(Marvel) Gloved
July 15th, 2012 00:08![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
salmon_pinkTitle: Gloved
Fandom: Marvel
Pairing: Remy/Rogue
Rating: PG-13
Words: 492
Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
comicdrabbles, prompt "fingers".
Rogue grew used to wearing gloves a long time ago. They’re a part of her everyday life - wake up, brush teeth, put on gloves.
Something she can’t be without, same way people with poor vision can’t be without their glasses.
The ones she wears as part of her uniform are thick and tough, designed special for her, to withstand punching through walls. Armour across the knuckles, not because she needs it, but because that’s the surest way to keep them from ripping.
The gloves she wears around the mansion, the off-duty ones, the casual ones, they’re still plenty thick, because Rogue just feels safer that way. Like a security blanket or something equally childish, but having gloves that creak a little when she flexes her fist, that she can’t help but feel when she wriggles her fingers, it helps remind her that she’s wearing them.
It helps remind her that she can’t hurt nobody.
She has other gloves, but she doesn’t wear them much. Thinner gloves, more like a second skin than the gauntlets she fights in.
They were a gift. From Remy.
It’s Remy she’s wearing them for now, and it’s silly to feel so naked in them, so exposed, but that’s all she can think of as he turns her gloved hand over in his own.
Thicker gloves dull her sense of touch, and she’s as used to that as the gloves themselves. A buffer between her and the world.
But with these gloves, the material’s so thin she can feel everything, feel the heat of Remy’s skin, the light scratch of a fingernail, even the pulse in his thumb. He laces their fingers together, and she watches the concentration on his face, the smile toying at the corners of his mouth that breaks into a full grin when she shivers.
He glances up at her, and it still amazes her that eyes like his can look so soft.
“’Dis okay, chere?” he asks, and then he’s raising their joined hands to his face, gently kissing her knuckles, his breath heating the back of her hand.
She smiles, eyebrow raised.
He smirks back. “How ‘bout now?”
He ducks his head down, and Rogue gasps, fluttery sensation in her belly, as Remy’s lips part around her finger. If she imagined his skin was hot, it’s nothing compared to the furnace inside his mouth, damp heat engulfing her, eyes narrowed and staring at her reaction hungrily. Sucking softly, which makes her toes curl inside her boots, before he lets her finger slide free.
The air feels colder after the warmth of his mouth.
“I think you should wear these gloves more often, chere,” he murmurs, shifting closer.
She brushes her thumb over his bottom lip, pushes it inside when he opens his mouth obediently, knows her eyes are dark as she pets his tongue.
“Maybe Ah will,” she purrs, and his teeth lightly scrape her thumb as he smiles around it.
Fandom: Marvel
Pairing: Remy/Rogue
Rating: PG-13
Words: 492
Notes: For
comicdrabbles, prompt "fingers".Rogue grew used to wearing gloves a long time ago. They’re a part of her everyday life - wake up, brush teeth, put on gloves.
Something she can’t be without, same way people with poor vision can’t be without their glasses.
The ones she wears as part of her uniform are thick and tough, designed special for her, to withstand punching through walls. Armour across the knuckles, not because she needs it, but because that’s the surest way to keep them from ripping.
The gloves she wears around the mansion, the off-duty ones, the casual ones, they’re still plenty thick, because Rogue just feels safer that way. Like a security blanket or something equally childish, but having gloves that creak a little when she flexes her fist, that she can’t help but feel when she wriggles her fingers, it helps remind her that she’s wearing them.
It helps remind her that she can’t hurt nobody.
She has other gloves, but she doesn’t wear them much. Thinner gloves, more like a second skin than the gauntlets she fights in.
They were a gift. From Remy.
It’s Remy she’s wearing them for now, and it’s silly to feel so naked in them, so exposed, but that’s all she can think of as he turns her gloved hand over in his own.
Thicker gloves dull her sense of touch, and she’s as used to that as the gloves themselves. A buffer between her and the world.
But with these gloves, the material’s so thin she can feel everything, feel the heat of Remy’s skin, the light scratch of a fingernail, even the pulse in his thumb. He laces their fingers together, and she watches the concentration on his face, the smile toying at the corners of his mouth that breaks into a full grin when she shivers.
He glances up at her, and it still amazes her that eyes like his can look so soft.
“’Dis okay, chere?” he asks, and then he’s raising their joined hands to his face, gently kissing her knuckles, his breath heating the back of her hand.
She smiles, eyebrow raised.
He smirks back. “How ‘bout now?”
He ducks his head down, and Rogue gasps, fluttery sensation in her belly, as Remy’s lips part around her finger. If she imagined his skin was hot, it’s nothing compared to the furnace inside his mouth, damp heat engulfing her, eyes narrowed and staring at her reaction hungrily. Sucking softly, which makes her toes curl inside her boots, before he lets her finger slide free.
The air feels colder after the warmth of his mouth.
“I think you should wear these gloves more often, chere,” he murmurs, shifting closer.
She brushes her thumb over his bottom lip, pushes it inside when he opens his mouth obediently, knows her eyes are dark as she pets his tongue.
“Maybe Ah will,” she purrs, and his teeth lightly scrape her thumb as he smiles around it.
