Disclaimer: Marvel owns all. (I've just invited them over to my house to play.) A/N: Another random HC and the reason science + fiction = science fiction. This first chapter was written for Rogue & Gambit Week 2021. Writing prompt was Day 6: Trust Me.
I took a more linguistic approach to the accents this time: first, writing them minimally and using only key words as accent triggers; and second, swapping the triggers in as would be more realistically used while speaking. For example, "I love ya," is more friendly/brotherly than "I love you," but "Ya know, I love you" captures the essence of the accent while still portraying the desired emotion.
Chapter 1
Quantum Entanglement: a physical phenomenon that occurs when a pair of particles interact or share proximity in such a state that one particle of the pair cannot be described independently of the other, including when separated by large distances. The relationship cannot have happened by chance and actions performed on one particle affect the other.
(X)
Rogue burrowed into the plush blankets and silken sheets, luxuriating in the bed that seemed to wrap around her body. As she nuzzled into an even more comfortable position, getting relaxed to sleep in, she stretched out her hand to rest on the pillow-soft mattress. Instead of finding cool sheets and fluffy bedding, her fingers glided over hot-to-the touch skin and hard muscles. Smooth pectorals connected to the ridges of defined abdominals leading down to cut hip flexors. A rich baritone "hmmm" broke through the last hazy vestiges of Rogue's sleepy mind.
Opening her eyes, the instinct to scream bloody murder was quickly followed by jumping as far away from the strange man in her bed as she could. Unfortunately, her wrist jerked on a pair of handcuffs and she awkwardly draped half across the bed, half off the edge. Cool air breezed across her warmed skin, indicating her state of undress as she scrambled to cover up in the sheet. A quick once over of the foreign surroundings did not help the situation since the room was as unfamiliar as the man.
With the fabric tucked tightly around her body, she finally glanced up at the stranger. The bedding that she'd so quickly jerked toward her side of the mattress left his equally nude body exposed. Rogue tried to divert her eyes from his attractive physique, but still caught a glimpse of his other endowments. All the commotion made him languidly sit up, like a skulking feline, rubbing his hand against his forehead.
"Petite," He started, eyes still closed, brows pinched together with an obvious headache, "I'm sure there was lots of screaming last night, but did y' have t' start de day that way too?"
From his behavior and reaction, Rogue wondered if he was hungover. Now that she thought about it, she had a slight headache too, but it didn't feel like the ill effects of imbibing too much, nor was she still drunk.
Suppressing the mild throbbing, she ground out, "Who...the hell...are you?" Her Southern twang was stronger than she last remembered.
Finally peeking at her from the corner of his eyes, he barely gave her a once over before saying, "Now chère, why you got t' be like that after de fun we had last night."
He grasped the long chain between their cuffs, lifted it up, and gave it a little shake. His inflection was dusted with Cajun, though not overly strong, as if he hadn't lived in the bayou for quite some time. A mischievous smirk, complete with an alluring dimple, matched the twinkle in his eyes. This wasn't the first time he had woken up handcuffed to a woman. It again begged the question who was this man?
"Did you kidnap me?" Rogue sharply accused; her eyes narrowed into tiny slits. If he did, boy was he going to be in for a rude awakening when she fought back.
He was back to rubbing his forehead, but this time as if it would bring back some fuzzy memory. He slowly drew out, "Non."
Crossing her arms over her chest, which jerked the handcuff chain and pulled his arm toward her, she suspiciously added, "How do I know you're telling the truth?"
"How do I know you didn't kidnap me?" He mouthed back, irritation shadowing the edge of his flirty words.
"Because…I mean…how could I…" Rogue spluttered, not expecting him to turn the insinuation back on her. How dare he accuse her of kidnapping him?
With a voice full of infinite patience, he reasoned, "Same way you know you didn't kidnap me is de same way I know I didn't kidnap you. I don't chase femmes who say 'no'."
His logic was pretty sound. Still, if neither had abducted the other, "How did we get here then?"
"Don't know, but it usually involves copious amounts of alcohol, hein?" His eyes were still closed as he massaged his temples.
"I'm not drunk." Rogue rapid fired, to which he quickly returned, "Neither am I."
She flopped down on the bed, her back to him, as she put her head in her hands. Every thought trying to explain the current situation led back to, "Why can't I remember anythin'?"
"You too?" He questioned.
Rogue just shook her head, gently tugging at the roots of her hair. The movement pulled on the chain, reminding her of the physical attachment to the stranger.
'Okay, let's start with the basics.' She thought. 'My name is Rogue. I live in New York at Xavier's Institute because I'm a mutant and an X-Man. My ability is power absorption. Logan saved me when I was sixteen and has been the closest thing ta family ever since. I took the Cure and learned control when it failed. The last thing I remember was prepping for a long-haul mission.'
"What's today's date?" Rogue excitedly asked, searching in the sheets, under the pillow, and around the floor for her phone. There was no nightstand on her side of the bed or any other usable piece of furniture. Who decorated like that?
From the movements behind her, she could tell he was doing the same thing except he found his first. "October fourth."
"What!?" She absolutely flipped out. "No way. Two months? It's not possible!"
What had she been doing all that time, shuffling like a zombie through the movements of life? Where was Logan? The other X-Men? Had no one thought to check in with her to make sure she was okay? None of it added up.
Rogue came to the conclusion, "I need ta find my phone," but when she spun around to convince the guy to whom she was attached, she found him watching something on his mobile.
"Putain." The word was barely audible and quickly followed by a drawled out, "Bai-se moi."
"What?" Rogue found herself asking again, though with more dread this time. Things couldn't possibly get worse. "What is it?"
She scooted closer as best she could while wrapped up in the sheet, but not too close to his still naked form. For crying out loud, he hadn't even bothered to use the pillow for modesty! Despite what some people at the Institute might think, Rogue wasn't some blushing virgin. That's why it was no surprise that she noticed parts of his body react to whatever he was seeing. All the same, she willfully chose to focus her attention on trying to see his screen. When he realized what she was doing, he quickly slammed the phone face down on the side of the mattress farthest away from her.
"I don't think you want t' see it, petite." He said with such sheltering condescension that she immediately tried to reach for the phone.
"No, if anythin', I definitely want ta see it more now." Suddenly his nudity wasn't a big deal in comparison to getting the cellular device.
His reflexes were quicker than lightning, faster than anything she'd seen at the Institute. Rogue had barely lifted her hand before he had picked it up in his free hand and held it aloft.
"Trust me, you really don't want t' see it." She could feel his gaze trained on her.
'Well two can play that game,' Rogue thought, looking up to give him the stare down that made everyone at the mansion (Logan included sometimes) back down and capitulate to her request.
Instead of the withering glare she intended to turn his way, Rogue gasped at the dark oculi now focused on her. Quite a few mutants had passed through Xavier's, sometimes with unusual physical manifestations of their homo superior genes, but never before had she seen such a stygian gaze. The spark dimmed from his dark cardinal eyes. Clearly, he'd encountered this reaction in his past.
"Gar ici," he started, his resounding timbre now flat as he lowered the phone, "let's find de key t' de cuffs. Go our separate ways, non?"
Realizing what she had done and knowing how it felt to be the pariah even amongst nature's anomalies, Rogue's eyes widened in distress.
"No!" She tried to backpedal her earlier reaction but rushed to clarify when she saw the curious quirk to his brow. "I'm sorry, ya just took me by surprise."
The man remained silent, the expression on his face and that finely shaped arch never changing. Feeling the need to explain more, Rogue babbled out, "There are a lot of mutants where I live, but nobody has…I mean, I've never seen…"
It was evident her bumbling wasn't helping. Taking a deep breath and huffing it out as a sigh, she admitted, "I'm a mutant too."
She didn't feel threatened by revealing her status to him. Now that she had control over her mutation, she could blend into the baseline human populace. It was clear the same could not be true for him. Even if he ended up not being a good guy, which she was fairly certain he was since he didn't seem to be taking advantage of their situation, she could probably kick his ass with the fighting skills she'd learned from Logan.
"Not a fashion statement then?" He reached out with his right hand to gently twirl a strand of white hair around his finger. The chain between them undulated uncomfortably.
"Um, no. But it's not part of my mutation either." Rogue's answer only seemed to beg more silent questions from him. "It's a long story. Look, I don't know about you, but I don't normally do this," she waved between them, "Can we just find the key and then I'll be on my way?"
The burn from knowing she'd be doing the walk of shame raced across her cheeks, bringing back that twinkle in his dark eyes. While she hadn't known him long, Rogue could read basic body language. This man had a level of comfort in his own skin as was evidenced by his easiness waking up in a compromising situation. He wasn't freaking out about sleeping with someone he didn't know. It all added up to someone who was well experienced with various sexual partners.
He only paused a moment, his eyes roaming over the pretty blush coloring her cheeks before he solemnly agreed, "Mais yeah."
Rogue could tell from that gaze that he'd been looking for something, though what she didn't know. Apparently, he hadn't found it because he put his phone face down on the nightstand and gracefully rose out of bed. In opposition, she stumbled after him, clumsy from the handcuffs and the king-sized makeshift toga.
Rather than beginning their search in the nightstand drawers or the table over by the bedroom door, he headed toward the bathroom. Rogue reluctantly trailed behind, seeing as she was still attached to him.
It wasn't until he flicked on the light that she objected, "What all do ya think you're doing?"
"I have t' use de facilities." His response was simple but surprisingly polite.
"Oh no. Just no." Rogue crossed her arms over her chest, refusing to follow him any further. If he wanted to do this, he would have to drag her along kicking and screaming.
"Look, chère," He turned around to face her, his full-frontal on clear, unabashed display.
"Oh geez!" Rogue scrambled to cover her eyes, but he just ignored her interruption as he continued with an exasperated, "I have no clue where de key is or how long it's gon' take us t' find it. I also have no recollection of de last twenty-four hours, much less de last two months, just like you. All things considered, I don't know when I last used de bathroom, but it feels like it's been a while. Unless y' want t' witness something cruder, I suggest you allow me t' use de toilet."
"Um," She hesitated, chewing her lip as she tried to come up with an alternative. Now that he mentioned it, she had to go too but what could they do to keep up some level of privacy between strangers? When she didn't respond or move to follow him, he shrugged and kept moving forward. The gentle tug on the chain connecting them had her floundering along behind. Rogue lowered her hand from her eyes, watching so she didn't trip on anything. However as soon as he got into position, she turned her back, squeezed shut her eyes, and plugged up her ears but not before she heard his irritated sigh.
'He must be right-handed.' She thought, knowing from previous relationships and fragmented psyches that guys had a particular habit about urinating. When she lifted her hands to her head, it shortened the chain enough that he probably couldn't use his primary hand.
Even with her ears plugged, she could hear the faint sound of splashing liquid and what sounded like a groan of relief. Trying to give him as much privacy as possible, she silently sung 'la, la, la, la, la' in her head. After what seemed like an unusually long time (he really must have had to go), cool air breezed against her back as he moved to the sink. Cautiously cracking an eye, she watched him scrubbing up under the running water.
Their eyes met in the mirror as he tilted his head toward the toilet. "Be my guest. Even put de seat down for you."
Rogue just laughed, "Yeah, no." There was no way she was going to pee in front of him.
Finished at the sink and grabbing a hand towel to dry off, he just quirked that eyebrow again as if his earlier explanation somehow didn't miraculously apply to her as well. In a battle of wills, Rogue stubbornly stared him down. Once again, she found her arms crossed over her chest, her hip cocked out, and a passionate flare to her eyes. She temporarily forgot that she was wrapped in a sheet, standing in a bathroom chained to a fully naked stranger who seemingly had no concern about his nudity. Time slowly ticked as her stubbornness matched wills with his stoicism.
Each second that passed made the urge to potty grow more insistent until finally she said, "Fine! But you're gonna turn your back, close your eyes, and plug your ears just like I did."
"Don't think that's gon' work, chère." He jangled the chain as he elaborated. "All I had t' do was stand. If you're gon' sit, I can't plug my ears."
Sure enough, the three feet of chain proved a logistical nightmare. While she could give him extra length by raising her arm, she needed one hand to hold the mass of sheet while the other assisted with cleanup.
"Dammit!" Rogue cursed, realizing the truth of his statement. She quickly added, "But I better not see even a hint of those dark eyes."
As if the words alone were enough invocation, a mischievous glitter shone brightly in his gaze. "Jamais, chérie. Je le jure."
This time, it was she who quirked an eyebrow and gave the silent treatment. He missed a few beats before he realized she wasn't going to budge until he did as she asked. With a sigh, he momentarily raised his hands in surrender before turning his back. Little did he know she was watching him in the mirror where she could clearly see his face.
"Eyes closed, Cajun." Her pitch was melodic.
"Ouais, bien." He answered, closing his eyes and tilting his head toward the ceiling.
Rogue paused another moment to make sure he was honoring her wishes before shuffling back toward the toilet. There was so much fabric from the sheet that she almost had to totally unwrap herself to gain enough range of motion without wetting herself. As it was, she had a huge handful of excess material in her cuffed left hand while her dominant right took care of business. Finishing up, she rearranged the fabric, stuffing the makeshift strapless dress into a loose knot while she hobbled over to the vanity.
For the first time since this ordeal started, Rogue looked at herself in the mirror. A barely audible gasp escaped her lips as she saw the big, soft curls framing her face. Her makeup, while slightly smudged, was pinky neutrals that gave her skin a subtle flushed glow and sultry bedroom eyes. The soft matte lipstick made her lips look kissably full. While she never thought herself bad looking, she never considered herself a bombshell. However, the vision before her looked like she'd just stepped out of an editorial campaign. A fidgeting movement from the man next to her refocused her attention to the task at hand. Turning on the faucet, Rogue dipped her hands into the water before promptly shrieking as if she'd been burned.
"Quoi ça die? What happened?" The man spun around, concern evident as he gently placed his hand on her lower back.
"This!" Rogue pointed to the ring on the third finger of her left hand. "Where did this come from?"
"Noticed that, did you." His comment was so matter of fact that she spun around to gaze into his face instead of just a reflection in the mirror.
Her eyes narrowed as she questioned, "What do you mean, 'noticed that'?"
"Seems I have one t' match." With that, he held up his left hand against hers for comparison.
It was clear the platinum bands were complimentary wedding rings. Both had a square face with a round diamond in the center. Her stone was much larger where his was simply there for accent. Square diamond baguettes of the lightest blue framed the center stones in a unique visual illusion. On her ring, an extra row of smaller, round channel set diamonds tapered the squared 2.5 carat setting down to the underside profile where scrolled knots and interwoven hearts were filigreed.
For the second time since she awoke, Rogue inflected, "What…the hell…happened?"
"Don't know," He lowered his hand, "but maybe we'll figure it out when we find de cuff keys."
"Good idea," Rogue agreed, following him out of the bathroom.
Now that she was a little less embarrassed about being around him and since he still hadn't tried to cover up, she found her eyes wandering toward his muscular back. Physical fitness appeared to be just as important to him as it did to her. His traps were well formed from functional weightlifting, flaring out into broad shoulders before narrowing into streamlined lats, and trailing into sacral dimples above glutes that flexed fluidly with each step. Not only was the man devastatingly handsome, his body was just as deliciously attractive.
'Get a hold of yourself, gal.' Rogue shook her head. 'You have no clue how ya ended up in this situation. Ya don't know a stitch about this guy. For all you know, we were dumped here without anything actually happening between us. All this matching rings and stuff could be total nonsense. Getting mixed up with him could be asking for trouble.'
While she was giving herself a mental pep talk, he had arrived at the nightstand and picked up his phone again. It triggered at least some memory for her as she said, "Hey, that reminds me! What were ya watching earlier?"
"De rien." He brushed off her request again, mindlessly unlocking and scrolling through notifications.
Rogue wasn't having it this time. Reaching across his body, she snagged the phone and started paging through the open apps trying to find what had caused his earlier reaction. He half-heartedly tried to snatch it back, but she successfully deterred him. She didn't have to look long before a video appeared on screen.
At first, the only thing visible was the white of the bed linens. Silence filled the room until her playful giggle floated from somewhere out of frame. He repositioned the camera as the sheet started to ripple, revealing his muscular chest and thighs.
A hot blush seared Rogue's face, realizing his full physique was in view.
Suddenly, her distinctive white framed auburn locks appeared. She crawled up from the foot of the bed. The palest pink lace bra barely covered her pushed-up breasts. Her right hand grasped his semi-hard arousal, stroking it lightly as a wicked smile crossed her face. Biting her lip, she leaned forward and licked his tip. He groaned in pleasure, nearly dropping the phone from the unexpected attention. Since he was holding the device in his left hand, he extended his right to tangle in her luscious hair and press her head down to take more of him into her mouth. Falling right into her trap, she giggled again as the open cuff slapped around his wrist.
Rogue had seen enough. Disgusted with herself, she shoved the phone against his still naked chest, declaring, "It's gotta be faked or something."
Quick on the draw, he muttered, "De trashcan full of condoms begs t' differ."
"What was that?" Her tone was acerbic.
Instead of taking the bait, he deferred to logic. "Takes an awful lot t' fake a video. Even more t' this degree without either of us knowing or remembering. I'm pretty sure that was really us."
Rogue couldn't meet his eyes. Her lashes lowered as her gaze dropped to the floor. The quickly heated blush turned into a lingering flush that spread across her whole face. Things only got worse when she spied the offensive lacy pink bra on the floor by his side of the bed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the matching panties a few feet away and a pair of off-white dress slacks closer to the door. Following the trail, she discovered the rest of their clothes: her satin slip, his white dress shirt, her strappy silver heels, his brown oxfords, and a bundle of Chantilly lace and organza haphazardly piled in the armchair. The more evidence they uncovered, the more Rogue had to believe what her eyes were seeing: sometime in the last two months she had met the strange man standing next to her; and sometime in the last twenty-four hours, she had married him.
His voice recaptured her attention as he said, "De keys aren't in de bed or nightstand."
While he'd been looking to improve their situation, she'd been surveying the precursor to it. She felt a little guilty about not staying focused on the task at hand; however, she was able to contribute, "What about the table by the door?" At least her perusal of the room was somewhat helpful.
This time, Rogue took the lead, dragging him along behind her as she crossed the small distance to the side table. The tiny drawer in the front of the semi-circular piece took a little elbow grease, but she managed to jerk it open. Unsurprisingly, the accent furniture was empty.
"Nothing." Disappointment colored the word.
"Maybe they're in another room or out in a car." He kindly tried to encourage her, but Rogue could only muster a silent nod.
Not knowing their current living situation, he proposed, "We should probably get dressed before we venture out."
"Yes, please!" The idea of not only getting rid of the swath of fabric covering her, but some semblance of clothing to hide his naked physique was something Rogue couldn't resist.
The man looked around the perimeter, searching for a luggage rack or table that could store their suitcases. It didn't take long to find a single black duffle neatly tucked away on a low bench. The problem was there was only one bag and it was clearly not one she remembered.
"Where's my stuff?" Rogue asked, taking the time to look more thoroughly around the room. Unfortunately, her earlier assessment remained true. The scattered clothes and the single black duffle were all that was present.
"Maybe in another room?" He shrugged, before adding, "Can y' wear what you had on before?"
"Ugh," Her shoulders slumped as her head dropped back. Staring at the ceiling for a second, she said, "I hate wearing dirty clothes."
The stranger's brow rose as elegantly as it had so many times already, his lips slightly pursed with his questioning look. No doubt he was wondering exactly what situation she had been in to 1) need to wear dirty clothes and 2) have them on for any significant amount of time to know how uncomfortable they became. Catching his expression, Rogue just waved him away with, "It's another long story."
"Eh bien," He drawled in hesitation. She, in turn, figured he must be thinking she was bat shit crazy by now.
"Just follow me so I can get my stuff." Would the blush never leave her face?
They moved around the room, picking up the trail of clothes until they wound up by the crumpled white dress. Rogue neatly laid the panties and bra on the wooden arm of the chair and gingerly lifted the wad of lace and organza. Straightening it out, she held the simple but elegant hourglass dress against her sheet clad frame. There were little cap sleeves that curved down to a sweetheart fitted bust. The waist nipped in before hugging the hips and then flaring out midthigh to loosely drape to the floor in a sweeping train.
Tears pricked her eyes as her bare palm smoothed over the silky lace. The design wasn't anything at all like she had imagined before her mutation manifested. Those little girl dreams had included a ballgown made of lots of tulle and a beaded satin bust. After her mutation, she'd shoved all those thoughts away. Even when she had been in a steady relationship with Bobby, she had known there would be no fairytale wedding so long as her mutation was left wild and unchecked. It wasn't until Kitty dragged her to Chicago for a childhood friend's wedding that Rogue had considered the possibility again. Even then it was only a flash of white while she stood alone at an altar, unable to picture any groom who would be willing to stand next to her.
Unconsciously, she quietly sniffled at so many dashed hopes. The sound stirred that compassionate concern from the man next to her as he gently asked, "Everything okay, petite?"
'Gawd, how much more pathetic can I be?' Rogue chastised herself, but she lashed out at his words rather than succumbing to more pity.
"Chère," She pronounced as the Cajun 'shah', "chérie, petite. Do ya always have a pet name on the tip of your tongue instead of calling a woman by her name?"
She looked into his handsome face as she spewed the verbal venom. In truth, she hadn't known him long enough to get a good read on him, to know whether he was a player or not. Still, it was better than baring her soul and most intimate wedding dreams.
"When I can't remember de femme's name, ouais." He flatly agreed, all earlier concern hidden behind an impassive mask.
Rogue quickly sniped back, "I bet that happens a lot, don't it?"
"Considering I don't have any memory of said femme, including de circumstances around our introduction, then I can't exactly use her name, now can I?" This time, it was he who crossed his arms over his chest, the white dress shirt and off-white slacks neatly folded in a square under his bicep.
"Whatever," Rogue just rolled her eyes and briefly turned her attention back to the dress before declaring, "I can't wear this."
His brow lifted as he asked, "Why not?"
"In case ya haven't noticed, Cajun," She slowly turned to fully face him, "I'm kinda limited on clothing options."
He was ready to fire a second objection when she jangled the chain between them and clarified, "This is a form fitting gown. If that video," here, she indicated his phone, "is accurate and assuming I actually wore this dress at some point, it was removed before we were cuffed together. There is no way it's going back on now."
She refused to admit she was the cause of their current dilemma.
"Oh." His would-be argument deflated, and he paused for a moment, clearly trying to think things through. "Maybe I have something you can wear."
He strode away so quickly that Rogue barely snatched her undergarments before tagging along behind him. Across the room, they stood in front of his black bag while he unzipped the main section. The neat thoroughness he used to shift through the bag told her volumes about his habits, organizational skills, and categorical processes. In just a few seconds, he'd sifted through all the contents, took inventory, and identified clothing both of them could put on while still handcuffed. Rogue was impressed.
"These might be big but should at least stay up if you tighten de drawstring. I'm gon' need your help with my shirt though." He offered a small stack.
In her hand was a pair of black sweatpants and a heather red t-shirt. In his was a pair of straight-fit jeans and a black tank top.
"Okay…" She hesitated, unsure where this was going. "Why do I need ta help ya with your shirt?"
"Same reason you can't wear that dress." He nodded back to where they'd left the formal gown. "I wear slim fit. I can't get my chest through de arm, but de shirt is stretchy enough you might be able to slip it on and across de handcuffs t' me."
"Um…yeah. I don't get what ya mean, but I'll at least give it a try if you direct me." Rogue looked down at her makeshift wrap. "Guess I'll have ta ditch the sheet."
There was nothing to it. She was going to have to get naked in front of him and needed to stay nearly naked to help him get dressed. At least maybe she could put on her panties and bra before sliding into his tank.
"Don't you dare look! Same protocol as the bathroom." Her forefinger pointed up in his face as she screwed her own in consternation.
He let out an exasperated sigh, mumbled something under his breath about more than likely having seen it all already, but complied with her direction. Once again, Rogue waited a second to be sure his eyes were really closed, even going so far as to wave her hand in front of his face.
"Did y' just check t' make sure I wasn't peeking?" He questioned, though his eyes were still closed.
Thinking she caught him red-handed, Rogue sassed, "How would ya know that if ya weren't looking, huh?"
In a tone as if to say 'duh', he answered, "I may have my eyes closed, but I can still feel displacement of air."
"Oh. Right." Her shoulders sagged that he was once again not only right but ridiculously observant.
Trusting the fact that he would remain in the dark, she quickly dropped the sheet, kicked it away, and slid on her panties in virtually one smooth move. Her bra was another thing entirely. Being righthanded, she slid that strap on first. It wasn't until she tried to slide the left on that she realized she had a problem.
Sensing her hesitation, he asked, "Something wrong?"
"No!" Rogue nearly shouted, unwilling to admit she hadn't fully thought this through. After a second, she added, "Maybe… fine, yes."
"Is it okay t' open my eyes?" His thoughtfulness nearly had her heart melting.
"Not yet! Gimme another minute." She said, taking off the lingerie and inspecting the straps. Not finding what she wanted on the front, she quickly moved to the back and declared, "Yes!" as she discovered exactly what she was hoping would be there.
Sliding the small, square hook out of the little fabric loop, she released the left strap from its anchored position. Once again, she slipped the remaining strap over her arm. With the other one hanging limply down her front, she was able to clasp the three hooks at her back, albeit with a little tugging on the cuffs, and adjust her breasts into a comfortable position.
"Okay, you can open your eyes now. I need some help." She stated, turning her back to him.
The position was a little awkward because her left hand tugged slightly behind her back from the chain connected to his right hand. Still, she knew he would need to see what he was doing. Hell, even she needed to get up close to the little fabric loops when she reconfigured it on her own. Sometimes the squared hooks didn't line up right.
Grabbing the loose strap, she flung it over her shoulder and asked, "Would you connect that to the band? There's a little loop-" she had started to explain, but he interrupted, "I know where it is."
'So maybe him being a player wasn't such a far-fetched guess after all.' Rogue thought, then realized, 'Just what did I get myself into? Couldn't pick a nice boy like Bobby again, huh?'
The thought of her ex reminded her why they had broken up in the first place. Nice boys like Bobby expected nice girls like Rogue to be more of a housewife and less of the crime-fighting adventurer that was the X-Men. The one time they'd had a serious conversation about what was in store for their future, he had wanted her to give up being an X-Man without making the same sacrifice for himself.
Unlike her, Bobby hadn't been disowned by his family until he was nearly an adult. And unlike her, he had no experience what it was like to live on the streets at sixteen and worry about when the next meal would come or if there would be safe enough shelter to grab a few unmolested hours of sleep, not to mention all while having a deadly mutation flare out of control. There had been no way she was going to quit being an X-Man if it meant saving some other poor kid the same fate she'd had before Logan had found her.
A gentle tugging on both the strap and bra band reminded her of the man who seemingly was the polar opposite of Bobby. 'Ya really know how ta pick 'em, don'cha, gal.'
A softly mumbled curse preceded the tight securing of the strap in its proper place. "There y' go, chère."
"Thank you." She quietly demurred, glancing at him over her shoulder.
"De rien." He waved it off again before presenting his tank to her. The arrangement was inside out, facing backward. The waist was bunched up to the right arm hole.
"Step into de arm and through t' de bottom." He instructed and she fortunately was able to comply.
"Good, now slide it up your body until you get t' your underarms." Rogue started to move the fabric quickly up her legs, but slowed down when he cautioned, "Don't go too fast though! I'm not sure how much those straps are reinforced."
Sure enough, the further up her thighs she pulled, the less forgiving the arm ribbing became. Carefully, she inched it up over her hips, gently finessing and shimmying the fabric higher. Her athletically nipped waist went faster, but her curvy bust posed another problem. Rather than try to push her breasts together to force the fabric higher, she lifted first one bra strap and then the other to clear each side individually.
Finally reaching her armpits, he said, "See if you can move it up your free shoulder t' get your arm and then your head out."
Rogue understood what he meant but putting that into practice was easier said than done. She had limited movement with her left hand cuffed to his and her right arm quickly became trapped against the side of her head.
"Um, help!" She softly cried, unable to move forward or back.
Feeling more than seeing him shift to stand in front of her, she felt his long fingers grasp the fabric where it was stuck on her shoulder blade. With a similar slow tugging method, he barely eased it over the thickest part of her arm and head. From there, it was an easy clearance for her elbow to bend and slide out, which then became a snap to finish pulling herself free.
"Okay…?" She drawled, "What good is this gonna do ya?" Rogue couldn't figure out what she was supposed to do with the shirt hanging off her left arm, looking like an idiot who didn't know how to dress herself.
A cocky smirk graced his features as he tugged the shirt down her left arm, over their joined hands, and onto his right arm in the correct position it should have been had they not been cuffed. From there, he gathered the excess fabric, twisted it 90 degrees forward on his arm, and slipped the shirt over his head not only right-side out but also forward. Then it was just a quick tug over his left arm and down his body.
Rogue was utterly impressed by his spatial recognition and contortionist-like prowess. "Wow. Just…I can't believe ya actually pulled that off."
"Eh, easy enough with practice." His chest puffed with pride.
"Wait," She couldn't possibly have heard him right, "You've practiced that before?"
Realizing his mistake, his gaze darted away as he seemed to deflate. Rather than answer, he turned her earlier explanation on her, "Long story."
"Hmm." Who was she to push when he hadn't pressed her for answers either? "So now what?"
"Finish getting dressed." He shrugged.
Grabbing their respective piles of clothing, he quickly donned a pair of fitted black boxer briefs and slipped into the jeans while she started with the shirt. Except it wasn't a loose shirt like she had expected. One look at the three-button Henley and she knew there was no way they could pull off the same trick through the tightly fitted short sleeves like they had done for his squared tank.
'Is everything this man owns slim-fit?' Rogue asked, while holding the shirt up to her bra-clad chest. She answered her own question though when she caught a glimpse of how well his clothes were tailored to his body, which also reminded her that he had a body worth showing off.
'Snap outta it!' She chastised herself. 'We're gonna figure out what's going on and then go our separate ways. Nothing's gonna come from this!'
Feeling as if she'd fluctuated between being a bitch, ogling him, or coming off dumb, Rogue really wanted to figure the shirt issue out on her own. Coming up with an idea, she excitedly asked, "Do ya like this shirt a lot?"
When he distractedly answered, "Quoi?" as he put on his watch and slipped his phone into his pocket, she repeated more precisely, "Is this your favorite shirt?"
"No…" His eyes were wary, "why?"
"Good. Then ya won't mind me doing this!" Before he could object, she tore open the buttons, stretched the neck until the fabric tore a little, and stepped into the top. Just like before, she tugged it up her body before sliding her right arm through the sleeve. That left the other sleeve wadded uselessly under her arm. Twisting the shirt forward just a bit, she grabbed the excess fabric and tucked it into the stretched neckline. The body was too large, so she gathered the bottom and tied it into a small knot.
"Et voilà!" She struck a pose in her new one shoulder tunic.
His jaw had gone slack as he had watched the horror that was the destruction of one of his most comfortable shirts. At a loss for words, he just stared for a moment before registering, "Did you just say that in French?"
"Mais bien sur!" She proudly beamed back at him. Maybe she had only taken Introductory French, and maybe Storm had diplomatically told her she had better stick to butchering only one language, but she still remembered some basics.
When an odd look passed over his face, she began to worry. "Did I do something wrong?"
He only held up a hand to stop her question, closing his eyes as he shook his head. The seconds seemed to drag into minutes and Rogue began to nervously chew her lip. Rambling, she added, "I only know some catch phrases. I figured since you were switching between French and English, it wouldn't hurt if I did. I mean, I know you're speaking Cajun French and that there are differences-"
His head shook again, but this time as if clearing away some confusion. "Non, it's fine. Put on de sweats and then let's see if we can find de keys."
"Right." Rogue scrambled into the pants, briefly lifting the makeshift tunic to tuck the soft, baggy fabric under it. He had been right: they were too large for her and she'd had to cinch the drawstring in as tight as the bunched-up waistband allowed.
Now that both were fully clothed, he led them on a systematic search of the room, first righting the sheet she had temporarily used as clothing. They tidied up the bed, though didn't remake it. Unfortunately, nothing had been in the sheets, nor under the bed itself. Next, they checked every single drawer, tabletop, and chair in the room. While it was nicely decorated, the furnishings were few and served only the most necessary purpose. A small door to the right of the bathroom led to a walk-in closet, but it was even more barren than its counterpart. Apparently, the only things they had brought into the bedroom had been his bag and phone, and the clothes on their backs.
"Let's check de other rooms." He suggested, striding toward the last door they had yet to open.
Suddenly suspicious, Rogue dug her heels in place and refused to move forward, "How d'ya know there are other rooms?"
The man just sighed, rubbed his forehead, and once again patiently explained, "This isn't a single hotel room for many reasons, de least of which is de large size, quality of furnishings, built-in closet, custom bathroom, and finally a normal interior door instead of a security one."
Rogue looked around the room at each item as he ticked it off. The room was large, in fact larger than even Storm's open-floor attic suite or the master bedroom in the boathouse at the Institute. While there were only a couple pieces of furniture, they were intricately carved from solid wood with hand-laid inlays and tufted silk brocade. Unfortunately, she hadn't paid enough attention in either the bathroom or closet, having been preoccupied with their search in each. That left the door, and sure enough as he had said, it was not one she would have expected in a hotel. There was no interior bar or chain lock, nor was there a deadbolt. The handle also appeared to be a normal knob.
Once again, her cheeks flamed in embarrassment. He had to think she was an absolute idiot, not noticing the basics of their surroundings. Even giving herself the benefit of the doubt for waking up handcuffed to a strange man couldn't explain away that she should have at least been able to recognize they weren't in a rented room.
"Gar ici," The dark ruby eyes turned toward her were surprisingly soft. "I don't have any memory of what happened any better than you do, but we're in this situation together. We're gon' have t' trust each other a little bit if we're gon' get out of it."
Rogue gazed at him, wary about so easily giving in to this proposed truce. Finally, she sighed and said, "You're right! Fine, I'm sorry!" She threw her free hand up in the air before closing her eyes and pressing her fingertips to her brow.
"This kinda stuff just doesn't happen ta me," Her lashes fluttered, and she turned her gaze on him, "I don't know quite how ta handle it. I might need a reminder now and then."
"Despite first impressions," A hint of wry amusement colored his words, "this doesn't happen t' me that often either."
'But it has, in fact, happened before." Rogue thought, catching the phrasing that didn't outright deny it occurring at least once in his past.
Her first reaction was to push for clarification, but he'd been so gracious not asking her questions she didn't want to answer either. It was a conscious effort not to raise her brow with a matching expression. All the while, his unusual eyes just stared back at her, waiting for the inevitable inquiry. Once she was confident in her lack of response, she waved toward the door and said, "Lead the way."
The man continued his intense gaze, clearly trying to puzzle her out. When she remained perfectly calm, he turned toward the exit. "D'accord."
She followed as he opened the door and stepped through. The sight that met them stole her breath away. They were standing on a second-floor landing, overlooking a spacious, luxuriously decorated main room. To their right were two more doors, more than likely other bedrooms or suites. But it was the thirty-foot wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that was the real showstopper. An array of fall foliage in bright yellows, fiery reds, and vibrant oranges blazed brightly in the afternoon sun. The endless forest and mountains stretched on as far as the eye could see without any evidence of another human being for miles and miles.
"Where are we?" Rogue asked on a whispered breath. Next to her, the man shook his head and said, "No clue."
The pair simply enjoyed the view for a few moments before restarting their search. As they descended the nearby stairs and could peer into the kitchen, Rogue saw her phone along with a beaded white satin clutch abandoned on the dining room table.
"That's my stuff!" She cried, running ahead the minute they were free of the last step and rushing over to the table.
A set of car keys and some papers were neatly arranged next to her things and a suit jacket that matched the dress slacks they'd found upstairs was haphazardly tossed over the back of one of the chairs. While he paged through the papers and examined the keys, Rogue snatched up her belongings. Checking the phone first, she realized she hardly had a charge on her battery. There would be just enough juice to look for immediate clues in her photos like he had done earlier. Setting the device aside for now, she popped the magnetic closure on the dainty purse, quickly perusing the contents but finding only bare necessities inside: a lipstick, a small vial of perfume, a travel bottle of lotion, her ID, and her credit card.
'At least I have a way outta here once we get rid of the cuffs.' The thought gave her a measure of relief she didn't even know was needed.
She was about to pick up her phone again when he asked, "What did y' say your name was?"
He held one of the papers up to his face so closely she was sure his eyes were crossed. It was evident he was studying it for more than just the mere words written on its surface.
"I didn't." Cautiously, she added, "Why?" He had yet to give her his name. What gave him the privilege of knowing hers?
"Because" He murmured, continuing to examine the document, "Anna Marie D'Ancanto and Remy Etienne LeBeau were united in the bonds of matrimony on de third day of October."
Without missing a beat, Rogue asked, "Who's Remy LeBeau?"
And without looking up, he added, "That would be me. But y' can call me Gambit."
"Oh." She shrunk back a little, once again embarrassed for not catching on to what should be something obvious. Then realizing what he'd said, she sassed back, "Well you can call me Rogue."
Gambit waved away her comment, as if their names were the least of their worries right now. Instead, he put the paper aside, perused through the others, and then checked the suit jacket pockets. Having been summarily dismissed, Rogue took the opportunity to look through the pictures on her phone. What she found there was almost as mortifying as the video on his phone. Going in reverse order from most recently snapped, the first still was one of him with his shirt nearly off. Next showed the shirt sliding down his biceps. Then it was back on his shoulders. The series that followed was a burst of continuous shots rapidly capturing Gambit slowly unbuttoning each stud.
"Ugh," Rogue groaned and tossed the phone back on the table when she saw the picture of him throwing the jacket out of frame and repeating the actions in a weird backward undressing.
"Quoi?" Gambit questioned, finally focusing on her for the first time since they found more of their items.
"Just more of the same of what we found on your phone." But unlike him, she had no qualms sharing the media. "Have a look if ya like."
He accepted her offer and swiped through the photos, this time going forward in natural progression. "Hmm."
It was her turn to question, "What?"
"Bien," He stretched the word. "If I didn't already know de marriage license was legit, these pics certainly offer enough evidence."
"Evidence of what?" Rogue asked, a little irritation edging her voice.
Gambit put her phone down, turning to appraise her instead of just seeing her physical appearance. "At some point yesterday, we were both of sound mind t' consent t' be married."
"Oh gawd." Her breath whooshed out. "Oh…my…gawd!" She dry-heaved before doubling over in shock and grasping her head in her hands as her elbows rested on the table.
"Sapristi chère, don't sound so excited." He blithely returned.
"It's not that." Rising to defend herself, she came face to face with his well-groomed brow arched in question. Rushing to explain, she spoke on a slightly panicky breath, "It's not like that at all! I have no memory of picking the dress I wore or if there were flowers and what they looked like. I don't know whether the ceremony was here, wherever here is, or if this is some over-the-top honeymoon suite. I have no clue what words I promised or even the faintest idea of anything about my groom!"
To himself, he sardonically said, "So glad I made de list," before adding for her benefit, "You think I'm in any better position?"
Rogue pulled her hair away from her face, holding it back by resting her hands on her head. "This can't be legal. I mean, if we can't remember, we couldn't have consented, right?"
She looked to him for affirmation of her assumption, but all he said was, "Last thing I wanted was t' get married." Gambit pointed a finger back at himself, his eyes flashing with resentment.
It was the first time he'd shown any emotion other than nonchalance or tolerance. Though the reaction could hardly be called an outburst, it still riled her feathers. Her anger was immediate, her expression matching his pique as she dropped her hands to her sides.
"What does that mean?" She quietly seethed.
"Don't take it personally, amoureuse," Gambit dismissed her, "Let's just say relationships don't usually fit in my lifestyle."
Rogue's jaw dropped listening to his cavalier words. 'What the hell have I gotten myself into?'
His response combined with their earlier tête-à-tête and the fact that he wasn't totally freaked out over waking up handcuffed to a naked woman all confirmed her suspicions that he was some major ladies' man.
"You think I wanted this?" Rogue huffed, fisting her hands at her sides. The action pulled on the handcuff chain, dragging him closer. "Well, y'all can go straight back ta whatever backwoods bayou you and your swamp rat kin crawled outta!"
"Tres bien! We're both in agreement that we don't want this." Gambit countered. "Soon as we can take care of these," he jangled the cuffs, "we can go our separate ways."
The second the words were out of his mouth, Rogue felt a tightening in her chest, almost like she'd taken a punch. Her breath shallowed and her throat tightened. Her heart plummeted to the depths of her gut. There was no logical explanation why a veritable stranger agreeing with her assessment should have caused such a physical reaction.
Brushing the ill feelings aside, she asked, "So how do we go about getting rid of 'em?"
"Mais, that might be easier said than done." He answered, turning his wrist over to examine the cuff while running his free hand through his hair.
"And why's that?" It was her turn to exercise some of that infinite restraint he'd shown earlier.
"Y' see this," Gambit indicated a number and small hallmark above the key post.
She brushed against his bicep, leaning into him to get a better look at the McM. "Yeah…"
"This is a set of Maclain legcuffs." He stated, lightly tapping the hallmark as if that alone was explanation enough.
"So…" Rogue drawled out. When he didn't answer, she looked up at him and prompted, "What does that mean?"
He let out a quick hmm as he chewed on his bottom lip. Tapping the cuff a little harder, he caused a barely noticeable vibration.
Convinced of the result, he answered, "It means these are made out of vibranium and we're not getting them off without a key." As an afterthought, he quietly added, "Or my picks, which seem t' be missin'."
Rogue completely tuned out his last comment, instead focusing on, "How do ya know all that? Who are you, a S.H.I.E.L.D agent or something?"
"Or something." A twinkle shown in his eyes as a wry little smile quirked one side of his mouth, exposing the dimple in that cheek.
Rogue rubbed her forehead. Why was this situation so damn difficult? If they couldn't get the cuffs off without a key, then "What do we do?"
Gambit continued to quietly examine the restraints as best he could. With his wrist still in it, there was only so much visible of the single strand where it riveted into the double strand. A good pair of cuffs would have a double lock. These had a triple mechanism with the added deadbolt. The problem was going to be if this particular unit required a custom key.
Probability was low, but not impossible. "We can try de local authorities."
"Well, that's just great," Rogue threw her hands up in the air. "We don't even know where we are ta know who the local authorities are!"
"I know where we are. At least, I know de general vicinity." He answered.
Suspicion once again crept from the dark corners of her mind. "How do you know that?"
Gambit held up the various papers. "De marriage license is for Sevier County, Tennessee. Then there's a contract from Angel Woods Chapel in Gatlinburg and a rental agreement from The Marriage Market in Pigeon Forge. From de view," he waved toward the colorful display out the tall windows, "I'd say we're in de Smoky Mountains."
"How did I get in Tennessee?" Rogue meant for the question to be rhetorical, but he answered anyway. "I take it that Mississippi mud mouth don't live 'round here?"
"For your information," She placed her hand on her cocked hip, "I live in New York."
Gambit rubbed his chin, his eyes taking on a sightless, far off glaze. "De last place I remember was Madripoor."
"Wait, what? Who are you?" Rogue challenged, shocked into temporarily forgetting that she hadn't exactly lived a mundane life since becoming an X-Man.
While some of her teammates had been there, she only had Logan's memories of the place. Before finding her as a stowaway in his truck and taking up the Professor's offer to help him regain his past, Logan had worn out his welcome in both Hightown and Lowtown. She only had snippets of what her closest friend had done while living there, but even those were debauched enough to tell her the island city-nation was not a place where nice people went on vacation, much less stayed for long periods of time.
"C'est tout. Too many questions, not enough answers." He answered, clearly shutting down that topic.
"Then we need to start tracking down some of these places. See if something jogs one of our memories." Rogue reached for the papers, but he moved them out of reach.
"Non, we need t' get these cuffs off first. If we're gon' run all over de county, we'll only be able t' play de newlywed card so many times before someone gets suspicious."
Would this man ever stop contradicting her?
"Fine. Then let's go." She ground out, spinning toward what she assumed was the front entrance, but Gambit stood his ground. "Can't."
Rogue slowly turned in place, asking "And why is that?"
"We have keys," He held up the plain ring with only a car fob and a house key, "With de exception of de one we need, but I don't have a wallet."
"And I don't have any clothes." She swung her hand up and down her body to indicate the ones she'd borrowed from him. "What does that have ta do with anything?"
"It's pretty obvious we're both mutants. We might have t' pass through some backwater towns. Towns where de locals aren't too thrilled with our kind. We get pulled over, handcuffed t' each other t' boot, we add t' our troubles."
"Then I'll drive. My license is in my clutch." She pivoted on her heel again, expecting the discussion to be over when she felt the chain tug her to a halt.
"Non, you won't. Your left hand is cuffed t' my right hand. I have t' drive. Otherwise, there's not enough chain between us." His logic was once again flawless, but as an afterthought, he added, "Unless y' want me leaning into your lap."
The words actually came with a suggestively raised brow and a smirk, as if that alone had worked for him in the past.
'No doubt it has.' Rogue thought before pertly answering, "No thank you! Guess you're just gonna have ta drive slowly."
And broking no further objections, she dragged him along behind her.
(X)
Putain – (French noun) Fuck
Baise Moi – (French verb) Fuck me
De rien – (Cajun French) It's nothing
Gar ici – (Cajun French) Look here
Jamais, chérie. Je le jure. – (Cajun French) Never, darling. I swear it.
Quoi ça die – (Cajun French) What's going on?
amoureuse – (French) sweetheart
C'est tout – (Cajun French) I'm finished [talking] with this
Note 1: Little known fact – Gambit's singing voice has been likened to Hugh Boynton, who was a baritone much like John Legend.
Note 2: For the record, I thought Vegas was cliched and Louisiana marriage laws were not conducive to the plot. That prompted a look into which states had something at least feasible on the books. Tennessee was the only place that also had an "elopement capital" and was still lax in their requirements. I know, I put too much thought into this stuff.
Note 3: Maclain was responsible for discovering vibranium, although his original alloy was created by mistake. In an attempt to recreate that bonding process, he invented the vibranium used for Captain America's shield. The original idea was to use adamantium, but the handcuffs would have weighed over 30 pounds. While vibranium isn't as strong as pure adamantium, anything short of pure adamantium would hardly do any damage to it. Thus, the leg cuffs are 3 pounds of vibranium. Although, if anyone is interested, there are some interesting points and counterpoints about vibranium vs. adamantium vs. carbonadium vs. beskar vs. a lightsaber. Also, see previous comment about thinking too much.