Thank to all my reviewers!
-shadowkeepre, gambit-rogue, thesupernugget, gambit-luvs-me, sara, fattywantapoptart, twice the rogue, Remy'sRose (yes, no rooming with Kitty...for now), Katsu Kitsune (I love pocky!), marajade963, ishandahalf (glad to see you - love your stories! Go read her other people! And The Ante, freakin' amazing, right up there with Seven Sunningdale's fics – finally complete), musagirl15, ElizabethMarieBennett, Chica De Los Ojos Café, nuriiko, Retrimesuroth, and X-Storm.
To Loralee X5-214, Remy's perspective will come in, but in about seven chapters (I've actually chapter organized this fic, my first time and a pretty good guarantee updates will be fairly regular). Actually this part's pure Rogue and then there'll be a pure Remy section.
Um, Rubyvenus – I'm not sure what you meant in your review. I checked the chapters, but couldn't spot ever using Romy as a name. And, ah, you are aware Romy means Rogue/Remy, right?

Disclaimer...

Now onto the beginning of practice!


It Takes Two...to Practice

by Silver Nitte iz


If…


He was late.

To be fair, they hadn't actually agreed on a time. But the principle remained and as the minutes dragged on, Rogue focused on the single thought. He was late. If he wasn't taking his sweet time, she wouldn't have so much d- time to consider just what she'd gotten herself into – namely hands-on Sex Ed by none other than the King of Hearts himself. What the hell was she thinking?

He was late. It was a nice mantra, one that managed to stir up much easier to manage emotions. He was late. She glared at the door.

"Now I'd be wondering waht that door'd done t' you," his lazy voice, from a completely unexpected location, made her whirl almost all the way off the bed. As it was, she sprawled backward on the bed, facing Gambit, who'd apparently decided her balcony was a more convenient entryway and now leaned against the doorframe. "But ah'm guessing y' jus' be eagerly expectin' Gambit." He flashed startling white teeth.

"You're late." It was an almost reflexive defense and she straightened up self-consciously.

He flicked his fingers. "My apologies chérie." His eyes danced, scarlet especially vivid in the half-shadowed balcony background. "Didn't know we set a time."

She scowled. Yes, aggravation was the easiest solution, even if unwarranted. "And ain't yah ever heard of usin' the front door, thief?"

He smirked, finally making a move into the room. "Thought you wan'ed dis practice quiet." He shrugged deceptively casual. "Be no good to have someone ask why you be needin' Gambit so late." The widening of smirk though, made it clear to Rogue that he knew exactly what he would answer to that question. It was a good point, one that she kicked herself for overlooking. His very presence however, twisted her into enough knots as it was. She was not in the state of mind to consider such details – yet another good reason for picking the 'reformed' thief, d- him.

He paused at the side of her bed, his eyes taking their time to leisurely examining her outfit with the boldness of one who could assume their right to do so. She stiffened, the only other acceptable option to squirming, and felt her cheeks begin to tint. Already. It was going to be a long night. "Nice p.j.s," he commented, taking in the loose pajama pants and oversized long sleeve T-shirt, "but jus' between you and meh, Gambit prefer somet'ing a tad more," he cocked his head and Rogue could practically feel his eyes settle on the hidden swell under her shirt, "complimentary." He flashed his teeth when she almost crossed her arms, stopping just short when she realized that would display more than it would conceal.

"Well it ain't like yah just stepped outta a boxer ad ahither," she snapped back, instead bringing her knees up to her chest. The hypocrite; he was practically wearing the double of her own outfit, just sweatpants, a dark T-shirt and gloves. He seemed strangely out of character without his trademark duster, which even served as an accessory to his X-Men uniform, but that was beside the point. She sniffed. "Bahsides, ah need to be comfortable, not–" She made a gesture in the air and he ran his tongue behind his teeth.

"Lookin' like y' want meh to pounce on yah?" The flush settled deeper into her cheeks and she could only huff. He took the opportunity to finally settle on the bed to the right of her, daring to trace one gloved finger down the very edge of her shoulder. "Don' worry, chérie," his voice slipped down to a pitch that just made her want to close her eyes and lie there, "ah don' need de extra motivation." She swallowed hard.

"We need rules." She blurted it out because she couldn't just sit there, obvious sign of discomfort or not. Besides rules were good, necessary if she was going to get through this practice intact. She shifted to face him cross-legged, thus moving most of herself out of reach even as her legs almost brushed him.

Gambit raised an eyebrow, but let his hand fall back. "Dese rules not gonna suck de fun outta dis practice, are dey?" he asked indolently, leaning back on the arm closest to her.

"Gambit," she gritted out and he sighed dramatically.

"Continuez." He made the appropriate hand gesture.

"Rule #1: ah sahy stop, you stop. Don't wanna absorb any more of yaur gutta mind than ah absolutely gotta." Despite the fact she keenly looked for a sign that thought disturbed him, he gave away nothing, the cocky mask not faltering for a moment. If he'd had any second thoughts about agreeing to this, he was obviously not going to tell her.

"D'accord. Gambit prefer to corrupt y' de old-fashioned wahy ahnyway." The look he gave her, half-lidded and far too eager, she decided should be against the rules. Except the tug of warmth it stirred was far too potent for her to actually do so. She cleared her throat.

"Rule #2," her voice sounded too loud even to her and she mentally winced. "Yah come on time." His eyes rolled seemingly of their own volition.

"We make a time," he said with a hint of annoyance at the fact she was still harping on his supposed lateness. "I'll be there."

She kept going. "Rule #3: When practice is ova, yau're outta here. No sleepovas." He gave the briefest nod, showing signs of boredom already, and Rogue couldn't help feeling that was a rule she hadn't had to make. "Rule #4: nothing that happens here-"

"Goes out dere," he finished in a dull tone. "T'ought we already covered dat." He straightened up, flexing his fingers. "Ya know what I t'ink? I t'ink de chérie be stallin'."

She harshly denied the accusation, or at least she would've if he hadn't taken the opportunity to fiddle with the collar of her T-shirt, dangerously close to her skin. She had to clamp her jaw as his fingers took a detour to trace a non-existent bra strap, knowing any attempt at speech would be a stutter. It was ironic perhaps, that this was another reason she'd picked him. He knew what she could do; he'd even experienced it – even if she had no recollection of doing it. Yet somehow, for some reason, he had no hesitation at all at touching her. Unfortunate that that self-same propensity for grabbiness turned her mind to mush.

His voice dropped again, dipped in honey. "How 'bout weh make up de rest of de rules along de way?" The huskiness made her lose track of his proximity, so that she almost jumped out of her skin when she realized he was a breath away, literally. It was then that a smell came to the rescue.

"No smoking!" He blinked and she felt a moment of gratitude at the momentary slip of surprise. It helped her regain composure much quicker. "No smoking if you want to get near me." He rolled his eyes, but didn't budge from his position leaning over her lap.

"How 'bout after?"

She blinked. "Whadda ah care? Long as it ain't by me." She watched as his lips curved into that d-ed smirk, seeing a shade of humor behind it that hinted there was a joke there that she didn't get. He seemed to let it go though, in favor of falling back to lounge against her headboard, though keeping his knees by hers.

"We done with rules f' now?" Surprised by his sudden retreat, she nodded, ignoring the tiny pang of disappointment and conceding to the logic of making the rules up as issues came up. It was harder to get boxed in a corner if she could change the boundaries at any time. He cocked his head and she couldn't help but notice from the corner of her eye what seemed to be an aborted reach for his sweatpants. Reaching for his cards perhaps? "Maybe dis be de time for Gambit to ask some questions den?" She blinked again and frowned.

"Questions?"

Up came the hands and she had to wonder if he always talked so much with his hands. Of course, that led to thoughts of the benefits of such a habit and she speedily de-railed that train of thought to listen to his answer. It was far too soon to think about that anyway. "De manor, it be good at passin' along de essentials, but de specifics-" he let it hang there and made a tisking sound. "dey don't pass on so good."

"English Cajun."

He sighed with dramatic exasperation. "Your other practices, chérie, how do dey work?"

It was a good question and one she'd been planning to address, if a certain someone hadn't completely distracted her with his stupid gravelly voice and stupid touch-feelyness. "Well, first ah need to get calm and comfortable, so ah don't absorb." Unconsciously she began to go through the superficial motions, regulating her breathing and such, to get into such a state. She glanced at Gambit, unsurprised to see him watching with obvious intent. "Then ah touch them or they touch me. Thay're different, ya know. Doin' the touchin' or bein' touched are two very different thangs. Ah practice them separate." Maybe he'd stop touching her all the damn time and screwing with her head.

He nodded almost absently, frowning slightly. "Soun's very," he paused, brow wrinkling as he searched for a word. "Deliberate." The frown stayed, noting for once his gilded tongue had failed him.

Rogue could guess at the complaint and she tensed her jaw, mentally willing herself to understand why it would seem so artificial to him, Mr. 'I touch whenever I damn well feel like it.' "Well yeah," she said, with a hard edge that gave the last word a 'duh' feeling. "Can't manage unexpected touch that well. Ya know how powers work in the beginnin'. They cue if yah scared or excited or whateva. Mah powers got messed up when ah first absorbed and now thay're ahlways on as a defense. Ah need to disarm it ta touch." It was the neatest explanation she could give and she reflected on the oddness that he was the first she'd explained it to. During practice, Mr. McCoy and Professor Xavier had taken care of giving the details. She paused to check Gambit was following her. Still lounging back, he was regarding her intently and it took her a moment to ponder the surprisingly open expression on his face. Sympathy? Pity? She hurried on, not wanting to deal with either emotion the two possibilities produced. "The professor thinks if ah practice enough, get comfortable enough with touchin', the default settin' could change."

"Dis be where I come in, non?" His face had rearranged into a reassuring arrogance touched with insinuation and he slanted a leer at her that practically brimmed with possibilities. Even as her cheeks heated up, ironically, she felt something inside her relax. A cocky, perverted Gambit was far easier to deal with than an actually sensitive one. Even more ironic, considering that was what she really needed. "So what exactly do yah want to do wit' dis Gambit?" He angled his right leg and gestured expansively, opening himself up to her. But she could guess the answer he was fishing for and she wasn't giving it again, even if the sight of him was making her understand romance novels' talk of sexual magnetism a whole lot better. He made her want to practice.

She avoided a direct answer, instead ticking off on her fingers. "Well ah practice with Logan, who's practically the whole mana's kick-ass big brotha, Kurt, who's practically mah annoying little brotha, and Kitty-" Gambit's eyes literally flared in interest and she mentally groaned. Men. "Don' even think it Gambit," she ground out.

His eyes widened in mock innocence. "T'ink what, chérie?" His lips seemed unable to keep from curving into a smirk. "Now, now, Roguey wouldn't happen to be havin' dirty t'oughts, would she?"

She ignored the question, instead growling, "Don't call me Roguey." He smirked sweetly and she decided to just skip the tangent. Besides, she knew how guys worked in this sense. You made a fuss over it and they would just keep doing it, just for the reaction. It was bad enough to be stuck with chérie. "Ahnway, practicing with them ain't gonna help me prepare for havin' a boyfriend." She leveled a finger at him. "An' that's where you come in." He gave a little sniff of acknowledgement, before straightening up.

"So how far y' get?" In context, it was apparently innocent. But nevertheless, she felt tendrils of embarrassment spread, unable to decide if it was his blatant sexual charisma or simply her own anticipation that made it far from it. She couldn't meet his eyes.

"Uh, hands, arms, face."

He raised an eyebrow. "Got a ways to go ta be boyfriend-friendly." She glowered at the bluntly honest response, but was quickly distracted when his hands went to the bottom of his shirt. She didn't really comprehend why until the shirt was over his head, pulled in a single, sinuous motion.

"Too fast!" It came out in an embarrassing squeak and Rogue skipped at least three shades of red for the current one she exhibited. But the shirt was already shucked and he had the gall to tisk, unphased by his now exhibited bare chest. She was not about to be an appreciative audience and rebelliously, to him and her own hormones, she focused on his face.

"We do have a deadline, chérie," he reminded her in a light voice. "That leg ain't gonna stay broken foreva. Ah figure wit' simple fracture," he paused as if considering, though she knew he'd come with everything figured out, "month tops?"

She ignored the rational argument for blind embarrassment. "Too, fast. Ah need to be comfortable for my mutation to switch off, remember? Or are yah that anxious to be drained?" she snapped, hoping the reminder of what she could do might phase him, even the slightest bit.

He shrugged. "De only way to get comfortable is practice," he stressed the last syllable, throwing back the whole reason she'd proposed this arrangement in the first place. He settled back, splaying himself out against her pillows to make a sight that was even more tantalizing than before. Not to mention making it that much harder to keep arguing.

She sputtered. "It, it has to be more gradual than this." Traitorously, her eyes drifted downward, before she snapped them back up. Thankfully, Gambit didn't notice her slip, making a show of sighing and acquiescence.

"Fine, keep yah gloves on."

That removed her most obvious reason for concern, but not the other one – namely, his bare chest. She told herself she was not looking, even as she made full use of her periphery eyesight. "How 'bout the shirt?" It was a vain last ditch effort, her resistance beginning to flag as well. If he wasn't embarrassed, couldn't she not be too?

She could tell her reluctance was amusing him, but he still played up exasperation. "You've touched guys before, non?" For the briefest moment she wondered if it was an actual question, but he went on with that little knowing quirk of his lips. "Don' wanna start all de way from scratch."

"Not really outside of missions or combat," she tried to keep the admittance casual, though still steeped in annoyance. "And this ain't the Danger Room."

She should've predicted the smirk that unfolded as he settled down further, forcing her eyes to run along his now more horizontal than vertical form. "Ain't gonna have no fun with that kinda attitude."

"Shut up Gambit." It wasn't the right response, but it was an old back-up. Something reflexive that didn't require the attention that was now directed towards the well-toned chest she was being invited to touch.

He stretched cat-like, forcing her to appreciate the fact muscles flexing can actually be quite, impressive. "You plannin' on wasting the whole night arguing?" he asked idly, though he had to be aware she was past resisting. "Dere be funnier things chérie." His voice dropped down that octave and curled around her, much as the insinuation in his lidded eyes, "Be more than glad to show you." A shiver went down her spine and she desperately grabbed for some defense, even as she moved to be beside him.

"Conceited, reckless, arrogant, vain," she mumbled each word half to herself and half to him, angling herself in a position to be able to touch him comfortably. In his present position, the best place would be straddling him, but there was no way in hell that was happening. So she came from the side, glad it would at least make disassociating who she was touching easier. "Perverted, skirt-chasing, tramp, swamp rat-"

That was as far as he tolerated without interrupting. "Don' be such a sourpuss, river rat." Registering the nickname, she swiveled to glare at him. Inches away, he smiled smugly. "We both be rats, chere. Two of a kind." His eyes flared up and his lips were too close and she decided his chest was the better option.

A guy's bare chest really wasn't a novelty to her – pool days, T.V. and a good number of basketball games of skins vs. shirts had ensured that. But usually, none of those situations warranted close study, let alone a hands-on approach. Tentatively she placed a gloved hand on his abdomen, flush still in place. She only used one, letting the other support her in her slightly tenuous position stretched over him.

As much as she hated to admit it, Gambit was hardly hard on the eyes. Beyond a general attractive roguish look, he was also a hottie, as most of the girls in the Manor would attest to. Almost all of the X-Men guys were in good shape, thanks to Logan's harsh training regiment and Scott's devotion to and insistence on Danger Room sessions. But few had the definition of Gambit's six-pack, undoubtedly the result of years of rigorous training for less-than-legal activities. She lightly traced down the creases, embarrassment giving way to a genuine sense of interest. Even in his half-reclined pose, his stomach was still tight, still firm under the light pressure of her wandering fingers. She turned back when she came to the taper of his waist, wishing at least for the moment to keep this as platonic as possible.

She was surprised by how, compact he was. He always seemed so lanky, sprawling and lounging every which way, all legs and arms, pulling acrobatic stunts in the Danger Room that were second only to Kurt or Wolverine on a good day. But he was quite solid, she mused as she slowly made her way up to the pectorals. Not bulky in the sense of Duncan or the average football player, but solidly compact in a way that provided an excellent base for his still lanky arms. She struck by the contradiction: solid, yet slim and wiry. She supposed it made sense, given his considerable upper body strength, the muscle compacted in the space it had.

She stroked the skin lightly. Clinical interest aside, she couldn't help a certain other curiosity, one that had haunted her even before her mutation had activated. Tactile. What would it be like to actually touch him? She bit her lip, finally daring to let her eyes wander up to his face.

Gambit's face was surprisingly vacant of the conceit and smugness she would've bet money would be there. Instead, he had withdrawn to that odd blank face, with only his eyes strange, the contrast of red and black somehow less harsh than she'd ever seen. It served to make some strange expression that she barely dared to decipher. Like he was actually seeing her for the first time.

"Now, de gloves off." His voice rumbled in a range that huskier than the moment really warranted, but she wasn't about to criticize. The very fact she didn't argue, only glared, spoke volumes.

"Yes, cher," she mocked, lacking the vehemence of her normal bite. Instead of retreating to do it, as she normally did – putting space between her and her opponent before revealing her weapon, she stayed put, tugging the glove off in a smooth practiced manner achingly close to him. But not close enough, not yet.

Her hand was literally an inch away when nerves finally hit. Uneasily she wet her lips. She could do this; she'd done it before. She'd touched Logan, Kurt, Kitty – except he wasn't them and it wasn't the same. She closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing. Breath in. Hold. Breathe out. Natural. Fundamental. Unconscious, but able to be controlled. Eyes still closed, she gently let her hand come to a rest on him.

Warmth was the first thing that registered. It never ceased to a trill of wonder through her. Since the advent of her 'skin problem', she'd become accustomed to clothed touch, usually brief and insensate. Of all the sensations touch involved, that feeling of warmth, experiencing the heat of someone else who lived – sharing it with them, was the most marvelous in her mind. Then came texture, soft and smooth. Movement, the even sensation of rising and falling as he breathed like she, in and out.

She was just opening her eyes when he shifted unexpectedly. And just like that, in the moment between blindness and sight, her control slipped.

The oddest part of absorption, in Rogue's mind, was that first moment when she had the unmistakable sense of both touching and being touched. Conscious of both, at the same time, from two different bodies, two different minds.

She jerked away immediately and he gave a sharp inhalation, as if she'd ripped skin away instead of a sliver of his mind. She started to back up, the fact this was a bad idea settling down deep. "I shouldn't – 'm sorry Remy, dis be a bad-"

His gloved hand shot to her wrist, stopping her retreat. He met her gaze evenly. "Nothin' I didn't already expect chérie," he soothed, his voice not showing a sign of the sudden shock she must've given him. The crimson iris, so uniquely compelling, brightened fractionally. "Ah knew what I was gettin' into Rogue," his voice was low, intimate and she despaired.

No, he really didn't.

But already he was angling her hand, getting her back into position. "Now breath chérie and try 'gain." Her eyes fluttered shut to steady her nerves and he clicked his tongue. "Eyes open. Want you t' know what yah getting into," he threw the words at her again, making her wonder if but for a moment at the undercurrent. But she had other concerns.

Her hand again came to rest on him, the tension slowly bleeding out of her. She breathed and he let go of his loose grip.

He was warm, warmer than the others she'd touched and she vaguely wondered why. Perhaps being so close to the heart… She touched him delicately, skimming rather than groping his chest. And yet she felt so much – the light sheen of hair that was practically invisible, the minute ridges and creases of his skin that shifted as he breathed, and inevitably, the paler lines of scars accumulated over time and space. She traced a strangely hooked shape along his right side and wondered… But she didn't dare ask. Gambit was not one who answered questions that he did not invite and even then, he'd evade. Like why he'd kept his gloves on, yet ditched the shirt without prompting. Strange, but something he was unlikely to explain.

And finally she came up to his heart. It took a little to locate, but she rested her hand there. It was amazing. She could feel it beating, the sign of life working smoothly and without interruption, radiating heat. Power. Might.

Thump.

Thump.

Simply amazing.

With all due caution, she felt him shift in gradual warning and reach for her wrist again, deftly stroking it gently instead of holding it. "You eva listened to a heartbeat?" It was barely a whisper and later she would wonder if he'd even said it all. Perhaps she imagined it.

But she didn't respond anyway. At least, not in words. Instead, with infinite care, she twisted to allow her head to rest on his chest, right over his heart. Her eyes shut and she concentrated on what she could feel. Warmth. Thump. Smooth against her cheek. Dip. Rise. Thump.

She couldn't tell if she slept. If she did, it was dreamless and deep and she slipped into it as easily as she slipped out dazed and when the man beneath her caressed her wrist, she wasn't startled.

"T'ink time's up chérie," he murmured quietly and she lifted her head up. Later, she would be embarrassed and incredibly self-conscious about what she'd done. Later. At the moment, she felt only a detached sense of lethargy, the kind that came after a really good rest or really good workout. "Wouldn't do to break the rules de first night." There was a trace of mockery in his tone, but she didn't feel up to commenting on it. He rose from the bed, collecting and donning his shirt in his swift and efficient way. He paused, before moving to the balcony door. "Besides," he murmured, his face strangely thoughtful as he fingered the doorframe. "Gotta plan." And he was gone.

She wasn't so out of it that she could not feel the slight jolt of anticipation that instigated.