COLD
DISCLAIMER: I don't own them, Marvel does. Although I think I'd treat them better. Okay, so I know that I wouldn't, but let's just pretend, right?
SUMMARY: Remy is cold. Scott warms him up. Just a silly little Christmas PWP. Remy/Scott, with no redeeming value whatsoever except ridding me of the hurt/comfort fic I must write in any fandom I approach before getting to the serious fic.
SPOILERS: I haven't read the comics! laughs But this is set after Remy's return from Antarctica, if that's any indication.
RATING: R for themes, language and m/m non-graphic content.
FEEDBACK: Crave it, need it, would let me know that I'm not talking to myself. First X-Men fic, so I'm in especial need. grin
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Trying to get a handle on the Remy character. Bear with me; I only got into the fandom about two weeks ago. My French is also high-school French without any grammar notes, and I haven't used it in years. This hasn't been beta-ed either (it gets worse...). Like I said, no redeeming social value, so hence no need to waste a beta's time with it. ;-) The other fic I'm working on gets the benefit of a beta, this one doesn't. Forgive the mistakes, please.
DEDICATION: To the UK. For having weird weather. This morning, I woke up feeling feverish from excessive heat. I got up from bed, and immediately my teeth started chattering. Either my room has its own mini-climates, or someone has been doing redecorating they haven't told me about.
Part 1
If there was one thing Remy couldn't stand anymore, it was the cold. He seemed to have no resistance to it lately. Way back when he had been a kid, he had been able to sleep without needing a roof over his head. Okay, strictly speaking, he would have preferred to have a roof over his head, but on most nights, it wasn't a life-threatening aspect of his existence.
Now, though... He shivered. Now, he had little or no resistance to the cold. The temperature only had to drop a few degrees for him to feel the affects of it, and as for him sticking it out through the snow? Forget it. He was going to be curled up inside, wrapped in a blanket. He wasn't going to be running around in spandex and getting snowed on, thank you very much.
Why had he even bothered to come back? They would only try and make him go outside. Make him 'get back on his feet'. Whoever had come up with the phrase, 'whatever doesn't kill you make you stronger' had obviously never been to the Antarctic, let alone spent the length of time Remy had been forced to spend there.
His teeth started chattering just by thinking about it.
He wrapped the blanket closer around himself and fingered a playing card, charging it slightly for heat. This was ridiculous. It wasn't even that cold - it was just his imagination.
Ah, but then, his imagination had been the thing to picture tropical beaches and a blazing hot sun while he had been blanketed by soft freezing snow, day after day. His imagination had been the thing that kept him walking towards an imaginary radiator, an imaginary cup of hot coffee, an imaginary blanket. His imagination had been the thing to keep him alive. It wasn't anything to scoff at.
The world seemed to get that little bit colder at the thought.
"Remy? You there?" A hammering on his door brought him out of his drowsy stupor.
"Ah... un moment! Un moment, chere!" He scrambled to his feet from the armchair, hurriedly dumping the blankets on the floor beside the bed in what he hoped was an 'I didn't come in until late and didn't bother picking up after myself' manner. He yanked off the thick poloneck he'd wrapped himself in and threw it quickly into a closet, leaving the bare T-shirt underneath. His skin was already prickling. "Jus'... jus' gettin' some clothes on, chere! You don' wan' t' walk in on ole Gambit while he not clothed, neh?"
Privately, he very much doubted that Jubilee would object overmuch to seeing him naked, but he wasn't about to oblige her. Not in the least. No sirree.
There. He regarded himself in the mirror. Too-tight T-shirt, too-tight pants, all painfully thin and inadequate as protection against the cold. If he was lucky, she wouldn't notice him turning blue.
Chuckling to himself, he opened the door to his room cautiously. "Yeah, chere? What can Remy help you wid?"
Jubilee blinked at him, not in the least bit fazed by his apparent state of semi-dress. "Nothing for me. But Wolvie says you have to come down. We're going to eat now, and you have to be there."
It was tempting, he had to admit. Go down and stuff himself full with all the hot food he could find. But that would mean facing the entire team. That would mean facing Rogue, and Cyclops, and Angel, and Wolverine and Storm. He wasn't quite ready to do that just yet, not while he was still shivering involuntarily at the thought of his team-mates, running around in those skimpy little bits of nothing. How did they stand it? Didn't they freeze to death?
He shook his head quickly. "Not really hungry, chere. I'll jus'... get somet'ing warmed up later." Much later, he privately thought. He wondered long it would be before everyone left, sleepy on ice cream and cake. Then he could fix himself something unbelievably hot and fattening. That would be nice.
Jubilee gave him a completely puzzled look. "What's being hungry got to do with anything? It's Christmas dinner! Even if you aren't hungry, you still stow away enough for a small army during it! And you have to be there to get your party hat." She grinned cheekily. "I even got Wolvie to wear his for long enough to take a photo!"
Gambit made a mental note to get his hands on a copy of this photo. "Eh, chere, Remy don' t'ink he should risk a grumpy Wolverine... he wan's to live to see t'irty!" He started to close the door. "Tell the others t'anks anyway..."
She resolutely stuck a booted boot and stopped him from closing the door. "Nope. I'm on a mission. If I don't bring you down, I don't get any egg nog. And I want egg nog!"
"What did Cyke t'ink o' dat?" Remy asked, in spite of himself. He didn't think that his extremely boring and extremely fearless leader would allow a minor to drink alcohol.
Jubilee grinned. "Now, why would Wolvie tell him a thing like that, hmmm?" She grabbed his sleeve and tugged sharply. "Come on, grumpy, get down to dinner with us so I can have some egg nog already!"
Remy, however, had other plans. "Sorry p'tite. Really. But Remy can'. Sorry." He closed the door quickly on her suddenly stricken expression and leaned against in relief when he heard Jubilee's slow steps away from his room. He quickly straightened up when he felt the familiar chill from the door skitter down his back.
Clothes. Blankets. Now.
In less than a minute he was cocooned again, able to lean against the window frame to stare out aimlessly and not shake himself into pieces. The first time he'd leaned against the window pane since he'd come back, he'd started to shiver so badly from the chills there that it had taken a hot bath to warm him up again.
Now, though, he was coping. Just.
Gambit wondered when he'd get his cold-tolerance levels back up to normal. He wondered if he'd be able to act as if everything was fine until then.
Walking around in just a T-shirt was getting to be a very painful facade. Done worse, he reminded himself. Done far worse than feel a little cold.
Yeah. He'd felt a lot of cold.
His body shivered in response.
He'd nearly nodded off again when the second knocking on the door came, quick and light.
He jumped to his feet, blinking away sleep. "Jus' un moment! Un moment, s'il vous plait!"
Cyclops walked in anyway.
Gambit glared, hugging the blankets to him now that there was no need to get rid of them in a hurry. "You don' knock 'nymore, homme?" His tone was very soft. "Or is it dat Remy don' deserve knockin'?"
Cyclops ignored the jibe in favour of staring at Gambit's apparel with pure astonishment. "You warm enough there, Gambit?" He didn't know what he'd been prepared for - a hungover Gambit, an angry, bored Gambit... God help him, even an ill and sniffly Gambit (the way Jubilee had told it, Gambit had been three days dead when she'd walked in). Not this... this swaddled form. He suppressed a laugh.
Gambit glared even harder. "Non," he said shortly. "So why don' you close the door, hmmm, Cyke?"
Cyclops kicked the door closed without looking at it.
"Gambit mean - by leavin' an' closing it apres vous."
"I know what you meant. I ain't leaving." He noted that, despite the door being closed, Gambit was still wracked with the occasional shiver. His amusement dried up instantly. "Why aren't you down in the living room? And why are you wearing your entire wardrobe all at once?"
Gambit shrugged defensively. "Dat a new rule, Cyke? We only allowed t' wear spandex maintenant? Even when Remy in his room?"
"Don't give me that, Gambit. I'm not here to argue." He walked forward carefully, noting the thick quilt piled messily on to the bed. "Well, at least you're not wearing the quilt."
Gambit didn't answer. He had been wrapped up in the quilt; it had been the only thing he'd managed to take off before Cyclops had walked in on him. Anger burned bright. Why did he always have to answer for everything? Did it really matter what he wore in the privacy of his room? Apparently so.
"Gambit?" Cyclops took another cautious step forwards. The man was shivering. His frame - previously streamlined and toned - had now wasted away to practically skin and bone, as his body used up the last of his reserves to survive in the tundra. They had expected Remy's weight to even out again once he started eating normally - and Scott could attest to the fact that he ate enough for three people - but he still remained painfully thin. It was as if his metabolism was burning the fuel too quickly for the lanky thief to be able to keep up.
Of course, it could simply be that he hadn't had enough time to adjust to regular meals again. All of a sudden, Scott's demeanour softened. Gambit undoubtedly felt that he didn't belong down in the living room with all the other X-Men. He probably felt a little out of place. Well, as team leader, it was Scott's job to make sure that all those under his command were at least content, if not necessarily happy. No matter how low he thought they came in on the evolutionary scale
Gambit raised his chin defiantly, sensing the reluctant charity and resenting it. "What, homme? What you wan' from Gambit?" He backed away from the advancing Scott until his legs hit the window frame and his knees buckled. He sat down heavily, trying to fight the shivers that immediately threatened to overwhelm him from his close proximity to the window - without the heavy warm quilt, even the several layers of clothing didn't help.
Scott tilted his head to one side slightly. "Why are you shivering?"
"'M not!"
"Uhuh." He took another step closer, forcing Gambit to lean back against the glass.
Immediately, icy chills erupted down Gambit's back, seizing his entire form and making his teeth chatter almost immediately. With a furious look at Scott, he stumbled to his feet and shoved past him, grabbing the thick quilt and wrapping himself up in it unapologetically. "So Remy's cold. Stayin' up here. 'S warmer. Go back to your party, Cyke." Go 'way an' leave me alone. He shivered again. Merde.
"If you're ill, Gambit, you needed to let Hank know. It's completely irresponsible to go on and --" He cut himself off with an effort when he saw Gambit's eyes close tiredly. Shit. You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you Scott? Had to have a go at him for being ill, for christsake. What happened to that 'content if not necessarily happy' thing? He looks half dead. He sat down next to Gambit on the bed, bemused when the thief scooted over a bit to put a little more space between them.
"I don't have cooties, you know," he said dryly.
Gambit blinked at him with a perfect expression of complete incomprehension. "Cooties?"
"Never mind." Scott exhaled slowly. "Are you... okay?" There. That wasn't so bad, was it? Now, get through the rest of this without insulting him or putting him on report and it'll be mission accomplished.
Gambit shrugged. "Gambit jus' bon, cher. How's you and ton famille?"
"Remy..." You know his name. I am so proud of what you can achieve when you put your mind to it, Scott.
"Que?" There, that defensive shrug again, moving him a touch further away.
Scott frowned and deliberately moved a little closer. "I know you're not okay. You're sitting up in your room, wrapped in every item of clothing you own and evidently every other piece of fabric you laid your hands on. That is not okay, when people downstairs are waiting for you to come down so they can have Christmas dinner."
A startled blink. "Dey waitin'... for me?"
The fact that Remy had not, for once, referred to himself in the third person meant - for Scott, at least - that he was making progress. The Cajun was off balance. "Of course. You're an X-Man, you need to be down there when we cut the turkey and Ororo tells us how barbaric it all is." He rolled his eyes comically and was gratified when he saw the hint of a smile on the pale lips.
His hopes for a quick solution to this problem were dashed, however, with Gambit's next words. "I can' go down dere," he whispered, his brows drawn together in something close to panic. "I can'. Il fait trop froid."
It's too cold. Scott knew some French, little bits and pieces he'd picked up off Gambit and Wolverine. He had never expected to hear this answer, though. And why not? He's sitting here wearing twenty eight layers of clothing, and you're asking him if it's a bit chilly? Why not ask him if he's hungry, while you're at it. Gambit's stomach had been growling quietly for some time.
There was only thing to do, really. What any leader would do - offer comfort. Cyclops put an arm around the Cajun's shoulders.
The next moment, he found himself lying on his back on the floor, Gambit towering angrily over him, the blankets abandoned at his feet. His entire body fairly shook with rage. "Do not do dat again, homme! Gambit is not a chile to be comforted wit' hugs, comprendre?" His eyes glowed hotly. "Next time, I break your arm, and go on from dere."
Great. Just... perfect. Cyclops groaned mentally and got to his feet, reigning in the urge to respond kind for kind. So much for being the leader you can turn to... Obviously, another tack was needed. "Alright, Remy. If that's the way you want it." He regarded the other man curiously. In his haste to get away from Scott's touch, Gambit had left the quilt on the bed along with the rest of the blankets. Now he stood, weight balanced easily on the balls of his feet, looking - for all his comically swaddled form - like a hungry predator, watching his prey. One wrong move and he swoops. "I thought you were cold?"
Gambit realised this at the same time, his body shuddering as he suddenly had to fight to keep on his feet. Still, he continued to glare at Scott, as if blaming him for everything that was wrong here.
And maybe he was right, Scott reflected. Yeah, why don't you antagonise him a little more, Scott. Maybe you'll get lucky and he'll pass out on you. He sighed. "I know you're ill. You know you're ill. But neither of us is going to admit it, are we?"
"Said it jus' fine, homme," Gambit muttered, and was promptly ignored.
"I'm going to tell them downstairs to get started on the dinner. I'll say my hellos and goodbyes and then come up here. I'll bring some turkey with me."
"Yer not welcome, Cyke. I don' wan' you in my room." The growl elicited a sharp look from Scott.
"You'd rather I drag you down to see Hank, kicking and screaming? You don't look like you could hurt Jubilee right now, let alone put up much of a fight against me."
"Oh non, dat be too stupid, neh? After all, Gambit throw you on the floor, no trouble, but he weak as a kitten... Feh. Tu es un salaud, Scott," this, too, probably figuring that Scott didn't speak quite the same French as him.
Scott didn't bat an eyelid. "You call me that again and I'll deck you, LeBeau," he warned quietly, and was gratified to see Gambit tense slightly. In his current state, he was no match for Cyclops, and he knew it. Then again, this isn't a good thing... God. And here I just wanted a nice happy day...
Gambit stared at him for one startled moment, before re-evaluating his playing position.
Not gonna do much to get de Fearless Leader angry, 'xcept make him stay here until he 'makes friends'. Pah. No out o' dis, Remy - get it over wid and get a hot bath. His mind drifted off for a moment... he was still cold.
Although, he suddenly knew what would help warm him up some. And if it came out of Scott's pocket.. all the better. "Un vin rouge, s'il vous plait, homme. If it not too much bother." And that self-assured grin again.
Cyclops blinked at the non-sequiter before catching on that Gambit had agreed to spend some time with him - however reluctantly. Fine. Good. This was what he wanted, yes? A content (although not necessarily happy) team at Christmas. Still - goddamn the man for composing himself so quickly! "A glass or a bottle?" Like he needed to ask.
Gambit shrugged. "A bottle. I don' t'ink one glass be enough for us two drinkers, neh?" He waved in the general direction of the door. "Dat be de way to de kitchen, homme. Go get de wine before Wolverine drink it all."
Cyclops nodded and stood up, dusting himself off. He headed out, pausing at the door. "Remy?"
"Que?"
"Wolverine doesn't drink wine."
Remy nodded and laughed softly, grabbing the quilt and gathering it around his shivering form. "I know, homme. Dat why, if he be here instead o' you, I don' let him come back. La biere - it don' keep you warm."
Part 2
"Is the Cajun gonna see sense or do I have ta beat it into him?" Wolverine took another swig of his beer and regarded the overflowing table with the hunger of a man who hasn't eaten since breakfast.
"No," Jubilee answered for Scott, her look turning to one of glee at being proven right. "Told you you couldn't make him come down!"
"Logan - would you make sure everyone has enough turkey?" Scott ignored her and hunted around in the adjoining kitchen for a bottle of red wine and two glasses. He almost knocked them over, cursing himself for relying on the weak light of the living room rather than turning on the light in the kitchen. It was already dark outside, despite it being only early afternoon (the turkey had taken longer to cook than expected).
"Why? Where are you gonna be, bub?" He took in the image of Scott standing in the doorway, bottle of wine and two glasses in hand, and raised an eyebrow. "You romancin' the Cajun?"
"A moonlit dinner, Scott, that's so romantic!" Jean squealed, oblivious to Scott's almost dirty look. "Why, if you ever did something like that for me, I'd be so flattered! Remy must feel so special..." She grinned at her husband cheekily.
"Ah think you two make a cute couple, considerin'," Rogue managed to contribute, her face brightening a touch.
Whatever comment Scott had been about to make died on his lips. He wasn't sure entirely why, but Rogue's comment had been fine until she'd managed to say 'considering'. Considering what, Rogue? Considering the fact that he should be a dead man?
Self-righteous was something Scott knew he was. He accepted this as a flaw, and occasionally tried to change that aspect of himself. A cold-blooded killer, he had never been. He wasn't entirely sure how to even go about envising the thought processes that would lead him to conclude that someone would have to die. Slowly. Painfully. Knowing, each moment, that their former friends had left them to die alone.
His face tightened for a moemnt. Then, "yeah, what can I say. He wouldn't give it up without dinner and flowers first," he said before his brain kicked in. Idiot! Not only is Jubilee far too young to have heard something like that - now they're gonna tease Gambit! Well, surely the Cajun could stand a little teasing, despite his poor health, right?
Right.
Looking a little shocked at Cyclops actually taking teasing in his stride, Jubilee snatched the centrepiece of the table. "Here! Flowers! I'm sure we can do without..." Everyone - with the notable exception of Rogue - nodded eagerly, expressions of bright anticipation on their faces.
Scott groaned. Oh God.
Remy opened the door to the knocking, not bothering to remove his thirty eight layers of clothing this time. It was only Scott, returning from the living room, several bottles of wine, wine glasses, turkey, roast potatoes, yams, christmas pudding, crackers, napkins and a weird flowery thing Remy assumed to be the table centrepiece in hand.
Remy blinked. He hadn't been aware that Scott had eight hands, all eagerly waving treats at him.
The expression on the Team Leader's face was pained. "Let me in," he whispered desperately.
Remy grabbed one of the bottles of wine and two glasses and went to put them on the bedside table, watching with dismay as Storm, Jubilee, Hank, Jean - even Angel and Wolverine! - all piled into his room, looking him over critically and setting their treats down on the table. So much for keepin' some respect, eh, Gambit? It be lucky if dey let you out on your own apres dis... He put his head in his hands and groaned.
Scott took that as his cue to usher the thankfully so far silent onlookers away.
"Have fun boys!" Jubilee called out over one shoulder as the door closed behind her.
Remy shook his head and tightened the quilt around himself. "Did Gambit mention you're a prick? How could you bring dem all here!" He asked, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Damn Scott anyway, for his 'righteous' lies...
"I didn't 'bring' them. They followed me. And can you please stop over-reacting?" Not the least bit fazed, Scott poured them a glass of wine each and hunted around for the napkins to create a make-shift tablecloth - or floor-cloth, as the case may be. He started setting plates of food down on the floor.
Remy watched him with disbelief written over his face. "What are y' doin'?! An' Gambit not over-reacting, homme! Dis is..." he swept an arm towards the cosy-looking arrangement on the floor. "Dis is... an hallucination!" There. That was the likeliest explanation. Or maybe a dream, it was entirely possible that it was a dream.
Scott cut him some cheese.
A very strange dream. "Can you stop puttin' food out, homme? Gambit not gonna eat wid y'." In fact, Gambit wasn't quite certain why that came out as a tired, plaintive comment rather than the angry growl he'd meant it to come out as. Obviously, he was more tired than he'd thought.
Scott finished setting out the various plates and sat back, arranging himself comfortably against the wall. "Sit down or you'll be sorry," he said pleasantly.
Gambit put up an eyebrow and hugged his duvet closer to him. "Y' come in my room an' t'reaten me, homme. Not wise. I don' want y' here!" He did his best to ignore the fact that food smelled delicious... and hot. Extremely hot. In fact, there was steam rising from the various plates that Scott had uncovered. Still, he was suspicious. It was Christmas Day, for pity's sake! Why on earth would Scott be spending it with him?!
To answer that, Scott tucked into the turkey he'd heaped on his plate. "I'm Team Leader, Remy. I'm supposed to make sure that everyone is safe and happy over the holidays, when we're not fighting for our lives for once. It doesn't do well for my state of mind to know that, while I'm downstairs eating turkey, one of my team is locked in his room freezing to death." Privately, he had severe doubts as to the legitimacy of Remy's claim to be cold. Oh, he had no doubt that the Cajun was feeling more frozen than an icepop, but if he was still suffering from a physiological condition, Hank would never had let him go from the infirmary. Indeed, he'd had a hard time convincing Hank to let go of Remy full stop - the guilt of not going back to the Antarctic to save his patient had weighed heavily on Hank's mind. Obviously, if anything had been wrong, Remy wouldn't have been allowed to sulk in his room alone.
Then again, something obviously was wrong, if not physically, then psychologically. There was no reason that the Cajun should be shaking himself to pieces in a centrally heated building - especially not when he was wrapped up in that many layers of clothing!
The bottom line? He had no choice in this matter. None at all. One of his team was obviously in trouble, and it didn't matter what time of the year it was, he had to help them out.
Even though they obviously didn't want to be helped.
Even though he still had no clue what was wrong.
Even though he wanted to be downstairs, drinking more eggnog than was healthy and generally not being perfect for once.
He helped himself to some more wine.
Gambit watched him with slowly growing amusement. Okay, so Cyclops was obviously having some sort of crisis of conscience. Well... good. He wanted Cyclops to have a crisis of conscience. He didn't like Cyclops that much. But he didn't want this soul searching to be done in his room!
His stomach growled loudly at the smell of barbecue-sauce smothered chicken wings. Sighing his surrender, he sat down cross-legged on the floor opposite Scott and helped himself to some baked potatoes and various meats. "Why'd y' bring all dis up here, homme?"
Scott shrugged. "I figured this might take a while. And I wanted to have an excuse to eat as much as was humanly possible and then say that you ate it instead."
This small joke had the unfortunate effect of almost making Gambit choke. The Cajun swallowed his mouthful quickly, washing it down with wine and trying to keep back the relieved laughter. So, Scott was getting into the Christmas spirit - or, trying to, at any rate. He still needed a fair amount of alcohol in him to get him loosened up, although unless Gambit's nose was lying to him, his esteemed Team Leader had already had vast quantities of eggnog - probably at Logan's insistence.
This might not be so bad after all.
"And that is the true meaning of Christmas!"
Gambit mock-applauded as he sat back, and Scott mock-bowed from the waist up. "Bravo, bravo, mon ami! Dat was truly... bizarre."
Scott grinned in response. "Well, Jubilee was convinced!"
A snicker. "Why can' Gambit picture y' entertaining Jubilee?"
"Jean needed to keep her out of the kitchen while she cooked... and, according to her, I was the only man for the job. It was a challenge to put hair on your chest, she said..." Scott poured himself another drink.
"In ot'er words, y' were conned." Gambit reached over and got his refill. He'd abandoned the duvet cover, at least, as the wine started to take effect and began to burn from the inside. He was still frozen stiff... but at least his shiver reflex had died down. And laughter helped, too. He hadn't realised how chaotic the Xavier household was on Christmas morning, and was suddenly glad that he'd rolled over and gone back to sleep when his alarm clock had woken him up at 7am. Then again, the sight of a harried Scott trying to keep an over-excited Jubilee from getting into everything sounded like something worth getting out of bed for.
"Oh yeah. Wives do that, you know. They threaten you and blackmail you and make you wash up." Scott's nose wrinkled with distaste.
Remy had a sudden vision of Scott wearing an apron and a pair of Marigolds and burst out laughing helplessly.
"What's so funny?" Scott helped himself to some brandy pudding. He was nice and toasty here, the last couple of hours not being quite as terrible as he'd imagined they'd had the potential to be. At least Gambit seemed determined to give this a chance, for which he was grateful. He had not been looking forward to trying to convince a sullen and shaking Cajun to have fun - any kind of fun.
"Not'ing!" Gambit choked, swallowing his drink of wine a lot more quickly than he should. "Jus'... " He trailed off, his laughter fading. "It sounds like..."
"Fun?"
"...oui."
Scott nodded. "We missed you at breakfast, Remy. And at the party last night. Jubilee, in particular, was looking around for some mistletoe with high hopes."
Gambit looked away, obviously uncomfortable with the turn the conversation was taking. "It was cold, den, too."
"Yeah. I thought it might have been." Scott held up the bottle of wine again. "More wine?"
"An' den she asks Gambit 'bout de porcupine!"
Scott was almost helpless with laughter. "What -" he gasped, trying to catch his breath. "What did you tell her?! The truth?!"
The Cajun snorted. "Would Gambit be aroun' after dat?! Non, Gambit come up wit... a good story." His eyes twinkled. "A very good story."
"I bet!"
They'd changed positions during the course of the last hour, Gambit moving to lean back against the headboard of his bed, his blankets still wrapped tightly around himself, his body still wracked with the occasional involuntary shiver. Scott had not commented on the Cajun's apparent need for the blankets, and Gambit had been grateful for that. Intellectually, he knew that he shouldn't be cold - it was plenty warm enough in here. However, his body had other ideas.
He shivered at the thought of having to make do without his blanketed cocoon.
Scott caught the shiver, and frowned a little disjointedly. He then set down his glass of wine carefully and held out his arms.
Remy stared at him as if he'd just grown another head. "Que?"
"Come over 'ere," Scott said, managing to hiccup at the same time. His eyes widened at the hiccup, but he somehow managed to keep his face straight.
Realisation dawned on Remy. "You're drunk!"
"'M not drunk," Scott insisted. "I'm here to make sure you're content but miserable." Well, that doesn't sound right...
"T'anks, Remy t'ink he can manage that all on his own, homme." He took another sip from his wine. "How many drinks did you have before you came up here, anyway?"
Scott shrugged. "Eggnog. And... wine. And some beer. And... eggnog."
Remy stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Mon Dieu! No wonder you tried to hug Gambit! Ah, homme, if you'd told Gambit dat you be drunk, he been much easier on you..."
"'M not drunk! I don't get drunk." He seemed very proud of this fact. "I was just concerned that you weren't feeling well."
Gambit looked amused. "An' you t'ought dat hittin' on Remy would improve his mood, non?"
"I wasn't hitting on you!" He was outraged. Outraged!
"Ah, so why you offer t' hug me again, hmm, homme?"
"Uh... warmth. Marine Survival Guides and other things like that had a lot of stuff on keeping warm. Not my problem if you're too much of a dick and read into it things I didn't mean." He gave up on the 'holding his arms out in the manner of a father, pope, elder brother or similar', and looked around for something to do with them. He tried to take another sip of his wine, frowning when he found his glass unaccountably empty. He opened the third bottle. Bless Jean for bringing up three more bottles of wine! Just the one bottle between them wouldn't have accomplished much...
Gambit rolled his eyes. "Remy don' read into things, mon ami. Are you sure dat you don' try anythin'?"
Cyclops scowled at him. "Yes, I'm quite sure, and thank you for making me feel completely repulsive."
"Remy don' - You're not..." He paused, appearing befuddled. Normally, the bottle of wine he'd consumed wouldn't have had much of an effect on him... but he hadn't eaten for more than a day (Jean had banned everyone from the kitchen while the cooking was being done, and no way was he leaving the house in that cold!) and hadn't had that much alcohol in a long while. Besides which, there was now a whole lot less of him than there had used to be. His head felt fuzzy.
"You're not - repulsive," he managed to say at last, very carefully.
Scott snorted. "Right. That's why you've kept more than four feet away from me during this entire conversation... Jesus, Remy not everyone is trying to hit on you, you know!" He scowled for effect. Damn that arrogant Cajun! He wasn't that much of a God's gift...
Remy stared at him open-mouthed for a moment. Damn Scott for his arrogance! What did he know about it? His eyes narrowed angrily. "Gambit... see, homme."
"What do you see?" He was busy trying to pour himself another glass of wine without spilling any.
Gambit reached over and plucked the bottle from his fingers, very carefully setting it to one side. "Gambit see dat you don' know what it like, to be him."
"You mean apart from the cigarette-breath?" Strange that it didn't bother him, smelling earthy and male rather than objectionable. Strange that the demon-eyes burning mere inches from him didn't bother him. Strange that he didn't object when Remy touched his cheek gently.
Strange that he'd lean into the touch, letting the Cajun cradle his head, closing his eyes tiredly. His head span from the alcohol. Great job, Scott. Come up here for a pep talk and get drunk instead. The behaviour of a 'together' leader, this is not. But he could forget that for just a while, right? After all, it was Christmas. And Remy obviously didn't seem to be suffering from anything horrible and immediate...
Then, all of a sudden, the hand was gone, and so was Gambit, leaning back to where he sat. Crimson eyes burned hotly at him. "You still t'ink dat Gambit don' have to deal wid unwanted attention?"
Scott found himself a little out of breath and a little disorientated from the sudden change and the realisation that something other than alcohol had been acting on him. Not angry, though. Much. He's showing you something. Do not freak, or he'll clam up again. "That was - unwanted attention?"
"Non. Dat was Gambit provin' a point, homme. Remy... blockin' best he can. Take a lot of effort." Which was probably why he felt so exhausted and so affected by the wine. He was concentrating on blocking the charm power so much that his head hurt. "If Gambit can' block it enough... sometimes dere be trouble."
Scott's forehead creased. "And why didn't you tell me this before?"
Gambit shrugged. "What could you do? Apart from lock Gambit in de house..."
"Apart from that, yes..." He sighed. Damn. Looked like this was more complicated than he'd thought. If Gambit was tired, he wouldn't be able to control his charm power, which meant that he couldn't trust anyone to not attempt... something. No wonder he had been reluctant to leave his room! "You have a problem with... unwanted attention often?" The X-Men would have to be more vigilant from now on; he wasn't letting anyone near --
Gambit's hand snaked around his throat so quickly that Scott didn't even realise what was happening until his air was cut off. "You do not'ing, homme, we clear on dat?" His fingers tightened. "Gambit won' be treated like a helpless chile! I deal wit dis!"
Jesus Christ! "'K," Scott agreed immediately, mentally conceding the fact that Gambit was not the type to need people to take care of him. And shame on you for assuming otherwise. This is Gambit, remember? He's not exactly helpless - and you're not going to get anywhere if you carry on treating him as such. He sighed and raised a hand to rub at his throat when Gambit finally released him with an angry look. Okay, so he could have been angry at this second assault. Maybe he should have been.
Then again, I'd have been just as annoyed if someone asked whether I needed an escort! Scott managed a smile. "You're not being overly friendly here, you know? Three times, now, you've managed to have me at your mercy." He smirked slightly.
Gambit appeared puzzled. "Gambit only hit you twice."
"Yes - but you nearly kissed me once. I'd say that that counts as having me at your mercy." What am I saying??? This is how you intend to bond with him?!
A frown. "You bein' awfully... not like yourself, Cyke. You sure you okay?"
Scott laughed, a trifle unsteadily. No, I'm not okay. I think if I move I might redecorate your room. I also think that I'm going to wish I was dead tomorrow morning. Still, it irked that Gambit assumed he couldn't loosen up, even a little bit. "Just how much of a tight-ass do you think I am, anyway?" At Gambit's answering grin, he groaned. "Okay, poor choice of words. Er... stuck up? No, that's even worse..." No more wine. Ever!
"Having a rod up your ass?" Gambit suggested, straight-faced.
Oh God... Scott was laughing helplessly by now. "Just don't use that one around Jean, I don't think I'll survive it if she figures out what you mean!" He shook his head. "Seriously. I'm not quite that... aaaah..." he tried to think of a non innuendo-loaded expression, then gave up. "Not quite so much of a jerk with a rod up his ass. Not always, at any rate." He took another sip of his wine. Okay, just a little bit more wine... Well, if he could get Gambit to open up, just a little bit, a few questionable moments were okay, right? You can't make an omelette without killing a dog -- his brow furrowed. I'm sure that's not right...
Gambit shrugged. "Je suis desole, den, Scott."
Scott's eyes widened momentarily as he refocused on the conversation; Gambit didn't - simply didn't - call him by his name. It just didn't happen. Ever. "Sorry? Why are you sorry?"
"Remy t'ought you were. You always... come down hard on everythin'."
Scott shrugged. "I care about my team. I want them to be safe. Whatever it takes." Although I draw the line at public displays of affection.
Suddenly, Gambit stiffened slightly, his hands tightening on the sole blanket he still clutched. "Is dis what you're doing here, den, Cyke? Makin' sure Gambit don' die on you while you not paying attention?" His tone was very soft.
Cyclops sighed. Well... yes. But when you put it like that, it somehow sounds... ulterior. "I'm not going to win this one, am I?" He watched him for a moment. "You're still cold."
"Non, Gambit, he not --"
"Remy." The tone brooked no dissension. "You're practically shaking yourself to pieces with rage. I don't hate you." He held out his arms again. What am I doing?! "Come here." Evidently the think first, act later approach has been abandoned... Not that that had ever worked on Gambit. Keep him off balance. Startle him. Shake him up.
"Don' treat me like a chile!" Gambit tried to scramble to his feet.
Cyclops' hand lashed out and fixed with blinding accuracy around his wrist. "I didn't!" No, sometimes children can be dealt with without resorting to the tried and tested method of 'get drunk and bond'. I am so going to regret this when my hangover kicks in... "I just said you looked cold." Actually, you look like death warmed over, but let's not quibble over the details, eh? "I'm not going to try anything Remy, and I think I can bear your damned charm power for long enough to get you a little bit warmer." Please please please please keep the charm power under control, I don't think my ego could take another humiliating blow...
Gambit just blinked at him.
Scott sighed. "Let's ignore the fact that that sounded like a blatant pass at you, shall we?" He released his hold on Gambit's wrist. "I'm not asking you for anything, and I'm not offering anything except body heat." Right, and that didn't sound like a pass at him? Oh my God... "And you were looking for heat, yes?" He indicated the empty wine bottles with a nod of his head. Well, probably not the kind of heat you have in mind, Scott, and oh my God, could my thoughts get any more disturbing?!
Remy shook his head quickly. "Not from you!"
"And, precisely, is wrong with me?" You mean apart from the fact that you've been acting strange enough to warrant a 'brainwashing' check? Nothing, Scotty, nothing at all...
Another shake. "You don'... you don' do t'ings like dis! Ever!"
At least he's been paying attention. Scott shrugged, keeping his face straight with an effort. "So I'm getting into the Christmas spirit, and I'm pretty drunk as well. You don't see this very often... and I can't guarantee that I'll be in this giving a mood tomorrow."
Gambit raised an eyebrow. "Remy don' take charity."
"And I'm not offering any." His arms were beginning to ache. "Are you going to sit down, or do you plan on wasting all your body heat?" The entire conversation felt surreal. He was not sitting here discussing Gambit's body heat, surely...
Gambit thought about this for a moment, and then sat down, very carefully, next to his fellow X-Man.
Scott rolled his eyes. Great. "I thought you knew all about surviving." He crossed his legs loosely, and sighed at Gambit's suspicious look. "Don't look at me like that, you know as well as I do the best positions for sharing body heat. This is straight out of the survival guide. Now get your ass here."
"Jus' my ass?" Gambit muttered, but complied, sitting down carefully in the space sectioned off by Scott's legs and pulling off the blanket and his thick poloneck. Scott took the blanket and wrapped it around both of them. "Dis is ridiculous."
"You mean you feel ridiculous."
"Oui. Remy's not..." He paused. "I'm not really cold."
Scott rubbed his forearms. "Maybe not. But you feel cold, and that's enough for me."
Gambit twisted around in his grip. "Why is dis makin' me feel like I'm a l'il babe in arms?" he asked plainly.
"I'm not going to make the obvious comment there. 'Sides, it's my job to make you feel three inches tall." And you're doing a pretty good job on that account. Well, if Gambit was just after heat, period, he could have just turned the heating on to the max, right? Or flown out to Hawaii. Or something. No, obviously something else was wrong...
Gambit laughed sourly at this, but reluctantly pressed back a little, wrapping himself more fully in the embrace. "You realise how dis look to anyone else?" He asked, meaning, of course, 'you realise how this'll look to Jean?'
Scott wrapped his arms around the still-shivering form. "Jean's a telepath; there's no such thing as cheating on her, and she knows it." Gambit was still shaking - from the cold or from his apparent extreme aversion to this proximity. Just what are you hiding now? "Besides which, all anyone else will simply assume that we're having an affair."
"Oh, my reputation, my poor, battered reputation! How will Gambit ever recover from dis!" Gambit moaned theatrically.
A grin surfaced at that. At least he hasn't lost his sense of humour. Not that that was necessarily a good thing... "Your damned reputation is already up a creek without a paddle; there ain't no saving you. No one will ever assume the innocent explanation with you ever again," Scott told him bluntly, quirking an eyebrow at the small joke.
Gambit stilled.
"What?"
"Dat's why I t'ought you might be hittin' on me," he confessed after a moment. "'Cause of my reputation." He didn't sound like he was at all happy about that.
"You thought I was looking for a quick and discrete fuck?"
A quick nod.
"I'm flattered by your faith in me." Sarcasm and hurt made his words harsher than they had been intended to be.
Gambit pulled away slightly, twisting around to glare at him. "Hey! I not de one leavin' members o' de team in Antarctica an' den huggin' dem for no reason! What Remy supposed to t'ink, 'xcpt you wan' payment for lettin' me stay here?"
Scott froze. "What?"
Gambit tried to pull away sullenly, Scott's arms tightening automatically in response. "Let go, Cyke, or you get hit."
"No. And don't hit me, I won't like it. What did you say? You thought I wanted payment?!" Jesus, how fucked up are you?! A sudden, more frightening thought struck. And what kind of people have you had to deal with to lead you to this 'natural' conclusion?
Gambit shrugged. "If you didn', Cyke, why you here? And why you huggin' me?"
"To keep you warm, goddamn it! You think there's not a fair amount of guilt involved for me too?" His voice grated on his ears, suddenly, sounding harsh and damaged. There's more than one kind of cold, Remy, and you're obviously not going to go for the psychical kind. What was I supposed to do, just wait around until you wasted away or got yourself killed? What kind of man do you take me for? "You think I don't regret what happened - regret making a mistake like that?" It was hard to admit his fallibility, but he managed it somehow. It had been his mistake - no matter than someone else on the team may have committed the actual wrong, he was in charge of them all. His mistake, and he had to admit to it.
Gambit choked on whatever it was he had been going to say at his admission. "You - you made a mistake?"
"You think I wasn't sorry?"
"You made a mistake?" Gambit still didn't appear able to get over this fact.
Scott shrugged, and pressed his head back against the wall. "It happens. I thought I was doing it for the best of the team. I thought you were lost somewhere... I didn't know that Rogue --" He trailed off.
"Left me t' die."
A pause. "Yeah."
"She down dere?" Gambit asked softly.
Scott sighed. "Yes. I don't know... I don't know what she was thinking at the time... and I can't say anything about it myself." He rubbed Gambit's forearms again, noting distantly that the Cajun had goosebumps. Whatever it is that was making him feel cold was obviously not completely in his mind. "I can just try and get you warm now... get you back on your feet and healthy."
Gambit stiffened. "Like Remy say... dis charity."
"No. It's amends. There's a difference. Now will you just relax, for crying out loud?!"
"Fine." Despite his words, he stayed stiff and unyielding.
"What?" Scott sounded exasperated.
"I wan' hear it."
"Hear what?"
"I wan' hear you apologise."
Scott stayed still for a moment. Well, he apologised - damn near paid with his life - for what he did... The difference being that what Gambit had done, he'd had no clue would result in the Morlocks' deaths. What Scott had done... he'd known full well that he was leaving his team-mate to die. He deserved an apology. "I'm sorry we left you. I'm sorry we didn't trust you, and I'm sorry that we didn't forgive you when it wasn't our place to judge." Especially when we've all been manipulated by that bastard! His arms tightened, pulling Gambit closer to him. "And I'm very, very glad that you're alive, Remy."
There was the briefest feeling of gratitude from the Cajun, probably sent along psionically, then... amusement? "Yes, Remy feel how glad you are, homme."
Scott squirmed, and tried to stifle the embarrassed grin that threatened to emerge. Trust Gambit to dodge the awkward moments by making them even more awkward! . "You had to ruin this perfectly good moment, didn't you?" He had personally been hoping that Gambit would choose to ignore Scott's automatic reaction to have a warm, wriggling body in his lap. Apparently not. At least the Cajun didn't seem too offended by it. Thank God for small mercies!
"Me? I not de one sittin' dere wid dat. I be de one sittin' wid it diggin' in my back."
"So shift, then."
Gambit did so, turning slightly so that his head was pillowed on Scott's shoulder, his hips no longer touching Scott in the least.
"Better?"
"Yes. But now Remy feel ten years old, homme."
"Quit complaining. If you'd told Hank that you were having a reaction to the cold, we could have avoided this whole fiasco."
"Ddin' wan' to. An' anyway, den I would have missed hittin' you wit de charm power."
Scott shrugged easily. "I know it's in your head, but it's still affecting you, and -- did you just admit to hitting on me?!" His voice squeaked a little on the last word, and he made a deep sound, somewhere in between a sigh and a grunt, to cover it up.
"No, Remy admit to sittin' in your lap and squirmin' for no reason." He could hear the grin in that voice.
"Brat. And there you were complaining about my reaction... I didn't dare mention the squirming!"
"I'm not a brat; brats are childer, homme. And you didn' mention de squirmin' 'cause you hope I carry on." Gambit said smugly.
Scott laughed. "Dream on. I'm married, remember?"
"Hey, I not de one offerin' to hug any random homme left t' die."
"But not just any random man, Remy, you're special." He smiled against Remy's hair, knowing that the Cajun would be able to feel it.
Gambit snickered. "Did I mention you're much more fun when you're drunk, eh, Cyke?"
Scott picked up his glass of wine again to take a another cautious sip. "Don't let it get around - it'll ruin my reputation as a hard-ass."
"I can' tell from dis position."
The wine went down very quickly indeed to prevent Scott from choking on it. As it was, it went down the wrong way anyway and he spent a moment breathless. "Shush you, an' stop using that charm power. You're distracting."
"Sorry homme... but Remy blockin' it. Dat ain't no charm power."
Oh... shit. "Then stop squirming, or whatever it is you're doing."
"Dat sounds like de Cyke I know."
"Very funny. I'm not always that hard on you."
Pause. "Dere ain't no safe way t' answer dat!"
"You're incorrigible."
"Dat's why you tried to kill me." Remy sounded surprisingly smug for all his harsh words.
With a sinking feeling, Scott realised that he'd just handed his team-mate the ultimate shield - his team's betrayal. If this wasn't addressed right now, the resentment would grow until Gambit simply couldn't take it to be around any of them anymore. Privately, Scott was amazed that he'd been as civil as he had been. Guilt, again. He'd take the blame for the entire world, if he could.
Quite apart from that, it was also an effective blocking tactic. If Remy didn't want to talk about something, all he'd have to do was make an oblique reference to Antarctica, and the subject would be dropped. Childish, yes, but also effective. And Scott wasn't going to stand for it.
Grabbing a handful of the surprised Cajun's hair, he yanked Remy's head back to stare, angry, into his eyes. "I'm only going to say this once more. I didn't try to kill you! The X-Men didn't try to kill you. Your problem with Rogue you will have to work out with her, but the X-Men are very, very sorry that this fiasco happened. And we- I - am very, very glad that you're alive."
Remy stared at him, more than a little surprised at the fierce words. "I believe you, Cyke."
"Really."
"Remy know. Believe you."
"No, really." What was he doing?! He was getting angry at Remy for being flippant, and then being flippant himself? Great, just ... great.
"Remy know, Cyke, an'..." He paused, catching the involuntary twinkle in Scott's eyes. "Merde, Cyke, tu es un salaud!"
Scott shrugged. "And you've been walking around like you expected us to turn into flesh-eating zombies at any second. Your point?"
They stared at each other for a long moment.
"Turn off the charm power, Remy," Scott said softly.
Gambit's voice was drowsy and rough. "It not on, cher."
"Thought so," Scott whispered, and leaned in for the kiss anyway.
Part 3
They came up for air roughly three years later, or, at least, that's what it felt like. Their lips still brushed against each other when they finally opened their eyes, looking a little bit startled.
"I'm a dead man," Scott said after a small pause. His lips spelled the words out against Remy's mouth.
The Cajun snickered. "Serves you right for havin' a telepathic wife, Cyke. Should be free an' single, like Remy here."
"Just because I don't consort with murderous women..."
"You talk dat way about all de women on de team?"
"No, just Rogue..."
"Should she feel flattered?"
"Probably not. Now shut up for a minute, would you?"
"Yessir!"
"Now you follow orders..."
Remy grinned and opened his mouth, his tongue emerging to lick at Scott's lower lip. His breath was hot, his kisses spicy with wine. Scott groaned, feeling Remy smile ferally against him. Remy's teeth dove in to play a second later, nipping their way across the strong lines of Scott's jaw, pausing to let Remy lap wetly when he reached the hollow of Scott's throat.
"Uh... that's not where my mouth is, Gambit..."
"You complainin'?" A sharp nip, just below the Adam's apple.
Scott swallowed nervously. "No... not at all. Just... carry on."
"Will do." He tipped his face up for a kiss anyway, teasing Scott's tongue out. "You know, homme, I don' break dat easy... y' can use yer tongue..."
"Brat," Scott said, doing just that.
Remy sucked on the tip of his tongue for a moment, before pulling away to give him a blinding smile. "Salaud."
"Bite your tongue."
"Do it for me."
Despite his best intentions, Scott laughed out loud at that one. Remy continued to grin, nibbling on exposed bits of skin. "You watch too much Buffy."
A quick shrug. "She's cute."
"You're sick." He kissed him again to prove it.
Remy smirked and pulled away again, ignoring Scott's frustrated moan. "An' you're kissin' de man you hate an' nearly had killed. Let's be sick togeder."
"You're not gonna let up on that whole 'we left you to die' thing, are you?"
"I'm gonna milk it for all it's worth."
"Shoulda wrung your neck when I had the chance." And what a nice neck it is, too... Jesus, what was he thinking?! Kissing was one thing, looking at the play of muscles in the neck, sloping down into chest and shoulders, was something completely different. It was like... like... well, scoping. Bad. Wrong. Evil.
Remy, of course, didn't seem to be restraining himself in admiring Scott's form. Evidently, the hollow at the base of Scott's throat held special fascination for the Cajun. "As I recall, you never had de chance, cher." He nipped.
It elicited a shiver, and Scott shifted impatiently to cover it up. "That explains why you're still alive, then."
"You always talk dis much when you're kissing?"
me?! He's one to talk! "Only with you --"
"-- 'cause I'm special, oui, I know."
"Brat." A kiss on his nose.
Remy growled at the gesture, pushing himself up bodily to bite the tip of Scott's nose in retribution. "Salaud."
"Are we back to that again?"
"Oui."
"Best shut you up, then."
"Oui."
"This is where you kiss me."
"Oui." Lick.
Growl. "Do you always have to have the last word?"
Pause. Lick. "Oui."
Some time later, they'd fallen asleep, still cuddled in the same position as before. Scott's arms were flung around the sleeping form sitting in his lap, a head pillowed against his shoulder.
Jean stuck her head around the door. Oooooh!
Jubilee's head followed. "Ooooh!"
"Shhhh!" Logan's hand clamped over Jubilee's mouth. "Don't wake them."
She struggled free. "Why?" She whispered back.
"I need to get a picture of this first."
They got their blackmail material and quietly tiptoed out.
Jean hung around for a few extra seconds, taking in the easy embrace the two were sharing. Aaaaah! It was sweet. Of course, if Scott had 'heard' that, he wouldn't have found it especially funny. Maybe he'd have worried about what she would think about him being found this, ahem, 'compromising' situation... but Jean was not an insecure woman. Even here, his love for her seemed to fairly radiate off him, sending warm waves crashing over her.
Of course, he didn't seem to mind the warm body asleep in his lap, either.
At that moment, Scott shifted slightly, and Remy immediately moved with him, allowing himself to be more fully embraced. His left leg moved over to be thrown over Scott's thigh, and Jean gaped. Ooooooh... my.
A whole new world had been opened up for her mental Rolodex.
A couple of hours later Remy woke to a hell of a hangover. That, however, was a secondary consideration in his opinion - because he also woke up feeling remarkably warm. Even if his neck was frozen in a weird position. All in all, though, considering the amount of heat around, he didn't think that it was too bad a way to wake up.
That is, until he tried to stretch. There was someone wrapped around him.
This, in itself, wasn't too unusual. What was unusual was that this someone had strong, defined biceps... strong, defined thighs, wrapped around him... a strong, defined chest pressed against him... and glasses on a face that had stubble.
Stubble. Glasses. Strong, defined... "Merde!!"
He back-pedalled furiously, throwing himself backwards and landing on his ass with a thump. He stared at the wakening Scott with complete mortification. Oh, merde merde merde! Mon Dieu, could I have done anyt'ing more stupid?!
"Wha-- what the -- fuck!"
Ah. Scott was awake.
They stared at each other, horror evident. "Did - did we --" Scott's voice wavered.
"Non. Still... still clothes on. Jus'... jus' passed out, Gambit t'ink." Thank God he sounded relatively normal.
Scott relaxed a touch at that, letting his head thump against the wall. "I'm a dead man," he singsonged.
Remy frowned. "T'anks a lot, cher. We only kissed, and it weren't dat bad!" He had the worst feeling in his stomach.
"No - I mean..." He shook his head. "Jean, remember? She'll know..."
"What? Dat we got drunk an' kissed? Big deal. Gambit t'ink she'd enjoy dat, mon ami." I know I did! The bad feeling was getting worse. 'Ere it comes...
Scott threw him a dirty look. "No, you idiot. She'll know that it wasn't just kissing I was thinking about doing..."
That gave Gambit pause. "Dis... eh..." He stopped and tried again. Say what? "Dis not what I expected de morning after ta be like, homme."
"What did you expect? Complete denial, mixed in with a dash of homophobia?"
"Eh..." He shrugged. Best offer the truth. "Oui."
A snort. "Once again, I'm flattered by your opinion of me."
"Hey, it not much worse dan your opinion o' me." He really didn't want to go there. He really didn't want to be having this conversation.
"And just what is that?"
Remy sighed. "Whore."
Scott stared at him in shock. "You're joking. You don't seriously think that I'd --"
"Dat you'd what?" Gambit snapped. "Dat you'd t'ink Remy a whore 'cause he kissed you?"
"Would you stop referring to yourself in the third person! I do not think you're a whore - the only person's behaviour I'm having trouble dealing with at the moment is mine! I'm fucking married!" He choked back a laugh. "Jesus, what a mess."
Your behaviour...? Maybe he'd underestimated the 'fearless leader'. It didn't look like Scott was bearing him any grudge... Gambit regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, a wicked smile flitting across his face. "Hey, Cyke?"
"What, Remy?"
He smirked. "You kiss well."
Scott glanced up at him. "No offence - but that wasn't a compliment I was ever hoping to hear coming from you."
Gambit's smirk grew wider. "You sure, cher?"
"Yeah, rub it in, why don't you."
"T'anks, I was planning on doing dat anyway, but it nice to have permission."
Scott groaned. "I try and do a guy a favour..." Gambit's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline and Scott caught himself. "The heat-giving thing, not the... you know what I mean!"
"Do I, homme? Why don' you tell me what you mean." Gambit was suddenly very close again, his lower lip still redded from the kisses. His hair was mussed around his shoulders, a thick strand falling over his brow.
Scott had a feeling that his own face bore similar marks, and that he looked just as rumpled. Great. Now I have to sort myself out before I see Jean... not that she won't see guilt written all over me! He was not looking forward to that confrontation. "Uh... Remy..." He leaned back until he was flush with the wall. "Uh, we can't blame the alcohol anymore..."
"Gambit not planning to blame de alcohol at all, cher. Jus' planning on blaming your ass."
"What's wrong with my ass?" Why didn't he want to know the answer to that question?
"It still clothed."
"Jesus!" He laughed and Remy joined in. "You had me for a minute!"
Remy smiled lazily, trailing a finger boldly up Scott's thigh. "Only a minute, homme? Not enough time..."
Scott laughed. "You're impossible." He leaned in quickly, getting past a startled Gambit's defences, pushing him backwards until Gambit ended up on his back, with Scott crouching over him. Scott kissed him, very quickly but very firmly, then laughed again and got to his feet, offering Gambit a hand up. "There might still be some hot food left downstairs. What say we go and get ourselves some before they finish it off?"
Gambit accepted the hand up and stood. "Sounds good to Gambit, homme. Gambit not eaten in... four hours!" His eyes widened comically.
A pause, while Scott looked him over with deliberate relish. "I have no idea where you put it all."
That brought about a wink. "Gambit t'ink you know exactly where he put it all. Maintenant - manger! Avec... un vin rouge, Gambit t'ink..." He grabbed the empty wine glasses and the empty plates.
"Then he thinks too much! No more wine for you..." Scott took it upon himself to carry the four empty bottles of wine to prove his statement.
"Jus' wait 'til your hangover kick in, homme, den we see who be headin' for de wine." He sniffed disdainfully.
"I think I'd like a head massage then..."
Remy stared. "Scott..."
"What?"
"Gambit does not t'ink so!"
"And you say I'm harsh!"
"Shhhhh. We shared a moment, homme. Don' spoil it." He swatted Scott on the shoulder as best he could, trying not to drop any of the crockery.
"We shared a moment?!" Horrified expression. "No, say it ain't so!"
"Gambit can see de wine has not worn off yet. You still have a sense o' humour."
"Keep that up, and I'll assign you to guard detail."
"Aaaaah, non, you can'. Sick leave, remember?"
"You seem pretty healthy to me."
"Do you make it a habit to watch my ass, mon ami?"
Scott rolled his eyes. This is like having an argument with a horny teenager. Everything you say leads back to innuendo. He smiled. Lead me not into temptation; I can find it all by myself..."Must you always have the last word?"
"Oui."
"Brat."
"Salaud." He kicked the door open and held it like that with his shoulder.
Scott got through the doorway somehow, the four empty bottles in his arms notwithstanding, and started down the stairs. "Can we not start this up again?" He mock-whispered. "It led to kissing and we can't do that in front of people."
"Can' do at all, you're married, homme," Remy whispered back, just as theatrically.
"Yeah. That too."
Snigger.
"What?!"
"Not'ing."
"Brat."
"Salaud."
"Christ." Unless he was very much mistaken, this would kill him, very quickly indeed.
"Close, but not quite."
Case in point. "I give up."
"Finally."
"Gambit - shut up!"
"Certainement." He grinned. Then, softer, "hey, Scott?"
"What?"
"T'anks - I don'..." he paused. "I don' feel quite so cold, maintenant."
Scott smiled at that. "You're welcome, Remy. Just don't expect it to happen every time you catch a chill."
"Gambit not dream of it, mon ami."
Groan. "Christ, you do always have to have the last word!"
"Oui."
fin