Disclaimer: Don't own X-Men, and not making money from the posting of this little story.
A/N: Originally written in the autumn of 2009. More based on the '90s television show X-Men than the comics. I'm a sucker for Gambit and the Gambit/Rogue romance. Won't you please review for me?
Moonlit Flight
The night was so hot, even someone wearing an ordinary nightgown would have been sticking to the sheets with perspiration.
For Rogue, it was stifling. Always wary of touching another person's skin accidentally, she covered every inch of herself below the neckline with clothing. Gloves, socks, and a specially-designed, skintight set of pajamas made up her outfit. Her insufferable outfit.
Not that she wasn't grateful for the get-up. It was comfortable. Jean had spent many hours at a sewing machine to design it for Rogue, and had then given it to her as a Christmas present. Rogue grinned when she remembered Gambit's gift that year—a filmy black piece of nightwear whose skirt ended well above Rogue's knees. It was difficult to decipher which present she'd been more delighted . . . and depressed . . . to receive. They were both lovely outfits, and thoughtful presents, but somehow they both emphasized how abnormal Rogue was—and reminded her how normal she yearned to be.
Rogue tossed back the sheet and sat up on her bed. With one shake of her brunette head, she tossed her mopey thoughts out on their ear. She needed to loosen up, and she thought she might know just how to do it. She went straight to her dresser and began digging through the contents of the bottom drawer. It wasn't long before she found the nightgown and pulled it out. Shedding her sweat-soaked clothes with a gratified sigh, she slipped into the gown. The moon was full, and she was sure to have the X-Mansion's grounds to herself at three in the morning. She opened the window, removed the screen, and set it against the wall.
Rogue shot through the window as nonchalantly as most people used a door. The wind, rushing past her due to her speed, cooled her sweaty body and caused the dress's hem to flap wildly against her legs. As she flew directly up toward the stars, a little giggle of joy escaped from deep in her throat. Contrary to what the other X-Men might think, Rogue was still thrilled by the freedom of flight, even after having the ability to fly for so long. She smiled, entranced by the trees far below that seemed like toys. The glittering pool was the size of a chocolate bar. Rogue continued on upward, flying until clouds circumscribed her in every direction. Breathing was difficult up here, yet Rogue lingered to hover for a few moments in her misty, moonlight-tinted world. The magic of this place put her into a near-trance as she stared dreamily at the fluffy swirls beneath her bare feet.
Then she shut her power off and dropped downward like a stone, laughing exultantly. The pool was increasing rapidly in size; if she didn't put a stop to this free-fall soon, she would go for an unplanned swim.
Rogue stopped herself in a prostrate position inches from the pool's surface. The tips of her curls, hanging over her shoulders, just touched the water. She grinned, threw her head backward, and brought herself around to hover upright again. Drops of the water were tossed into the air from her hair, and they came raining down gently onto her shoulders. Holding herself aloft with her flying abilities, Rogue pressed the sole of her foot to the water. One foot in front of the other, her hands clasped winsomely behind her back, she pretended to walk on the surface like a water bug. A gentle breeze fluttered the gauzy skirt against her thighs. Rogue loved the feel of the wind on her exposed skin. She loved the peace of the night, with no one telling her what to do, no crisis to avert. She loved the sparkle of moonlight on the barely-stirring waters of the pool. Yes, sir—a gal could get to like this.
A feeling of being watched drew Rogue's attention. Her knee came up automatically as she rose to hover in a defensive position, her fists clenched. She scanned the grounds tensely. If there were any threat nearby, she was more than ready to meet it head-on.
But it was no threat. It was only Gambit. He had perched in one of the windowsills at ground level and was sitting with one of his bare feet dangling over the edge. Like Rogue, he was divested of his normal uniform, wearing only a leather vest and a pair of jeans. His eyes seemed to glow from the shadows. Rogue had no idea how long he'd been watching her. Had he just woken up? Had he recently gotten back from a late-night jaunt? Had he been sitting in the window for the past hour?
Well, she wasn't going to hang here and let him continue to study every outline of her body against the flimsy nightgown. With tight-lipped dignity, she raised her arms and flew back to her bedroom window, alighting gracefully on the sill. Rogue turned to glare briefly and defiantly in his direction. There was nothing wrong with getting in a little flying at three in the morning!
Gambit just grinned.
The End