Good Morning or Afternoon or Night to All You Lovely People!
Last chapter's song was 'Show Me Your Fangs' by Matt Nathanson
R&R :)
Stained luminosity pierced her emerald eyes akin to daggers as Rogue's mascara-coated eyelashes fluttered awake. The light almost appeared caramel in color as blurred hues superseded her true surroundings. Not that she would have recognized them anyways. The pain commenced immediately, her nauseous stomach hurled tidal waves of acid into the back of her throat as her temples reverberated in the echoed agony of any sound that dared be made which at the moment happened to be cheaply painted jerry beads in a flurry of deep amethysts and golds. There was a familiarity in the maroon bricks and ivory sheets she could distinguish through her splitting headache, as well as a… a smell? Rogue emitted an uncensored, full-hearted groan when she discovered its origin: a certain Cajun that adorned a peculiar twist of both assertiveness and great unease swimming through his devilish eyes and jesting at his furrowed brow. He sloshed an electric blue liquid in her direction with the intention of replenishing her electrolytes even a miniscule amount, however this only succeeded in ripping another childlike whine from her queasy throat.
"Boisson4."
Rogue's head throbbed far too much to unearth what trivial part of it could maybe translate Gambit's words (although it did not require a French degree to understand). Her stomach writhed within her and she wrapped her arms furiously around her waist in an attempt to calm it. For quite some time, the pain reduced her to the behavior of a sick child: whining, refusing medicine, ignorant, and miserable. Gambit was ill-prepared to say the least.
"Boire, s'il vous plaît."
His accented purr only seemed to compel Rogue's stomach into a worse state as everything tightened and twitched, especially the delicate skin about her eyes. She clawed at the plush bedspread with such might that Gambit could have sworn the gold embellishments were beginning to unravel and ornament her hands instead. Curling into the fetal position, infantile whimpers escaped her newly acidic mouth until she detected a position which numbed the pain if only for a moment. Rogue had rested in and then altered stances four times before she felt well enough to distract herself from this superficially never-ending pain with conversation (besides she had a few questions).
Without attempting to even open her eyes, let alone turn her piercing head to face Gambit, Rogue spoke in good faith that he would still be next to her. "This y'r plahce, ain't it?" The words sounded more akin to an annoyed moan than a conversation starter yet he nodded, still trying to force nutrients on her. She knew the answer already without requiring the nod. "Should'a known by the ash trays." A sharp cutting pain suddenly penetrated the back of Rogue's head and she whipped herself into the burgundy leather of the couch cushions. Her taught top exposed the smooth porcelain of her bare back as it rode up following her willowy hands in an attempt to cease the agony. The velvety skin plucked over surprisingly strong muscles all the while maintaining its gorgeous evenness. Any exposed skin was a desirable view for Gambit when it came to her, no matter where, but the back seemed more intimate than not. Not only was it a tempting highway to more commonly private places, a bare back was almost always associated with the sensual part of being with a naked woman, to watch her walk around afterwards due to a level of comfort with one another that only followed a true loving connection and being able to admire the sways and arches of it as she did so. Gambit tried hard not to stare this time (he learned his lesson on her balcony), especially now that she was awake and partially aware. It was not that Gambit's last words at the bar had been disingenuous, however that by no means meant the physical want had disappeared and gazing at an unconscious Rogue whimper and moan all night as her body lazed about to discover its most comfortable position (which happened to be a nimbly crooked wrist resting atop swelling breasts) forced Gambit to excuse himself to his bathroom several times over.
"T'ought y'might not b'feeling d'best aft'a las' night," his voice rang out as he twiddled the refused Gatorade bottle between his skilled fingers. He had been hungover enough times to realize its potential, even if she had not yet.
Rogue's emerald eyes blazed as she twisted over sheets to face Gambit, however the worry in them seemed to be stronger than the ire which perhaps frightened him most of all. "Did y'get meh drunk?" An exasperated wheeze from the pounding in her head interrupted her thoughts, "Ah don' drink!" Realizing Rogue had gone black out, Gambit had the opportunity to change her past right then and there, to replace it with his own fairytales and fantasies about how she wanted him and publicly displayed such a corporeal desire after a few shots, but then again didn't she? Maybe? He still was not completely sure on that one. The pause in his speech only deepened Rogue's anxiety about a night she could not remember. "Gambit, Ah feel sick, jus' say something," she began to plead, however he was lost in the memory of her so close to him the night before without any form of shying away or fidgeting.
Eventually he was able to sullenly chime out, "You got yourself drunk, chere." His demonic eyes still glazed over. "An'…" he contemplated whether to continue recalling the night as horror percolated through her ashen skin in the form of goosebumps, "An got real close…" His knees dropped to the hardwood floor and, as best he could, he squared his hips with Rogue's as she had done without breaking eye contact. "D'is close, I do believe." They could feel each other's breath in all its nervousness. "You revoked mon couer5 yet again, told me t'leave d'en t'touch you, d'en d'at y'couldn'…" Rogue's respiring only progressed to a choppier state with each word that dripped off Gambit's tongue; she vaguely remembered his last declarations to her and the newfound intimacy he was implying was not yet welcomed. Her head slumped into the humid space between them and the close proximity allowed Gambit to nuzzle his pointed nose into her auburn curls if he so desired to. Rogue's bare shoulders began to pulse rhythmically to her ever louder sobbing and soon the heaving of her chest joined in as well, confining and releasing gasps of air restrained beneath violet cloth. Permitting her this emotional upheaval, Gambit ever so slightly leaned his broad torso towards the girl of his dreams and tapped her shaking forehead to the cotton shirt covering his robust chest, endeavoring to bequeath her a steady foundation on which to cry. However, the sudden touch, even with clothing, paralyzed Rogue. Clear droplets continued to flow from the crooks of her now unblinking, red eyes as her slack jaw grew tighter.
"Ah'm sad, Gambit," it was almost as if she whispered without ever moving her mouth, as if she were a beautifully intricate stone statue he had tricked himself into thinking was alive. The creased lines of his rugged forehead conveyed confusion at her quiet words. "Y'walk 'round an' act lahke Ah can touch but Ah can't. Y'treat meh lahke Ah'm no different but Ah am! Don' y'eva again act lahke it is mah choice not t'kiss y'senseless or that Ah chose t'cover up," her southern drawl intensified with her emotions. "Do y'have any idea what it's lahke not t'feel? Ah want to so bad it kills meh. But Ah don' an Ah won' t'protect others, not t'mention the teeny bit a'mah head that is still mahne." Her statuesque demeanor never faltered as they were barely far enough apart to breathe in their own air. Only her steady eyes watered more and more. "Can y'imagine how it feels t'experience someone's last thought so strongly y'think it's y'r own? An' it's always the same. Always fear. Now that's all that resonates in mah mahnd, is the fear Ah cause, how scary Ah really am t'these people, t'myself…" Her stiff head almost waivered, "An' it's all jus' 'cause of mah skin." Her tears created oceans upon her porcelain chest and she finally broke. The smudged mauve lipstick that rested upon now cracked lips shivered violently as they trembled and parted to consent a whimper of true anguish, that caused Gambit physical pain to perceive, to be ripped from her. "An' Ah've known the truth mah whole lahfe, that y'can't love lahke this," he tried to protest but was hushed before he could even squeak out a syllable, "an' Ah'm sad, Ah'm so sad fo' all the tahme y'have an' are goin' t'waste on meh, Remy." There it was. His name. The first time she had bequeathed it back to him in almost half a year. The rest of her sentence fell mute to him and he began to beam. Rogue identified him as Remy again, and everything that came with it. The charming, troubled, maddening Remy as his true self, of course he was still Gambit as well, but she knew more, knew so well in fact that she had the privilege of bestowing such a title. A crooked smile could not help but tug at his lips which, to Rogue, seemed wildly inappropriate or possibly even insulting in the current situation. "An' you!" She suddenly exclaimed hoping the shock would instill a more appropriate mood in him, "Y'live in a'warld where y'don' listen or y'jus' don'care!" That snapped the smile right off his face as she was one of the only aspects of his life he truly did care about. "An' y'jus do whateva' y'want wit' meh and it hurts us both!" His chest heavier than it had ever been, he wondered how long his actions had been adding to the bottled up emotions Rogue was now outpouring. "This ain't fair, Remy," his name… again. A contrasting flurry of devastating sorrow and overwhelming bliss almost wrenched his heart in two as he noticed the harsh edges of her face almost soften and her dried out eyes, which had no more tears to shed, gaze into his, "The love y'say y'have fa' meh it jus' ain' fair." A genuine depression overtook her as it chased out all other visible emotions and the scene just about made Gambit ill, he could not bear such a thought and it was even worse to witness. Rogue's walls were shattered and little could he have guessed that such sorrow would erupt from behind them. His chest ached as her tears fell silent and unabridged once more, only the faint noises of the outside world could be heard.
"Mon couer," he whispered, absorbing just one of the never-ending tears from her moist features into the fabric of his glove. Then another, then another, until each shielded finger seized a single moment of sadness. "It's still worth it, no?" He gracefully transferred the salty droplets to his plump lips, letting the skin drag a bit with each passing swipe. A part of him knew a sexual act was in bad taste right now, but a larger part yearned to see her pupils dilate in the excitement he wished to one day share. The consoling gesture still stood on its own merit, yet her taste… even her weeping boasted a certain lusciousness to him that he attempted not to get lost in at the moment.
"Mah heart y'call meh," she mocked, yet not in a malicious tone. A derisive snort huffed past her nose as she almost smiled in her misery, "Y'r heart is in'a plahce Ah can't be." The veracity of her own physical limitations were seeping into her very bones and chilling them. She felt as if another tear fell it would crystallize on impact. Whereas Gambit was always hot, he radiated passion and warmth and Rogue desired nothing more than to melt into him. However, the truth of the matter was there would be very little melting unless she wanted to cuddle an unconscious body.
"Yo' wrong, Chere." The words shook her from the grip of an internal cold and back to the russet, Mardi Gras masked walls of Gambit's apartment. "Mon couer," he lightly stroked the place on his chest where his heart lay beating underneath, "it's sittin' on a silver platter jus' fo' you." He had never uttered such words before, then again he had never felt such emotions before.
She was always taken aback by his bold statements. Couldn't she be like that? No, simple answer. Such claims were rash and dangerous and impulsive and exciting and passionate… wait… That was not where that was meant to go. Impulsive emotions led to impulsive actions which, for herself, were heavily guarded, yet she could uncontrollably feel her safeguards slipping with him. Getting drunk was impulsive and now look where she was: wrapped in a plush, sweat-stained comforter that smelled of coriander and cumin. How would she leave? Would it be awkward? Angry?... Friendly? The pain she had propelled to the back of her mind sharply returned with the onslaught of thoughts tearing her attentions every which way. It was clear Gambit had a single focus, but she was just the opposite right now and the metaphor he uttered suddenly clicked as she blurted out, "An' Ah can neva' pick it up without drainin' it." Her eyes seethed in his direction. "So tell meh how Ah'm wrong, Cajun? Do it! Y'love ain't the only one on the lahne." Her gloved hand clapped over her lavender lips as the crimson in his eyes nearly sparkled from her unintentional words. "Ah…" she mumbled, but the words lingered on the still air akin to the deafening sound of thunder that leaves silence in its wake. She could not retract them. "Rem…" The affectionate gaze he had glued to her was unnerving to say the least. However, all he could be bothered to think about was how her almost unwavering disdain for him also encompassed love in her own way. "Jus'…" she stumbled over herself in more ways than one. "Jus' lis'en t'meh fa'once," Rogue's awkward seriousness was palpable, "this ain' a lahfe y'wan'a be trapped in." The gleam upon her emerald eyes could have been described as caring, not necessarily loving, but caring. Gambit had always recognized her suffering, yet never distinguished it for himself until now. It was as if her eyes relayed the torment of over twenty years characterized by internal constraints directly into his, and he truly felt it, so much so he was taken aback by the raw sensations flowing from her without a single word. Rogue, still bearing her silky gloves, gently tipped his chiseled chin up to perceive the hurricane of emotions wash over his strong features. "Ah'm tryin' t'set y'free…" Surrendering herself was perhaps harder for Rogue than any other as it implied a slew of other connotations. Yet Gambit made the idea so appetizing at times and at others reminded her why she never had before. The former overtook the latter in this instance, even though she kept endeavoring to do just as she said, for his peace of mind if nothing else. "…free t'live ya' own lahfe."
"Don' yo' see girl?" He leapt upon his couch next to her. Heart pounding. Eyes lively and arduous hands disarrayed within his very own sheets in an attempt to hold his beloved with a safe boundary in-between. The shock had little time to even register among her face before his breathy words encapsulated her. "Wit'out you I don't have a life anymo'." And with that statement Gambit lost his own game and Rogue had won a game she declined to play.
But did that not make them both winners?
Regardless of the thoughts rampaging her mind, Rogue never ceased to wriggle beneath his endeavored touch until now, at that moment she realized, no matter the circumstances, they would die together for the reason that she could never admit aloud: his sentiments were shared. She fashioned no audible response to his words, only a mere gloved hand, whose willowy fingers slunk their way betwixt his. The world fell mute around them as a single, burning tear blurred each of their collective visions. Was this the end? The beginning? As Rogue examined the hopeful man in front of her one overwhelming thought surged to the forefront of her consciousness. Touch. Physical, carnal touch.
While inebriated such ideas had seemed wonderful and even attainable as if she had no idea why it had taken her so long to execute them in the first place. If only she could stay in that state. "Ah was floatin' that nahght, Remy." The words seemed foreign to the intimate scene they had created. It could had been hours between his declaration and hers, or mere minutes, time had no power there. "…on air. An' Ah wish Ah could keep floatin' forever… free…" Her guard had been lower that night, not down, but lower and it helped her realize how tremendously tired of always being on her guard she truly was. At first, Rogue searched for validation of such a damaging idea in his virile, devoted face but discovering none she turned her attention skyward. The sun had long since taken up slumber for the night and now she stared longingly at the inky sky for liberation. "Floatin' on air," she whispered, nevertheless allowing Gambit to retain her hand the whole time.
"Chérie, si vous voulez flotter dans l'air alors vos pieds ne touchera plus jamais le sol."6 The beauty of such prose resounded, both audibly and significantly. They resounded in eloquent dances about the burnt burgundy of their current abode and landed with poise within Rogue's ears. The words flowed as dark chocolate, rich and silky, and everything about them was just exquisite. She was almost too caught up in their loveliness to translate them before they were put into action. Rogue's sickly physique was abruptly thrust into the musty air and landed on Gambit's broad chest with a thud that appeared to have no effect on him while her bare feet, which Gambit must have precariously stripped when he brought her home, gamboled about in circles as he spun their conjoined form. The ripped, ebony jeans hugging Rogue's calves rubbed against the underside of Gambit's elbow as her legs draped over his arm in a classic bridal style lift. He swung them round and round in what commenced as intense romance until a giggle could be discerned from the young woman's throat that mirrored his own contained one. The joy pervading the room left a bittersweet lingering in its mist as Rogue's murmurs became brasher and wilder. "Wai— Rem—Ah—" But it was too late. Rogue barrel rolled out of Gambit's sturdy arms, landing on all fours she curled her spine upwards as she heaved bile on to the hardwood floors. Enjoying herself or not, she was still hungover and Gambit could not help but chuckle as she cried out 'why!' in a melodramatic voice in between dry heaves for the next hour or so.
Hope you guys are enjoying reading this as much as I am enjoying writing it!
French Translations (I got them from google therefore I am terribly sorry if they are incorrect):
4. Drink
5. My heart
6. Darling, if you want to float on air then your feet will never again touch the ground
Disclaimer: I do not own X-men
