating breakfast with him is familiar, and I can't help but to look over at him while I'm eating. It feels like a world ago that we used to do this all the time. We used to eat breakfast together every weekend (...meaning we were together every night over the weekends, heh.)

"Chere," His voice is soft and he hasn't stopped smiling at me. He set down his mug.

I finish my food and look and him questioningly, "Yeah?"

He stands up and offers me his hand, "Come 'ere."

I shrug and can't help but return his smile, it's so warm, "What the hell, right?"

He laughs.

I take his hand and he's leading me back into the living room. I sit down on the couch as Remy steps away and I can't help but smile as I look down and see Remy's ripped undershirt and my bra on the floor.

Remy steps out from behind that half decorated tree (guess it's too late to finish decorating now), and he passes me a large square box.

Looking at him curiously, I glace down at the haphazardly wrapped package.

"Go on, chere, open it." He sits next to me on the couch and reclines in that effortlessly sexy kind of way.

I cock my eyebrow slightly, but it does nothing to hide the gleeful look on my face.

Let's be honest: I freaking love presents.

Tearing the wrapping paper off like a little kid, I'm left with a white paperboard box. I pull the lid off, anxious to see what's inside.

I glace up to Remy's eyes all wide and excited.

"REMY!" I squeal as I jump up from the couch in excitement. I let the box fall from my lap as I pull out the brown leather cowboy boots.

Okay, okay, I get it: I'm a Southern stereotype. I'm not even Texas-Southern, but I'm still a Mississippi girl and my heart is always in the deep South.

It's not like I plan on going square dancing or anything, but hell, deep down, I'm a little country.

"Wat yo tink, Chere?" I can tell by his face that he all ready knows.

"Ah love 'em!" I start pulling the boots onto my bare feet and pulling them over the rolled ends of his sweatpants. "Ah just love 'em! They're great!"

His arms reach out and he pulls me onto his lap and we're kissing and laughing and I'm straightening my legs up into the air and kicking my feet in exhalation.

For a minute, we're not just sex partners, we're two people that went out dancing, stayed home for movie nights, went ice skating, went to shows, rode our motorcycles together, spent hours snuggling in front of the fireplace. For a minute, things get real.

For a minute, I remember that Remy and I were more than just sex and all those feelings I had for him before come bubbling up and my heart swells just thinking about it.

I look up at him and wrap my arms around his neck. I kiss his cheeks and his chin, and then his lips. "Thank yah, Remy."

He bumps his forehead against mine and kisses me once again, "Yo are most welcome."

I lean back against his chest, examining my boots, "Yah didn't even know Ah was gonna be in Louisiana. How did yah know tah get meh a Christmas present?"

He shrugs, "Guess I'd tought dat I get it to yo somehow. Mebbe I take a trip to New York today, hein?"

I use my hand to push myself up and untangle my body from his arms. "Ah got yah something too."

He looks surprised, but please. "Wat did yo get fo de Cajun dat has everyting?"

I roll my eyes and laugh at his absolute ridiculousness. I head over to where he had dropped his coat the night before (and where I had visited in the middle of the night after he fell asleep). I reach into the pocket and pull out a slim, metallic case.

His eyebrow is cocked as I approached and I hand it to him. "Ah got yah a new wallet. Ah moved your cash and card over from your old one last night."

"Oh yeah?" He takes the sleek looking rectangle and holds it in his hand, judging the weight (as if he can tell by weight alone that I pocketed a handful of fifties).

I grin, "It's RFID secure. No security readers are getting past that sucker."

His grin grows and he pulls me back on top his lap, pressing a big kiss to my left cheek, "Chere, yo give de best gifts. Did I ever tell yo dat?"

I give him a flat look, "Yah told me that last night after I gave yah a blow job."

He laughs and doesn't look the least bit unabashed, "Oh, oui. Fogot bout dat." He shakes his head ruefully. "Either way, it's great. I love it."

I lean back getting comfortable in his arms, "Open it."

I watch him carefully as he does what I tell him. I watch his eyes and can tell that they're scanning over his cards and bills (by this point, I'm sure he knows I pocketed his cash, but he's too much of a gentleman to say anything). Seeing his red eyes widen and light up, I know the minute he sees it.

Not to mention the fact that I'm sitting in his lap, and one thing is becoming very apparent.

"An'," he pauses to lick his lips, "Wat is dis?" I watch as he slowly removes the wallet size photograph and focuses on it.

So what? If I want to dress up in a black lace bustier, black thong, red garters, black thigh highs, and red pumps, why shouldn't I? Not to mention smoky eye make up and Bridget Bardot hair, and bright red lips.

A long time ago Remy may have mentioned that he would love a sexy photo. I never forgot about it.

He leans forward and presses a wet, hot kiss to the side of my neck. "I love it, Chere. Yo look delicious."

I lean back and place my head on his shoulder, "Ah got a whole book for yah back at my hotel."

I feel him shift slightly, as the growing bulge in his pants has to be making things slightly uncomfortable. "I tink I love yo."

I can't help but laugh at his reaction, and it almost makes the fact that I can never face anyone in the Costco Photo Center ever again, worth it.

He slide me off his lap and onto the couch, "Got one mo ting fo yo."

I watch him grab a small gift bag and he brings it over to me.

Curiously I pull the tissue paper off the top and can't help but laugh. I pull of handful of different colored panties from the bag and cock an eyebrow at him.

He shrugs unapologetically, "Figured I owed yo some."

I'm still laughing, "Aw, Swamp Rat, yah shouldn't have."

He sits next to me on the couch and he kisses me again, "Merry Christmas, Cherie."

I sigh and, closing my eyes, I rest my forehead against his, "Merry Christmas, Remy."

Whew! And there it is, people. Hope you enjoyed it.

If that was my holiday gift to you, how about your gift to me is a review? Pretty please. It's the gift that keeps on giving!

Reviews = Love