A/N: Personally, I don't think the upcoming warning is necessary, as there is nothing graphic and/or explicit in regards to slash. However, the last thing I want to do is alienate any of my lovely readers, so here it is: There is some slash, but it's hinted at more than actually written out in detail. Kissing is present, but I hope you anti-slash-ers out there will (please?) be able to overlook the slight slash and enjoy.
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There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness. —Friedrich Nietzsche
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She was there again, the woman he'd come to find himself drawn to night after night. She was dressed like she usually was: in something black, short, and tight. The colored lights wrapped around her body in a seductive rainbow and she worked the floor. Her hips swayed in a way he'd never seen; her gyration made other women envious.
The ivory streak in her mahogany tresses caught up the lights and changed from blue, to red, to green, then back again. His mouth watered in anticipation as he crossed the floor, weaving through sweaty bodies and grinding couples. Some reached out and ran their hands up and down his body.
His sights were set on her, and her only.
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She met him and things changed: he didn't hold her at arm's length like her family did, he thought it was cool instead of un-lady like that she knew how to wield a shotgun. He respected her boundaries, but at the same time grinded them down.
Mama and Auntie didn't approve of her spending so much time with 'that boy'. She hadn't cared.
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He reached his destination. He saw her gaze flicker over him— a sultry, undressing look. It made his collar turn stifling; she undid his cool demeanor with just one action, and he had to admit he resented her for it.
It was supposed to be the other way around, it was always the other way around. Remy LeBeau hooked the women, he made them throw caution to the wind, he made them want him so badly they ached, and only then would he satiate their needs and wants and by then, he was too far under their skin for them to detach. They loved him and he left them, and it was a lifestyle that Remy had become used to years ago; it was what he knew.
And maybe that was part of the reason he somewhat dreaded the nightly excursions with her. This woman: with her heavily-lidded eyes and glossy curls (he often tangled his hands in her hair when he was inside of her; her sex was sometimes to overwhelming— he'd lost control several times) and her red, red lips, beckoning to him with all of their sensuality from across the room, and her body…dieu. It was like nothing he'd ever touched, nothing he'd ever seen! Her shapely figure was nothing less than a man's most heated fantasy; she smelled like fragranced rain and the sweetest hot chocolate.
He approached her, finally too frustrated for simply watching the way she melted with the beat. His devil eyes caused her spectators and would-be suitors to back down; she was all his for the taking. He felt the familiar drying of his mouth and pounding of his boiling blood. She was a temptress, she didn't play by the rules. He wasn't supposed to be this enraptured this quickly, or even at all. He wasn't supposed to think about her when he slept, or when there was another warm body pressed against him.
He ran his hand through her hair, effectively revealing more of her face beneath the white bangs. She was smirking at him, but she did not stop dancing. She touched his shoulders and chest and stomach; his muscles clenched and her smirk grew.
He brought her close and kissed her so harshly their teeth clashed. He wanted to wipe away her arrogant smirk, he wanted to prove to both her and himself that her spell hadn't been cast over him. He was more powerful and influential, he could charm the robe off of a nun and seduce the immortal keeper of the tithe. She was nothing, she meant nothing.
He tasted blood mixing between their mouths; he couldn't determine whose it was— nor did he care. His hands were feeling her roughly, his touch was brutal and his methods cruel.
He wanted her to hurt.
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As a child she ran through the cornfield down the road from her home and pretended she could fly. She read every single book on aerodynamics, planes, and the mechanics of flight that her school library offered. When she devoured those she moved on to the city library and spent her weekends in solitude.
Father was proud, but Mother thought she was strange. Mother wanted her to dress in pink and try out for the cheerleading squad, Mother wanted her to go on dates with boys and dream of marriage. She couldn't; Mother cried.
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They had this game going, the two of them. She would nibble on his ear and make him crazy, he would bite her neck and make her horny. There was never any communication. Even when they'd first met— it was all about pressing their bodies together, it was about suggestive winks and purposeful nods and back corner fucks; always in the dark. He'd never seen her in the light.
When he tried introducing himself or making small talk she smothered his words with her alcohol-tasting mouth. He was all for 'no strings', but not to the extreme she took things, and not with her. It'd be nice if they could talk afterwards, if they could at least get the other's number! But his mysterious belle would only kiss his cheek and right her wardrobe before returning to the floor or leaving the club altogether.
Some nights she didn't speak to him at all and went to the back with another man. Those nights were the worst.
He didn't understand her, because when a one-night stand turned into nightly happenings, it was expected that some sort of connection be made. He didn't even know her name. Or her age, or where she lived, what she did for a living. He knew her voice was husky and deep, but only because of the stifled moans and sighs she sometimes let escape in his ear.
He wasn't getting attached; he was getting possessive— and that was almost worse.
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The funeral ended and Mama took her away. She couldn't stop crying, Mama comforted her with reassurances of her 'gift' . Her Auntie hugged her carefully and murmured promises of future greatness.
She didn't want the glory, she wanted her best friend back.
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She took his hand in hers and they weaved their way to the back. Some nights she allowed foreplay, most nights she did not. And as he felt her working on his belt he knew that she was being her usual, impatient self. She liked it rough and against the wall; if he slowed down or tried being tender she would pull his head back by his hair and increase the pace herself.
She was quick and accurate. The condom was on and her thong was off before he could even start kissing her. She enjoyed his kisses; her tongue constantly mingled with his in feverish jabs and nibbled bottom lips. He soon deduced that she liked the connection of their mouths because it prevented speech.
And when the big moment came and his vision blurred and so much left him and went into her he thought he'd collapse— she waited until her breathing calmed and then she was leaving him.
Seemingly without thought, his hand reached out and grabbed her wrist. She turned around and he stood there: with anger in his eyes and with his dick hanging from his pants.
"I don' even know y' name." He hated the pleading in his tone, he hated her for being so damn alluring.
She pried his hand from her wrist and continued her retreat. He balked; and then he grew furious.
He'd play her fucking Cinderella game if that was what she wanted, and with a zip of his fly, Remy followed her.
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When she turned sixteen, her dream came true through mutation.
When her eighteenth birthday came— she joined the air force.
Twenty came and went; she fell in love.
She committed suicide on the anniversary of her twenty-third year on earth. Minutes later, she was re-born.
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Remy became Gambit in the shadows of the night. He crept along brick walls with feline grace, and listened for the click of her heels against the pavement sidewalks to determine her proximity. He could see her clearly in the night thanks to his light-sensitive eyes. He wondered fleetingly if she felt his burning gaze on her, but he pushed the thought aside and waited until she entered the apartment building before making his move.
He was the best at his trade, and so she remained clueless.
He found the mail boxes, and his eyes ran over the names. Kelsey Smith, Monique Reynolds, Brian Huffman, Noah Lynn, Lee Anders, Carol Danvers, Reid Calloway. None of them suited her, finding her would have to be a process of elimination, and it was going to take awhile. He couldn't take away the male names: because what if she lived with her boyfriend? He couldn't take away the unlikely ones: because what if the apartment was in a roommate's name?
Jaw tightening in frustration, Remy decided to walk away. At least he knew the general vicinity in which she lived, it would certainly make finding her a lot easier.
He wasn't ashamed to stalk. On the contrary, he looked forward to seeing the shock on her face when she saw him outside of her building. He wondered if she could keep up the frigid act then?
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The animosity between them sprang up quickly. They were polar opposites: one, a villain; the other, a hero. One, shrouded in earthly beauty; the other, as fair and bright as an angel. One, a taker of life and ability; the other, a giver of safety and hope.
Their eyes connected from different sides of the battlefield. Opposites attracted.
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Remy understood the next day the full extent of the phrase: 'waking up like a kid on Christmas.' He couldn't recall the last time he woke up looking forward to something. Most mornings were spent trying to fall back asleep and purging the thoughts that had plagued him with insomnia the night prior.
But on that day he was up before noon, and showered and dressed before one. He gulped down some scalding coffee and munched on toast as he mounted his bike and swerved out of the side alley. He felt like a madman bent on following some poor girl and making something out of nothing, and like Odysseus sailing to Troy; he couldn't help but shake the thought that he was about to embark on some impossible, never-ending quest.
Most men in his position would count their blessings and accept that just fucking the girl would have to be good enough, but Remy wasn't most men. He'd fought tooth and nail to survive, he was more stubborn than what was probably healthy, he didn't accept the cards that were given to him in life: he stole and cheated until he had the royal flush. And for him, 'good enough' was not, well— good enough. He could survive with the worst, of course, but he would always strive to have the best: the best clothes, the best vehicles, the best women, the best wine, the best sexual experience a person ever, and would ever— have.
The mysterious vixen he'd come to know in dark clubs was more difficult, he would give her that, but she wasn't un-crackable. When a thief broke into the Louvre successfully, words like 'impossible' were omitted from his vocabulary.
He would have her, and it might be difficult and she might fight him for all she was worth, but he'd win. He'd capture her heart like all the others, he'd revel in the success of the chase and the glory in knowing she wanted him like all the persons before her, and then he would move onto the next bigger and better challenge awaiting him.
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When Mama gave her the assignment she was almost giddy. Knocking off her worst enemy (they'd 'had at it' numerous times before) was a delicious thought she let herself get lost in.
She broke into the apartment and heard the shower going. Her glove fell carelessly to the floor.
She entered the steamy bathroom, but before she could react a hand wrapped around her neck. Her enemy was naked, and just as surprised as she.
Instead of panicking or struggling to get free, she only watched the water gather between her enemy's breasts and blushed at the pinkness of her nipples.
The black dots swam over her vision and everything tunneled to a far away point she couldn't reach. All went silent.
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She came out of the building the next day in a flurry. Her bag was trailing behind her on the ground and only one of her arms was through the sleeve of her white hoodie. Her hair was bone straight and pulled back high; he liked the way it bounced when she moved. She was sipping coffee from a silver mug and looking down at her phone impatiently. She didn't cease walking as she dug through her bag— seemingly searching for something.
She was beautiful. The kind of beautiful he'd thought only goddesses could be.
The only make-up she wore was clear gloss and mascara; it was a different, but not at all unpleasant change from her usual smoky eye shadow and dark lipstick.
Remy straightened from his place leaning against the motorcycle and snubbed out his cigarette. He prepared his best grin and waited for her to approach him.
She walked right past him, like she'd never seen him in her life. He knew they only met in darkness and that when they did she was beyond drunk, but the blank stare she gave him led him to believe she truly didn't recognize him. His ego took a hit.
"Hey!" He jogged to her side. "Listen I know—"
"Not interested." She finally managed to shrug her other arm into the sleeve and right her bag. There was a white ticket in her manicured hand, she was obviously late for her bus.
His mouth fell open for a half a second before he composed himself and tried again. He nearly ran to keep up with her strut.
"Don' y' recognize me?"
She gave him an impatient once-over and wrinkled her nose. "Um, no?" Her eyes were as clear and icy as the winter air surrounding them.
"Come on, chére, Remy been lookin' for y' all night—" He made the mistake of putting his hand on her narrow shoulder, and she shrank away from him like his touch was acidic.
"I swear to god if you touch me again I'll fuck you up!" Her cheeks were red with fury and her stance was threatening.
He didn't understand why a simple touch bothered her when they'd been close as humanly possible more times than he could count, but he did not push it. Was he really unfamiliar to her?
"S'me," He was jogging to keep up again, "from de club?"
His vixen stopped in her tracks and he double backed. Her face went from showing suspicion, to understanding, to rage, and then back to suspicion. "You've got the wrong girl." Her voice was thick, as if fighting back tears. He could feel the betrayal, exhaustion, and sadness bouncing against his empathy.
"Mais I saw y' come here last night—"
She gave him a funny look.
"Dat is, I made sure y' got home safely." He grinned impishly, shrugging when she glared him down.
"How noble of you, but like I said: you've got the wrong girl." She snorted, then ran a hand through her hair. "I really have to go—"
The city bus pulled up, stopped at the corner, then continued on its way.
"God fucking dammit!" She turned to run for it, but despite her previous warning, he caught her arm gently.
"I can give y' a ride." He jutted his thumb back to where his bike was parked.
Her breath came out in white puffs. She looked at the gleaming motorcycle skeptically, and then at him. Her eyes narrowed, as if she was trying to see through his sunglasses.
"Fine. But I meant what I said earlier about not touching me." She tore her arm from his grasp and headed towards the bike.
He watched the sway of her curvaceous hips and ample backside; the red of his irises pulsed victoriously behind his shades.
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Her first conscious thought was that she was still breathing. She took inventory of her body and found no wounds. In fact, the downy blanket beneath her cheek felt like clouds.
She groaned, and sat up with her hand on her forehead. A migraine the size of a small earthquake was raging in her left temple, and she felt another presence in the room.
She whipped around to find her enemy's curious gaze on her. She was immediately alert, in a second she was on her feet, fists raised.
The blonde rolled her eyes. "Lay back down, skunk head. If I wanted you dead you'd be dead."
Something like embarrassment crept across her cheeks; she heard the truth in the woman's words and sat at the edge of the bed.
"Why am ah alive?" Maybe she was pushing her luck, but she liked the sound of her enemy's voice.
The blonde smiled a secret smile and pulled her robe tighter. "Because I wanted you to be."
It was a good enough answer for her.
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He felt the concentrated warmth resting between her thighs. Her body fit snugly against his. He sped up for the sole purpose of making her scared enough to wrap her arms around him, but the moment never came. She only cried out gleefully, and instead of clinging to him she threw her arms in the air.
He slowed down, telling himself he wasn't concerned for her safety.
The girl was fou.
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Mama interrupted her humming.
"Was the mission successful?"
The smile left her lips. She'd forgotten all about there ever even being a mission. She'd spent her night chatting comfortably with Carol (she was no longer 'the enemy' or 'Ms. Marvel' anymore) in the quaint warmth of her apartment.
Mama's eyes narrowed. She made some excuse and told her she'd be going out later.
She was meeting Carol for drinks later on at the bar.
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Her hair was windblown but her eyes were bright. "That was incredible," she gushed. "I love going fast!"
He smirked at the flushing of her cheeks and leant in closer. "I know."
The excited grin left her mouth and was replaced with something he couldn't discern. "I wasn't lying earlier when I said you had the wrong girl." She was walking away again and he couldn't let her.
"We get drunk, chére, but not dat drunk." He sauntered nearer and their warm breath mingled. "B'sides—" his hand went to her waist, " I could never forget de t'ings y' did to me." He waited for her lusty response, but his words had the exact opposite effect.
Tears sprang into her eyes and she shoved him back. He was surprised by her strength.
"It wasn't me." She shook her head, and glared down at the ground.
He raised his eyebrow. Playing hard to get was cute and all, but she was trying his patience. "Den who was it?" he finally snapped. "Y' twin sister?"
She laughed, but no humor rang through. "I'm Carol, the woman you—her name is Rogue. She's my— sister." Her lip trembled and she wiped her tears away angrily. "How could she do this to me?" Her hands went to either side of her head. " She promised—"
The Cajun shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Now, now." He patted her arm helplessly. "Don' cry, p'tite. T'was an honest mistake." He grew more bold and rested his arm across her shoulders. "Let Remy take y' someplace for coffee, hein?"
She sniffled pitifully and attempted to compose herself. "No. I have to get to work."
Ah, then the waitress outfit made sense.
"And anyway," the anger was back on her features, "she's a fucking adult. It's none of my business, right?"
He had a feeling he'd just caused a lot of trouble for his mystery woman— no, his 'Rogue'. "I can tell y' care for her, y' jus' worryin' like any good sœur would." He gave her a smile, but she was past the point of being placated.
"My shift has already started," she bit out. "Thanks for the ride."
"Wait!" She turned back around, and he fished for the best wording. "Rogue, is she, uh, at home?"
Carol's fists shook at her sides. Instead of answering him she stormed inside of the restaurant.
He frowned, because there had been more than just sisterly affection rolling off of that girl.
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She remembered the night because it had been so hot and muggy. She'd been complaining because the cloth of her gloves kept sticking to her fingers, and her long-sleeved shirt allowed no room for air circulation.
With a wicked smile, Carol took hold of her shirt and ripped it clean away.
"Hey!" She threw her arms across her chest. "What the hell?"
Her blonde companion laughed, and then her hands went to Rogue's jean-clad hips. Her grin changed, it became more affectionate, more full.
She was going to pull away, but her hands seemed to lose all ability to move and rested limply on Carol's shoulders. They were so close she could feel the other woman's breathing.
"Ah'm not, we're not—" She desperately searched for the words to explain to Carol her heterosexuality.
"You talk too much, skunk head."
She pulled her close and kissed her until the draw of life and power became too much.
Rogue felt dizzy, but not because of the new whisper swirling around in her head.
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When Carol's shift ended, she went with some of the girls from work to Harry's Hideaway. The food was great and the company even better, and there was no need to dress up. She changed into the blouse and denim pants she carried in her shoulder bag and hitched a ride with Jean.
"Why don't you ever bring Rogue?" Kitty asked as they sat at their usual table in the back corner. "We've been working together for eight months now, and we still haven't met your sister."
The other friends murmured their agreement and Carol gazed into her drink. "Rogue has a crazy work schedule—"
"I'm sure she could take off every once in a while. Does she plan on coming to the Christmas party? It's another three weeks away, if she asked for time off now I know they'd give it to her."
Carol shrugged and forced a smile. "Let's stop talking about her, okay?" She grabbed Jean's left hand and held it up for all to see. "Let's start talking about you and Scott instead!"
Jean blushed, the girls went crazy, and Carol slumped in relief.
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They met in secret for the most part. They went to restaurants hours out of town so that there was no worry of their relationship being discovered.
Carol rented hotel rooms often, and within the four walls they used extra bed sheets and gloves to see just how far they could push the limits of Rogue's skin.
"Ah wish we didn't have to stop," she admitted—her cheeks like blossoming roses, her breathing heavy.
"Eventually, we won't have to," Carol promised.
Rogue believed her.
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That night, after Carol closed her eyes and the blanket of sleep faded all of her senses; she met Rogue in the middle of their mindscape.
The belle ran towards her, glee was apparent in her features. "Baby Ah missed ya!" She threw her arms around the taller woman and pressed her lips against her neck. Rogue loved it when sleep came, because they got to be together. "How was your day?" She spoke as she pulled Carol's sleeve down her shoulder.
The blonde didn't respond to any of her advances, and Rogue soon noticed.
"Are you really so obsessed with touch?"
Rogue's smile slipped from her lips. Fear clutched her. "What are you talkin' about?" But she knew exactly what her lover meant, and she was going to kill that Cajun the next time she saw him.
"I met 'Remy' today." She pushed Rogue's hands away and fought back tears. "He seemed to know you pretty well."
"Baby it ain't what ya think-"
Carol spun on her, blue eyes blazing. "Just like it wasn't with Longshot? Or Scott? He was my best friend's boyfriend, Rogue! Jesus Christ!"
Rogue lost her temper, too. "Like ya haven't slipped up! Ah've had skanks mistake me for you more times than Ah can count!"
It was the same argument they'd had again and again.
Rogue could touch after years of being shrouded in cloth and fear; she wanted to experiment and feel and enjoy the sense that so many took for granted, but Carol could not accept that.
Carol wanted Rogue to understand the immensity of her sacrifice, she wanted Rogue to touch her and only her, she wanted Rogue to hate men as she did.
Rogue had her desires and Carol had hers, but neither could come to a consensus.
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Mama found out, she always did, and Rogue ran away from the only home she'd ever known at eighteen years old.
Carol picked her up from a park and took her back to the apartment.
"They'll find us. Mama's furious."
"I know." She continued driving, as if the thought hadn't bothered her.
"Carol! What're we gonna do?" She wanted the older woman to lose her cool just once.
"We'll go to my parents house up in Boston. I'll tell them you're a colleague, okay?"
Rogue was instantly comforted, and even more so when she felt Carol's free hand slip around her gloved one.
"I'm going to take care of you, Rogue. No matter what." Her grip on Rogue's hand tightened, and her jaw squared. She meant that statement with every molecule of her being.
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The discovery of Carol was an extreme disappointment, but it was not enough to deter his mission. The very next day he found himself outside of the apartment at the same exact time, and in the same exact spot. Carol should have been coming out soon, and he was going to cajole and bother until she let him see Rogue. And if she still refused, he'd simply wait until she left, and then march right up to her apartment and find the girl himself.
The woman who came through the old, yellowed doors set his stomach to jumping. There was no mistake in identifying who she was; the styles of the sisters were as different as night and day. Where Carol was light, fresh, and sweet; Rogue was dark, brooding, and mysterious. She came out of the door in a black, chemise-looking dress with a thin belt resting about her hips, and a dark leather jacket over it. Her heeled ankle boots were also black, and extremely sexy if he did say so himself.
Her hair was loose and curly, but even more beautiful, as it wasn't teased like it usually was at nightclubs. He wanted to touch it then, to know what it would feel like without all the hairspray and product. Her make-up was also a bit different: her top liner was an angled, black line done thick, as was her mascara. Beneath her eyes was bare, he liked it.
She looked up just as he straightened, and she froze. A multitude of expressions crossed her face: shock, dread, embarrassment, and then finally: fury.
She stomped down the concrete stairs and click-clacked over to where he stood. Her eyes were like green fire. She was seething with rage and he found himself more than aroused by the fact. She pulled off wrath so perfectly, like she'd practiced the emotion in the mirror before showing it to the real world.
"What the hell were ya thinkin'?" She slapped him harshly on the shoulder, he noted that she wasn't as strong as her sister. "Carol isn't speakin' to me because of your stupidity!"
She was southern, and even more gorgeous in person than he could have ever imagined; he grinned.
"And what are ya cheesin' about, ya damn fool? Ah oughta have my friend Logan teach ya a lesson about followin' ladies home—"
He pulled her against his chest so tightly she couldn't breathe. She glared up at him and he was drawn in by her perfume. It was the first time they'd been this near and she hadn't reeked of alcohol and other men's cologne.
"Been real hard findin' y', chére. Y' sister didn't like me very much."
Her eyes narrowed. 'Ah don't have a— Oh."
She blushed, and the sight of her pale cheeks filling with color sent Remy into throes of laughter. So she was human after all! And despite her cold disposition and cruel ways—she still felt. She wasn't some emotionless, sex-crazed marble statue like he'd originally thought.
He smirked. "Sure is nice seein' y' in de daylight," he drawled.
"Oh shut up," she rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth were twitching into a begrudging smile. "Ya should be thankin' me ya know. Ah'm nothin' but a world a trouble."
"Well in dat case," his hand moved from her waist to caress her backside, "dis is for de better. Cause so am I."
The fire crackling between them was irresistible; he'd felt it from the very beginning and she was feeling it, too. Not even she could ignore the attraction, not even she could walk away. He used that to his advantage, and kissed her. He felt her mouth against his mouth and he slackened, too.
"Can we go inside?" he breathed against her lips as his hands parted her leather jacket and cupped her breasts.
She broke the kiss and gazed up at him in a daze. "Ah- Ah don't think that'd be a good idea." She separated herself from the erotic arms of the Cajun in an attempt to clear her thoughts. "Ah have to get to work, and Carol-"
"Need a ride?"
She turned to him, and then she grinned with a cock of her hip.
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Rogue gasped when they entered Carol's childhood room.
"Oh baby, this is so cute!"
The blonde rolled her eyes and looked at the pink unicorns and frilly pillows in disgust. "My Mother decorated all of this. She never really let me be me." She laughed bitterly. "If she knew I was a lesbian…I'd, I'd kill myself."
Rogue winced.
"Did you hear the way she told me you'd be staying in the downstairs guest room? She's always judging me, and I've always tried so hard to please her—"
Rogue's face saddened, and she rested her cheek on Carol's shoulder blade. "Don't matter what she thinks, baby. Just be glad she cares about ya, and just focus on what we have."
"Rogue—she can never know, never."
They held each other amid the dusty ballerina costumes and never-used Barbie dolls.
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He watched the way she won over each customer with her southern manners and quick knowledge. He followed her while she dusted off each record with the utmost care and as she swept the wooden aisles. She blossomed in the musty space of the record shop: she smiled often and laughed hard; she even made time to stop and give him little winks or engage in the witty banter that seemed so easy for them.
They discussed the likes of AC/DC, Iggy and the Stooges, The Cure, and even Goya Dress and Jimi Hendrix. Her tastes in both music and southern food was phenomenal. He found himself gazing into her eyes while she discussed the issues of Global Warming and the war in Iraq— using her hands and colored curses to emphasize her points.
He was completely glued to her husky voice. He took in everything she said and processed it for later use. He told himself he was listening so intently to further his plans, but he really knew it was because the woman in front of him kept his interest, and it'd been a long, long time since a woman could achieve that. He wanted to know more about her.
"Age?"
She shrugged and stacked some more albums on the shelf. "A gentleman never asks a lady her age," she chided.
"Well I ain't a gentleman," he quipped, "so y' have to tell me."
She shook her head. "Too easy. Guess."
He leant back in the chair and rubbed the stubble on his chin. "Lemme see: no grey hair, but a lotta white. No wrinkles, but dem eyes— dey don' look so happy. Flat stomach, nice curves—"
She gave him a warning glance.
"Twenty-two," he finished.
She spun around with a raised eyebrow. "That's right." She turned back to her work. "And just how did ya know that?"
"Remy knows many t'ings, chére. Many t'ings."
"No ya don't," she sat in the seat next to him, "Ah felt ya pinch my I.D earlier."
His mouth fell open, and she burst into sweet laughter.
"Your turn," she murmured as she pinched his chin. "Nice jaw, no greys—" She pursed her lips, and continued her examination. "Good build, lots of energy…" They both chuckled at that. "Twenty-nine."
His eyes pulsated. "Y' guessed dat?"
Chuckling, she leant closer, and his wallet appeared in between her pointer finger and thumb. "Nope. Ah pinched your wallet earlier, too."
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"Baby? Ya scared me!" Heavy breathing and a fearful whimper.
"Can't get rid of me that easily." A tired smile, and Carol managed to sit up.
But Rogue held her head and brought it to her breast. "That's enough for today, shuga. Ah took a lot that time."
Two fluttering hearts in the sun drenched bedroom. Downy comforters and checkered window shades.
"That better not be guilt I hear," she warned weakly. "You know that I don't mind doing this, it's so worth it, Rogue." Mother was coming home soon, she knew that they needed to right their appearances soon…
But then came the heavy lids, long yawns. Embraces.
Rogue couldn't help but wonder why Carol never asked if she minded the absorption, of having another mind crammed in hers. She wondered if, in the end, this whole thing was worth it at all.
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When he looked at the clock he was surprised to see that it was already 8:00, and the belle's shift was over. Time had passed by so quickly, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd had fun that hadn't involved a: getting plastered, b: fucking, c: accomplishing a heist, or d: all of the above. Good clean fun? The Cajun would have laughed at himself in the past if he'd known what would have happened that day. But he didn't regret it, not one damn minute of it.
She threw on her jacket and began locking up the shop. "Ah say we head over to Medusa's and get drunk. Whaddya think?" She gave him a smile as she locked the cash register.
He shrugged, and followed her through the door. The cold air hit them harshly, his lungs felt crystallized. The streetlamps only partially lit the dark streets, and Remy unconsciously stepped closer to Rogue. He would never admit that he was concerned with her safety, but he knew he'd protect her if need be.
"Don' know if I'm in de mood for dat tonight, chére. Why don' we ride over to y' place an'-"
"That's not a good idea." She glanced down to avoid his searching gaze, and kicked away a beer can with the toe of her boot. "Carol doesn't like people comin' over."
He threw his arms in the air in pure frustration. "If y' don' mind me sayin', what's her deal? Remy can sense vibes, and de vibes comin' off dat girl was…strange. She t'inks more of y' den a sister— if y' know what I mean."
She didn't answer, but her teeth clamped down painfully on her lip. She wanted so badly to tell Remy— to tell anybody her story: her crazy, bizarre, unbelievable story— but it wasn't just hers to tell. And what would Carol think? Carol didn't want anyone to know about their 'special circumstances', but Rogue completely disagreed. Telling people: their friends, their family; would be so much easier. The way they were living now was just a lie, and soon, they were going to get too far tangled in their web to ever escape.
She tilted her head and looked up at her companion, and a deep warmth filled her stomach. She liked this one, but she wasn't stupid, she knew what his game was. She'd dealt with men like him before, and she'd won.
Only, this time, she sort of wanted to play along. She liked the way Remy held her and his easy jokes; she ached when she thought of what he could do to make her mush in his hands; she sometimes entertained the thought of what being with him: actually being with him— no alcohol, no dark club, just being with him like they were then—would be like: with his arm over her shoulders and her body pressed just slightly against his to soak up his immense warmth. Just talking like friends. He was a companion with which she was compatible with.
"Den come over to my place." he noticed the flicker of indecision in her eyes, "Or will Carol be against dat, too?"
She glared at him. "Ya don't understand what you're talkin' about. Carol may be overprotective, but she's all Ah got." She looked away, only to feel his fingers guiding her chin back.
"She's not de only one out dere, chére. Y' alienatin' y'self by y' own doin'. She ain't y' master, y' got free will." He grinned and broke the contact, she hungered for more. "So come to my place an' we'll have a few drinks."
"And then?" she said skeptically.
His smirk was impish and his eyes were playful. "And den what happens, happens."
She swallowed, and weighed the decision. Should she? Or shouldn't she?
The decision was made for her as Remy led her towards his motorcycle.
.
Rogue remembered not liking the way Carol had looked that day: pale, haggard, and determined. She hadn't been glowing that day, the last day. "Mother knows," she murmured. "She saw us when we were sleeping." She leant heavily on the window sill, using all her strength not to break down. Rogue rushed up behind her, she felt helpless. "Ah'm so sorry, Carol. What did she say?" The blonde cringed. "H-horrible things." Rogue grew angry. "It doesn't matter, you're the most wonderful person Ah've ever met, and if she can't accept ya for who ya are then she ain't worth it." Carol smiled, and turned into Rogue's hold. "Do you love me, Rogue? Really love me?" "That's the dumbest question Ah ever heard," she deadpanned, but ran her fingers along Carol's spine. "'Course Ah do. Ah love ya more than anyone." Carol's grip arms tightened around the belle. "We could be together forever, just you and me." Rogue stiffened. "It's a bit soon to be decidin' that, don't ya think?" Her lover turned violent, and threw Rogue against the wall. She flew out the window soon afterward.
.
Remy asked more questions as he made their drinks. "Mutation?"
"Absorption," she called out. She sat on his velvety couch with one leg crossed over the other. She noticed that there were no pictures of friends or family anywhere in the living room. "Ah take people's life force, and if they're a mutant— their powers."
"Permanently?"
She paused in mid-answer. "N-not always." She went back to running her eyes over his possessions, and hoped he would not pursue the topic any further.
He did not. Instead, he returned with two glasses in hand and sat next to his guest. "Cheers." He held his glass up.
"To what?"
He seemed to think. "To new beginnin's."
Her eyes narrowed pointedly but she clinked her glass with his anyway. "Ya like to test limits, don't ya, Cajun?"
He waggled his eyebrows, making her laugh.
More glasses were poured, and by midnight, both were inebriated.
"Ah have a suggestion," she slurred, and pulled him close by his collar, "Ah say we take our drinks to your bedroom." She licked the lobe of his ear and straddled his lap.
He'd never heard a better idea in all of his life, and showed her so by throwing her over his shoulder and racing to the bedroom.
"You're drunk!" She could barely speak through her giggles. "You're gonna fall and drop me!"
He deposited her on the bed and she squealed. He joined her soon after, and laid between her legs. His finger twisted a cinnamon and crème curl, and he smiled hotly.
"Been wantin' y' in my bed for a long time, p'tite."
She kicked off her boots and began working on his shirt. "Shut up."
And he did.
.
Carol returned later that night. Her face was streaked with tears, her hair was windblown, and her eyes were empty. Rogue stood from her place on the bed and regarded her lover warily. "Ya hurt me, Carol." She held her bandaged wrist up for examination. "What the hell happened back there?" The blonde staggered over to the belle and let her head fall to Rogue's shoulder. "I…I've been thinking, Rogue. I've been thinking about how much I love you— how much I never want to leave your side." She slid her fingers down Rogue's smooth cheek and smiled. "We can become one, we can make it all better!" Rogue backed away slowly, her eyes wide with fear. "Ya sick, baby. Ya ain't thinkin' straight." She began pulling the comforter back from the bed. "Here, lay down, shuga. We can talk about all this in the mornin'—" "No." Her hand encircled Rogue's unharmed wrist. "We belong together. If I'm in you we don't have to worry about your skin anymore! I can protect you better! It'll solve everything, don't you see?" Rogue ran to the door, but Carol swooped in from behind. She pressed her cheek against hers, and wrapped her bare arms around the belle's stomach. Together forever. Carol's presence overwhelmed Rogue, and they both fell to the ground in a crumpled heap; Carol's bare skin still pressed against Rogue's.
.
In the afterglow of lovemaking and drink, Rogue told Remy her story, the story she'd been wanting to tell for nearly four years.
Her salty tears mixed with the salty sweat on his chest, and her tale must have been more pathetic than even she thought, because when it was over there was true sympathy on Remy's face. And it wasn't another one of his acts, either. In fact, she was almost positive his pity was one of the few sincere emotions he'd had yet to show her.
She told herself his comforting words and hugs did nothing, but she would be lying.
And when she finished, they both sensed the change in the air.
"Ah think that this is a mistake," she confessed.
He brushed her hair back from her face and gave her a questioning look.
"This, us. It was fun for a while, Remy, but there was Ah reason Ah kept ya away. Nothin' can ever come of this."
He let his head rest on hers. "Did y' want somethin' to come of dis?"
She faced him and her emerald orbs seemed to overpower his crimson ones. "Yeah."
There was no fear of rejection, no hesitation or timidity in her voice. And he decided that she was the most beautiful, brave woman he'd ever met. And instead of gloating over the victory he'd wanted for so long, the Cajun instead began to scheme of ways to make her his, and only his.
.
It was almost like nothing changed, save for the fact that she was away from the world every other day, and she couldn't look at Carol and see her in the real world. She couldn't
Rogue resented her for a year and a half, and still did after, but the emotion dissipated and faded so thoroughly the belle hardly ever thought of it. Carol was all she had, Carol was the only person who had truly ever loved her, and maybe she was right: they belonged together, forever.
.
In the months that followed the two became careless. Rogue began leaving Remy's apartment mere hours before it was Carol's turn to take over, and Remy left horrible, violet marks on her neck despite her severe warnings not to do such.
Something was forming between them, something neither of them wanted to acknowledge. When they stopped going to bars and started going to movies or staying home instead; they ignored it. When their sexual habits turned exclusive, they made up excuses. When they grew miserable thinking about their limited time together, they covered it up with sex and banter.
Rogue didn't love Remy, and Remy didn't love Rogue, and they both knew it, but they couldn't deny the potential, couldn't deny that they got along with the other more than they'd gotten along with anyone else.
"Remy?" She began to detangle herself from his arms and legs. "Ah should go, it's Carol's turn in a few hours."
He made the effort and raised his head, staring at the clock groggily. "S' only three. She don' gotta get up 'til eight." He yawned loudly and brought her back into his arms.
"Okay," she consented, stifling a yawn of her own. "But don't fall asleep, Ah really do have to get up, soon."
He grumbled something against her hair. She kept his nightmares away.
.
The first months were all about experimentation. They found out early on that Carol could unlock the secret to Rogue's skin, and they both rejoiced in the discovery. Later came the next finding: Rogue could tap into Carol's abilities at anytime she chose, though the headaches caused by this act wasn't worth the trouble.
Soon Rogue hungered. She walked down streets and shopped in grocery stores and stared at all the bare skin exposed to her eyes. Her power was controlled, but yet- she was still cut off from everyone else. Carol was the divider.
But one summer day, Rogue met Longshot, and ached to feel his tanned muscles and hairy legs. She gave in, and took him home.
It was then she made her third, and possibly, most important discovery: Carol couldn't see anything she did while locked away in her mind.
.
He woke to a flurry of screams and red sheets. He knew as soon as he looked into her eyes that the woman before him was Carol, and that she was naked and sobbing on the side of his bed, and that he'd fallen asleep: the exact thing Rogue had told him not to do.
He dressed quickly, and pondered his fate. He knew all about Carol's super strength and invulnerability, and he'd come into contact with her temper before. He wondered if she would kill him, and if Rogue would find his mauled body the next day.
To his surprise, she did not punch him through a wall when he squatted down to help her; she hid her face in his chest and wept.
"I…love…her so much and…and…she- she hurts me!" She looked up at him, accusations apparent in her gaze. "What's…so…different about you, h-huh?" Her chest heaved. "I…gave up everything for her…so we…so we could b-be together!"
He nodded in understanding and helped her to stand. "Mais y' never gave her a choice, Carol. Y' never asked what she wanted."
.
It snowed the day they visited her body.
She felt Carol's terror and revulsion as they entered the hospital room and saw her body: wrapped in a white gown and hooked up to a multitude of beeping machines.
Rogue winced, and took a step back. "Let me put ya back, baby. Ya know Ah can do it."
Carol's anger was her only response, and with tears in her eyes, she left the 'sleeping' woman. Her tears were as much for Carol as they were for herself, because she couldn't shake the horrible feeling that she was letting life pass her by.
That night she made sure Carol was locked away, and she got drunk. Belligerently so. She met a man with sunglasses who mistook her for Carol.
"Carol!" he called over the blaring music.
She'd turned to correct the mistake, but his shirt was unbuttoned and she could see the smoothness of his chest. The hunger returned. And she told him she wouldn't say anything if he didn't.
.
It snowed the day they went to the hospital. Their hands remained intertwined until they reached the room, and only then did Rogue shy away from Remy's embrace.
"It feels wrong to touch ya with her layin' there, ya know?" she explained with a nervous smile.
Remy showed all of his support in his encouraging nod and bright smile. "Y' doin' de right t'ing, chére. And Carol knows dat— whether she wants to admit it or not."
The belle went pale and stared at Remy a little longer before nodding.
With trembling hands, Rogue rested her fingers on Carol's smooth forehead and closed her eyes. Remy came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.
The push started.
Color bloomed instantly in Carol's body; it was like seeing a white mannequin come to life. Her limbs grew less stiff, her skin went from white to peach, the glossy texture to her blonde locks seemed to return, the brain monitors lit up with activity, and eventually, her eyes opened, revealing the frosty, sapphire orbs within.
Rogue swayed for a moment before collapsing on the bed. "Baby?" she managed.
Carol's gaze wandered over to the flushing belle, and she grinned. "It feels so strange— being back in my own body. I'm tall again," she joked.
Hot moisture filled Rogue's eyes and she squeezed Carol's bare hand playfully. "Ya sayin' Ah'm short?" She climbed on the bed and wrapped her arms around the blonde.
Carol returned the notion in full, and cupped Rogue's wet cheeks in her hands. "I never realized how different it would be to touch you in reality." Her lip trembled. "I'm so sorry for what I did to you. Can you ever forgive me?"
Rogue burst into sobs and kissed the woman passionately.
Remy backed further into the corner, each kiss they shared and every joyous tear they shed was like a stab in the stomach. That emotion on their faces…it was true love, and for a long time he hadn't believed such a thing existed. He knew then, though. And he knew he could never forgive himself if he stood in the way of that. He'd only bring Rogue pain, he couldn't bear the thought of tearing her away from Carol's paradise and dragging her down to his hell.
He'd gotten over worse despondencies before, what was one more layer over his heart?
.
They got an apartment and made a life of sorts.
Carol spent her mornings wiping off Rogue's dark make-up from the night before and rinsing the taste of alcohol and other unmentionables from her mouth, then went jogging and read the newspaper. When she got out of the shower she straightened her hair and painted her nails pink; she went to her side of the closet to choose an outfit, then went to work at the diner and hung out with a few friends after her shift. When she got home she read novels in the bathtub and turned her favorite music to a low, soothing volume. She slept in a matching pair of blue pants and tank top, and made love to her girlfriend in their mindscape.
Rogue spent her mornings painting over the pink on her nails with burgundy and tossing back a few shots to ease the pain of her hangover, then she did boxing routines and lifted weights until the sweat literally poured off of her. When she got out of the shower she combed through her hair and left it wet while she cooked sausage and her famous eggs; she went to her side of the closet to choose an outfit, then went to the shop and walked to a bar after her shift. When she got home she blared her favorite rock n' roll and passed out on the bed in her bra and panties, and then let her girlfriend make love to her in their mindscape.
.
When Rogue turned to motion for him to join the conversation, he was gone.
.
She found him an hour later at the park. He was sitting on a swing, looking gloomily down at the piles of snow.
"When Ah was a kid Ah thought it was cool to pretend Ah was smokin'." She brought her two first fingers to her mouth and pretented to take a drag, then blew out air and watched the puff that resulted. "My Mama beat me senseless when she caught me doin' it." She laughed, and grinded a piece of ice with the heel of her boot. "To this day, Ah've never even brought a cigarette to my lips. Weird, huh?"
He didn't answer, and she hadn't expected him to. She shoved her mittened hands in her pockets and sat on the swing next to his. "Bet Ah can go higher than ya can."
She started and with a begrudging shake off his head, Remy joined and his longer, thicker legs were able to outmatch her pace in no time. For a time they pumped their legs back in forth in silence.
Just as suddenly, Rogue dug her feet into the snow and brought herself to an abrupt hault. "Ah love her," she murmured. Her cheeks were red from the cold, and the tips of her curls were full of tiny snowflakes.
He came to a less graceful stop than she, and stood in an effort to hide the pain. "And what does dat have to do with me?" His shields were back up, his false smirk was across his lips. He was trying to show her that nothing she did mattered and he didn't care. She was just another woman and another failure. He'd won: another challenge completed. Another heart broken.
Only, he had this horrible realization that his heart was the one with the wound.
"It has everythin' to do with ya." She reached for his hand and pulled him down into his swing. "Cause it's wintertime, and Ah get so cold in the wintertime." Her eyes met his curious, and hopeful ones, and she smiled. "Ah talked to Carol. She won't let me get one a them fancy heatin' blankets, but she will let me get someone to keep me warm on the other side."
He couldn't comprehend her meaning. Carol hated him— with a passion. Carol wouldn't, couldn't share. He didn't know if he could share! It was impossible, he was blinded by his hope.
"Y' don' mean-"
She nodded and kissed him fiercely. The cloth of her mittens got caught in his ever-present stubble.
"So," she said after pulling away only slightly. "How's it feel knowin' ya got two women waitin' for ya to come home?"
And pervert that he was, Remy LeBeau couldn't help but lick his lips at the endless, and interesting possibilities that had just opened up before his very eyes.
Yeah, I know. Weirdest ending ever, right? But hey, it's the 21st century, I hear about polyamorous relationships all the time! (Not really, but bear with me here.) And besides, I'm giving you guys happy endings so far! and I hope to keep that trend.
Song: Lovers In japan from the album: Viva La Vida or Death and All His Friends
Next time: betwixt and between.
Feedback is encouraged.