So, another prompt! This was actually an exercise I came across in a Discord chat, which was to have Gambit meet Rogue after taking the cure, set in movieverse, with a time limit of 60 minutes. I'm not sure exactly how long it took me to write it, I didn't finish it in one go. I think I finished it in less than and hour? Maybe?
Update: I went over 60 minutes. The last part was something I'd originally intended to add to the fic, and then I was out of time for the challenge and tired of looking at it, so I shared. It's been bugging the piss out of me since, and felt wholly unfinished. Then, my darling friend, Xevg, kicked my ass and threatened further bodily harm if I didn't tack that last bit on there, so I mean, I couldn't say no, right?
-•oOo•-
The bell over the door jangles loudly as the woman known to most as Rogue hits the push bar perhaps a tad too excitedly on her way out, and she smiles at the New York City street greeting her.
She hadn't destroyed the door. Thirty minutes earlier, she would have. Super strength will do that for a gal.
Her smile widens, and she steps into the city bustle, pushing her shoulders back and making deliberate effort to not flinch away or hunch over when someone walks too close. Because she doesn't have to do that anymore, she doesn't have to be careful that no one touches her. And just to prove that point, she lets the next person that passes her by bump her shoulder.
"Oh, excuse me," the man apologizes, his gaze brief but appreciative on her as he moves on.
Her face feels like it's going to crack and fall off into a million pieces, she grinning so hard. Little matter that no skin contact will happen here, as she's wearing her leather jacket and the nip in the air is keeping everyone else covered. She already had the proof she needed that things are working as they should. She didn't decimate that door.
The cure will do that for a gal.
"Ain't Rogue no more," she murmurs to herself and she slips out of her jacket, nearly giddy with the notion.
She can touch.
She's free.
-•oOo•-
The clang of the door banging shut from behind heralds her departure from the apartment building, and Anna Marie turns down the sidewalk with buoyant stride as she heads for the subway. There's a new, fancy restaurant she wants to try, and this evening is the perfect one for it.
A special occasion will do that for a gal, and she's spent about the last hour and a half getting ready for it.
She grins for what has to be the billionth time for the day, and reaches up for a fat white ringlet bouncing just out of the corner of her eye. She gently tugs the curl and lets it go, eyes following as it immediately springs back. It's been a while since she'd let her hair curl up; she'd taken to straightening it for a good spell, ever since the incident that shocked a white streak through her hair. For whatever reason, after the incident, that white streak had never held quite the same texture or curled quite the same way as the rest of her hair, and rather than dealing with it, she'd straightened it all into submission instead.
"Not today," she murmurs, freely tossing the curl over her shoulder. And indeed, not today! That straightened, flat-ironed, moody, always-too-coverd-up and careful Rogue is gone, she's traded in for a more carefree, happier AnnaMarie in an elegant cocktail dress and wearing wild, fluffy curls.
Perhaps a contradiction, elegance and wild, and maybe the dress bares a tad too much skin for the October chill, but it's a vibe she's feeling tonight. Doing things differently.
She never dresses up, she never fusses with her hair, she never bares skin, she never wears jewelry, she never wears pretty shoes, she never carries a purse, never puts herself on display. Never stands out. Never attracts attention.
Tanks don't need to be pretty, they need to be utilitarian. And when you can't do anything with any attention you garner, why attract?
She passes by a couple of young men, and they flash her appreciative eyes. She smiles at them, her own eyes light. She could do something with that attention now, if she wanted.
She keeps walking, laughter bubbling up soft and low as she ignores the men. It's fun now, attracting attention and choosing not to do a thing with it.
Tonight's her night, and she'll celebrate it in her own skin for a change!
-•oOo•-
The soft whoosh of the glass door lets AnnaMarie out of the restaurant and into the New York City evening life, and she kind of regrets that first half second for not dressing with better regard for the chill. She then shrugs in good spirit and turns out for the subway, mood completely untouched. It's not as though she isn't used to dressing inappropriately for the weather, and this isn't even her worst transgression.
A killer contact mutation will do that for a gal, desensitize her to such things. A few months ago, she'd endured the miserable summer heat covered head to toe for fear of accidentally bumping into someone.
"Not me, being all scared of touchin' anyone now," she laughs softly to herself, a belly-full of fine, French cuisine, a couple of glasses of fine champagne, and self-indulgence fueling her excitement. She's not actively seeking touch at this exact moment, no, this whole afternoon and evening is about her just going out and about freely, getting used to not being so careful.
Careless. She wants to be careless for a change.
She's already thought about what her first skin-on-skin contact likely will be like. It seems kind of anti-climatic that she can't simply surprise someone. There is no man or woman waiting on her, not even a small crush to daydream about, so it'll be friends. She'll have to announce to any of them first that it's safe, anything less would just be plain mean. Even Logan, who has never flinched from her, deserves the heads up. Not a disappointment, by any means, just a nagging detail that seems a teensy bit at odds with her current mood tonight.
Of course, she could just randomly surprise a stranger, after all, she's out and about tonight anyway. But that's not really her style; she'd prefer her first touch in years to be with people she trusts and cares about, the weight of the cure and years of starvation seem to demand that sort of meaningfulness. Plus, grabbing strangers is a little too far outside her mutation-centric comfort zone.
She slows the pep in her step a bit, deciding she's in no hurry to go back home. There's not really much she's interested in doing at the moment, but she's not wanting to go home yet, either. Staying home is what she always did, it was safer that way. And I ain't gotta be safe anymore, she gleefully reminds herself (as if she needed reminding).
In minor celebration, she deliberately bumps shoulders with the next person walking by. Nothing dramatic, of course, she doesn't ram into her. She just… doesn't dodge very well.
"Oh, excuse me," she smiles apologetically at the other woman. It's met with a mildly annoyed acknowledgement as the woman continues by.
Her grin widens, and she does it again a few minutes later. And again. And again.
So careless!
Again! Right into the shoulder of this tall man walking by-
" 'Scuse me, chere," he offers in a rich, throaty yat through an easy grin designed to blow up hearts on the spot.
He's beautiful, and that smile really is something, but it's his eyes that catch her attention. Red on black, slightly tip tilted, thickly lashed, and flashing bright as they flick over her. He's a mutant, she immediately thinks, and her pulse hitches at the random thought that she could touch him, and she wouldn't absorb any of whatever powers he has.
"There really any excuse for you, shug, runnin' into pretty girls on the sidewalk?" She flirts with the charged thoughts, turning back toward him instead of walking on, and he's doing the same, and there's a pause between them.
"Plenty of 'em, girl. I'm entirely justifiable, 'specially to the pretty girls on the sidewalk trying to run me over," he flirts back, taking a step toward her.
I could kiss a good looking man right here, and get nothing, she thinks with a small step backwards, momentary skittishness making her want to keep walking after all.
"Run you over?" She snorts, backing up still more small steps. "Boy, you ain't gotta clue."
"Who said I needed a clue?" He shoots back nonsensically.
"What?" She laughs, "what're you even talkin' about, that didn't make any sense."
He shrugs. "Fuck if I know, what were you talkin' about?"
I'd have nothing. None of his thoughts, none of his past, none of his bullshit, the thoughts are chasing eachother, and she stops, humor and a thrill bright in her eyes and tugging at her lips.
I could do it. I could kiss him.
And why not? Who says her first skin to skin contact has to be meaningful? Who says it has to be with someone she knows? Who says it needs to be with someone she has to warn off first?
"Ain't none of your business," she drawls, a smirk pulling over her mouth as she steps toward him.
Careless.
The cure will do that for a gal.
He's saying something back, but she's not listening to him. Probably just more smartass nonsense, she thinks as she steps right up, loops an arm around his neck, reaches up on her tiptoes, and kisses him.
He's surprised, that much is evident. But he's not unwilling, and it's nothing before his arms slip around her, hands splayed over her back, fingertips giving light pressure as he pulls her closer.
His mouth opens against hers, and she licks in behind his teeth, a flick of her tongue up against the hard palate. His lips harden a little in response, and the tip of his tongue swipes under hers.
Delicious! She shivers at the sensation, and he is! He tastes of booze and spearmint gum, the texture of his lips smooth in places, chapped in others, and offset by the rough scratch of his chin on hers. He smells faintly of cigarettes and whatever expensive smelling cologne he's wearing, and he's all wide shoulders, fit musculature, and the right kind of tall to pop her foot a little in that kiss.
She closes her eyes and leans up into him a little more, allowing the exhilaration and sensations of the kiss to linger just a bit more. He follows her lead and deepens the kiss, pulling her in a little more flush to his front, clearly in no hurry to go anywhere, and very clearly enjoying the moment just as much as she is.
Her heart thuds excitedly at that realization, and she sort of...sinks into the kiss, him, allowing her senses to become fully saturated with the moment. It's a hell of a kiss, and it's only her second one, she feels she's allowed to fully fall into it!
The fleeting thought that she could do more zips through her mind, and a small giggle bubbles up into the kiss along with the realization that he probably wouldn't tell her no. She promptly pulls back, nerves and old touch-me-not habits kicking in, and his hands fall from her as she steps away.
"So, was that a clue, or is it still none of my business?" He calls after her, "'cause I ain't gonna lie, chere, that little lipsmack you just laid on me's the second time y' left me feeling a bit ass-smashed to the pavement." He's teasing, his tone light, but he'd said what he said, and the intensity wasn't to be missed.
She shivers, both in response to him and from the lack of heat off that kiss. "I ain't ever gonna be any of your business sugar," she laughs softly as she starts turning away, "but for what it's worth, it feels a lot like I just got ran over again, too."
And with that, she turns away, stride buoyant, spirits light, and grinning so hard her cheeks start aching.
She likes carelessness!
-•oOo•-
The ding dong of the double doors announces Anna Marie into the Mansion's med bay the following morning, and she breezes on in to the help desk, smiling cheerfully at the petite young brunette on the other side of the window. She'd been advised after taking the cure to do a series of follow-up visits with her physician, and Dr. McCoy is one of the best doctors there is specializing in mutant care.
She signs in and goes to settle into a chair in the waiting area. The wait likely won't be long, Fridays are Dr. McCoy's days to do new recruit physicals, and there hasn't ever exactly been a long line of those at his door. The extra few minutes will give her a time to just...be. Just think. Last night, she'd done, and she's not done doing, but today…
Today's for thinking. Analyzing. Considering her self.
She'd woken up this morning to the sun already high in the sky, stretched luxuriantly in the covers, and laughed out loud at the slip and slide of bedding over naked skin. For she'd slept completely starkers last night, just because she could!
Not that she'd ever needed clothing to protect a partner, no, definitely not that, but in her deepest fears had been the horrible what-ifs. What if she hadn't locked the door the night before, and someone came over? She has friends who like to barge into spaces uninvited. What if someone broke in and attacked her? Sure, she'd not be hurt and they'd most definitely be smarting from that idiot decision, but she never wanted that kind of mind melding with hers. What if some disaster hit, and she had to flee the building immediately, maybe help someone or whatever, with no time to dress properly? She'd be amongst a crowd, exposed.
Poison skin will do that for a gal, make her paranoid as hell over the silliest, most unlikely events.
"Not anymore," she murmurs to herself. "Slept naked as a jay bird. And I'll do it again tonight."
It almost makes her light-headed to think that. She almost doesn't know what to do with herself like this. Does she sleep naked every night for forever? Or maybe she'll sleep naked by herself for a week, and then find herself a lover? She gets nervous at that thought, but she thinks she might like that. After all, she'd really enjoyed that kiss last night.
Gods, that kiss! She gets that butterflies-in-the-belly feeling and clamps her lips together to keep from giggling as she slows her memory over that. It'd been a hell of a kiss, everything she could have ever hoped one might be. It'd felt like a first kiss.
Maybe it had been?
Does the actual first one, the one that'd killed Cody, even count? She'd always assumed so, since she'd kissed him, and it was the only amount of kissing she'd ever experienced. But he hadn't even had the chance to kiss her back. She hadn't been kissed.
Last night had been her second time to kiss someone, and that'd been exhilarating in and of itself, but it'd her first time to be kissed. And she'd liked it. Wanted more of it. If she hadn't gotten all nervous, she could have kissed that beautiful man in the middle of the sidewalk for as long as either of them could stand it.
She thinks she'd like to do that again with someone, soon, and in a more...comfortable setting. A setting more conducive to exploration.
"Good morning, AnnaMarie, how are you? Come on in," Dr. Hank McCoy calls from deeper within the med bay, and she cheerfully pops up and follows him in.
"Mornin', Dr. Hank," she greets him, smile wide, arms out. "I'm all cured up and good for a hug, so c'mere."
The beastly looking doctor readily pulls her into a deep hug. "Good for you, my dear," he congratulates her warmly. He pulls back, trained eyes searching her over for any maladies. "And how are you feeling? Go, sit," he gestures toward bed as he takes a rolly whirly stool.
"I'm alright, doc," Anna readily replies, giddiness swelling back up, because she is! "Never felt better."
She knows that Hank McCoy, like many other mutants, is against taking the cure. She's aware of the potential ramifications, the risks, and she's aware that his feelings on the matter come from a place of genuine concern, wariness, and frankly, pride.
She gets that. Cured though she is, and not regretting it in the slightest, she's still a mutant, unique, different, one of a kind, and she also takes pride in that.
The remainder of her visit goes well. She patiently sits through vitals check, cheerfully answers routine questions regarding her physical and mental well being, and in the end, Dr. Hank wraps up the visit with a friendly smile, genuine well wishes, and a promise to see her next week before he starts physicals again. Anna practically swans back out into the lobby area, waving to the receptionist on her way to the doors, her mind already going forward, thinking what she'll do, where she'll go today-
Ding-dong!
The double doors swish open, and Anna's eyes nearly pop out of her head as she bumps shoulders with an all too familiar, all too good-looking man coming in as she's going out. Recognition, surprise, and then pleasure chase themselves over his sharp features and flash in his red-on-black eyes as they pass each other.
"Mornin', chere, I see you're still tryin' to run my ass over today, too, yeah? We goin' for a take two?" He teases over his shoulder, that same easy grin from the night before crinkling up the corners of his eyes and creasing a dimple in his cheek.
She pops her nose in the air and flicks eyes flirtatiously over him. "I done told you it ain't none of your business, shug," she snoots at him, then flashes him a smile over her shoulder to match the flutters in her belly and kick to her heart.
She wouldn't mind going for a take two. And if he's of half a mind to go for it, a take three and a take four might happen, too.
A cure and some carelessness can do that for this gal.