Title: Five Things That Never Happened to Kurt Wagner from X-Men
Author: Silverkitsune1
Part: 1/1
Paring: Kurt/Gambit (for about five seconds)
Rating: PG
Summery: The title pretty much covers it.
Disclaimer: Kurt Wagner and Gambit are property of Marvel. All other related films belong to their respective creators/people with cash.
Author's Note: This was a gift for a friend of mine that I wrote a while ago, that I decide to post because it looked so sad sitting in my file folder all alone. She basically told me she wanted Kurt to show up in five different movies, and that one of them had to be slash. I was happy to oblige. If you can guess all five movies you get a cookie and my respect.
1.
Usually, after a bamf, Kurt would be surrounded by wisps of black smoke, and the smell of burning sulfur. It was a comforting smell, one that he'd been familiar with since the age of 13 when he'd accidentally teleported the first time. He'd ended up in the Greta's Shindler's trailer as she was changing for her lion taming act, and to this day he can't remember who was more surprised. This time though, there was no smell and no smoke. There was just wet and the smell of damp fur.
Coughing, Kurt blindly groped his way through the curtain of water that surrounded him. Stumbling out of what appeared to be a pond he pulled wet blue hair away from his eyes as he crawled onto a bank of jagged black rock. Above him bats chattered and soared around carefully hung lights that created layers of shadows that danced across the cave floor. Turning Kurt froze. A few feet away was an older gentleman standing in front of what looked like a workstation, and holding a silver tea tray. The look of surprise on the older man's face was the same one Greta Shindler had worn years ago.
Trying his best to appear non-threatening Kurt opened his mouth to speak, but only managed to omit a squeak as a pair of hands circled his throat. The face of an angry young man came into view, and Kurt was lifted into the air.
"What are you doing in my caves?"
2.
Kurt took his 30 minute break every night at 8:35. No questions asked, no announcement made, just the simple act of removing his green Starbucks apron, hanging-up the green Starbucks visor and stepping out into the back alley. Remy would be waiting for him leaning up against the gray stone, and as soon as the back door would slide shut, he would snub his cigarette out, and smile. By 8:40, there would be kissing. Tonight was no different. Back against the wall, Kurt had wrapped his tail firmly around Remy's legs. His hands itched to feel skin and muscle, and Kurt began tugging the other boy's t-shirt out of his pants. Remy's tongue slid over Kurt's teeth, mindful of fangs, thought sometimes when the Cajun was in the mood he'd press the tip of it against their sharp points until they drew blood. Breaking apart for a moment to take a breath Kurt laughed as Remy's hands found his belt buckle. His mouth returned to his lips, and his hands moved to an entirely new place.
Somewhere in the peripheral of Kurt's mind he thought he heard the quick clopping of hooves against the cobble stone streets followed by a cacophony of loud voices.
When the shaking started Kurt thought he was imagining it, but then the screams of the kingdom's many citizens forced him out of his hormone haze, and when Remy pulled back Kurt was surprised to find that the ground was indeed moving.
"Earthquake?" he asked his hands still wrapped around Remy's waist.
Remy shook his head. "I don' think there's ever been an earthquake here."
"What about the time that giant fell off the bean thing?"
Remy grimaced. "Dat was a different situation."
"Then why is…wait. Is that a gingerbread man?"
3.
Maybe it was because after all these years, the grouchy mutant had categorized his scent under "friend" rather than "foe." Maybe it was because Wolverine wasn't actually as jumpy and psychotic as everyone said, or maybe it was simply because the other mutant was too exhausted after a hard day of training to move. The whys behind it all didn't really matter to Kurt. All he knew was that when he'd bamfed and landed on top of Logan's chest instead of at the side of the bed the world renowned killing machine hadn't skewered him, and he considered it to be a victory in the up-hill battle to gain Logan's trust. He didn't dwell on it for long. There was a more pressing issue at hand.
"Herr Logan," Kurt whispered softly, shaking the other mutant's shoulder. "Herr Logan. Wake up."
Logan grunted, and cracked one eye open. "Kurt," he rumbled. "Get off me, and go to sleep."
"Nien," Kurt insisted. "You must see this. It's incredible."
Not even bothering to open his eyes again, Logan grunted. "I ain't moving."
Kurt frowned, and then smiled. "Want to bet?"
The ever familiar bamf bounced off the walls of the cabin Nightcrawler, Wolverine and several more of the school's students were occupying.
When the smoke cleared Wolverine found his sheets and blankets had been replaced with sand and ocean.
"Kurt!" he snapped standing up and throwing the other mutant off of him. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"I told you," Kurt said pulling himself into a crouch on the sandy beach. "You need to see this."
"See what?" he hissed.
"See that," Kurt insisted pointing a finger into the star filled night sky. Nights on the warm Florida beaches were usually filled with at least one student sneaking out to gawk at the mass amount of glowing stars, but tonight there was a new element to marvel at. Swimming between Orion's legs, over Pegasus' wings, and through the Big and Little Dipper were dolphins. Thousands and thousands of long, smooth silver dolphins each of which were flashing a toothy smile at the mutants on the beach.
"Do you think this means something?" Kurt asked.
4.
Kurt was eight the first time he saw one human being kill another. The circus had crossed the border from Germany into France where they would be for the rest of the month, and he was hiding from Aubrey, the Fat Lady's daughter. Older than him by a year, tall and cruel she was prone to pulling his tail, and pinching his ears whenever an adult was out of sight. She'd already cornered him once that day, and his tail still stung with the memory. To avoid her Kurt had slipped into the nearby town, and decided he would stay there until the moon was high and Aubrey was asleep.
It was dark, but Kurt was good at hiding in the dark. Anyone who saw the glow of his yellow eyes or the point of his tail would think they'd seen nothing more than an abnormally large alley cat. He'd been in the middle of scaling the church roof, hoping to see the bell in its tall tower, when he saw three men huddled in the shadows of an alleyway.
One of the men was on his knees, and the other two men stood one on either side of him. The standing men held guns which they rested on the top of the kneeling man's dark blond hair. Curious and terrified Kurt had crept closer to the scene until he was practically hanging off the roof's edge. It was his nearness that allowed him to hear the men as they spoke.
Back then tis English had been mediocre at best, but Kurt never heard a prayer he didn't remember no matter what the language. And pray was exactly what the two gunmen did before the guns were fired. Prayed over the shaking body of a blond man who wasn't even begging. Years later, when the prayer would surface in his mind as he knelt in church pews, gently fingering the beads on his rosary he would remember how it had been seasoned with gentle Irish lilts.
When coins had been left, and the two had gone Kurt had drop into the alleyway, and studied the abandoned carnage, numbly impressed that no blood had stained the church walls.
5.
Kurt never samples the "goods" the girls offer in Old Town. He knows that for the right amount of cash one of them would be willing to pull him into an alleyway or a hotel room for just the right amount of time, but he's never done it. Never will. Paying for sex doesn't appeal to him, and he's seen the way the girls follow him with their eyes as he leaps from roof top to roof top. Steeled, yet horrified at the thought of spending the night with him, willing to deal with fangs and claws and terror for a few thousand. The thought of making someone that scared turns Kurt's stomach. For that reason alone he'll never try it. Still, it's hard to explain why every once and a while, he finds himself wandering into that part of the city.
The times that he's thought about it, and yes he has thought about it, he always comes back to the young one. The one with the mother waiting at home. The one with the cornflower blue eyes that he can imagine are free from shadows and sin. The one who can look at his yellow eyes free of disgust because she's too busy staring at her own darkness to notice his. He blames it the silver cross earring and her high-heeled leather boots. He blames it on her angel made face, and the rosary dribbling out of her pocket. There's something almost perverse about watching her prowl through the streets. It's like one of the stone saints has escaped from their marble shells where they stood for so long in front of the cathedral. Like watching them tear their robes off in order to show their tits.
Kurt used to follow her through Old Town as she pulled her shift. Little Miho, who guarded the gates of Old Town with the same kind of passion that Michael guarded the gates of Heaven with would followed him the three of them performing a macabre dance against the Old Town sky.
One day his blue-eyed saint will disappear. Kurt won't go looking for her. Stoned, crucified, martyred no matter what the cause for her absence Kurt will accept it, and know that she'd been called back into the hands of God. Or maybe the Devil. Whichever.
6/20/2005