By the one year anniversary of the pictures beginning to arrive Rogue had half a drawer full of them. She was starting to get a little disconcerted that someone, she still didn't know who, was watching her that closely. It was almost as if she had a stalker... a nice stalker, who sent her pretty pictures, but still... a little creepy.
There were pictures that focused on one feature, her hands, her feet, her hair, her butt, her breasts, her eyes, her mouth, even one of her nose - oddly enough they were all g-rated, all relevant parts fully clothed, her hands were even gloved.
Still others, action shots as she thought of them, her pre-mission in her seat on the jet, her post-mission helping an injured teammate get settled, her drinking and playing pool at the local bar the X-Men sometimes went to, to wind down or just have fun. Her in the kitchen, eating ice-cream from the carton after a nightmare, her laughing uproariously when she got stuck in the middle of a popcorn fight on movie night, her collapsed, exhausted and sweaty, and laughing, on the bench in the gym after she just beat Colossus at a bench press.
And then there was todays one...
Was her stalker getting bolder? Or did he just have a good memory and an even better imagination?
She knew it was someone on the team, so it wasn't a stretch to think whoever it was had been in her room. They had all been in each others rooms at one point or another, whether hanging out as friends, or helping injured teammates to bed after a difficult mission, so 'the room' could be put down to good memory. The pose however... she was asleep, in her night clothes and sleeping gloves, and draped in a sheet. Half curled on one side, hair fanned out across the pillow, the position of the sheet on the bed beside her however indicated she hadn't been in bed alone, or at least, her artist hadn't imagined her being alone.
She stared at the picture for a long time, trying to decide if it was meant innocently, or if it was time to try and dig a little deeper into finding out the identity of her artist. Eventually she placed the image away, and got on with her day, still deep in thought, not all of her thoughts being about her artist so much as the idea of sharing her bed with another person.
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