AUTHOR:
Charlie
EMAIL:
FANDOM:
X-Men
PAIRING: Gambit/Rogue
RATING: PG
SUMMARY: He dreams he
can touch her.
WARNING: I wrote het and now you all have to
suffer. Don't worry, I'm suitably ashamed of myself. Don't worry,
it's not graphic.
CHRONOLOGY: With Joseph, but pre Gambit's trial
and the Antarctica thing.
WORD COUNT: 542
DISCLAIMER: Stan Lee
and Marvel created the X-Men. I make no money off the X-Men, it would
be more fair to say that they make a shitload of money off me. Have
you seen the prices of direct editions these days? $7 an issue for
Ultimate and X-Treme.
He dreams he can touch her.
He dreams of a simple, chaste kiss, the brush of her fingers against his own, and tender embraces, bare skin sliding against bare skin.
He dreams of it all, in sleep and in life, because Rogue can't touch anyone and there's nothing he or anyone else can do about it.
This, he thinks, must be the cruelest punishment of all, an ironic payback for the man who's loved and left more women than he can count. A cosmic joke for a self professed master thief, who not only stole glittery baubles, but lives as well. He really wouldn't put it past Candra to have engineered this - the one woman who steals his own heart can't even brush her lips against his cheek and it the sheer frustration of it all almost breaks him.
Not enough to leave, though. He is an X-Man, after all. They're made of sterner stuff. Or so he keeps telling himself.
The fantasies he constructs are infinite and varied. In one, she doesn't even have a mutation; neither does he. They're just two people who happened to meet, and her hair is a uniform colour; his eyes are blue. Her long bare legs and exposed midriff aren't a trap anymore, and he can almost feel her under his hand when he imagines running his fingers down a leg. She still calls him 'sugah', he still calls her 'chere'. When he looks in her eyes in this imagined construct, he doesn't see the fear, the confusion, the slight dash of mistrust that mirror his own. Green eyes are bright with love, and if she was to cry, he can just brush the tears from her face.
In another one, they might still be on the team,
but, ohyesdatsagoodone she can turn her power on and
off. In
the field, it's a free for all, but when they're back at the mansion,
it's lazy snuggles and passionate sex. They'd be as happy as, well…
he would have said Scott and Jean, but he doesn't think Summers will
ever get that stick out his ass far enough to actually relax and be
happy and content, so maybe he'll say as happy as Hank and Trish
instead. Yes, that's more like it. Happy as Hank and Trish. Proof
that two completely different people can see beyond the surface and
still have a shot at happiness.
He doesn't sleep that much, or so he thinks. The truth is more that the line between sleeping dreams and daydreams are becoming harder to tell apart. They're all basically the same: variations of a theme, all beginning and ending with ungloved hands reaching out to one another to make a long awaited, long needed contact. It makes him shiver with anticipation and shudder with the realization that he can't. He loves her unconditionally, that much is true. But with her power, if she could see inside his head, would she still be able to love him? The thought scares him more than he cares to admit. He's an easy man to hate. He almost hates himself.
Remy spends more time alone since Rogue met Joseph. More time dreaming of Southern lips, whispering in his ear. Dreaming he can touch her.