I am so buzzed! I forgot how much I love this fic!! So now, as WretchedMuse put it, spreading the glee! (Oh and I can't believe I did this, but I cameoed myself – I know, the shame, the horror – so watch for the fleeting glimpse.) Also, I succumbed to temptation! There is a song included by Avril Lavigne (I know, pop, but it was prefect for that part): you'll see it. Mazdamiatta suggested Luthor Vandross' 'The Closer I Get to You', but I would suggest checking out Bruce Springsteen's 'Let's Be Friends (Skin to Skin)' for the real feel of this story. I'll have more suggestions later…
Um, cue the angst!
People thanking me, lol! And I was itching to write that pool scene for ages!
Remy is so Pepé! (though it would be interesting to see the tables turned on him…) More compliments on Remy!! Yay! (Oh mention of drinks this chapter: mixed-drinks/com, check under alcoholic liqueurs)
"You've got them inching towards some sort of resolution, but I won't complain about the pace since I'm enjoying the journey so much." Inching? –goggles- Maybe my time scale has been too influenced by people like Seven Sunningdale and Lucia de'Medici but this is really fast! At least, in comparison to a real relationship – the depths of intimacy they're reaching for they're cramming in a few weeks, which I would think should normally take months honestly. (I mean going from kissing to a form of sex in less than six chapters?! Maybe I just haven't read enough instant romances…)
But of course, it's all for a reason. I'm balancing the speed of different levels of intimacy – physically vs. emotionally vs. powers vs. relationally vs. action vs. mental development. There are a lot of different facets to consider. They started out with powers, then went on to physically and the rest is kindof coming out in bits and spurts. Honestly, it's all really fun to explore.
Which brings me to my next point. Like I've stated, sex is not the focal point of this fanfiction, which we'll be seeing when we get to Remy's part... –rubs hands together cackling- I do not intend to write porn simply because I feel that that just indulges voyeurism more than actual understanding of a romantic relationship. With a few exceptions, granted, the best love scenes I've seen have been the most succinct and not extremely explicit. That's what I'm going for. The fact is intimacy is the potential of sex and it involves a lot more than just the actual maneuvers of sex. So, that's what I am focusing on. Ishandahalf, you articulated that so well.
Thanks to all my reviewers!! I LOVE YOU ALL!!
smile for me (IC!! Yay!), musariven, dieCG, wiccamage, Encuentrame, dreamschemer, Nocturnalwitch, Catra (lol:) ), Katsu Kitsune, Goddess of Fire and Ice, Wiccamage (good, I think), X-Storm, Peanutbutter1, JollyRoger, sassy18 (-big, big Grin!- I'll get to Magneto's briefing but honestly I don't the Siren identities were well known or perhaps considered important, and nicknames so fun!) Conquistador Imp, mistyxtc, mercuriancat, coldqueen ('skirting the line' oy I know!, um movie couple? You know something I don't? 'Cuz it don't look like it's happening…), cream tea anyone (yes!), Captain Annie, nuriiko, drthmik, rubic-cube, gambit-rogue, GWise, Secret Agent Smut Girl, oni isis (plot is the funniest part!), MidniteAngelGoth, ElizabethMarieBennett, mazdamiatta, Rogue181.
ajax41 – "Gambit is introduced as a major player but the story relies on Rogue's perceptions so it is unclear just how true her image of him is. We get to know him as she does." – I love that you picked up on that!
thriller – you wrote as you read – that's so cool!! I've done that before and it's always neat to see the final result; not to mention amusing, lol! About the 'mutual affection' – affection can be romantically-neutral and that's the best thing about the X-Men, the affection spreads out. Scott feels affection for
Kitty, similar to that for Rogue. Lance, of course, has romantic affection for Kitty. And the dressing scene sooo much fun, when you think about, getting undressed gets all the attention, but dressing itself is surprisingly intimate. NEVER APOLOGIZE FOR A LONG REVIEW!!
It takes Two…to Practice
…Again
She silently dared him to make the first move. When it didn't come, she hitched an eyebrow.
"Well swamp rat? Yah all talk, no action?"
She could read the line of tension in his shoulder and smoothly dodged the first swing, barely missing his following other hand grab for her hip.
Rolling on the balls of his feet, he easily moved back to circle her. "Aw chere, y'know afta Gambit warms up, he make all de filles swoon."
She snorted, blocking his forward thrust. Feeling his foot hook her ankle, she stepped into him, feeling his eyes wander and his hands–, before throwing up her knee to the back of his. She pushed and he went down, fingers failing to find purchase on her slick uniform. Rogue had to grin. "Au contraire;" she said, looking down at him. "yah got no idea how long ah've wan'ed ta get yah down on the mat."
His eyes fired up, and even though she knew she'd thrown him that bone, it still made her heat indecently inside. "All yah had t' do was ask chérie." And with the ease of a jungle cat, he sprang back to his feet. She eyed him warily as they circled again.
She could tell he wanted to he wanted to pull out his bo staff, his fingers kept flexing, though that could very well be simply for the utterly distracting effect it had on her. But this was strictly hand-to-hand, no powers but that which was unavoidable (like Gambit's d- agility), which led to some grumbling. Cyclopes insisted on such matches at least once every two weeks, usually weekly, and this time she'd been paired with Gambit. She half-wondered if Remy had rigged it, she wouldn't put it past him, but actually, considering the thief's skill level, few could take him in such restricted circumstances. He moved like liquidity was a secondary power, peppering his effortless glides and lunges with taunts that slipped under one's skin like UV rays. This meant most people dreaded drawing him, especially Bobby, who always seemed to end up in a particularly awkward situation. (Last time, he'd ended up with the mother of all wedges, though exactly how that had occurred was beyond her comprehension.) Due to her mutation however, she'd had considerable training in hand-to-hand from both Mystique and Wolverine, and Scott had told her she was probably the closest thing to a challenge for Gambit, other than Wolverine himself.
Thinking of Wolverine… She almost fell for a feint to her right, spinning out of his grip when he slid left instead. Rogue wondered if it would be cheating if she tried to access him directly, rather than just benefiting from some extra endurance and durability, but immediately dismissed the thought. She didn't need him to beat Gambit and besides, she 'tskked' from under sweaty bangs at his grabbiness, this was way too fun.
Oddly though, the thought seems to summon another psyche and she felt a tingle run all the way to her fingertips. Gambit.
She recognized the signs – each mutant she'd ever drawn from had a different feel of their mutation: an accelerating feral heat/itch and restlessness, an echo of fur and a bizarre balance that transcended
purely physical space, an intense centeredness that longed to decentralize, a pull in the blood from magnetism. Gambit felt like vibration, coiled energy inside and a consciousness of that around – all beggin' ta be quickened.
De chérie need a hand?
Gambit finally managed to clip her side and she half-sprawled. There was an edge of mocking in the question and she frowned mentally, elbowing her opponent in the solar plexus when he got too close before springing back to her feet. Ah cin take care of yah on mah own.
Oh chere, de only t'ing better den bein' wit' you ou' dere, she felt the psyche shift within her and the timber of the voice bottomed out, 's bein' inside y'. A thrill ran through her unbidden as she watched Gambit rub his chest with a smirk, his talented fingers splayed and slender–, but she forced the distraction away.
Yah gonna distract meh or help meh? She shot back and she felt the chuckle go straight to her center, wherever that was.
N' sure which is funna.
She grit her teeth and prepared to shove the psyche back; she can't afford the distraction as Gambit slid into stance again, but apparently the psyche made up his mind. And she felt the vibration accelerate to ripple down her entire body.
'm all yaurs chere. A pause as she drew up straighter. Across from her, Gambit's eyes narrowed. Behsides, won't want ta end dis too fast.
She didn't have time to ponder the addition as she flew into offense, feeling the energy rocket her every movement. How the hell did he contain all this, potency in his very fingertips? She could feel it radiate the very air around her.
She felt a wolfish grin settle on her face. Time to play.
He wasn't prepared for the sudden onslaught, but nevertheless he held his own – and she knew that they were touching way too much, but she didn't, couldn't care. Usually, given his lankiness and the aid of his staff, Gambit favored a slightly more distanced strategy. But this was her and he seemed determined to keep her as close as possible, flaunting himself in front of the danger of her skin. Not that it was such a danger to him anymore. And she knew she was giving into the temptation just as much.
It was – illicit. Letting fingers trail, a hand at the waist, the chest, twisting to maintain proximity only to dance away the next moment, in full view of the DR Control Room.
And she burned.
Finally, he caught her, back to his chest and she could feel the heat of his breath curl against her cheek as he leaned in, locking one arm at her side and the other across her torso. "Look like I cau't de skunk." His breath puffed as he couldn't completely control his pant. A tingle went straight down to her toes, but she focused.
"Reahlly?" she rocked back into him and she could feel his reaction, grip hardening reflexively. Quick as lightning, she bent her knees - and pulled. Gambit flipped over her, to land with an inelegant slam. Reversing the hold on her arm, she swiftly straddled him, careful to distribute her weight to its max advantage.
She couldn't help the smirk. It was about time she got to turn the tables on him.
The flow of kinetic energy wavered, she must have exhausted the psyche – Gambit and the thought amused her. The psyche retracted and she carefully let it fade. Looking down at her challenger, she flicked the hair out of her face, before leaning slightly forward, "Knew y'all talk."
His free hand wound up her thigh, indecently high, and he peered at her with those ember eyes. She could practically see them switch into hypnotizing. "Now don't be dissin' Remy," his tone was low and throaty, pleasantly reverberating through her lower body. "Not heard any complaints." She threw him back a smoldering look, but with utter precision, shifted to knee his arm in place. At his hiss, she smirked and reached down with her ungloved hand.
"Game's up Remy an' guess who de winner is?"
Her hand pressed against his stubbly face, she looked down at him with a grin.
It took her a second to realize there was something wrong with that picture. She wasn't absorbing him…
It took her another second to realize that was what's wrong.
She's not absorbing him –
and she's supposed to be.
He stared at her and she wasn't sure who was more shocked.
There was a beeping as the simulation ended and she nearly jumped off him.
"See?" she said aloud, but felt strangled with shock inside. "The gal always wins."
His face was undecipherable as he slowly got to his feet, but that was the last of her concern. She didn't absorb him, she didn't absorb him, she didn't absorb him – it pounded like a mantra and it was absurd because she'd been working so hard for that. But that was the point. Each and every time she'd been working – and this time it had simply happened. She hadn't had to deactivate her mutation; it had already been off – when she'd even been intending to use it, if for but a moment to show her victory.
She didn't absorb him.
Rogue could hardly breathe.
Rogue was in a daze during school. Nothing could penetrate the haze of unexpected mutation development, nothing that is, exact a certain pack of morons crowded around a certain red-headed underclassmen on the outside quad…
"Hey does the puppy want a Milkbone?"
Unfortunately, shortly after her return, Rahne had gotten hit by a field hockey stick 'accidentally' in gym and snapped at a teacher – literally. Mutant haters had a field day.
"I'm waiting to see if she'll lick herself."
Rogue grit her teeth. Bigoted, obnoxious morons. Composing her best sneer, she shoved the nearest idiot out of the way, breaking the ring around Rahne. The younger girl looked at her with barely disguised relief as Rogue walked over to her.
"Don't you guys have betta things ta do, like remedial math?" she tossed out.
"Well if ain't little Miss Cover Up," the obvious ring leader, Chad: big, brawny and blond, recovered, lighting on her instead. He looked around at his friends, tauntingly confidential. "Whatdya think she's got under there, scales?"
There was a leer from at least one and she felt disgusted as their eyes flicked down her outfit. The circle closed up again. Immediately a Chere and Watch it bub! flared in her head. She pushed the psyches back. She could handle this, at the very least, on her own.
"Oh gee, how long did it take fa yah ta come up with that one?" She cocked her hip. "No wonda you couldn't get a single ansah in math rahght." She should know – Chad was in advanced math with her, but obviously due only to family connections, not actual talent. There was a muted snicker, causing Chad to tense.
"Shut up mutie." After an intent look, Chad glanced around. Rogue's spine prickled. No teachers. No they weren't, Rogue couldn't believe it – they were in school. She shifted more in front of Rahne.
"Rahne get outta here," she said under her breath, knowing Rahne's heightened hearing would be able to pick it up. She started to regulate her breathing, calming down her mutation just in case – but it was hard, this was the exact situation that came to mind whenever the words 'defensive activation' came up.
Chad's grin turned ugly, as two of his friends shifted closer. "Whatcha gonna do mutie? Can't use your powers."
"Like ah would need ta t' deal with ya thugs," she shot back heedlessly.
Rahne stepped closer and gripped her partially-gloved hand, and if it had been any other time, Rogue would've been touched by the daring show of solidarity.
"Well isn't that sweet, the muties are holding hands," Chad sing-songed. "Maybe I want to too."
He grabbed her other hand.
Rogue's world flexed – no! She had to defend – but her control was already being tested and she was strung between Rahne and Chad. Breath, she had to breath – He was strangling her hand. No, no, no! Her mutation was pressing at her – it only had to wait until Rahne was safe – no! But – "Rahne, let go," she hissed as quiet as she could. The other girl looked at her, pale skin paling even more "let her go!" and Rogue was trembling. She didn't want to absorb a human – but the pressure was building and – she'd done it this morning, hadn't she? With Remy –
But this wasn't Remy.
"Why Wishbone, what's she gonna do?"
He tightened his grip and the color leeched from the world.
No.
With all the force of an overheated boiler, the absorption sucked him in – and Rahne, but the girl slipped from her grip almost immediately. I'm sorry Rogue! He was done within a few seconds, falling victim to gravity and her hands sped to her head in anticipation of the fight.
Chad was so – confused, something felt different and why were his friends staring at him like that? He tried to put his hands down but –she– resisted – yah not me, yah not me, yah not me. Ah'm not you! She pushed, but he resisted now. What, what the hell? What the f- did you do to me mutie!?
Another teen bumped into her, What the –
The world outside disappeared into a mesh of static as she sunk to her knees.
"I want her out of the school!" Rogue would've flinched from the principal's volume if she didn't feel so already exhausted. She wondered vaguely if this was worse or better than if Mr. Kelly had remained principal.
"Now Mr. Jameson, I think it's been made clear that Rogue was not to blame for today's events. They were using physical force on her and her friend." Professor Xavier's voice, as always, was calm and logical. She found herself regretting the fact he didn't just smooth this over with his powers.
"She used her powers."
"Purely defensively and there was no real harm rendered to her attacker. A critical part of my Institute's mission is to help mutants gain control of their mutations so they are not a danger to themselves or others. Rogue is still progressing in this way and as you can see," Professor Xavier gestured to her clothes and she resisted the impulse to shrink away, "she does take precautions."
"Obviously not enough – she shouldn't even-"
The Professor smoothly interrupted him. "The school board specially decreed they could come back to school." He steepled his hands. "To be perfectly frank with you Mr. Jameson, this incident has made me nervous for my student's safety. If my students become subject to such abusive prejudicial actions, I may have to resort to legal measures." The principal looked boxed in and Rogue couldn't blame him; she had to marvel at the Professor's diplomacy. Mr. Jameson frowned harder.
"I want her gone for the rest of the day," Professor Xavier raised an eyebrow, "but she may return tomorrow if she can prove then that she's not a hazard to other students. If there are any problems-"
"There won't be any."
Rogue would've been more relieved if that hadn't started up another war in her head.
She hated absorbing non-mutants.
She'd forgotten exactly how hard it was – even before Apocalypse, she hadn't absorbed a non-powered human since her breakdown. She wasn't positive why exactly they were harder on her mentally, but Professor Xavier had theorized that when she absorbed mutants, her mutation focused on absorbing the mutant's abilities, in addition to their psychic and physical energy. With non-mutants, there was no such 'distraction' and all of the absorption became focused on their physical and psychic selves. Thus, why humans succumbed to her powers quicker and for longer.
Rogue didn't really care. She just hated absorbing non-mutants.
It also didn't help that recently she'd only exclusively absorbed people who not only knew of her powers, but was prepared for their activation – had even volunteered to go through the process. Logan, Kitty and Kurt had all been mentally prepared to have their psyches drawn from and the resulting impressions had been almost calm when she'd absorbed. They'd barely fought her on it, instead allowing her to arrange them in the back of her mind, rather than trying to swamp her identity or steal physical control. They had known they were only shades and, and – she hadn't been stealing. She hadn't been stealing their very souls, just accepting what they'd offered. (And actually, if she'd cared or had the mental composure to consider it, absorbing the Brotherhood or even other X-Men unexpectedly in the past hadn't been so bad as they had still known of her powers. And they knew it was temporary…)
Chad had no such understanding.
Between him and the fleeting impressions of Rahne and Josh (short, reddish-brown hair that his mother said came from her grandfather-), her mind was a wreak. They wanted out, freedom, escape, to be 'real' again – all things she couldn't give them. And then the two boys spouted anti-mutant garbage that only served to incite Rahne and every other mutant psyche in her mind into a mish-mash of noise.
She could barely sort through it – she didn't want to! Just why wouldn't they leave her alone! You, you stuck me in here bitch! Don't call her that you stupid- – but the only other option was Xavier and he didn't know about Remy. And she couldn't bear that on top of everything else.
Rogue curled up into a ball.
She didn't hear him come in – not so unsurprising considering his stealth, but he'd never gotten quite so close without her realizing. It was only when the bed depressed underneath her, that she knew he'd come.
Damn.
She'd been hoping he just wouldn't show up – give her space. Something inside her laughed. Since when did Remy give her space?
Oh, who's this? The mutie have a boyfriend?! She gritted her teeth against the sneering voice.
"Remy, ah gotta a headache, I'm reahlly not up fa practicing." She didn't look at him, just kept her eyes closed and tried to focus on the de-stressing exercises the Professor had taught her.
"Already dis excuse?" Purely from his tone of voice, she could see the pout, the splayed hands and– "An' we ain't even got to da real good stuff." –the inevitable drop into lechery. Chad sneered further, but she didn't take the bait, either of them. Maybe if she ignor- no, that wasn't going to work but what were her options?
But then, Remy surprised her. "Heard what happened today." It was quiet, edged with, fury?
She opened her eyes.
His face was shadowed, but he was directing a fierce gaze at her bedspread and she had a good feeling that it was standing in for something, someone else. She rubbed her temples.
"'m not surprised," she muttered. "Ah nearly got expelled."
Expelled?! You should've- She pressed her fingerpads into her forehead and deftly, fingers caught the edge of her chin and he was directing her gaze to him.
"Ain't y' fault Rogue." The tension in his jaw indicated who he really blamed. Chad practically snarled inside.
"Mah mutation," she said simply, unable to defend herself.
Remy's eyes sharpened. "Chere it was self-defense! Y' can't-" the muscle in his jaw flexed as he stopped himself. "Dat ain't de point anyway," he muttered. "How yah holdin' up?" The tone came out with too much edge to sound truly concerned, but she appreciated the effort.
"Ah feel like Sabertooth an' Wolverine decided ta go at it in mah head." His eyes flickered at the first name and she felt a shadow vibration instead. But it was there and gone and there was too much other turmoil to wonder about it.
"Dat bad?" he asked, his face folding into sympathy. She didn't bother to nod. "Talkin' 'bout de Badger-man, can' he just kick de homme's ass?"
"Hommes," she corrected automatically and his assessing gaze sharpened; it took her a second to realize he was making a sincere suggestion, but she couldn't help a snorting laugh.
"Ah'd have ta get the psyches t' be 'physical' an' that's just a bigger headache," he was furrowing his brow and she could tell he didn't get it, couldn't understand that the psyches were emotions and thoughts and memories and voices that just pervaded her, rather than nice, neat little bundles that could duke it out with each other. Getting them to that point took a lot of effort and concentration (not to mention Professor Xavier's help) to put them into such boxes, separating them completely from herself and the other psyches. But it was too much to explain and she just went on, "Behsides, that'd only work f' a little while. Then have ta go through this all ova again. Betta ta get it over with now."
Remy didn't look convinced, but didn't question her decision. Instead, "What about de Prof?" She winced slightly.
"There's ahlready enough minds in mah head," she said dryly, then with a little shrug, "Behsides, he might wonda 'bout the big Remy psyche in mah mind."
He stared at her with a carefully blank look, which made the little hairs on the neck of her neck prickle. But then he reached for her, carefully twining his arm around her waist, tugging her back with him until he was arranged against her headboard, her curled up by his side. She had no strength for resistance, just rested in the comfort of his closeness. She laid her aching head against his chest, wishing the peace would permeate into her mind.
Smoothing her hair with his fingers, he finally responded. "It dat big?" The question was light and for the life of her, she couldn't tell if it was idle or purposeful.
"It's big enough," she said tersely, but somehow not looking at him helped her discomfort. She sighed. "It ain't that bad though; it jus' kinda hangs out in the back of mah mind. Like Logan, Kitty and Kurt; they all just kinda stay in the background, 'less they really got something ta say." His fingers feathered her neck and a trill went down her spine.
"Mine don' mouth off, do it?" She could guess at the layers of that question, especially considering the combination of touch and question, but just shrugged.
"Less than yah do," she said slyly. The psyche responded to the attention predictably and she could feel the presence swell in her mind. However, that only set off Chad. You have him in here too? What, he not enough of a loser boyfriend that you had to suck him in to? Gambit not appreciate y' tone boy. She winced as the two psyches clashed. "'Cept he's not so hot on Chad bein' up there."
"Chad? Dat one of de boys y'absorbed?" She made an 'hmm'ing sound. Nodding jostled her head too much.
"Dat bibitte de reason f' de warzone, hein?" It took a second for the term to translate, the Remy in her head picking it up rather gleefully and she made a face.
"Callin' him names ain't gonna help," she muttered, not sure if it was to the Remy in front of her or the one in her head. She brought a hand up as Chad's temper went off, again.
Remy shifted behind her and she could feel, feel?, his lips thin. "Well, w'at would de Prof do?"
She opened an eye to look back at him. His face was oddly determined. "Uh, well, he'd get meh ta completely rehlax befa gettin' inta mah head. He'd talk ta de psyches and if he couldn't get 'em ta back off, he'd push them back an' wall 'em away from meh so ah could get some peace. He wants meh ta start doin' that, but-" she shrugged a little uneasily. It was hard to articulate the guilt she had connected to the process. She already felt like a prisoner in her own mind – and forcing other people, even psyches, into even more imprisonment, it made her sick. Chad snapped at her with fury. Oh, you feel bad, do you? "Takes a lotta energy," she hedged. "Behsides, haven't had ta wit' the recent psyches. They usually leave me well enough alone." She buried her head in his chest. She didn't want to talk about it more, just wanted his presence to soothe her. Even if it couldn't.
"Maybe je t'aide?" She looked up at him questioningly. Help her further than just being here? "I could get de psyches t' leave yah 'lone," she felt the edges of his empathy caress the fringes of her mind. The Remy in her mind seemed to gravitate to the sensation, but Chad, and Josh, drew back snarling. What's the filthy mutie doing? And shock of all shocks, Logan, of all people, defended him. Putting you in the place you're supposed to be brats.
Still, she shook her head, despite the aching. "Ah need ta do this on mah own, not depend–"
Remy frowned. "Chere, y' not read de X-Men handbook or somet'ing?" She raised an eyebrow. He, Gambit, was lecturing her on being an X-Man? "Can't do everyt'ing on yah own amoureux. Everybody need help parfois." (sometimes) A hand slipped down to rest on her hip and shift her even closer. "No' dependence chérie," he corrected. "jus' some help sa y' can get some shut-eye and work on dis fresh tomorra, d'accord?"
When he looked at her like that, she simply couldn't not believe him. Believe in him.
"Okay," she said quietly. The smile he gave her was almost dazzling, even more so because it wasn't his normal showy grin. "Ah need ta go ta school tomorra anyway an' it'd be better…" she trailed off as the smile turned to a frown.
"Y' not even takin' de day off?"
She shook her head. "Gotta prove ta Jameson ah'm not a school haza'd." His eyes flared, but whatever comments he obviously had, he kept to himself. Instead he scooted up to get into a sitting position, adjusting so her head was in his lap.
Fingers splaying in her hair, he lined up their eyes and she couldn't help asking, "Yah need eye contact ta do this?"
He shook his head. "Nah really, but it helps. Somet'ing 'bout de red an' black." His eyes were becoming liquid and she felt the headiness that the look always inspired, underlain with the static brush of his empathy to her senses.
"They flare," she murmured. She felt him tense beneath her and without really thinking, she reached up a hand to touch his closest leg. "It's nice."
He stared at her and then shook his head. "Y' one of a kind, Rogue. Now jus' – reahlax," his voice lengthened the words and she felt the push of his power echo, enfolding her senses, blurring the sharpness of the voices in her head. "Dose boys are gonna get ti'ed out and mind dere own business." She couldn't help a wry comment.
"Yah not gonna go 'Now you are getting ve-ry sleepy.'" He tapped her nose with fleeting poise.
"No smart remarks, missy." And she giggled even as the two humans in her head hissed in anger. They throbbed in rebellion and the red in Remy's eyes intensified.
"Leave de fille alone, boys. Guests ain't supposed ta be so rude."
Guests? Guests can leave! But Chad's voice seemed dimmer.
Remy clucked his tongue, the red shimmering like fire. "Y' new so we'll 'xcue yah some, but just calme," he caressed the word in the French as she secretly loved and Chad and Josh's disdain became even more distant. "Shh…" and with every pulse of his eyes, she felt them become even muted. The Remy inside her echoed the words and she felt the rest of the psyches settle further back, blocking the lone dissenters, with almost – respect? "Y' gonna jus' rest – an' breathe." She wasn't sure if he was talking to them or her; her thoughts seemed like molasses and she could do nothing but obey.
She wasn't sure how long they lay there, breathing in sync, the ruby of his eyes shining amidst the dark stillness of her mind.
But finally, he broke the silence. "Y' good chérie?" his voice was sacrosanct in the silence.
"Yeah," she breathed and with utter care, he slid himself from beneath her, fingers trailing reluctantly through her hair. He stood for a moment at the side of her bed, seeming almost hesitant to leave. But after a second, he turned away, brushing by her nightstand. "Thanks Remy," she managed to say and he paused.
"Don' mention it," he said, turning to flash her his normal charming grin.
It was only after he left, when she finally reluctantly got up to dress for bed, almost indecently relaxed, that she realized it was the first time they hadn't practiced.
Huh.
Rogue wasn't quite sure what woke her up the next day. Since Kitty wasn't currently residing in the room, she'd had to rely on a real alarm clock for the past few weeks rather than her overly-perky-for-early-mornings roommate.
Still, there was that in-built sense when one's slept past their usual time… Grumbling, she blearily opened her eyes to peer at her clock.
7:30.
Hmm. 7:30?! She shot out of bed, grabbing the alarm clock. The X-Men usually left the manner at 7:35 to get to school – there was no way she was going to make it! Why hadn't the alarm gone off? She was sure she'd set it last night. Despite, or rather because of, her complete non-excitement over
heading to school the next day, she'd made sure to set the alarm. But there was the button innocently in the 'off' position.
She didn't have time to ponder the mystery. She had to get dressed!
Regardless of her haste (she'd tried to stint on her gothic makeup but after yesterday's little disaster, it was too unnerving to go without) and the fact the psyches in her head actually hadn't acted up (Remy's charm seemed to be holding bizarrely enough), by the time she sailed into the kitchen and her eyes immediately darted to the clock, it was 7:45.
Damn it. As a general rule, transport to school waiting five minutes max. Any later and you were on your own. Rogue made a face. That meant trying her luck with Logan –
Except it wasn't him lingering over a cup of coffee in the kitchen.
"Mornin' chere." She blinked as Remy smiled at her – and for a moment he looked odd in daylight, suited in his trench coat. Of course there was also the fact it was early morning. Remy was infamous for his distaste of mornings, especially early DR sessions, and given he didn't have to attend school, he tended to sleep in whenever he could.
"Uh, mornin' Remy." She bit her lip, eyes going back to the clock. "Yah ain't seen Logan around, have yah?"
He shook his head. "Non." His eyes flicked to the clock as well. "Y' need a ride?"
"Uh," it was odd interacting with him civilly outside her room and she wavered for a second. But a ride was a ride. "That'd be great." He flashed a grin at her, keys suddenly in hand. At the door, he stepped back, opening it for her. "Afta yah, mademoiselle."
She raised an eyebrow. "Since when am ah a lady ta yah?" Still she walked through and then he was behind her, far too close.
"Oh, Remy be makin' suhre of dat." The heat of his proximity was far too familiar, fingers ghosting over her hip, and she suddenly second-guessed the wisdom of her decision. But he was brushing past her and opening the garage.
"Allons-y ta mah belle Marie." She stopped in her tracks.
"Marie?" she hoped her voice sounded sarcastic as the garage door went up to show two beautifully polished Harleys that made just about every other guy, and some of the girls to be honest, drool. "Yah named y' bike?"
Remy raised an eyebrow. "Like de wolf-man doesn't got a name for dis pretty, little ride?" He touched the handlebar of the furthest bike with worshipful fingers, a touch far too much like a caress– Rogue focused on the fact Logan grumbled in her head.
"Wo'n't call it that in front of him," she said wryly, sidestepping the question. "An' if he sees yah touchin' it, he might think yah gettin' ideas swamp rat." The title came out awkwardly and she cursed mentally. But their normal 'outside' repartee just wasn't coming. He didn't tease her for sounding like she cared, instead, turning to pat his own fine machine.
"Oh no, Marie's all Remy needs an' Wolvie knows dat." He slid onto the bike with fluid grace. When she stayed in place (did he have to call it that?), he raised an eyebrow. "Y' comin' chere?"
She squared her shoulders. "'Course." She slid on behind him, suddenly extremely aware of just how close they'd have to be, especially if he drove at all like she'd witnessed before. And yet, as she clutched her thighs and arms around him, it occurred to her that she'd already been closer to him. Her heart rate accelerated as he revved the engine and took off.
And soon, she'd be even closer.
Riding with Remy was all speed and exhilaration, leaning curves and defiant ups and downs. She could feel the vibration of the engine, the heat, the sheer power – the freedom – radiate through Remy and then into her. It was intoxicating and she shuddered, thoughts spinning past her mind almost surreally. She'd have to get him to let her drive sometime and then he would hold onto her, whispering interesting suggestions into her ear, and when they got off, he'd put his arm around her waist and he would show the whole world – what?
They stopped and the fantasy disappeared as if it had never been. She got off the bike, her knees unexpectedly refusing to firm and his arm immediately steadied her. She ignored the smug look on his face, feeling a blush rise. "Uh thanks."
"Any time chere," he purred and she hated him for his composure, tugging away. Except somehow he'd snagged her right glove and it slipped off. She reached for it with the other hand, but he merely deftly wisked the other off.
"Gambit!" He fixed her with an earnest look, the smugness melting away.
"Y' trying t' prove yah not a hazard, non?" She stared at him in disbelief.
"Ah absorbed people yestaday!"
Remy engaged the kickstand and dismounted the bike, fingers latching under her chin. They weren't gloved and she shivered at the familiar sensation. But again, amazingly, her control asserted itself. Her gloves had disappeared, no doubt into one of his d- pockets. "Y' not a hazard Rogue, you an' I both know dat. All yah gotta do is show 'em." She scowled, but it was only half-hearted.
"Ah absorb someone else, yah mah next victim."
He didn't tease back, just kept eye contact and utterly sincere, "You won't."
She swallowed and behind her, the bell rang. "Ah gotta go." After a moment, he nodded and pulled back. Still not entirely steady, she turned away and started walking, too hazy to even recognize the first stirrings of certain psyches in her mind. Only ten steps from him, she was plowed into and went down.
"Oh my good- I am so sorry!" Without warning, the apologizing brunette offered her a hand up, which Rogue took without thinking. "Are you okay?" The girl released her hand and Rogue just stared. "I'm really sorry, but – um, I'm kinda late." And finally Rogue nodded. And as quick as she'd appeared, the tall classmate was gone, speeding into Bayville High.
She hadn't recognized the girl and she'd had to have been someone really out of touch with school gossip because – She hadn't absorbed her. Hand to hand. Bare to bare. Rogue's mind was reeling. She hadn't absorbed her. For no good reason.
"Chere, you okay?" Remy eyed her curiously, but she was more than okay. She was, she was –
Was this how normal felt?
Remy took a step forward, but before he could say anything more, she was against him. Kissing him. Kissing him with more euphoria than she ever had before in her incited passionate moments.
Just because she could.
She could taste the tang of coffee and sugar (a donut perhaps), but he was warm and welcoming against her and she could've flown. And then he was clutching her and their tongues were tangling and she could feel the beat of his heart tattooing against her, her own beating a fierce staccato that raced ahead.
She drew back and panting, it took her a second to realize why his face looked weird. She recognized the heavy, burning gaze – but it was lit up more than ever before and he seemed, exposed. Her eyes dropped to his lips and she saw the purplish impression of her lipstick bruising his mouth. She flushed hotly.
Just what had she done?
"Ah," her voice caught as his hungry eyes flew to her mouth, "ah gotta go."
And she flew into the school as if the devil was behind her…
Rogue wasn't sure if she was ready to face him. She told herself she was being ridiculous; hadn't she faced him after the shower incident? But still, her teeth fretted her lip.
That night, she was just turning the corner when she spotted Logan by Remy. She froze instinctively, but whatever the two had been talking about was obviously done, as Logan turned on his heel and stalked off in the opposite direction without seeing her. Remy looked after him with a brooding frown that immediately set of warning bells in her head. And all former embarrassment was unimportant.
She walked down the hall and Remy's face cleared up instantly.
"Dere y'are. Hopin' ta find yah." He was all hands, wrapping around her waist, tugging her close. She allowed it, despite the fact they were outside her room. She'd started that, hadn't she? "Afta dat li'l sample dis mornin', Remy be left wantin' more…" He began to toy a pattern out on her back and looked at her with those hot eyes – but instead of succumbing to distraction, she leveled him with a slit-eyed look.
"What did Logan want?" she asked, unable to hide the thread of nervousness. Anything that Logan wanted with Remy at this point could not bode well.
Remy's blanch was nearly non-existent, but she hadn't spent every night for nearly three weeks with him for nothing. Still, he shrugged it off. "Y' know Wolvie, he always goin' on about somet'ing." Her frown deepened, but he was going on, "Actually had an idea f' tanight."
Her cheeks tinged immediately. Remy's ideas always turned out to be, interesting. "Oh?" she asked, successfully distracted.
He nudged her up against the wall and she swallowed as he gave her an Eskimo kiss-. "T'inkin' we'd go t' a club."
She stiffened. "A club?"
"T' célébre dis mornin'. An' it be a bon way ta try out yah control wit' distractions 'round," he chuckled into her and it went all the way through her. "'sides moi." She looked away.
"Ah, ah don't know." They'd never, well, been together outside of her room, except for this morning and she couldn't quite say why the thought made her nervous.
"Out o' de area, course," he added and caught her eyes, leaning closer. "Get ta take my belle bike too." He gave her an easy grin, red-and-black glimmering, and she surrendered with an utterness and speed that was almost unnerving.
But didn't she always?
-For poor, sad people who don't know: an 'Eskimo kiss' is just rubbing noses, but it's so cute!
She didn't know where they pulled up, only that it was a fair distance from Bayville. She was barely able to observe the place either, for as soon as she was off the bike, he was all over her, arm around the waist, tossing salacious comments her way, trailing fingers over her form. The bouncer had taken one look at them and made way; undoubtedly this was one of Remy's long-term hang-outs and the thought that he had brought her to it made something inside her flutter. Of course, that could also be because of fact he hadn't stopped playing with extremely high slit in her long skirt since the moment she'd alighted from 'Marie.' (She hadn't really expected less, her pick of black tube top and skirt, overlain with a wide-wristed crimson see-through mesh-top had definitely been picked strategically. Feeling extremely daring, she'd actually skipped any form of tights – his face when she'd straddled his bike and bared thigh had been priceless.)
Once they were in, she stiffened, reflexively rebelling to the crowded atmosphere. Remy's hand solidified against the small of her back. "Du calme," the words shuddered through her. "Jus' focus on me an' we be attentif, d'accord?" She nodded shakily and he curled a few fingers to touch her flesh. She flushed, feeling it illicit in front of others. "Den we can have some real fun." She looked at him and he pulled her closer. "De distractions, dey rien," nothing he breathed and so close to her, the look from that morning re-ignited, hungry, longing. "Dis, dis-" he was a breath away and she felt her pulse jack rabbit. Her eyes skittered, feeling the gaze of other people.
"Bu' there's-"
"Y' self-conscious?" She blushed at his frank question and he began tugging her away from the center of the club.
"Remy?"
Once they were by the side of the room, hazily shielded by dim lighting from the rest of the room, he spun her around with a wry smirk. "Dis better?" The heat in his eyes hadn't decreased, now coming to rest on her legs, her waist, her breasts, her showcased shoulders, the edge of her neck. They glowed in the darkness and she marveled at how attuned her response had become. He leaned into her. "Now tahme t' do waht any warm-blooded male would like t' do wit' y'."
She licked her lips and his grip tightened. "An' what would that bah?"
"Make out wit' you in a dark corner." His frankness, so adolescent-like, made her heady and she regained her balance in this half-familiar ambiance.
Coyly, she looked out from under her lashes. "Oh reahlly?" her voice was throaty and he slipped an entire hand underneath her top and she couldn't help the gasp.
"Any homme in his righ' mind wou'n't be able ta keep the'r hands off y'." There was something almost desperate, almost reverent in his tone and then his lips were on hers and he tasted like all the things she'd never thought she'd have.
In that moment, alone in a crowded club, he was hers, all hers for the taking.
And she was his.
"Yah seem to 've been here often."
"Oh, only dream about doing this with ma chérie."
And under his glibness, she tasted his truth.
They finally came up for air sometime, she had no clue when, too drunk on him and the moment and the music that pounded through her that she'd missed.
Arm curled around her, he led her to the bar.
"Whattdya want chérie?" She shrugged, getting the feeling the bar didn't stock non-alcoholic drinks. She racked her mind for something she honestly liked, pushing aside her suddenly 'helpful' Remy psyche. Her lips had to quirk at one suggestion though.
"How 'bout a 'Scarlett O'Hare'?" Remy's lips quirked in response.
"Gotta love a Southern gal," he put his hand to his chest. "Mah kinda girl."
"Southern?" the heavy-set bartender raised an eyebrow. "Don't get that many around here. Where'd you pick up this one?" he directed the question to Remy and Rogue's grin turned venomous.
"Don't think that's any ah yah business," she said, "sugah," deliberately drawling the word out, laying a hand flat out on the counter. The insinuation stung just a little too much, the reality piercing this haze, haze of what?
Remy nudged her. "Hey why don't y' go reserve us ah pool table?" She reluctantly broke eye contact with the bartender, a bitterness still in her mouth.
"Whateva." And honestly, just to torment him, as she turned with a flip of her hair, she muttered, "Shoulda gotten 'Sexual Trance.'" The bartender had to call his name twice to get his attention as she walked away with a smirk on her face.
You've got your dumb friends
I know what they say
They tell you I'm difficult
But so are they
"Your girl's a regular spitfire, isn't she?" Even through the crowd, she could pick up the question. And the immediate response –
"She's not my girl."
But they don't know me
Do they even know you?
All the things you hide from me
All the shit that you do
And she can't breathe.
She's not of course. She's not 'his girl' and he's not 'her guy.' They're not dating. Tonight was just about, about pretending, a farce, a game.
She started it, asked for his help to let her be able to do things, things for a boyfriend – not for him or with him.
"-touch without it meanin' anaything."
And it didn't.
You were all the things I thought I knew
And I thought we could be
Nothing.
And the Remy in her head is silent.
You were everything, everything that I wanted
We were meant to be, supposed to be, but we lost it
And all of our memories, so close to me, just fade away
All this time you were pretending
So much for my happy ending
Oh oh, oh oh, oh oh...
She was waiting when he strolled up to the billiard table, carrying his bourbon and her fruity Southern Comfort. She took hers without comment.
Raising an eyebrow at her silence, he instead nodded toward the table. "Yah ready t' play?"
She met his eyes directly. "Oh yeah."
She was ready.
Finally.
It's nice to know that you were there,
Thanks for acting like you cared
And making me feel like I was the only one
It's nice to know we had it all
Thanks for watching as I fall
And letting me know we were done...
"And afta that," she said coolly, "should go back ta the mansion." He blinked at the suddenness, the beginnings of a frown but she went on. "Wanna do ahur own practice, non?" She mocked, twirling her pool stick with an expert flick and predictably, his eyes heated.
Yeah, she was ready.
And she was going to win.
They tumbled unto her bed still clothed, fingers slipping under to caress skin, too impatient to wait to have it revealed in time. And yet inside, she was ice. The heat of his kisses, what was it but play?
He moved to her neck, a bare hand coming to slip up the slit of her skirt. He edged her underwear and her fingers, anticipatory, wound themselves in his shirt.
"Remy-" A tendril of shock ran through her.
"Jus' breathe chérie an' i'll be fine," his voice was thick and a hairline fracture appeared in the cold. She wasn't, what if – why did he gamble so?
Then he slid inside and there were no barriers but those she could not see but the coiling inside was heating and she couldn't totally grasp the sparks she could see as her eyes fought to remain open. He was feeling her out, texture that made her shake and feel like she was going to burst as those pretty little lies flew off his lips like she meant all the world. She said his name, to stop him? encourage him?, and a shiver went down his spine. But she bit down as she felt the seizure of the stars come and she was undone.
She let out shuttering breathes, feeling a wetness against her eyes, spent.
He murmured against her, nuzzling her face, easing her down from the heavens. And she wanted to ask him why, but had to keep the cold.
Why the handjobs? Jaded, it was easy to come up with the answer. Control and power. The ability to manipulate another, cause them intense emotions, pleasure. The pants, the moans – when she took him in hand ('Y' sure yah ready chere?' ''m sure it's easia ta keep focus when ah ain't the one goin' over the edge, trust meh'), she mused, watching his face. He was still speaking, still in control, directing her inexperienced fingers to fit just right, to apply just the right amount of pressure, but all too soon she's moving without it and he's lapsing into French and nonsensical visceral sounds that tell her exactly what she, Rogue, is doing to him, the Gambit. The ability to bring someone to their knees, to bring them beyond words…
But the ice can't stay, not with his heat, his tenderness reaching into her.
As she held him in the palm of her hand, she couldn't hate him. Couldn't despise him. He was risking so much for her, so much in the palm of her innocent, bare hand – trusting her, all for what? A few sexual encounters? The knowledge he'd gotten to the Rogue? But she, she was getting the experience of a lifetime, a gift she could not count the worth of. She watched his face finally in awe as pleasure, pleasure she had caused (not pain, for once!), burned to its brightest degree.
He was fulfilling exactly what she'd asked – and he had made no promise further than that:
Fuckbuddy.
"Dieu chere," he breathed at her, becoming limp. His breathing was loud in the still room and she couldn't help a slight grin. She'd left him speechless.
"Not tha' bad, huh?"
He tilted his head, the fact he was still catching his breath detracting from the calculating look he was aiming for. "T'ink we have ta do it a few more times dough."
Her heart squeezed even as she laughed.
So why did she feel like she'd just lost something?