Together or not? Will be answered this chapter. Don't they always have trouble figuring that out though?
Clarification on touching – part of it has been about her getting comfortable with touch period (being able to touch someone else's hand, not flinch if someone touched her arm), however a larger part are the people involved. Rogue was practicing with people she had a decent amount of comfort with – Logan, Kurt, Kitty. Then though intimate touch does take adjustment, the larger part was her getting comfortable with Remy as her partner. Just by his presence, he became a comfort to her, a reassurance to her mutation that it could calm down – thus why she was able to touch that other girl bare-handed. Wanting him so much just sent it in overdrive – and then she had to work on calming it down and satisfying the demands by becoming more emotionally intimate with him. Of course, none of this is really conducive to having a 'casual' sexual relationship with someone.
Ajax41: Meaningless – this is Rogue's bitterness coming out. Every touch from him means so freaking much to her, that the idea it means nothing to him kills her. She doesn't have a right to assume or judge though, not at this point, but, well, we'll see. Oh and Rogue has always had a problem respecting Remy and his feelings, in any 'verse – something that will need to change. Couldn't help but follow that trend.
Ishandahalf: I just wanted to quote you, because of great insight! "what a realization on rogue's part - that it's not the act of touching itself that matters, it's who she's doing it with. she's built up this trust with remy, so it makes perfect sense that she can control her powers easiest with him - because her powers would have to be so intimately intertwined with her psychological state, her confidence, her trust, etc." See and now I did something there – the focus is not even on the fact him touching her might be meaningless because he's so free with touching, but the fact it's her, that he doesn't appreciate her as more than the x number of girls who've touched him before. She's afraid her touch means nothing to him, while his means so much to her. Ironic, considering her powers…
The sharing of her name – good insight thus far, and I'll go into it next chapter. (I loved your take Ajax41.) And Pyrinsomniac, he hasn't been necessarily been giving secrets at the same level – but yes, giving something equal to that? Definite problem.
"Did it t' survive, mais it ain't about de keepin'– somet'ing 'bout what anotha keeps so close, can't help bu' wanna wrap mah fingers 'round it." Pyrinsomniac – so insightful! It is a power and vulnerability issue – knowing what the other treasures and then being able to take it. "To be able to take it, and for it not to mean to you what it means to someone else, both give you an advantage over that other person. Gambit's as much of a control freak as Rogue." Absolutely. But can the thief really take it without it meaning so much?
Final note: This chapter will begin in 3rd p.o.v. then shift into Remy's. Just a warning. And well, don't judge him too quickly! Sorry for the lateness, but I suddenly realized I had to cram 6+ chapters into this one!!
Got a lot of personal A/Ns so putting them at the bottom, if you're interested.
Bonnie Raitt – "I Can't Make You Love Me" (Go back to the end of last chapter and re-read it with this – it goes perfectly!)
Turn down the lights, turn down the bed
Turn down these voices inside my head
Lay down with me, tell me no lies
Just hold me close, don't patronize - don't patronize me
Cause I can't make you love me if you don't
You can't make your heart feel something it won't
Here in the dark, in these final hours
I will lay down my heart and I'll feel the power
But you won't, no you won't
'Cause I can't make you love me, if you don't
I'll close my eyes, then I won't see
The love you don't feel when you're holding me
Morning will come and I'll do what's right
Just give me till then to give up this fight
And I will give up this fight
It Takes Two…to Practice
…and back again
Her eyes opened and she must have registered the heat against her back because she tensed.
An easy chuckle touched the pre-dawn air. "Easy chere." A bare finger teased the edge of Rogue's nude shoulder as if to coax the automatic activation of her mutation into submission. "'s just Remy." The girl's eyes trailed down to take in the fact she was cocooned in her own sheets, only the tips of her shoulders showing. "Guess dat be somet'ing else we'll have ta practice." His tone was light and expressionless, her eyes drifted to look behind her. He was dressed, complete with trench coat and shoes, half-lying beside her. The careless smile on his face began to fade as her gaze lingered on his feet.
She shifted over to face him and though he eyed her, her expression never changed. Collected, reserved. Unconsciously one of Remy's hands went to his pocket, smoothing the edges. He moved further back on the bed, giving her space.
"That's not what it'd really be though, rahght?" Her soft southern-tinged voice still dragged from sleep and he cocked his head.
"Whatcha mean, chérie?"
She finally met his eyes evenly, with only the most miniscule lag. "It wou'n't be gettin' used to wakin' up with someone," she paused, "it'd be you."
His face froze, but his gaze didn't waver.
"Yaur body, yaur scent, yaur heat, yaur touch," she said quietly, without blinking, her face still set. His face had gone blank. The hand by his pocket splayed. "You," she finished and the silence after was that of the second after a gun had gone off.
"De touch be de important thing, non?" His voice was steady, even almost casual. But his hand had slithered into his pocket, gripping the slim packet within. Hers was no better – her grip on the sheet tightening...
"It's your touch though." Their eyes were still locked, the red and green mockingly steady. "I'm just using-" she swallowed hard and finally looked away. As if released, his jaw locked. The contents crushed beneath his bruising grip. "This isn't workin' Remy."
"C'mon chere," the endearment had an edge, "yah never been afraid to say what's on yah mind. Yah t'ink yah usin' – Remy," he gave a laugh a shade too rough to be anything but humorless. "So? Don't hear meh complaining dough, now do you?" Her face finally betrayed her – paling even beneath her white complexion. But still her voice was flat, firm.
"Ah don't want t'-" she cut herself off, swallowing, before going on more composed. "Weh have ta stop Remy. It's betta this way."
His hand came free smoothly and it was barely the work of a moment for the cigarette to reach his mouth, the end reddening almost before he even raised a single finger to it.
He lit up.
Days later, he would pinpoint that moment as the moment he irrevocably lost control of the situation. A slip up, one measly, significant mistake – but it was too late.
Bad habits died hard.
Rogue's face hardened and she met his eyes again, a spark of rebellion, contempt lighting them. In a brusque tone that had lacked in her previous words, she resumed speaking. "We agreed that weh could stop anytahme, any reason. An' that'd be it." Her chin was high.
She stared him down and coolly, he exhaled, her face nearly disappearing in the sudden wispy cloud of smoke.
"Whatever y' say, chere."
And without further ado, he walked out her door.
His mind reeled.
She kicked him out.
The idea was preposterous, unthinkable, insane, ridiculous –
He'd been thrown out of bedrooms before, usually booted by the intrusive realization the femme wasn't quite as fancyfree as he'd imagined. Women had changed their minds, seen his eyes, ended up with a temper, a million different ways the hand could end unexpectedly.
But he'd never been kicked out, never so calmly, so considerately, so implacably.
– unpardonable.
The door slam reverberated in his mind, but he didn't linger by her door. He was no love-struck puppy dog. He knew when he wasn't wanted.
Not wanted – in a way that actually gave a d-.
And as he stalked the deserted halls, the chill of shock and disbelief began to suffuse under the accelerating lava pulse of being f-ing furious.
What the hell did she think she was doing?
Giving him the brush-off?
After every– he crushed the thought before it could form and focused on her hardened face.
Bitch.
The word was flavored with fury, spiced with resentment, textured with the history of over three weeks of experience – the whisper of her wide green eyes, going over the edge, "Remy…"
Without realizing it, he arrived at the Danger Room. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the tension roil through him, the charge inciting his nerves, vibrating the very air. He needed to destroy something – and not think.
Not think about her, the fucking bitch.
The irony barbs within him – not. And he forces it away as he announces his simulation to the computer.
But it's not so easy to shake her, not when she's imprinted into his skin, not that it ever has been easy…
Her file had been exactly ninth in the pile, being the last of the 'original' X-Men, and he opened it with the same careless interest he had the rest. Details were what could make or break a job and Gambit, though never one bookishly inclined, always gave briefings several read-throughs – and then added his own research.
He'd glanced over her picture twice, memorizing as he did for all the rest, his eyes lingering for a moment on the stripe. It made her distinctive and able to be picked out in a crowd, an important marker for his later surveillance. He skimmed over her description, just trying to get a feel for the team, an eyebrow rising at the blurb given on her powers:
Absorbs memories, physical energy, and abilities (particularly in the case of mutants) through skin-to-skin contact. Often renders victims unconscious.
He remembered, dimly, musing how handy that would be – she'd make an excellent thief.
But it was the next word that got to him.
Uncontrollable.
He read it a second time before it clicked. She couldn't –
The description: skin-to-skin contact.
Touch.
He sat there for a second, marveling, disturbed at the cold clinical depiction of what had to be the girl's greatest source of heartache, drawn out for any person to see in harsh black and white.
Uncontrollable.
It was that word that made him look at her picture again. He looked at the made-up face, gothic art – so different from the rest of the preps. He saw the half-scowl, the displeasure at having to have her picture taken, for all official purposes. And he peered into her eyes, to see the wary, angry look in those big green eyes.
He thumbed through her history, now regardless of the other files he still had yet to read, reading and re-reading the sketchy outline – the holes tantalizingly vacant before him, but enough filled in to make him muse at her actions, wonder…
His thumb came to rest against her portrait, trailing over her cheek in the mimicry of a caress. And the thought sunk in – no one was able to actually do that to her. He stared into her defiant eyes.
Her name finally clicked. Rogue.
And with a musing half-smile, Gambit promised himself he would get a closer look.
And he had.
That picture hadn't done her justice.
Distance hadn't done her justice.
Then again, his sudden appreciation could've just been from her skin-tight uniform.
He hadn't planned on meeting up with her that first time. Not completely. Gambit had planned for the eventuality though, and when he surveyed the dispersion of the X-Men forces from on top his strategic planned vantage point, he hadn't been able to resist. Lady Luck had smiled as the Rogue took off alone, moving into the crate alley.
She just begged a closer inspection and he threw out his empathy in advance, wary as the added layer of sensory perception always made managing it all together more difficult.
She was…determined, tense, prepared, ready – the emotions bled along the edges of his mind, but he didn't dare dwell on them – intensity had the tendency to swamp his senses.
And then, ah, there it was: curiosity. He stood at ready, but ever so carefully began to unwind his line…
She turned the corner and he smirked. And in her moment of shock, he coaxed the curiosity into full force, mixing with the shock.
She paused and he cocked his head, a wry smile at the ease he'd ensnared her before withdrawing his pre-planned card, tugging the curiosity even further to encourage her acceptance as he offered it to her.
But even as she reached for it, he could feel wariness flare. Instinctively, he upped the charm and ever after, he could never be sure if her sudden intrigue was her own or the manipulation of his. Her wide eyes lidded as she took the card in her gloved hand.
He took a moment to admire the impact. Her jade green eyes were overshadowed by the showy makeup she wore, in-your-face and get-outta-mah-way. But when they shuttered, her guard loosening – vulnerable, he was struck by the tragedy she couldn't touch. She moved toward him incrementally and he acted reflexively, moving into her, inches away – tantalizing...
And he had the half-formed thought, almost wistful, if he could, what he would give to help that, her…
But that wasn't why he was there. This was business and the card was not a keepsake, a marker of his interest. The charge surged through his fingers (how long that had taken to conquer – would she…?) and he had to let go. He eased his ensnarement of her as he backed away before saluting.
And then he ran, knowing she would throw the card away (once the charm wore off) as sure as he knew they would meet again.
He smirked, already imagining that encounter.
He just loved a Southern Belle with fire.
And she'd sassed him all right, even though he'd really been helping her out. He hadn't expected her to follow him, but the irony amused him and he let it pass – at least now they were even.
But then she'd kissed him and suddenly the interesting diversion became more of a puzzle.
The question nettled him: had she kissed him because of some personal reason on her part? Or because she'd picked up that it was the one move he surely wouldn't fight?
His encounters with her after that were all too brief.
The thought of that, of helping her, had stayed distantly formed, brushed aside for the more realistic scheming of exactly how to get around it. She was a lock that flaunted itself as untouchable and no thief in their right mind could resist that temptation.
"'s shame 'bout the whole sans touche, but yah know, Remy neva turned down a chance to be creatif."
But then he'd heard of her practice and the idea tantalized his senses again.
And yet… he couldn't approach her. She would never agree and he can't make himself ask it leeringly; it was control, it was her life and it felt wrong to offer himself mockingly, even if for no other reason than she'd never take him seriously.
Or so he believed, until there she was, offering it all on a silver platter…
"There somethin' I cahn do for you? Or do yah for?"
Gambit was taken aback by her smile, even more by her touch. He knew how stingy she was with that privilege – and more than intrigued by what it might mean.
"Act'ally cher, there is."
Not that he'd expected it to mean something so big.
"Ah need practice."
"Practice."
Saying the word while touching her was simply heady. Tantilizing…
"Don't tahke it so personally Gambit. Yah the biggest player 'round here an' ah know yah can keep this quiet. 's not lahke we're gonna start datin'."
It was an offer too good to be true. And he had learned very early in life, that those offers never were what they appeared.
There were always strings.
"What exactly would dis practice include, chérie? Gambit be needing to know de terms before he takes de wager."
He released her arm, noting the moment of loss flicker on her face – and savoring it. But then she drew herself up.
"Everything."
He let his eyes leisurely stroll down her body, flashes of what touching her, unwrapping her would be like. The thought was affective, but no matter what any others might claim, he was not ruled by his lower 'brain.'
Still, seeing that blush couldn't help but make him wonder just what the rest of her body would look like with the dull red staining her too-pale skin.
"Everyt'ing?"
"Everything. If ah'm eva gonna have a boyfriend, ah want tah be able tah, tah do everythang couples usuahlly do."
She was certainly determined and he let himself toy with the idea. And yet, and yet, no matter any foolish half-pledges to do this very thing…
"Tempting."
She had no idea – she caught her breath at his touch and for the life of him, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the flutter of, of sheer awareness that flooded her face.
"But ah don't t'ink de chere be ready."
To play the odds, you had to know what they were.
And he had to know it was worth beating them.
"Ah'm ready."
"Gambit wan' ta believe yah, really ah do –"
"Ah'll prove it."
And just like that, she volunteered to show him. He swallowed his smirk.
"Yah ready Cajun?"
He'd been ready from that day by the crates, amidst explosions, giant robots, and a megalomaniac.
"Remy always be ready for you, chere
She touched him.
Her hand felt no different than any other's – a little softer perhaps from its habitual covering, but not substantially different. Her touch was tentative, exploratory and –
It was her face. The touch was almost secondary to the simple look on her face – the wonder, the curiosity of just the very act of touching something, someone for the very first time. It floored him.
Innocence.
Was he so unfamiliar with it that it could shock him so? But watching her – she was so, so real – no coquette or, well, a normal person - it meant something to her and he couldn't explain…
Awe.
Her eyes lidded and the effect on him seemed even more magnified from the first time. When she brushed his lips, all he could think of was how much he wished it wasn't just her fingers and he in-took too abruptly.
Like a startled doe, she immediately withdrew, only to meet his eyes, her own wide and almost disoriented.
He couldn't speak, though he had no idea why.
"We ain't gonna be serious, just practice at naight. And if anaything happens, we can just stop, no strings or, or anaything. Ah just need someone that ah can touch without it meanin' anaything."
"Practice."
And just like that, he knew he was going to do it, risks even as they were. It'd be worth it, even if he couldn't fully say why.
The cards were in his hands and he let the motions ease him.
"So none of Remy be trompin' through de chérie's head, non?"
There wasn't – there'd been no absorption he knew full well.
"Ah, no. Ah told yah, ah can control it."
Her eyes sparked in offense and he held back a smirk at the flashing fury that so delightfully filled her. But let her think his hesitation was just over keeping his secrets. Not that he was thrilled at the idea she might get a glimpse of them, but…
The terms still bothered him. He just had to figure out why and he'd manage to finagle the situation more to his suiting. He always had before.
He withdrew the card, knowing instinctively which it was.
The Queen for the King she hadn't been able to keep.
"Mah lucky lady."
Would she be so lucky now.
"She be yaurs now. Your room, tonight?"
"Yeah."
He blamed the makeup.
Or more accurately, the lack of it.
She'd attired casually enough, hiding her form – and his fantasies of a skimpy silk-clad Rogue had to be filed away for another day. He hadn't really expected such. She no doubt felt uneasy over what exactly they'd agreed upon, and clothing was ever her armor. Didn't stop him from commenting.
Or imagining how much fun it was going to be to strip it from her.
"Nice p.j.s, but just between you and meh, Gambit prefer somet'ing a tad more, complimentary."
"Well it ain't like yah just stepped outta a boxer ad ahither. Bahsides, ah need to be comfortable, not–"
"Lookin' like yah want me to pounce on yah?"
He couldn't resist, tracing the edge of her shoulder. Being able to touch her, one who couldn't – and wouldn't allow another's touch, it was like having the opportunity to examine the Queen of England's jewels without guards.
And really, it was the lack of makeup -
"Don' worry, chérie, ah don' need de extra motivation."
"We need rules."
He'd never seen her without it.
"Rule #1: ah sahy stop, you stop. Don't wanna absorb any more of yaur gutta mind than ah absolutely gotta."
"D'accord. Gambit prefer to corrupt yah the old-fashioned wahy ahnyway."
Face lacking the pallid ghost-like tint, eyes bare from decoration to distract from their hue, lips red like they'd just been suckled, instead of garish purple. She looked – exposed without it, open to him. It went straight to his head, and to be honest, certain other parts…
"Rule #4: nothing that happens here-"
"Goes out dere. T'ought we already covered dat. Ya know what ah t'ink? Ah t'ink de chérie be stallin'."
And the ability to touch her. To have free access – unlike almost the entire rest of the world. She wouldn't say no or push his hand away, cross her arms and pierce him with her shard eyes that it would never happen.
The freedom.
He smoothed her collar and then trailed down the curve of her chest. She wasn't wearing a bra and his blood began to simmer. Just what exactly was she expecting?
In that moment, he lost his cool.
"How 'bout we make up de rest of de rules along de way?"
He would've kissed her in that moment, damn any consequence. She was decadence to his senses and he'd never been one to abstain.
But she called him back to his senses and he remembered just how much he had yet to know, to find out. Control was still on the table and he was betting on himself.
But damn it all if she didn't make a man want to leap without really looking.
So he pushed. He stripped, knowing the effect it would have on her, knowing it tilted the hand to his favor. And honestly, he thought he'd be more prepared this time for her. For the look of curiosity, wonder – hunger, on a far more visceral, deeper level than the shallow he had so long cultivated.
He wasn't.
It was the sincerity, he decided, the purity of her desire that so incited his. Her touch wasn't a means to an end.
The ghosting of her hand was light, ephemeral and he cursed letting her wear her gloves. But then she looked up, and he knew she wanted him,
it too bad to resist."Now, de gloves off."
"Yes, cher."
She tugged her glove off and he had to resist the urge to shift at the revealing motion. She wet her lips and he swallowed, but thankfully she didn't notice, too focused on the task before her. Her eyes fluttered shut and unseen, he watched the play of concentration over her features. It felt too, intimate to watch her relax, calm before laying that lily white palm on his chest. She rested it there and he could only wonder at her thoughts.
And for the very first time, he really tried to imagine what it would've been like if he'd never been able to touch people. Ever.
The thought made him shift uneasily – and he immediately regretted it.
She'd only absorbed him once, but he'd never forgotten the sensation. Perhaps the perception had to do with his mutation, but she'd been like ice against his lips, ice that had reached right through and withdrawn everything 'til he'd fallen like lead to the ground. It hadn't been pleasant.
This time it was like a bucket of ice water had poured right through his chest, the cold seizing his inner organs and squeezing. She immediately retreated and he sucked air in, feeling a touch light headed.
"I shouldn't – 'm sorry Remy, dis be a bad-"
He reacted instinctively, even as the sound of his accent and his name both sent him for a loop, hooking her wrist. Had she ever said it before?
"Nothin' ah didn't already expect chérie."
And equally instinctively, he reached out with his empathy, soothing her sudden panic even as the action soothed his own.
"Ah knew what I was gettin' into Rogue."
He had counted the cost; he would just have to be more careful.
"Now breath chérie and try again."
She started to close her eyes, her emotions withdrawing from his reach, and he couldn't help but resist. She was shutting him out, so she could touch – simply touch. For some reason, the thought suddenly pricked him instead. He clucked his tongue.
"Eyes open. Want you ta know what yah getting into."
Her hand came back down unto him and her eyes quickly followed. Almost reluctantly he let go of her wrist as she began her examination.
It was like watching a child taste sugar for the first time, a mapmaker seeing the very first globe, the recovering addict laugh at the realization they've finally become clean. Not knowing truly what they wanted, strove for, desired, craved so long – and then finding it so much sweeter than expected.
He was actually glad she didn't look up at his face – for he could simply not look away. He felt like a voyeur, witnessing her chaste wonderment and he was shocked anew that she was letting him be party to this. He could not look away.
And she touched him with more grace than he'd ever known, tracing his lines, his scars –
Him.
Finally, she rested her slim hand on his heart. She stared and he would've gambled all the cards he owned to know what she was thinking. Unable to stay apart, he shifted gradually, wrapping his fingers around her wrist. She didn't start, just kept staring.
"Hear my heartbeat?" he barely murmured, unable to break the hushed serenity between them.
She didn't answer. He began to think she hadn't heard him when to his utter shock, she turned her head to bring it down on his chest. Right over his heart.
His lungs threatened to seize, but with control gleaned from years of it being so necessary for the pinch, he breathed in – and out, even. The weight of her head, her trailing torso, the perfume of her hair, the smoothness of her face, the puff of her own breath in echo – his blood threatened to fire him alive, but he just kept breathing, kept his heart rate even.
She rested and he couldn't think. Just be.
But all had to end. He tugged her into consciousness.
"T'ink time's up chérie. Wouldn't do to break the rules de first night."
He made his way out, slipping his shirt back on distractedly.
"Besides…"
He looked back at her, sprawled on her bed, her face dreamy in the dim light.
"Gotta plan."
She'd caught him flat-footed again and the thought stung his pride. He'd misjudged the situation; that wasn't going to happen again. So he planned, he considered the matter carefully – and when he rolled on top of her, he knew he'd played his hand right. Locked together, she was just like any girl – he felt the sting of her skin when he feathered her forearms, brushed by her throat, her chin – just with a bite. And since when did that dissuade him? The mountain didn't have to be skirted or climbed over, one simply had to make the way through. All he needed was time; he could be patient. And if she didn't have that much tolerance, well, there was always creativity.
Touch was just the friction of two bodies after all.
"Yah know dere's more ta touch than skin-to-skin…"
Her preoccupation with the bare basics, though he could understand it, was so narrow. Teaching her the intricacies, the dance of desire that did not confine itself to such a constricted scope, it was an idea as tempting as repeating the little tussle they'd just engaged in. Besides his fingers felt almost completely numb.
"Not that ah'm not more dan happy ta help yah practice dis, but Gambit's been known to be rather creative."
He'd had untouchable her dangling in his mind's eye for months now. He had plenty of ideas. After all, she was a belle fille. Getting to touch her with such liberality was more than a treat, especially considering how deprived she was – and how it made her go that delectable mixture of flushed cheeks and breathy intakes.
"Be more than glad to show yah."
She had no idea.
"Ah don't want that, ah want to be –"
"Normal?"
The word stirred up shadows he'd rather not face: peering from the alley edge as a mother fussed over her newly-messy blonde son, cat-calls of Diable Blanc, the pat on his back that assured him he was a t'ief forever.
He hated the word. He thought she had too, but – a vision of a visor flashes through his mind and a Boy Scout manner –
"Hate ta break this ta yah, but yeh ain't eva gonna be normal."
His voice was bland. She still shoved him away and he let her go, the cold of his fingers seeming to have seeped further in.
"Might as well embrace it."
"Like yah, Mr. 'I-Wear-Sunglasses-Inside'."
She was all glare, almost pout and scornful sneer – pure Rogue.
But then she surprised him, yet again.
Uncurling, she settled on him.
He blinked. He hadn't expected her surrender.
Not so quickly.
She looked up at him, defiantly close.
"What? You bail everytahme the goin' gets tough?"
And he marveled. Defiance and surrender, all pure Rogue. He's going to look forward to getting to know her. As for him? He pulled her closer, equally marveling at her determined ignorance. She really had no idea.
"Not eve'ytahme."
They would both learn.
His estimation changed that day. This was not going to be a rush job; it was going to take careful preparation and time. But Gambit had never backed down from any job before. He wasn't sure that she understood that: the challenge wasn't the goal, wasn't actually having her, it was how he did it.
The contrast between night and day, honestly, just made the experience that much more scintillating. Her refusals and sharp retorts in the past had never really gotten under his skin. Some locks needed coaxing – and that was often the most enjoyable part. There was also, of course, the confidence he could get past it like he'd always done before. And now, when she turned up her nose at him or rolled her eyes, he could keep grinning, knowing it would only be a few hours before he got to wrap his fingers around this particular security system without resistance.
Except she was resisting. She didn't protest his touch, well not vocally, but the consistent prickle of her skin assured him it was doing the job she unconsciously left to it – making others stay away from her. It was ironic because, as he began to open his senses to her, let his empathy extend to brush the vibrating wealth of feeling she exuded, he could feel the heated half-hidden edge of a desperate desire to touch. She had to stop restraining it, abandon herself to the desire.
He was determined to break down that denial, though it was a bit hazy if he wanted to break down the wall to her touching - or him.
"Chérie, what y' be doin' righ' now ain't tryin' ta relax. It be tryin' as hard as hell ta resist meh."
"Resist you?"
"De feelin's y' get from mah touch. Yah gotta let yourself go ta it."
"Yah supposed ta enjoy dis Rogue. It ain't supposed ta be work – relaxin' 's supposed ta be lettin' go, not tryin'. Lettin' go ta meh wun't be so bad, non
Her protestation over his suaveness was a bit unexpected. Usually de
filles considered it charming and fell over like an unsteady house of cards, but he could guess that Rogue felt uncomfortable over the fact he had experience far beyond hers. Charming, seducing, it had practically had become his modus operandi, effortless, natural. It made for a hardly level playing field though, so mentally he acquiesced to the complaint. It was just a different way to play the game, right?But when she gazed into his demon-red eyes and smiled, he realized he was completely unprepared for sincerity.
And only the fact he then realized just how deliberate Rogue had made her choice, picked her practice buddy, made the field even again.
"'s that part of those empath powers?"
"Bit. Amplify what somebody already feeling or distort it ta make dem a tad more, flexible. Why yah ask?"
"Jus' wondering. Thought yah could use it ta know when ta stop during practice."
"Yah really t'ought dis out when yah picked meh."
"Well yeah. Didn't think ah just picked yah 'cuz yah 'good looks', did yah?"
"Oh, ah know yah did."
There was also the fact her guess had been dead-on; he had begun using his senses to get in-sync with her. He'd begun using it in the half-half compromise of practice, to learn, memorize for himself, the feel of her emotions, her body, her mutation under control. He wasn't even sure it would work, but the idea he might be able to feel it switch on and off was motivating enough. It was odd to use it so; ever before he'd only dared opened himself when the payoff had been assured, manipulation the medium to ensure he got what he needed.
But the point was not for her to gain control through his manipulation. He didn't regret the kiss, feeling the warm press of her lips for longer than the fleeting second of her first icy attack, but he knew she needed it to be more than that. She needed the control to be real. It was her emotions, her mutation, her life. She had to become comfortable, and he was more than pleased that she'd come to him to be available for it.
And if such opportunities came outside, who was he to pass that up? He'd never really been one to contain himself too much and she was becoming more receptive to him, all around. It couldn't just be his imagination.
"If ya keep strugglin', ah'm gonna get some more temptin' ideas."
"Let meh up."
"Aw com' on, how 'bout some motivation?"
"Ah don't think anahything ah'm thinking of would motivate ya to get off me."
It wasn't just his imagination. But then, the Boy Scout just had to interrupt them.
"Get off her Gambit."
Rogue flushed and Gambit felt like scowling at the timing. But he didn't show a sign, even if he did let his hand run up her maybe just a bit too familiarly.
"This is flag football, not touch Gambit."
Another one who had trouble calling him by name. He watched her as she patted herself off without daring to look at Scott. His teeth gritted, but he waved a hand in the air, dangling his conquest to interrupt the tirade.
"I got de flag."
He felt the heat of the boy's glare.
"That's not the point Gambit. Just because Rogue's getting a handle on touching doesn't mean you can be all over her Gambit!"
It bothered him, he realized later, after he got to enjoy the sight of Rogue telling off the tight-ass, then actually uttering the ludicrous statement she wasn't "asking to be man handled!"
The statement Cyclops had made wasn't completely accurate – but for all the boy knew, it was. And it bothered him.
Her practice with him began to preoccupy him. For the first time, he really began to contemplate her mutation, how she'd been forced to adapt and how that adaptation would have to be overcome. She needed to be comfortable in her skin, instead of always hyperaware of it as a weapon. She'd become so careful to protect others, she'd denied her own need for contact. Even if she wasn't gaining control, it wouldn't have been healthy.
She needed and wanted to touch – she just had to accept that desire. That was a problem in and of itself. He'd never known, felt, someone who desired touch so strongly – and resisted it so hard, even if it didn't seem to be directed toward one specific person. Her desire scared her. For so long, she'd come to view it as a threat to others, perhaps even to herself.
He was even more resolved to help her get over this. He was so focused, he didn't even realize for the first time his thoughts revolved around ways to help versus ways to get around her mutation.
At the same time though, a strand of uncertainty began to chafe at him. With as tense as she got over kissing, was she serious about having sex with him? The presumption he'd walked in with seemed preposterous now. Not with how strongly she was still resisting him, even if it did just make him more determined.
And then she said it. "Fuckbuddy."
He wasn't prepared for the word, much less for it bothering him. It was more annoying because he didn't know why. He'd had more than his share; it was hardly a new proposition for him. But wasn't it supposed to mean more to women? Especially for their first time? Her casualness, cynicism bothered him. Stupid, really, considering she'd all but said the same when she'd made the offer to him.
"Ah just need someone that ah can touch without it meanin' anaything."
It was the perfect arrangement, wasn't it?
And then she kissed him.
He made sure that his muscles didn't tense, knowing just how big a step this was for her. Instead, he just angled her head into a better position, keeping his mouth tight and closed, no matter how much he wanted to
really kiss her. An echo as his empathy entangled in her assured him he was not alone.When they broke away, she panted and without prompting, his eyes fastened on her lips. Deep red, he could only imagine their shade after he tugged on them. But he restrained himself, instead slowly bringing her close to him.
"Wana try dat again, chérie?"
"Jus' give meh a minute, mistah ovaeaga."
"Only f' yah."
He waited for her to kiss him again, vindicated when she sought his mouth again. He engaged her a bit more with this one, but the real struggle was to keep his hands tight at her waist. He had to take care with her, knowing her fears and uncertainties. Her taking off her shirt had been an invitation, but this was the crossing of the threshold into real practice. Before had just been about contact – this was about desire, the tangling of lips, legs, and more. And she was learning. The kiss had been spontaneous, probably not completely on her part, but it meant she was learning. Learning that touch sometimes meant doing it as an outburst of want, emotion, because you practically couldn't help it – not just cool and deliberate calculation.
To not fear the unpredicted expression.
To be free to touch.
He wanted it all with her.
And the more they practiced, the toying, inside and outside, became necessity – and she was giving in.
She agreed to the deal with minimal fuss, a token resistance, before even adding her flourish of a condition. He didn't think it would be hard. But trying to be her that day had given him a greater appreciation of her isolation. He'd never really understood how greatly he relied on and used the ability of touch to influence others, for good and not-so good motives. To comfort, to surprise, to amuse, to challenge – even the use of personal space, that Rogue so usually viciously enforced, had to be monitored. It was hard to stay apart from people and be, well, so alone. But he didn't have to be that way and he was on his way to convincing Rogue of the same fact.
"Yah mine tonight Cajun."
She was giving in.
Until that night, the night that changed everything. Until she'd called his bluff without warning. And suddenly he'd actually got an inkling of the real danger he was in.
He didn't realize when it started. Too wrapped up in touching her, tasting her – a desire that just intensified. He needed more, more contact and any inhibitions he'd been trying to stick to, went up in smoke. He wanted her so bad it ached inside like the charge that begged to get out. Except – he didn't quite feel so hot.
His eyes opened and hers were too, but they were his eyes and he was moving back and she scrambled away.
His mind, his emotions were in a tangle – and he realized for the first time she'd been draining him without him even realizing, too caught up in her.
He hadn't noticed – and the thought terrified him. How much of him had she gotten?
And when she fled, all he could think was, was it worth it?
He let his last card sizzle in his hand, before cutting down the last standing opposition. He never should've followed her; should've left her when she'd still seen him as Gambit. But the vengeful regret couldn't change the past.
Was it worth it?
The simulation announced his victory, but Remy felt no accomplishment. He stripped off his sweat-slicked shirt, remotely noting it would never be wearable again, and just stood there for a second, breathing in – and out.
His muscles burned and he focused on the pain. Nothing else mattered.
It was five long minutes later that he finally opened the DR's doors – right in time to almost walk into the middle of the 'kiddies'. Rahne squeaked, Jaime started and bumped into Bobby, caught mid-yawn, causing an avalanche of four Jaimes to sprawl to the ground. Logan turned around and narrowed his eyes.
Remy, improvising, looked them over, aware of the gawks he was receiving due to his bare chest. "Wolvie doin' early-mornin' practice wit' y'?" he asked generally. He winked at Jubilee, who giggled. "Mes sympathies." Logan scowled, but then his nostrils flared. Reflexively, Remy tensed, realizing he hadn't showered. He was still covered in Rogue's scent. But then he paused, keeping his eyes on the other adult X-Men who was scowling even fiercer. "Well, got de room warmed up for y'."
He walked off, brushing by the younger mutants, knowing Logan wouldn't stop him. It wasn't like the man didn't know anyway.
He wasn't able to prevent the last bitter thought.
Besides, it wasn't like it was going to happen again...
He stood in front of the mirror that night.
He would get through this.
She was just a girl.
He stared at the red marks where she had run her nails over his stomach in the mirror. They would be gone in a few days, leaving no traces. The thought makes him clench inside, but he won't, can't examine why.
Just a femme.
His fists clenched. He would get through this.
You can skip this part – just skim over that in bold or italics!
seyin800 (exactly my point!), Star-of-Chaos (uh-huh), RogueGoddess (thanks), mercuriancat, -apatheticallyxyours- (LOL), Lucky, abthetis, mm4ever2gether
Dikana (I'm so glad you took the time and effort to write me!! That is a compliment just by itself! And don't apologize – it is really hard to learn to read and write in another language well!! I'm so happy to have 'heard' from you!), Remy'sRose (lol), Catra (thanks!), RubyVenus (hun, nothing about these two is easy – and they don't even need others' 'help'), flaming-mod (thank you!), gambit-rogue, mistyxtc (slightly? -evil chuckle-), cream tea anyone (absolutely: her emotions and the physical have
been intertwined then roughly separated – there's bound to be damage), Musariven (thanks! And lol), X-Storm (yes! Support! NOT last chapter), thegambit23 (ah, I never really thought of another choice…), mazdamiatta (Love doesn't always make you a better person – it's what you do with it. And Rogue, I think I'm trying to point out, wasn't ready for sex, intimacy, or love. She's is too 'freakin…paranoid!' I do agree there, but then hey – that's like the mirror of Remy. He ain't exactly the most forthcoming person out there.)
Sassy18 (Why does she keep going – because she couldn't give him up, not without admitting to herself why she's so bothered. She is being stand-offish, but she can't legitimize her feelings – feeling angry with him.), Wildcard186 (yay! that's good!), Rogue181, ajax41 (Rogue's part in this emotional mess is definitely going to be highlighted by Remy. You noted the defense mechanism – she has to remind herself of his 'real' self when he's getting too close to her emotionally! Good eye! Yes! You noted the fact Rogue is biased and reading everything according to how she sees Remy. "There's a big difference between going home with a random girl from a bar and being expected to sleep with someone whom you have a fledgling emotional relationship/attachment to, live with, and have to work with on a daily basis. Just because he isn't a virgin doesn't mean he's automatically ready to take that step with her. Even if he's every bit as promiscuous as Rogue believes, it can't be assumed that he's ready to bed any girl in any given situation." Soooo true."Is his psyche running around in her head yelling, "I just hate your hips, dey fat and ugly."?" LOL!! "Even if he does hand compliments out like candy it doesn't make them any less genuine or sincere, less special maybe but not less genuine." Ah one reason, but also, he used the l-word. Rogue's as skittish of that word as Remy really is. Besides, how many girls have physical hang-ups?), ashez2ashes (oh, read Kirsten Elizabeth's Unexpected, on top of being an all-around awesome fic it deals with this, in comic universe), Catra, romylover, Nocturnalwitch (-blush!-), Captain Annie (people looking forward to Rogue crushing Remy, read on), ashez2ashes (lol! – I got you to this from HP, lol!), gambits girl (lol! Thanks – I actually added the imperfections as a later revision, but I really liked it. Too many people just keep gushing on and on about physical perfection. Oy, come on! It's the imperfections that make them even slightly realistic. And ah – you anticipated something…)
thriller (Spot-on – how did she evaluate the hand jobs in Ch.8? By power dimensions! He's had the upper hand all this time (though if you look at the last two chapters, a lot of things reversed.) Uh the flaws? –smirk- That was actually pretty easy for me, also just listed some personal dislikes of Evo Gambit's design./"she couldnt kiss him because she wanted, needed to kiss Remy...but doesn't that mean the practice is all for nothing because she's got attached..." –evil chuckle-/Oh Warren will be upcoming! Think I could resist that after Gambit stole from him?!), Cerdwyn3 (thanks! LOL! I'll deal with being an 'agonizing' 'tease'!), nuriiko (absolutely), TheInflictedFinger (lol), rubic-cube,
Pyrinsomniac (Oh, it is such an interesting thought – why exactly is Remy such a touchy person? And he had to stop wearing gloves to be with her… I'll be delving into all that! "It's not certain that he knows how deep her feelings run (or, for that matter, that Rogue knows- or admits to herself- how much their affair, and Remy, mean to her.)" So true! Power dimensions…/Oh yeah – I'm going to be working a lot with the fact dynamics between people change, sometimes slowly, sometimes very quickly with the use of a catalyst. This physical intimacy is a catalyst and –clucks tongue- ah, more would be spoiling. Good ponderings on the psyche, but I see it as part of her withdrawing in the most crucial sense, contrasted to her embrace of the psyche the chapter before – though also, the psyche is dated – after she's stopped absorbing him, it no longer has access to Remy's current state of emotions. And if Remy hasn't come to the point he's comfortable with dealing with his emotions for her – what's the psyche going to say? Also, the connection between him and Real Remy will be explored later. "Hmm. I think Rogue's not the only one who hates to lose control and share... -glances sideways at Gambit, who shrugs innocently-" Two of a kind, unfortunately. We'll get to Remy's powers down the line – it hasn't been as much a concern for her as for him. I loved the whole balcony feel there – and we all do notice it's Remy coming at Rogue's beckoning right? "WHERE THE HELL IS MY FLUFFY ANIME ROSES AND SUNSHINE ENDING?" LOL!), Yezabel, Forever-Dawn (um, good?), Chica De Los Ojos Café (oh yeah…), Coldqueen (-whistles innocently-), MidniteAngelGoth (LOL! And tears, oh my…)