I'm not real certain when I'd made my decision, but it seemed like a perfectly natural inevitability. Of course I'm was going to have sex with a certain handsome, red-eyed Cajun. Of course. It just took a while for this realization to slap me in the face, and then I had to screw up my courage to make it happen.
What? You think this is going to be an easy thing for me to do, just because I'm a hot, horny, twenty-one year old virgin who just so happens to know a gorgeous man-whore like Gambit? Well, it's not going to be that simple, you see. One, I still have my power, it still sucks, and I still have like, less than zero control over it. Two, Gambit, like everyone else, is a bit skittish of said power. I mean, who can blame him? At its worst, my skin can kill you. At its best, it'll merely leave you incapacitated for a time, but pretty much rape your soul-I'll take your memories, your emotions, your thoughts, even your personality, and worse yet, I'll keep it with me forever. People like Gambit don't give a shit about the dying part, it's the soul-stealing part that pulls 'em up. Think about it. He spent his childhood on the streets doing God only knows what to survive, and then was adopted into a crime syndicate and polished into a professional criminal, you think he wants me knowing anymore about his past than I already do?
Anyway, three, I ain't after a one night stand. No, I'm not looking for a romantic relationship with him (or anyone, really), more of a friends with benefits type situation. I don't think it's terribly fair to get romantically involved with anyone without first controlling my power and growing a bit more into myself, so casual is cool. I'm just not interested in a series of one night stands, I'd rather go for a guy I know, one I'm comfortable with, and for God's sake, one who knows what he's doing. Which makes Gambit nearly perfect, except that he's definitely one night stand material, unless the sex is good enough to keep him interested. Which brings me to four, that man isn't exactly having a hard time getting laid, and he'll take a chick with experience and who knows how to keep up with him over one with none of that. Further, I know I ain't the hottest chick he knows, has known, or will know, so there's the possibility he'll just consider sex with me a total pain in the ass.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not down on myself. I'm just stating facts and owning my own nervousness here. Especially since I'm like, thisclose to approaching him. As we speak, I'm at a club, and I've just spotted him at the bar. I don't think he's noticed me yet, since he's got a couple of attractive women vying for his attention. I pause for a moment, chewing my lip. Both women are quite beautiful, both tall, curvacious types, one with wavy blond hair and honey-kissed skin, the other with a chocolate and cream pie coloring. Both have their impressive figures on display, with lots of cleavage, a bit of midriff showing, and jeans that perfectly flaunted curvy hips and long legs. Both women were flirting and having a good time, postures and expressions making a clear invitation to the ridiculously good looking Cajun who was eating it all up.
That's what I'm up against, y'all. I mean, I look damn good, and I know it, but those two, especially the brunette, blow me out of the water. Again, not down on myself, just stating facts. Where those women are tall and lush of breast, hip, and thigh, I'm of average height, with a figure honed by long hours of combat training, gym workouts, and careful eating. Sure, I've got some hips and boobs, but my rather intense, physical occupation keeps those curves trim and tight rather than full and soft. Where their clothing is showing off tons of perfect skin, mine shows practically none out of necessity, and looks perhaps prudish in comparison (I personally don't think so, but he's definitely one of those who thinks less is best when it comes to women and their clothes). Where their faces are model-perfect, with flawless make up, and smooth, perfect complexions, mine is an odd mix of sharp angles and soft features, nearly bare faced (save the smudged black liner and mascara), and chapped lips that I attempted to smooth over with red tinted chapstick. In other words, not flawless and smooth, guys.
Anyway, whatever. It's now or nothing, I'm not giving him a chance to slip off with either (or both, who knows?) woman tonight. And damn, that man looks good. I really could just lick him up. Tonight, he's wearing a dark violet button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, tucked into dark jeans, and finished off with a black belt and black shoes. Everything is fitted and shows off his long, lean body to perfection. Of course, Gambit could wear a potato sack and still look like sex on legs, he's just that fucking hot.
I saunter casually over to the bar, a couple of stools away from him, give him a smirk and a wave. He acknowledges me with an easy grin and nod. I then proceed to ignore him in favor of ordering a shot. All I needed to do was let him know I'm here, he'll come talk to me soon enough. Besides, I know it's a losing game, trying to worm my way in amongst the competition on either arm right now; better to get him alone.
After taking my shot of rum, I readily took the first cute guy's invitation to dance, leaving the girls to enjoy Gambit a bit longer. I smile up at the guy I'm dancing with, a good looking Mexican with curly hair and friendly eyes. He smiles back, maybe thinking he might have scored.
Sure enough, two songs, and another dance partner later, I feel a hand slide over my hip, pulling me back against a tall, hard body. A whiff of cigarettes, whiskey, and expensive cologne hit my nose, and I smile. "Gambit."
"Cherie. Haven't seen you in a while, where you been hidin'?"
I can't help the little shiver up my spine at the sound of his voice in my ear as we start dancing. At an earlier time, I would've denied that little zip of pleasure ever happened, but given my mission tonight, I revel in it. "Had a rough coupla months, so was kinda layin' low for a bit. What about you? You've been quiet lately, too."
"Mm-hmm. I been here and there, stayin' busy. Mostly out of town. Since when you start comin' out to play? Ain't never seen you out."
I shrug. "Like I said, rough coupla months, figured I needed a bit of fun."
"Hmmm." His hand slides up my hip, skips over the inch or so of exposed skin at my midriff, and traces up the flare of my ribs.
We finish up the song in silence, mostly because the noise was loud enough to make hearing difficult. After the song was through, he turned me to face him. "Lemme me buy ya a drink, chere. Can't talk out here, anyway."
I nod, allowing him to grab my hand and pull me through the crowd to the bar. After we got our drinks, he looks over at me. "You look good, cherie. 'Specially for someone who had it rough for a spell."
I acknowledge the compliment with a small smile. "While you were havin' fun down in New Orleans, I took out Apocalypse," I reply, taking a drink of my beer.
He just watches me, those bright eyes flaring. "Took on Apocalypse, huh?" He lights up a cigarette, never looking away from me. "Always knew you was a bad bitch, chere."
I snort at him, well aware that he wasn't answering my unasked question about what happened down in New Orleans after I left him there. "You don't even know the half of it, Cajun." I decide to needle him a bit. "How's ya daddy doin'?"
He grunts, taking another drag off his cigeratte. "Same as always. Not interested in me so far as he needs me." He slides me an appraising look, eying me up for a second. "Damn near married me off."
I splutter for a minute. That was unexpected, and just might fuck up my plans with him. He patiently waits for me to regain my wits, an amused expression on his face. "Is that so?" I finally manage.
"Yup."
"So, 'damn near' means he wasn't successful, right?" I ask him carefully. I wasn't aware of any love interest in his life when I'd left him down in New Orleans, but that didn't necessarily mean anything.
He snorts. "Yeah. But dodgin' that bullet cost me." He cocks his head and gives me a thoughtful look. "Sorry I kidnapped ya back then, cherie."
Surprised at his sudden change of topic, I blink at him. "You are?"
He shrugs. "Well, sorry for usin' ya, anyway. It was a wasted effort on my end." His lip twitches. "Not sorry for sweepin' ya off your feet and forcin' ya to enjoy yourself and my company for a time, though."
I roll my eyes at him. "That's a sorry-not-sorry if I ever heard one." He opens his mouth to reply, but I cut him off. "But listen, that ain't neither here nor there, and it ain't what I want to talk about."
His turn to blink owlishly at me.
I take a deep breath and a long swig of my beer, and then turn on my stool to face him. "See, I got this thing goin' on, and I want your help. You know I still can't control my power, right?" At his nod, I continue, "well, it ain't lookin' too good right now."
I pause, taking another drink. He's quiet, waiting for me to spit it all out. "Thing is, I'm kinda tired of doin' things the way I've been doin' 'em, I want change." I can already feel the flames all over my face now. Cursing my fair complexion, I'm fairly certain there is no possible way that I could turn any redder.
He takes another drag off his cigarette, his eyes never leaving me. "A'right. So what kind of changes you want, and what I got to do with 'em?"
Oh, I was so wrong. I turn redder. Sometimes, I really hate being a redhead. "Uh, well, sex."
He stares at me, lips twitching in amusement. "You want me for sex."
Shit, even my neck is red at this point. "Yeah. I want sex, and I'd kinda like you to help me with that." To my horror, before he could say anything, I start rambling. "I mean, I want a sort of friends with benefits type thing, nothing serious, but no one night stands. I know you reasonably well, and you're a pretty good looking guy, and, well, you seem like you'd know what you're doing, and that's what I want. Not that I expect anything from you or whatever, I promise I'm not gonna be clingy, I just want some experience, and I want it to be good, so..." I let my voice trail off, feeling a sort of pained expression settle over my features. I did say this wasn't going to be easy, didn't I?
He's silent for a moment, then he cocks his head to the side, a slow grin stretching his mouth. God, his arrogance is unreal, and staring at that mouth is doing unreal things to my insides, and would he just say yes or no already?
