I could see you home with me,
But you were with another man, yeah.
Remy had fallen into a mood ever since the Canadian returned to the X-mansion. He hung around Rogue, never more than a foot away. Throughout the day it had caused a series of problems, Rogue turning and running into his chest, forgetful of his closure. Rogue after a moment of resolution in her eyes, she would start up with more ire than the time before, scolding him several times over. Each reprimand was a slight variation of the last. The first had been precautionary, the second was a reminder of his lack of sleeves, the third was falling on 'annoying, paranoid moron' and it continued like that until Rogue had pieced together it was the presence of the Canadian. Her last admonishment was a silent glare that stated fiercely: 'we'll talk about this later.'
It was all Rogue could do to keep herself from blowing up in front of Logan.
Occasionally she'd let out a familiar riled sigh, which would be followed by a small chuckle of Wolverine's. Though, whenever Gambit attempted anything to lift his own moods, he would earn an audibly disapproving grunt from the elder X-man. The asshole.
Feeling all worn out from all the 'fun' he was having, Gambit excused himself from the company of Wolverine and Rogue, earning a concerned look from his beloved Southern Belle. He offered her a smile as some sort of promise he wouldn't go do anything stupid, for her sake, not his own.
It was mid-afternoon, bordering on early evening as the Cajun tossed his eyes to a clock. He could have guessed the time well enough without looking; his eyes had slid to whatever digital time teller was within the room the trio entered, counting the minutes until Wolverine would just excuse himself. Maybe he could go look to pick a fight with Emma Frost instead of treading all over the Louisiana Gentleman's last nerve. Stalking the hallways of the Institute there was the urge to just ditch whatever silent promise he'd made and just kick onto his motorcycle and take off towards the nearest bar. The debate was nearly settled when the front doors of the X-mansion opened elegantly, afternoon light showered through the doorway, when Gambit shifted his crimson watch towards the figure, the light emanated around her like a full-body halo. Within the warming glow of midday was a woman deserving of such an entrance. Her bodice was curvaceous deserving of male adoration, falling beneath the breast and hip, clung a skirt. It was short, mid-thigh at longest. Its intent was clear, to accentuate the woman's flawless lower half, her sun tanned thighs in particular. Her calves, though equally without flaw were covered with the ivory leather of her Go-go boots. As she joined the X-men she replaced the lace-up thigh-highs with the Go-Gos as a change in faith; she claimed the lace-up's looked 'sinister'. Remy had thought otherwise: they looked downright sexy. His look flitted upwards once more. Following the colour coordination of the skirt and boots, her form fitting tank top was also ivory in nature. It seemed the woman wasn't named the White Queen for nothing. Even her tanned face shone with a radiance of ivory accent. Blond crown framing the angelic face, shielding her from almost ant track record people could pin against her.
It was certain, out of all the foes the X-men had fought; she was the best.
Best dressed, best looking, and a near best at being a villain.
Though, with times changed, she could still very well be lead in the run for most attractive X-femme; he'd never admit it aloud to Rogue. She'd throttle him.
"G'af'ernoon, Emma."
She responded pleasantly, the familiar purr lacing her words. It was natural that such a suave body would have a seductive means of conversation. "Hello, Remy," The name hung between them, perhaps Remy was imagining it, but Emma's voice sounded awful similar to a lover's tone. Stepping into the stillness of the mansion the moment was broken, her halo had faded away, the angelic quality of the woman went with it. Still, the sultry purr in her voice remained as once more her words took flight, kissing at the Cajun's ears. "Thanks for the compliment. In the lead, you think?" Cheekily, she slid towards the man; as she neared he bristled, considering her a threat.
"Y' wen' in my 'ead?"
The question was brutally shattering to Emma's serene and possibly seductive nature. His voice was harsh, cutting and unimpressed with the woman, who snuck glances at his mind as she wished.
"I've already been in your head." She reminded him softly, in an attempt not to get him riled up that she would occasionally catch clippings of his mind here and there. All she had to do was open her mind to his, and his thoughts would be right there at the top just begging to be read. "I only ever see the compliments Remy; you seem to be giving me quite a lot lately."
"Yeh? Well, Remy'll try t'stop den."
The White Queen laughed; the notes of laughter fell over the man, as if he'd been intending to charm her. He hadn't, he guessed it was just natural at this point. Women and most people did tend to gush and melt into him when he started talking, his Louisiana drawl flattering the conversation with ease and flamboyance. Though, one jeering exception was said animal with Rogue in the living room. Gambit noticed the look as Emma searched for the familiar southerner that usually accompanied the Cajun. Ending her search with another abrupt incision into conversation—or lack of, he relayed the whereabouts of his lover.
"She's in de livin' room wit' Wolvie."
"Wolverine?" Emma's eyes were pressing on the matter; things could blow up in her face rather quickly and her expression showed it. Though, it didn't clue Gambit as to what means Emma had meant. Rather, she was trying to work a new man into the equation of Gambit and Rogue. Inwardly, there was a wry thought dashing about her mind. Slyly, it crept onto her face taking the form of a calculating but satisfied smirk. To those who saw the woman everyday were accustom to the look; merely thinking it was the only expression she wore. Gambit raised an eyebrow to the reaction, hoping the X-men hadn't accepted another Wolverine Fan into their ranks. He was already sick of the increasing numbers: Rogue, Storm, Jean, Jubilee, Psylocke and now Frost, too?
As the old saying goes:
Things were not looking good for our hero.
Emma, although skilled at prying through people's minds unknown, she didn't even have to use telepathy to figure it was best for the Cajun to just let him wind down away from Logan. Besides, it wouldn't hurt to let old friends reacquaint themselves would it? A wicked smile crossed her lips momentarily, for even complications such as the man who sat not even twenty feet away from her, could be overcome with minimal effort and a keen memory.
She was, in the end, Emma Frost.
---
Rogue would often throw her gaze to the door Gambit had left through, her mind only half concentrating on what little conversation her and Logan had going. It wasn't as if the two were shrouded in awkward silences: they understood each other probably better than anyone else at the institute. Rogue understood why Wolverine would leave for months on end, she grasped why he had dropped the hope of a relationship with Jean after she had married Scott—it wasn't the marriage. Even more astonishing still she was able to follow and let slide his protective nature that revolved around their home, further still, she was able to both comprehend and empathize with the feeling of distrust to anyone who threatened to 'use' him. She'd been through it too, exploited by both the monsters he'd endured—Weapon X and Magneto.
Likewise, Wolverine simply 'got' her demons; letting them be only to intervene when deemed absolutely necessary, he also understood her feeling of isolation. The only thing that he never seemed to grasp about Rogue was her irrational love of the Cajun.
"Why'd ya do it, Logan?"
The question had been itching inside the woman for quite some time; it happened to be the only thing she didn't quite understand. Did Wolverine just have a thing for taken women? No, it wasn't that, and Rogue knew it; but it made for a good excuse nonetheless.
His eyebrow rose, as he reached for the stub of the cigar sitting, clamped between his teeth. The thing remained unlit, not because Rogue wasn't fond of smoking—though she wasn't. It was more a comfort thing, a need to have it: a force of habit. Twiddling the chocolate-y cigar through his forefinger and ring, he flipped the encased tobacco to his forefinger and thumb, rolling it absent mindedly.
"The kiss you mean?"
"Yeah."
Ill at ease to hear Logan mention it so nonchalantly, evidently his streak of carelessness extended to this point, too. Logan didn't seem to jump at changing the subject, but he wasn't the first to volunteer information until asked a second time. Though, the question was more like a warning, his name spoken a second time.
In answer the Canadian rose from his chair with a quiet grunt, strolling to Rogue who seemed to sink into the couch around her. It was almost like she expected him to burn her. Not sure if it needed saying, Logan made a habit of saying the obvious, "I'm not going to hurt you, kid."
"Ah know that, Logan." Unenthusiastically Rogue, who until that moment had been avoiding his deep, russet stare, let her gaze fall into his. Noiselessly a gasp fell from her unpainted lips. Her emeralds went large, reflecting the Canadian's face back at him. She hadn't known what sparked the noise, but there was something so like Gambit in Wolverine. Their persistency, perhaps, was the greatest similarity between the two, but, it was not persistency Rogue sought to see within Wolverine's earthen gaze, but the answer to her question. Unrewarding was her search. She knew as much about his reasoning as she did the feel of flesh against her skin.
Though, that could always change.
In a small swoop that Rogue had not caught until her lips were swept up with Logan's did she realize what was happening. Despite her loyalty to Gambit, her eyes fell shut with the sensation; the southerner never experienced a kiss where the memories, personality, and life-force hadn't flowed from one person into her. Unlike the liquid feeling of someone's life burning and scraping its way into her head like fire and broken glass, the kiss felt solid. As Rogue assumed kisses ought to feel like. The roughness of Logan's presence was commandeering, pushing her backwards into the couch she had desired shelter within a moment before hand.
There was a leathery slap as Logan's metal inlaid hand came down on the couch cushion, gaining leverage to lean into the kiss as he did so. Rogue would have liked to believe that it was chaste, and some part brawled for the right to claim it was, the other, much larger part of Rogue felt lower than a snake's belly. Mentally, she started repeating a mantra that kept her focused elsewhere than on the growing kiss.
I am in love with Remy LeBeau; I am in love with Remy LeBeau. I am. . .
Letting another man kiss me.
Finally, Rogue pulled away from the kiss; her face scarlet and her heart flustered: beating thrice as quickly as it should have been. Her large, emerald, irises continued to reflect the man that hung in the vicinity of her face.
"H-how?"
Lumbering backwards, his weight once more on the centers of his feet, Wolverine looked down to the southerner, inept and incapable of deciphering her coded expression. There was a roll of his shoulders, a shrug that made his whole appearance seem older than it let on. "I don't know, kid. Chuck said something 'bout powers evolving. Like Jeanie's did with the Phoenix episodes, said my healing factor'd learn to work better over time." Looking over to the brunette with his own coffee-colored eyes, he attempted a small smile. "Guessing its counteracting what you're taking outta me, kid."
"But Ah wasn't takin' nothin'" Rogue protested, aggravation evident. There had been hope in her mind she'd woken up that morning and conquered it; Wolverine being the only one brave or hard-headed enough to prove the fact. However, she was rudely awakened by Logan's reasoning. A small pout threatened to wobble across her lips. Everyone's powers were evolving; Jean's psychic abilities kept expanding, mutating and manifesting in new abilities. Iceman had extended his so the ice he so readily was able to create became him even to the point where the ice could augment his body and now, Wolverine couldn't be subdued, even by a mutant who's sole ability was to pilfer life. Everyone under guidance of Charles Xavier had progressed, except one mutant who couldn't control her powers any better than the first day they emerged.
"Then we were at equilibrium, my healing factor must've negated your ability."
There was a heavy sigh, covering the matter-of-fact tone that Wolverine detested receiving, but had no problem preaching. Logan, with innate senses, but more so understanding of the Southern Belle shone with the fact she seemed no happier to have found someone to make contact with. Wolverine even went as far as to state aloud his thoughts directed on her reaction; Leaving the man without a response, Rogue's mind was elsewhere coping through a steady, repeating, mantra: I am in love with Remy LeBeau.
---
Emma could see the uncomforted look as much as she could sense it radiating from the Cajun's stance. She elected a few conversation starters that were shot down miserably. Fighting off one of her more feminine pouts, she watched the Louisiana brunette intently. Her wager on the man's next move changed several times throughout the silent minutes. It was unlike the lady killer to have anything but a feisty word and charmer's grin stapled to his features. She was tempting another slink forward, hoping to pull the usual personality from the rubble of the somber one. Testing a foot forward, she placed her weight towards the man, her photogenic smile out on display. Decidedly, it didn't seem like Gambit moved for or against her approach, it was somewhat reassuring that he wasn't turning away from her. Slipping her faux concern once more into public, Emma spoke leisurely to Remy, her voice calm and still rumbling at the edges with that forever present purr.
"Something the matter, Gambit?"
His eyebrow rose and fell and finally his signature grin emerged upon his features. "Everyt'in's fine, chère. Jus' no' par'icularly fon' of Wolvie at de momen'." If the woman had even a hint he'd been lying, his eyes proved differently. Truth poured from the depths of the ebony-rimmed, crimson gaze, dripping with the effects of unfriendliness. The Cajun let an unimpressed shrug tumble through his shoulders, "Gambit ain't fon' o' 'im, anyway."
Not like that came as a shock.
Sighing, Remy muttered under his breath, "Gambit shoulda gone fer dat drink…" He could certainly use it, and not one of those silly bottled equities. No, Remy wanted some straight from the tap beer that could ebb away his annoyance until it was as harmful as a kitten. Though, being the gentleman that he was, he couldn't just relinquish his company from Frost; not from any woman, really. Letting his unusual eyes slip to Emma, lowering no farther than her collar bone, he smiled once more. "Care fer a drink wit' me, chère?"
It'd come as an astonishment, but Emma smiled nonetheless, nodding. As she did her blonde locks bounced about with her enthusiasm, reflecting and mimicking the dismembered full-body halo from earlier. "I'd love one," Emma crooned gently, tapping her already covered foot with the toe of her white leather Go-go. The escape from the mansion underwent little planning; the two were out of the grounds as soon as Gambit could gun to life his own motorcycle, the White Queen attached firmly behind him, her arms tugging herself to his muscled back.
