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Remy wakes up slowly with the sun.
Normally he’d be curling back under the covers, and back into Rogue’s arms, but not today. He’d been begging Jean for months to let him help cook for whatever celebration the X-Men would throw, but she’d fought him every step of the way, insisting on being the only person allowed in the kitchen, saying that Remy either couldn’t cook, or that he was just outright bad at it, even though she’d never let him prove otherwise. Scott had finally, somehow , convinced her to step away and hand the reins over to Remy for one breakfast-slash-lunch; maybe he’d promised that Remy would be banned permanently from the kitchen after this.
Whatever he’d said or done, Remy knew he owed Scott big time .
When he finally rouses, Remy sits up against the headboard and looks down to see Rogue curled up next to him, her face completely relaxed as she dreams. Remy reaches out and gently trails his fingers down her covered arm, smiling softly as she huffs and rolls closer to him, seeking the warmth of his body. It's so easy for him to lean down and brush his lips gently across her forehead, then equally gentle on her closed eye and down to her cheek. She stirs under the touch, face turning up into Remy’s, and he whispers soft words against her lips, a quiet ‘rest, Mon Cher, ‘m just gettin’ up ’. It's enough reassurance for Rogue in her half-asleep state, and with another almost-kiss she burrows back under the blankets and drifts back to sleep. Remy's heart kicks over at the sight, filled with love and admiration, brimming at the trust Rogue has in him. It's almost enough to make him curl back up against her and soak in her warmth and smell and beauty but he's put too much planning into today to give up now. With a truly heroic effort, and it is heroic, Remy pulls himself out of the nest of blankets and carefully tucks Rogue back in, making sure that none of the edges of the many, many blankets are flipped up. He leaves their room with a long backwards glance, and he knows that he must look stupidly lovesick as he closes the door quietly.
The rest of the mansion is quiet at this hour, which is surprising but oddly nice. The place is normally teeming with noise and life; students awake at all odd hours of the day despite their classes, his fellow teachers returning to the mansion after another assignment from the Professor or patrolling the halls when they can’t seem to sleep. Remy’s done the same time and time again, haunting the kitchen with Rogue by his side, the two of them pressed close together mumbling sleepily until they stumbled back to bed. The kitchen is empty now, and thankfully clean once he flicks on the overhead lights, any evidence from last night’s dinner already packed away or in the bin, the only sign being the dishes resting on the drying rack. There’s a fancy, new , radio sitting alone next to the sink and Remy grins as he picks it up, tapping away at the screen until he has a decent queue of music lined up. As Creedence Clearwater Revival starts playing quietly in the background and Remy lets himself smile, a sense of peace and pride washing over him even before he’s turned on the oven.
Remy checks the fridge and sighs in relief when he finds all of his containers and plates where he'd left them; he’d used almost every dish in the mansion on just prep work. He goes through the simple motions of pulling out stacks of plates filled with seasoned meats and fruit, sauces and dressings made with old family recipes, laying everything out on the kitchen counters, standing with his hands resting on his hips and he takes stock of everything.
There's more'nough here to feed every'ne twice , he thinks to himself, self assured and proud . This’ll show Jean, Gambit’ll prove it.
— — —
He doesn't even notice when Rogue walks into the kitchen, too absorbed in his cooking and music. Her hands skim lightly along his shoulder, the barest there touch that instantly makes his skin raise in pleasant goosebumps. Remy does not flinch, despite the giggle that comes from Rogue as she steps closer to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her face in-between his shoulders. It still sends a thrill through him every time they touch, despite their clothes, his heart skipping in his chest at Rogue’s easy affection and love. He bathes in all of it, happily dragging her gloved hand up to his mouth to press several long kisses to her knuckles.
“G'morning cher . Didn' hear you come in.”
“Mmm good mornin’ sugar…’s fine, I was trying t'be quiet anyways…Like hearin’ ya sing, it’s nice.”
Remy feels his cheeks redden slightly, quietly glad that Rogue can’t see it, and hums in acknowledgement, leaning back into her embrace without taking his eyes off the bubbling pot in front of him. They're both silent for a few long moments with the only sound coming from the spoon scraping the pot, the music from the radio, and Remy's own low humming. Rogue rocks them side to side in a barely-there movement that Remy happily relaxes into, always ready to follow when Rogue leads. He shuffles the two of them from the stove to the oven so he can check on the turkey and duck that are this close to finished, cracking the door of the oven open so the sizzle and crack of oil and fat and the downright sinful smell of herbs and spices fill the kitchen. Rogue lifts her head from between his shoulders and sticks her head under his arm to stare at the oven door, sniffing the air like a bloodhound and squeezing Remy's waist.
“Remy, that smells…”
“Good right, cher ?”
“Yeah…smells like home .”
Remy grins down at Rogue, leaning down and pressing one, two, three quick kisses to her lips as he answers her. “Keep tryin’ t’ tell everyone that Gambit’s a good cook, but n’one wants t’ listen. Jean gets mighty jealous if Gambit tries sneaking in to help, easier to just sit back and wait for her t’ be gone.” He raises one shoulder in a half shrug, careful not to jostle Rogue’s hold on him, enjoying the closeness and comfort she always brings him. Rogue looks happy, if not a little sad, but she tucks her face back into Remy’s shoulder with a sigh and squeezes Remy tighter. He tangles their fingers together, drags them up until they’re both resting over his chest, right on his heart, and squeezes Rogue back just that bit tighter too.
“Ah, it don’t matter, mon cher , it’s Gambit’s time t’ shine now.”
— — —
Under Remy’s careful instructions and guidance, Remy and Rogue spend the rest of the morning cooking together. They laugh each time they bump into each other, despite the fact they purposely stood too close to each other in the first place, fingers brushing against wrists, elbows digging into ribs, knees knocking when they trade places. Remy’s never felt so alive before, never felt so full of love, it’s like he could burst with it. He tries several times to lean into Rogue and steal kisses, but she places her hand between them each time, laughing as she pushes his back or turns his face back to whatever dish he’s currently plating up.
They both know that
eventually
someone else is going to stumble sleepily into the kitchen, either enticed by the smell of Remy’s food or their own normal day-to-day routine, but right now, it’s just the two of them and the radio, and the smell of home.