To all my reviewers – thanks and Happy Holidays!
-ScrewyLouie12, dieCG, BloodChildOfHate, Wiccamage (wretched beast? -raises an eyebrow-), thesupernugget, nuriiko, icefairy915, sazzlysarah, Deathgirl997, Conquistador Imp, GoldFox, X-Storm (always love your reviews!), signourney, Peanutbutter1, Katsu Kitsune (LOL! Thanks so much for the accent compliment, I really am trying!), cream tea, anyone? - (thanks! I am trying a kindof cross), hammycatra, Mercy P. Jones, ishandahalf, MidniteAngelGoth, Captain Annie, Freak87 (thanks for the help - What Might Have Been by Stretch!), Chica De Los Ojos Café, RG Marie, Remy'sRose, musagirl15.
Merry Christmas! This is definitely a gift so be happy! It's freakin' long!! Oy. The next chapter should be somewhat short, so hopefully it'll be, er, soon.
If you notice Rogue being double-minded about, well, practically everything, that's just honesty. Everyone experiences contradicting emotions, especially when thrown into situations they would normally avoid like the plague. Dealing with that situation can bring out both rejection and acceptance, the desire for distance and the desire for intimacy.
Warnings: more French - I figure as they get closer, more of his French would come through, both because she can understand it and it's a decent chunk of who he is. It's also kinda cool because I know some French, so some I could just write in easily. I try to use cognates mainly. Translations for ones I use a lot: vraiment – really/truly. D'accord – okay. Mais – but. And amoureux is sweetheart!
Um, about the ending – don't kill me!
So here it is:
It Takes Two...to Practice
by Silver Nitte iz
5) …Succeed…
She'd been right.
He'd barely gotten through the door when he pounced on her. They rolled, more energetically than their usual tussles as she was starting to get sick of getting pinned, but still he got the upper hand.
He grinned down at her when she huffed. "Hmm, so y' don't wan' ta be man handled?" he asked mock seriously. And the embarrassment retook the annoyance. She blushed. Of course he wouldn't forget that. But it hadn't been one of her better moments. Having Scott, of all people, being the one to break up her little –moment- with Gambit had just been horribly embarrassing. With them both in proximity, it was just unnerving.
"Dumb thing ta say ta you, 'kay? Ah get it," she groused.
He made another hmming noise, angling his body so he was pressed against her, but propping his elbows on either side to effectively trap her. But then leaning on one, he let his other hand skate over her collarbone. "But I ain't done havin' fun wit' it," he pouted. She tried to ignore the inferred 'wit' y'.
"Maybe ah don't want yah ta have fun," she shot back, blushing as it came out breathier than she intended.
He shook his head, eyes lighting, and leaned down. "Now ah know dat ain't true," the huskiness warned her of his next move and she tensed reflexively. "Chere," he murmured, the word dipped in caramel.
"Ah know," she cut him off, not meeting his eyes. "Ah can do this." She deliberately untensed, always a tad hard with him on top of her. She could do this. His lips neared. She could do this. A few inches away, now so close she couldn't measure the distance accurately – her unpinned arm shot out and he toppled to the side. "Ah can't do this," she told the ceiling.
He groaned. "C'mon chérie, technically yah already did dis," he pointed out.
"Well mah first tahme was traumatic," she shot back defensively, just barely darting a glance at him. A lump formed in her throat like it always did when she thought of Cody. Poor, sweet Cody – who'd she'd practically become in the most, well almost, disorienting moment of her life. She didn't really want to talk about it and she went on quickly. "-and last time ah was hypnotized. It doesn't count," she asserted stubbornly.
"Once again," he grumbled so low she barely caught it.
She blinked, finally leveling a look at him. "What do you mean, once again?" she demanded.
"C'est vrai," he drawled indolently, "dat automatically wipes out yah memory, désolé. J'ai oublié." (That's true/right...sorry. I forgot.)
Her teeth went on edge. "Gambit, what are you talking about?" she said very deliberately.
Lying further back, he gave her a taunting sly look. "Yah really want ta know?"
"Of course!" Her brow furrowed; just what was he playing at?
"Last time not be de first time de Rogue et de Gambit share a baiser, (kiss)" he said far too smugly. She hated that attitude on him. It was the exact one that always made her want to smack him.
She frowned. "Of course it was – Ah think ah'd remember if-" She cut herself off as the complaint registered. She didn't remember obviously.
"'xactly my point," it was grumbled in undertone, which she ignored.
"Wait, so when did this supposed kiss occur?"
His lips morphed into an amused Cheshire grin and he propped himself up on his side. "Now chérie, how often yah do t'ings y' don't remember lata?" Blank stare. She wasn't about to rise to the bait. He gave an exasperated sigh, before letting his fingers toy with her tank strap and tease the skin beneath. "Conseil: has ta do wit' a guy trés ugl'…
She blinked, getting the reference. "Mesmero? But why the heck would ah kiss yah unda his control?"
His grin widened. "Dat be de question, non?"
Her mind was still working. Mesmero had used her to collect all the powers and psyches of those around her… "I kissed yah ta drain you?" She looked over at him, fully outfitted in a large grin. "No way," she said flatly.
"Would I lie?"
She stared at him, wondering if the answer was simply too obvious to verbalize. She said yes anyway.
"Y' wound me, chérie," his hand went to his heart, but he went on after a second without the drama, "-but ah ain't lyin'." She gave a disbelieving snort, crossing her arms. Slyly, he added, "Got da tape ta prove it an' everyt'ing."
"A tape?" she asked dubiously.
"It was on de magnet's base chere. Y' t'ink de man didn't have security cameras everywhere?" It made sense, especially considering he'd had a thief as an employee, but she still frowned.
"I still don't believe it."
He began to fiddle with her tank strap again. "Jus' dyin' ta land one on de Gambit I guess," he bemoaned mockingly.
She glared. "Yah know one way ta look at it was Mesmero kissin' yah."
To his credit, he didn't even flinch. "Bettin' he don't got a kiss like y' do," he murmured, low and smoky, beautiful ruby eyes on her equally vivid lips. She couldn't help a blush.
"Probably jus' figured it'd be the best way ta take out a playboy like yah," she grumbled as he moved closer, signaling the return of real practice.
"Aww shush chere," a single finger dared to settle over her lips. He loomed nearer, the fire of his eyes heating. "Nous savons la verite." (We know da truth.)
Gulping, she let him closer, even as she muttered of his delusional state.
He just grinned.
The new focus on kissing though didn't change his determination to coax her into more physical exposure. Up to this point, they'd been keeping the practices practically platonic, even if any activity with Gambit necessarily treaded the line of indecency. She'd had free reign of his unclothed torso, while he'd been restrained to her face, arms, the curve of her waist, and taunting brushes of what lay clothed between. Admittedly, that was the arrangement during the intentional touch sessions, where one would be exposed while the other was covered. However, this time always seemed to lose priority to Gambit's favorite pursuit: pounce on Rogue time a.k.a. the part of the practice that was to focus on unintentional touch. During this time, they most usually both kept to tank tops (or well, a high collared muscle shirt in Gambit's case) and gloves, Gambit trading in his half-fingered for none to match hers. That had only come about after a particularly fierce 'discussion', wherein they'd compromised: Gambit would not have to be fully covered and Rogue would not strip further than the tank top. The underlying tension of the argument however, still was left to be resolved.
"Vraiment ma chérie, ah t'ink y' be makin' too much of all dis." She raised an eyebrow as he settled across from her cross-legged. She mirrored the move after a moment.
"Oh?" Even a few days ago, she'd have b-ed his head off about him knowing nothing about her mutation and its utter seriousness. But now, when he had tasted a decent amount of stings for what she could do quite a few times, she decided he deserved some leniency. Didn't stop her from a narrowed glare.
"Y' be t'inkin' yah need ta be comfortable wit' every single place yah touch an' de otta way 'round." His fingers almost absently traced over her in the air and she shifted in her seat. "Don't t'ink it be dat specific. Yah get comfortable 'nough, it won't matta."
"Whattaya mean?"
"Won' matta how much skin yah got showin' or what bein' touched – well, mostly," he couldn't seem to help a small leer after that remark. But his earnestness quickly resurfaced. "Y' feel comfortable period, and dat skin of yaurs won't be an issue." She swallowed at how simple he made it sound, how – possible.
"Well, ah ain't comfortable without a shirt-" she still said stubbornly.
"Chérie, if y' don't wanna strip, d'accord," he shrugged. She eyed him suspiciously and sure enough, there was a 'but'. "-mais considerin' all dat Gambit t'ink you be wantin' ta do…" he trailed off, bringing locked fingers up to under his chin. "'s usually da firs' step." Straightening, she readied herself to respond, when his next words completely floored her. "Unless ah be wrong 'bout how far 'xactly de chérie want ta go." He eyed her shrewdly.
"Thought we'd already gone over this." Avoiding his eyes, her face reflexively heated. She'd laid it out, committed to it once. But saying it again, here in her bedroom – would make it too real.
"Yah said everyt'ing. But an homme can get ta wonderin' 'xactly what y' meant…" Her flush deepened.
"Ah meant 'xactly wha' ah said," her accent thickening defensively, she finally locked eyes with him, chin out. "Sex an' everything." His grin turned wicked, but she refused to let that phase her. She'd always planned on this, even if she'd tried to avoid all the implications in her own ponderings.
It was yet another reason she picked him.
Nobody simply oozed casual sex like Remy.
Gambit. Right.
"Everyt'ing sounds trés fun amoureux," he purred, just proving her point. His next question however, did not. He cocked his head. "But yah sure y' want ta do it wit' Gambit?"
She raised her eyebrow. "Yah tryin' to talk me outta this Cajun?" The thought was absurd – and somehow made her more nervous than anything prior to this point.
He shrugged. "Jus' want yah ta be suhre of what y' doin' chere. Des femmes," he made a vague gesture in the air, "dey always have dere ideas about le première nuit," he paused and she wondered if this was a cue for her to assert her virginity. She didn't say anything. "- dey usually don't include Gambit."
It was an objection that made sense, but she had to admit that she'd never guessed it would be coming out of his mouth.
"Why not?" she simply shrugged, opting for brute cynicism. It was the only way she'd get out of this unscathed. "Ah need a fuckbuddy," if her voice caught on the term, it didn't mean anything, "and yah be the best option ah got." His expression was unreadable, the intensity switching to something – cooler. She shifted uncomfortably, retreating to babbling, "It ain't like it has ta mean anything. Sex ain't that special."
If he would just make a d- comment about her obviously not having experience or it being fantastic with Gambit, something flippant and leering, she'd feel a whole lot better. But he just sat there, with the beginning of a frown troubling his brow.
If he dared to say anything else, especially something in the opposite direction, she was going to hit him. He was the d- poster child for casual sex.
She sneered, feeling defensive in the face of his unresponsiveness. "What, yah don't know how ta do casual sex?"
And finally, finally he responded, even if his heart didn't seem to be completely behind it. Oh was that just wistful thinking? "Oh Gambit know how ta do it," he ran his tongue behind his teeth, flashing them at her predatorily. "Gambit know how ta do it très bien. Mais, long as we be all ouvert an' all, might as well figure out how we gonna do it."
Her eyes widened and her blush passed tomato shade. "Ah know the mechanics, swamp rat!"
He leered at her. "We coul' ahlways review," when her flush managed to get even redder, he grinned, "–but dat ain't what ah meant. I meant de messy details," he splayed his hands, "like protection."
"Protection?" she echoed.
"Guessin' yah don't want un bébé," her eyes enlarged at the mere suggestion, "mais given y' feeling on havin' barriers, not suhre if yah be good wit' a condom."
It took her two blinks to digest what he was saying. And at this rate, her cheeks were going to be permanently tinted. Agh, how could he be so casual about this? Obviously more bed etiquette he'd learned. The thought made her stomach tighten, except – did he always suggest options?
She'd never thought it out.
"Uh well," she had to look away from his unbelievably composed questioning gaze to order her thoughts, "ah'm on the pill." It came out with preamble and he blinked. She caught the rising of his eyebrow and explained. "Since mah mutahtion, every tahme ah've absorbed a guy, those male ha'mones an' stuff been messin' with mahne an' my body," even as terribly embarrassing discussing sex with Gambit was, it didn't compare with discussing menstrual issues with a guy – and she skimmed as much as she could, "been all outta wack, so Mista McCoy put meh on the pill. It's jus' easier." She avoided looking at him straight on, instead focusing on the crease of his shirt right below his shoulder.
"D'accord," he muttered after a moment. She was pleased to note he appeared to be as awkward as she felt. At last. It gave her enough nerve to go on.
"So if weh don't use, uh, condoms," He was right. If they could help it, she didn't want to have a barrier to well, skin-to-skin contact. Even if she hadn't really thought of it that way. Was it a barrier if even normal people resorted to it? But she wasn't normal. "-it'd pro'ly be okay."
"I'm clean," he offered. Her eyes shot up to his. She hadn't even thought – missed prime insult material there. But the thought merely served to turn her stomach. "Got checked and everyt'ing."
She bit her lip and looked away. She knew she should ask when, but she didn't.
"Hey chérie," without warning, he finally crossed the unspoken boundary between them and cupped her chin. She turned to meet melting scarlet hue. "Ah be here wit' you, hein?" So gentle.
She let her eyes shut, resting her head in his hand.
The hand he'd never yet ungloved.
Finally, grudgingly, she gave in to taking off her shirt.
And just wore a sports bra.
That sparked a new debate. Gambit claimed that it wasn't a true bra since she wouldn't usually wore it under her clothes (which of course resulted in her stating he had no idea what she wore under her clothes and him stating that he'd love to find out). He then reversed the argument when she admitted that she felt more comfortable in it since it covered more. He said a bra was a bra and that they both covered the same essential stuff. The 'real' bra would just be prettier about it. She had to roll her eyes at that.
It was around then that she realized he'd actually taken her advice. Rather than being too d- suave and seducing, he'd managed to lighten the mood for more casual teasing.
And finally, just laughing at his latest offer to even be gracious enough to pick out which bra from her drawer, she did it. It was the most relaxed she'd ever felt with him and hopefully this wouldn't ruin it. She didn't give him warning, just leaned forward and took what he'd been offering for some time.
She kissed him.
To his credit, he didn't stiffen at the suddenness. Instead, he simply raised a hand to guide her face into a more complimentary angle.
It was just as awkward as the first time, physically, but she quickly lost sight of that. He was warm, feverishly, and the warmth seemed to spread far further than her lips, a tingle that filled her with promise – promise that if she kissed him again, or let him kiss her, or even let his tongue – still trapped behind his lips – come out to play – tasted him like she now realized she really wanted to –
It was more than she was ready for.
She broke the kiss.
Unfocused green eyes came to meet hazy gorgeous red-on-black. She was panting and languidly, his eyes trailed back down to her lips.
The thrill of want, of desire was stronger than she'd ever experienced.
She wanted him.
And it was both exhilarating and terrifying.
Gently, as if steadying a colt trying to run for the very first time, he guided her into his embrace. "Wana try dat again, chérie?" he murmured languorously.
She flashed him a faint smile. "Jus' give meh a minute, mistah ovaeaga."
He nuzzled her hair. "Only f' yah," he breathed.
And however unwillingly, unwittingly practicing ran over into real life.
"Do we have popcorn?"
Rogue bit her lip as Kurt rolled his eyes, pushing the instant popcorn package into the microwave. "Vait a moment, vill you?" He nodded towards Rogue. "You can go seat down." He laid a casual, though cautious, hand down on her bare forearm. "I vill be zere in a minute."
She nodded. "Just don't burn the popcorn. We ain't all got iron stomachs like yah," she teased, grabbing her box of gummi bears and heading into the other room.
"He better not," grumbled Kitty from the couch. Propped with pillows, foot rest and a throw, she looked comfortable, if not completely happy.
"I heard zat!" Both girls rolled their eyes at the protest.
Rogue settled herself next to her, resisting the urge to scoot over and leave a reasonable margin of room. It wouldn't have been so hard to resist if her arms hadn't been barred by her sleeve-less shirt and her hands were bare (she felt so naked without gloves). But the whole point of this movie time with Kurt and Kitty was to get her practice out of the Danger Room and in more usual settings. Thus, the common room had gotten roped off for her practice use. The Professor had also mentioned something about her being comfortable around others in her everyday life – something that just reminded her of Gambit's theory. She hadn't yet mentioned it to the Professor, more out of a fear of betraying something of its origin in the telling than for any other reason. But it seemed he already had figured it out.
Shaking the thought from her head, she calmly smacked the hand reaching oh-so secretly towards her gummi bears. Kitty pouted, pulling back her hand.
"Oh come on Rogue, I'm sick here."
"You got a broken leg Kit, not a disease," she pointed out unsympathetically. In the kitchen, the microwave dinged. "An' yah precious popcorn will be out in a minute."
"But it's not swe-et," the other girl whined.
"Gummi bears ain't that sweet. Behsides, yah want sweet, get some chocolate." Kitty's eyes lit up.
"Mmm, chocolate."
"Here ve are," Kurt called, finally entering the room. He dropped the bowl of popcorn in Kitty's lap before sprawling on Rogue's other side. "I vant some though, so don't hog it."
Kitty nodded, which immediately made Rogue suspicious. And sure enough, Kitty scooted to make doe eyes at Kurt. "Hey Kurt, could you be a sweetheart and get me something?" He nodded without little hesitation, his usual weak spot for Kitty just having enlarged from his sympathy over her injury.
"Ja. Vhat do you need?"
"Chocolate." He blinked, having expected something like another pillow.
"Chocolate? Vhere am I supposed to get chocolate?" Rogue shook her head, deciding to have pity on him before Kitty suggested something extreme like him going out and buying some.
"Fo'get it fuzzball. Ah got some tucked away." Both teens turned to her as she stood up.
"Oh, but I don't want to use up yours!"
Rogue couldn't help but find that ironic and gave into the impulse to lean over and flick Kitty's forehead.
"Hey!"
"Like yah weren't gonna use up my gummi bears?" she asked wryly, ignoring the yelp. Kurt, after a moment's pause, tentatively grabbed her arm.
"No schweister, it's supposed to be your practice time." He made to get up. "I can get it."
"'s okay." She patted Kurt on the arm, disengaging herself and gently pushing him down. "'ll only be a few minutes." Halfway out the door, she stuck her head back around. "An' no touchin' mah gummi bears!"
Kitty and Kurt watched her go with varying reactions. Kurt frowned, but Kitty had slipped into something more like contemplation. "She didn't have to leave so quickly," he grumbled. He knew she always felt a little awkward about practicing, but honestly… Kitty shot him a look.
"She's not going because she's trying to get away from us," she dismissed. "or because she doesn't want to practice. Actually-" her eyes turned back to the door. "I think she's doing a lot better."
"Really?" Kurt asked skeptically. She nodded.
"She seems a lot more comfortable; I mean she like touched us without warning and didn't get all twitchy over us being too close. She didn't even flinch when you grabbed her arm." He looked at her dubiously, chewing his lip. But with a sigh, he stretched over and grabbed some popcorn. Kitty's eye ticked as blue fur stuck to the side of the bowl. Ew.
"Vhatever you say," he groused, obviously unconvinced.
But she wasn't just imagining it – Rogue really was becoming more relaxed over touch. She'd noticed it even with others outside of practice, daring to touch people with her fingertips – a feat Rogue wouldn't have done even a week ago. She wondered at the change, but didn't know how to ask – especially about her interaction with one particular mutant male…
Her eyes fell back to the innocent bag lying in Rogue's seat. She bit her lip. Surely Rogue wouldn't miss one or two? She was half-extended when –
"Ah said hands off Kitty," guiltily she snatched her hand away as Rogue walked back into the room.
"Ah Rogue, that was fast," she said, blushing and figuring denial was pointless.
The other girl shrugged, settling in between them again and handing Kitty a giant chocolate bar. "Found some in the kitchen." She'd actually had some help – Remy's psyche had piped up about where some was hidden, startling her.
Sometimes she forgot she was actually absorbing him when her skin sucked at his fingers. She only got the briefest flashes of his psyche (perhaps he used those impressive mental blocks?) and so far, his powers hadn't been a problem. She'd made his shirt glow a few times, but he's always easily reabsorbed the charge and calmed her own usage of the power.
Honestly, the absorption was mostly so gradual, she only noticed much later. He was rubbing off on her, slowly but surely. She caught herself slipping in her accent, getting the urge for nicotine or bourbon, giving alternative French words in class, palming a deck of cards or small things without even really noticing. Carrying the Queen he'd given her helped with the latter urge to some degree, but all the habits needed conscious monitoring. To some degree, she couldn't even be sure if it was the bits she kept absorbing or just from spending so much time with him.
It wasn't exactly that way with the other psyches she'd absorbed after the wipeout from Apocalypse. Wolverine was the strongest as the first one she'd practiced with and thus the one she'd absorbed the most and for the longest time. He was as talkative in her head as outside of it, though she'd lately had to resort to blocking him due to his rather negative view of her involvement with Gambit. Kitty and Kurt's psyches had words to say on the subject as well, but it was considerably easier to block out their infrequent comments of high-pitched giddiness or German-tinged dislike. In general, their personalities were easily distinct from her own and remained so.
Gambit, however, was unusually silent in her mind and elusive.
Logan then was the one who really influenced her when she wasn't paying attention. Her early absorptions had changed her habits obviously and then repeated absorptions had forced them so far in, she now slipped when unfocused. She'd catch herself trying to scent the wind (and sometimes unnervingly succeeding), calling strangers 'bub' in her head or even out of it, craving the smell of a cigar, looking twice at redheads, itching to go for a ride on a motorbike – though admittedly, that could be her own urge, knowing things about missions or events that she had never been involved – a whole list of things that would trouble her if she dwelled on them. Dwelled on how these things were becoming her own. Just like how she was cutting more consonants from her speech, noticing everything valuable when entering a room, and craving more spice in her food.
It would worry her if she dwelled on it.
But Gambit was an excellent distraction.
And so she got through the movie practice, more relaxed than in a long time and distracted at the most random times, a fact lost on neither Kitty nor Kurt.
Kurt's worry was not assuaged. He didn't fail to notice a few days later when she came down to breakfast in full gloves and long sleeves.
She brushed off his concern. "Don't be such a worrywart bro," she lightly shoved his shoulder," jus' a little experiment." Predictably, the touch combined with calling him bro made him calmer, though he still eyed her suspiciously. Perhaps he had some right considering exactly how'd it come about.
"Don't be so shy chérie," he chided, adding with a wicked glint, "it don't suit yah. Jus' touch where and when y' want to." It was easy for him to say so; for him touch was not only instinctual, it seemed pretty dang reflexive. And predictably, his hand traced the line of her bare side.
"It ain't so easy when yah trained not ta," she grumbled moodily.
"Need to re-train den." He began to drum his fingers on her and she was unsurprised to see him become thoughtful. The motion was a dead-giveaway that he was about to make a point or at least conceptualize one. "How 'bout dis:" he flicked a finger toward her, "we make a bet."
"Ah ain't makin' a bet with you, Gambit," she stated flatly, emphasizing the title.
Forgoing a wounded look, he just shrugged, telling Rogue just how serious he was about this. "Fine, challenge den. You touch every tahme you think to-"
"And yah don't?" she jumped in. The completion obviously took him off guard, but she took a moment to think about it. "Hmm, could be interestin'." It wasn't a terrible idea on her end and having him try to be her for a day? That was priceless. "Alright mister touchy-feely," she smirked. "yah got a deal."
"Now, what should be de prize?"
Her smirk slipped off her face. "It ain't a bet, bayou boy. Behsides, how'd we know we'd kept the terms?" she raised an eyebrow.
"C'mon, don't be cruel," he cajoled, pouting. "Need some motivation." She resisted the urge to snort. Since when did he need motivation?
Instead, she let her hand play with the very base of his throat, smoothing the collar of his shirt. Lidding her eyes, she pouted right back at him. "Ain't ah reward enough?" she murmured throatily.
The contrast of his eyes brightened. "Yah," he murmured back, "in a bra." Her eyes widened as his face split into an uncontrollable grin. She slugged him in the shoulder and he laughed. And she couldn't help but smile, before kissing him. He responded enthusiastically, by now reasonably reassured it wouldn't unnerve her unnecessarily.
That led to the pleasant diversion of them making out for a good amount of time. His lips were pliant and enticing, drawing her in to experience the more fun aspects of kissing. Angling the mouth, parting his lips to tempt her tongue into exploring him before joining in the fun and making her dizzy with the delicious melting feeling that filled her at the intimate interaction.
Finally drawing back, he said somewhat drunkenly, "Gambit t'ink he be good wit' dat." She couldn't help a small feminine smirk of pride and he eyed her. "Still wan' ta see y' bra dough." Staring at him for a minute, she couldn't help but laugh.
By that night, she realized just how much of a challenge it was. Even the minimum of touch she was used to had become unnerving due to her lack of gloves – though she somewhat cheated and had reverted to full gloves for the day. Gambit had raised an eyebrow when he spotted them that morning, but thankfully, had been unable to say anything at the time. The lack of danger of absorption should've made the challenge a piece of cake.
It didn't.
Ignoring impulses or even opportunities to touch had become second nature. Even clothed touch just brought home the fact she couldn't touch, not the real way as she considered it. So she usually avoided it. Avoided handing something directly to someone, brushing shoulders, laying a hand on someone's arm or shoulder – the million little careless moves that involved bodily contact.
Lately, she'd been trying to be more touchy, but the modification of her gloves had made it that more unsettling. She was trying not to be afraid, she really was, but she'd been conditioned well. Even then with full gloves, the discomfort had remained, a sore that refused to heal. She would hesitate and then often lose the opportunity, making her doubly appreciate the fact she hadn't made it a bet.
It was perhaps ironic because honestly, it wasn't like the average person touched others so much in the course of a day, unless they were close to a special person. That, in and of itself, should've made the deal easier. But her latest practices had awakened the desire to touch in her. The deal depended on acting on her desires, which now as never before throbbed inside her. She wanted to embrace what others could do without real thought and the fact she was so damn close made her nearly feverish with craving. It was as if her body realized just how long she'd gone without real touch and it fully intended to have it paid back in full.
So she found herself patting Kitty on the head, linking arms with Kurt for a precious few moments as she dragged him into school, squeezing Amara's hand when she helped her up after some idiots sneeringly knocked her down, pushing her way past Logan and Jubilee to enter the kitchen, ruffling multiple Jaime's hair, even actually daring to brush some fringe from Scott's forehead when teasing him. She gained more than Kurt's curiosity by the end of the day, but she didn't care. It was almost shockingly liberating. Now if she could just do it without gloves…
Wandering back to her room, vaguely in the foreground, she recognized Jubilee and Rahne making plans to go out. She steered away from them. The day had been surprisingly exhausting. She was ready to call it a day and curl up with – "Hey Gambit, you wanna come?"
Rogue's head snapped up and she ducked against the corner still between her and the others. He was going to say no, right? She tried to calm her suddenly racing pulse. It, it wasn't like she was trying to shut down his entire social life, but still, especially tonight –
"Sorry, pet'te," she heard his Cajun twang dismiss the girl and she totally did not feel any relief whatsoever. "Gotta a hot date tonight." And her world came crashing down.
Jubilee and Rahne passed her obliviously while she was still too dazed to move. A hot date? The wave of hot fury caught her off guard and when Gambit turned the corner, cocking his head as he obviously discovered her, she whirled on him, cornering him against the wall. Jabbing him in the chest, she hissed, "Yah mine tonight Cajun."
He smiled that wide 'cat-ate-the-canary' grin, dropping his voice into that range that she hated – liked far too much, "Was dere any doubt?" The fury stalled, making way for instant confusion. But then his fingers almost reflexively reached for her, before drawing back. Ah yes, the deal. She couldn't help the faint smirk. It was easier than contemplating exactly what had just happened.
"Havin' trouble with our deal sugah?" she asked, saccharine sweet.
"Alors pas." (Course not) He fixed her with a shrewd look, before smirking back. "'s funny dough," he said casually. "Don't remember y' specifying that ah was yaurs all de time."
The inference overwhelmed her for a second and she froze. All the time? They weren't dating – they weren't. She wasn't sure if she – it wasn't like he was the dating kind anyway. She forced herself to play it off. "Yah the one who's all focused on how much tahme we got," she shot back sassily. "What, yah want weekends off?" She dearly hoped he couldn't feel the underlying tension as she leveled him a piercing look.
Say no, something inside her pleaded.
"No." He smirked wider and she told herself she most definitely felt no relief. "Dis be funna b' far," his fingers twitched toward her again and his face morphed into frustration, "when I can touch yah," he mumbled.
She wished she was comforted by that.
That night, when he reached for her, she slapped his fingers.
"No touching, rahght?" she smirked. "Can guess how well yah end of the deal held up."
He pouted, the most authentically she'd yet seen. "Been denying mahself all day, chérie, waitin' fa y'." She raised an eyebrow, but didn't object when he traced the outline of her top, instead stripping off her gloves to run her hands up his clothed chest.
"Thought yah'd be happy, meh havin' ta touch yah where and when ah want yah," she told him imperiously. The flare of his eyes was dramatic and there was that feminine pride again.
"Y' be more dan welcome ta dat all da time," he said thickly. Apparently that was as long as he could stand it – before he hauled her completely into his embrace. She spread her hands against his toned back and dared to gingerly nestle her face against his neck.
"That rahght?" she retorted. "Suppose it jus' be fittin' if ah said it'd be fine fo' yah ta not touch all de time," she teased him, hiding her smile in the curve of his shoulder.
"Not dat bad dough," he breathed into her hair, his hands splaying against her exposed lower back and bringing her even closer. "De only one I wanna touch is you…"
And even if it was a lie, it was a beautiful one and she had to close her eyes before she lost herself too far in him. Even if, treacherously, a small part of her wanted to.
And touch he did, as if trying to memorize her skin through his fingertips. The heat it stirred in her was intense and she vaguely wondered if it's even possible for him to charge her, because it definitely felt like all the mass of motionless cells inside her were filled with an energy that was crying to be released. His lips dropped a seductively chaste kiss on her shoulder and she shuddered. Turning her head, their lips met to continue her tutoring in the art of kissing.
She loved his kisses. He kissed just like he fought: bold, teasing, overwhelming. Big showy first move, then sneaky, coaxing slipping in of the tongue to tangle with hers. Take a breath and he nipped her edges of her lips, before laving them with sloppy kisses that made her laugh and then kiss him again until she was breathless. Switching to a blitz, he showered her with kisses over and over again, small taunting mouth kisses, that made her flip him over and force a deep kiss, one that somehow transforms into a stream of exploration and desire.
Meanwhile, his ever dynamic nimble hands busied themselves with caressing her toned muscles, showing as much care as Pygmalion sculpting Venus' form on Galatea. Wandering, they daringly tread lightly over her thighs and edge the sensitive area between, forcing a gasp from her. But quickly they retreat to a 'safer' area, boldly brushing her oversensitive breasts that causes her to catch her breath, even as his lips traced down to her collarbone.
Hazily she determined that he was overdressed and she tugged at his shirt, which he quickly shed for her enjoyment. She ran her hands over his bare chest, then brashly kissed him, right below the right shoulder. "Much better," she murmured and he looked up at her with obvious admiration.
"Vixen." And then their lips were locked again, legs intertwining as their fingers explored every crevice, every bump, every indentation with nitpicking care. They burned.
She wanted him.
Wanted all of him.
All he offered, so…damn…easily.
She didn't realize when it started. Too wrapped up in touching him, tasting him – a desire that just intensified. She needed more, more contact and her inhibitions were as if they had never existed. But of course, Remy didn't have that many to begin with – just wanted Rogue so bad it ached inside like the charge that begged to get out.
Her eyes flew open at the thought – not her own – and her vision rebounded, red-on-black facing red-on-black – he was moving back and she was him or she had just been. She scrambled back, rushing to separate their skin immediately. Panting, she stared at him, so aroused – with both his and her own emotions – it made it hard for her to think.
And then she feels it, is it for the briefest second – even as he just sat there, eyes wide and disoriented. Afraid. He was afraid.
"Desole, desole," (Sorry, sorry) she chanted, gasping it out. She felt sick. "Ah-" But it was all she could say. She was hyperventilating.
She bolted to the door, nearly racing to the bathroom down the hall, feeling her stomach churn within her. Once there, she locked the door, suddenly wishing as never before for a deadbolt, a vault door, bars and beams and things that could make the door impenetrable to all. Something to keep her in and the whole world, him, out. She rested her head against the door, body trembling on the cold tile floor.
It was quiet.
He'd finally realized just what he'd gotten into. He had to have, she told herself. Her eyes shuttered. And the gambit just ain't worth it.
The psyche in her was still too turned on to comment.
But she was wrong.
Footsteps echoed in the deserted hallway. The doorknob shifted marginally.
"Let me in chérie," the voice was low, but still managed to diffuse through her. His presence burned her even through the door.
"Jus' leave meh alone Remy!" she choked out, curling into a ball. "Ah-ah – Y' shou'n't be nea' meh!" She was dangerously near tears, but she wouldn't break down. Not now. Not with him so close.
"Let me be the one to decide dat chérie." She closed her eyes, hunched. "Ah ain't leavin' yah Rogue."
She recognized the sound, actually visualized the action even as it occurred – feeling the slim metal in her –his- hand, coaxing the tumblers to slide into place. Coaxing like a skiddish femme… She swallowed hard.
He picked the lock.
And then the door was opening and he was there, looming large from the darkness.
"It's gonna take more than a locked door to keep m' away chere." His voice was quiet, but firm.
She held herself tighter.
He slid into a squatting position, managing to be perfectly balanced on the balls of his feet. He was near enough for her to reach out and touch, but he made no other motion toward her, not even one checked. She was torn between gratitude and choking disappointment.
"We gonna get through dis Rogue," he said strongly and directly. "Dat's a promise."
It's worth it.
And all she could do was shut her eyes tighter.