Disclaimer: These aren't my characters. They are the property of Marvel. The author makes no profit from this publication. The author is not liable for injury and/or loss of life as a result of this story's publication. Swim at your own risk, with a buddy. This fic is not tested on animals. Offer void where prohibited.
Author's note: Since this is my first fic, I'm very open to and excited about criticism. And please take the time to read the prologue, even get a hold of the song. It says a lot. Woo hoo!
Prologue:
He deals the cards as a meditation, and those he plays never suspect,
He doesn't play for the money he wins, he doesn't play for respect.
He deals the cards to find the answer, the sacred geometry of chance,
The hidden law of a probable outcome. The numbers lead a dance.
I know that the spades are the swords of a soldier.
I know that the clubs are weapons of war.
I know that diamonds mean money for this art,
But that's not the shape of my heart.
He may play the jack of diamonds,
He may lay the queen of spades.
He may conceal a king in his hand,
While the memory of it fades.
I know that the spades are the swords of a soldier.
I know that the clubs are weapons of war.
I know that diamonds mean money for this art,
But that's not the shape of my heart.
And if I told you that I love you,
You'd maybe think there's something wrong.
I'm not a man of too many faces,
The mask I wear is one.
Those who speak know nothing,
And find out to their cost.
Like those who curse their luck in too many places.
And those who fear are lost.
I know that the spades are the swords of a soldier.
I know that the clubs are weapons of war.
I know that diamonds mean money for this art,
But that's not the shape of my heart.
- "The Shape of my Heart" by Sting
Chapter 1: Seven Years
Heat and sweat made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He could feel the waves of lust pulsing forward from inside him. She was beneath him, sighing as he ran his fingers skillfully down her mid-section. She bit down gently on his earlobe, letting a hiss of hot breath escape across his neck as she leaned back. He caught her gaze and felt immediately uncomfortable. She looked at him with a feral hunger. She didn't even know his name. He closed his eyes and rolled over on his back. She responded, pulling herself on top of him. Gambit kept his eyes closed. He willed her features to change. In his mind her eyes became an emerald watercolor, a streak of white hair fell across her face. The woman above him leaned against his chest. He could feel her breasts heave, her thighs flex against him, her lips brush softly against his. "Rogue, chere," he breathed.
Gambit's eyes flashed open. He realized the mistake as soon as it had passed his lips. She lifted herself off him in surprise. "What did you just say?"
He stared up at the paneled ceiling. "I called you Rogue," he sighed. Sitting up, he pulled on his jeans and made his way to the bathroom.
"Who's that?"
"A girl," he responded curtly. He splashed a handful of cold water across his face.
"I gathered that," she was annoyed. "What I mean, is how did she end up in here with us?"
Gambit was staring at his reflection, wondering the same thing. More accurately he was wondering why it couldn't be her instead of the lustful, huffy woman sitting on the bed. What had happened to him? A few years ago things would have gone a lot differently. He felt a sudden loathing for the face in the mirror. This monster that had hurt her, pushed her away. Someone who had commited such terrible crimes that she couldn't love him anymore. And a man who was too weak to stop loving her.
Without thinking, he smashed the mirror. The glass became a spiderweb, distorting his features. The girl on the bed gasped, pulling the sheets up around her. Gambit looked down at his bloodied knuckled and pulled out a small sliver of glass from the skin. "Merde," he muttered beneath his breath. "What a fool you've become, boy." He turned his attention to the frightened woman in the next room, not knowing just what to say to her.
"Remy's sorry, petite. Ah thought ah could do dis." She opened her mouth a bit, but closed it again without saying anything. Gambit quietly gathered the rest of his clothes. "Ah'll pay fo' de room on my way out." He opened the door to leave.
"Hey," he paused and looked in on her. "...Remy...I'm sorry...about whatever it is."
A soft smile found his lips, " Merci, Angela. Truly." She smiled shyly back at him, and with that he was gone.
Author's note: Since this is my first fic, I'm very open to and excited about criticism. And please take the time to read the prologue, even get a hold of the song. It says a lot. Woo hoo!
Prologue:
He deals the cards as a meditation, and those he plays never suspect,
He doesn't play for the money he wins, he doesn't play for respect.
He deals the cards to find the answer, the sacred geometry of chance,
The hidden law of a probable outcome. The numbers lead a dance.
I know that the spades are the swords of a soldier.
I know that the clubs are weapons of war.
I know that diamonds mean money for this art,
But that's not the shape of my heart.
He may play the jack of diamonds,
He may lay the queen of spades.
He may conceal a king in his hand,
While the memory of it fades.
I know that the spades are the swords of a soldier.
I know that the clubs are weapons of war.
I know that diamonds mean money for this art,
But that's not the shape of my heart.
And if I told you that I love you,
You'd maybe think there's something wrong.
I'm not a man of too many faces,
The mask I wear is one.
Those who speak know nothing,
And find out to their cost.
Like those who curse their luck in too many places.
And those who fear are lost.
I know that the spades are the swords of a soldier.
I know that the clubs are weapons of war.
I know that diamonds mean money for this art,
But that's not the shape of my heart.
- "The Shape of my Heart" by Sting
Chapter 1: Seven Years
Heat and sweat made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He could feel the waves of lust pulsing forward from inside him. She was beneath him, sighing as he ran his fingers skillfully down her mid-section. She bit down gently on his earlobe, letting a hiss of hot breath escape across his neck as she leaned back. He caught her gaze and felt immediately uncomfortable. She looked at him with a feral hunger. She didn't even know his name. He closed his eyes and rolled over on his back. She responded, pulling herself on top of him. Gambit kept his eyes closed. He willed her features to change. In his mind her eyes became an emerald watercolor, a streak of white hair fell across her face. The woman above him leaned against his chest. He could feel her breasts heave, her thighs flex against him, her lips brush softly against his. "Rogue, chere," he breathed.
Gambit's eyes flashed open. He realized the mistake as soon as it had passed his lips. She lifted herself off him in surprise. "What did you just say?"
He stared up at the paneled ceiling. "I called you Rogue," he sighed. Sitting up, he pulled on his jeans and made his way to the bathroom.
"Who's that?"
"A girl," he responded curtly. He splashed a handful of cold water across his face.
"I gathered that," she was annoyed. "What I mean, is how did she end up in here with us?"
Gambit was staring at his reflection, wondering the same thing. More accurately he was wondering why it couldn't be her instead of the lustful, huffy woman sitting on the bed. What had happened to him? A few years ago things would have gone a lot differently. He felt a sudden loathing for the face in the mirror. This monster that had hurt her, pushed her away. Someone who had commited such terrible crimes that she couldn't love him anymore. And a man who was too weak to stop loving her.
Without thinking, he smashed the mirror. The glass became a spiderweb, distorting his features. The girl on the bed gasped, pulling the sheets up around her. Gambit looked down at his bloodied knuckled and pulled out a small sliver of glass from the skin. "Merde," he muttered beneath his breath. "What a fool you've become, boy." He turned his attention to the frightened woman in the next room, not knowing just what to say to her.
"Remy's sorry, petite. Ah thought ah could do dis." She opened her mouth a bit, but closed it again without saying anything. Gambit quietly gathered the rest of his clothes. "Ah'll pay fo' de room on my way out." He opened the door to leave.
"Hey," he paused and looked in on her. "...Remy...I'm sorry...about whatever it is."
A soft smile found his lips, " Merci, Angela. Truly." She smiled shyly back at him, and with that he was gone.