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This outfit should look ridiculous. It would, if it were anyone else.
So why did he manage to make it look so good? And why did he have to look like that right as he was about to leave?
It's downright unfair, if anyone asks Rogue. But the white tunic on her fiancé—soon to be husband— is just form fitting enough to show off his broad frame. His shoulders are accented by the ornate shoulder pads that she should definitely ask about, because where did the guild even find a shoulder pad with glowing eyes? On the front sits a golden armor adorned with a fleur de lys. It's the same kind of material as his usual body armor; she knows from experience just how running her fingers over it would feel, and tries very hard to stop that thought before it can come to fruition— he really can't be late today. To complete the look, a red draped cape cascades from one of his shoulders, flowing gracefully to highlight his every movement. Of course, the whole look just had to come with a cane, too, and it might just be about to awaken a few new fantasies in her.
And goddamn it, he gives her a smirk that looks like sin itself, and she's about two minutes away from dragging him back to their bedroom.
"You sure this ain't a bit much, sugar?"
He shrugs, a light smile dancing on his lips.
"It's Guild uniform. Don't think we've ever been for subtlety, chère."
"Sounds a bit contradictory, no?"
He hums, getting closer and she resists the urge to tug on his hood and draw him into her arms. He would fit so well in there, she knows, but now is not the time. Remy must have a different idea though, because he settles with his mouth on the junction of her neck, leaving a trail of kisses above her clothes.
Fuck the bedroom, the couch will do.
"Not at all. Anyone can sneak around in a dark bodysuit an' call themselves a thief. But if you can steal a diamond in bright magenta, then that's how you know you're good," he mutters against her skin, and that's enough to leave her shuddering.
"Really ? That so ?"
"Mais, you doubting my skills, chère ? I'm wounded."
She tries her best to give him a flat look— which is a lot harder to do when he's nipping at her jaw, leaving a trail of murmured french whispers. She trails her hand on his arm, where she knows her name is inked deep into his skin under the fabric, and that thought has her practically shivering now.
"Your pride will survive, swamp rat."
"I'm not sure. Might need a bit of a pick me up."
"Remy. No."
He arches an eyebrow, a devil may care grin slipping on his face as he looks up through his lashes.
She points at the clock on the wall, doing her best to ignore just how much she wants to throw caution to the wind.
"Your Guild meeting is in less than an hour, sug'. We don't have time for that kind of game."
"An hour is plenty of time."
"Not nearly enough time for what I want to," she grumbles, one hand sliding to his waist while the other rests on his torso. He perks up at that, a smile that looks both infuriatingly self assured and, unfortunately for her, far more sexy than a man should be allowed to be.
"Oh ? And what might that be chère ?"
"Ah was being serious, swamp rat. Your family's waiting."
He hums a little at that, his own hands reaching lower to cradle her body in a way that sets every single one of her nerves on fire.
"They can wait a bit longer."
"Y'know, they might not be too happy about us getting married if Ah start pulling you away from guild duties as soon as we're engaged."
He stops, brows furrowing and grabs her face for a long, harsh kiss. When they finally break apart, she's more than a little breathless ; he takes the opportunity to caress her cheeks, ruby eyes meeting emerald ones.
"Chère. Anna Marie. Love of my life. I do not give a single fuck what anyone thinks of us gettin' married. I love you, an' having you by my side makes every day better than the last— I ain't giving that up for anyone on earth, mon amour. If I'm late because you want me in your arms longer, then they'll just learn to deal with it."
She wishes she could answer— have some kind of poetic, flowery declaration of love, but she's honestly slightly distracted by how he looks, light illuminating him from behind and catching on every little gold details. Like this, he'd make the most pious angel a repentless sinner, she thinks.
"'Sides, I think they're kind of expectin' us to get distracted anyway. They know me, chère."
"Hmm. Can't imagine why." It doesn't take more for him to return to his previous ministration on her neck. This time, she lets him and sighs happily, practically melting into his hold. He’s definitively not making it there in time. She finds she doesn’t care much.
"Can't wait to marry you, sugah."
"Neither can I, chère."
What happens next is not for a lady to say.