Drabble

[rhienelleth]

So, I've got three or four scenes done for this Rogue/Gambit fic, but they're all kind of jumbled and out of order, and there are huge gaps in between.  (To give you an example, the fic starts a few months post-X3, when Rogue has never even heard of Carol Danvers or Gambit, and then there's a scene with Carol, where she kills her, and a scene later with Gambit, where...well, I'll just post it, shall I?)

My point is, who knows if/when I'll ever really finish this thing.  I want to, but there's so much happening in it that the scope is more words than I can commit to with a non-fic WIP hanging over my head.  So, I'm at least going to post the Rogue/Gambit scene as a drabble.  Then it's almost like I've actually finished something, right?  Someday maybe it'll get posted again, as part of the completed fic.

X-men movie-verse
Rogue/Gambit
rating: not as M as later scenes will be

“…Remy.”

Without thinking, she reached out to comfort him, and caught herself only millimeters from touching his bare arm with her fingers.  She sucked in a breath and jerked back, curling the offending hand into a fist at her side.  She’d fallen back into old habits in the short time she’d been without her power.  Bad habits.  It was too damn easy to forget, to touch, to shatter another life. 

Like Cody.  Like Carol. 

“Oh, God,” she said, shaking, “I’m so sorry…”

“Are you?”  His eyes narrowed, took on a ruby glow.  “Are you, really, chere?  ‘Cause I’m not.” 

He moved suddenly, closed the distance between them so fast she could only stumble back, pressing herself against the rough stone of the wall, in a useless attempt to avoid all that bare skin.  She could smell the soap he’d used in the shower, feel the heat that  radiated from his half-nude body.  He leaned in until his hair brushed her forehead, damp.  His lips hovered so close to hers, she felt his breath like the whisper of a kiss, burning on her skin.  His arms caged her, one on either side, so close she’d touch him if she risked moving at all.  She swallowed, hardly daring to breath.  Wished to God that she hadn’t let Kitty talk her into a swim.  Bathing suits left far too much skin exposed. 

“Wha—”  She had to stop, clear her throat, and try again.  Her pulse was pounding so hard in her ears, she thought her head might explode.  “What are you doing?”

“I hardly know anymore, chere,” he said, his voice a low rasp.  “Maybe you can help me understand.”  He shifted slightly, tilted his head to bury his face in her hair, and her heartbeat spiked. 

“Don’t!” she said, panicked.  “If you touch my skin…”

“What?” he asked, and laughed, a reckless sound.  “Would it really be so bad, chere?  One little touch?”  She felt his fingers ghost down her arm, not quite touching, but so close they trailed warmth and gooseflesh in their wake. 

“Please…” she whispered, and he lifted his head to meet her eyes.  His were still full of red flame. 

“Do you have any idea what it means,” he asked raggedly, “that I can’t touch you, ever?  Any idea how often I dream of doing just that?  My hands on your skin, your taste in my mouth.”  He leaned in until his hips settled against hers, only his towel and her suit between them.  “Me, inside you.”  The hard length of his erection was more intimate than anything she’d ever felt in her life.  The closest she’d ever been, would ever be, to actually having him – or anyone else – inside her.  She closed her eyes, her hands clenched so tightly she thought she might break something.  It was the only way she could stop herself from giving in and touching him.  “It’s making me crazy, chere.  In-fucking-sane.  You get that?”

“Yes,” she said hoarsely, more afraid than she’d ever been in her life, because she understood exactly what he meant.  “I do.” 

He said something, a string of curses perhaps, in French.  She could feel the tension in his body, actually feel it because he was standing so close.  He moved, barely, but it was enough that his towel slid roughly against her thighs, the rigid length between her legs driven unexpectedly against her.  The friction made her gasp, wrested a sound from her lips, and he froze.

For a long moment, they stayed locked like that, only the sound of their breath, harsh and uneven, filling the empty room.  She wanted to speak, but couldn’t.  She wanted to beg him, but couldn’t decide what to beg for.

He lifted a trembling hand to her hair, brushed it gently back from her face. 

“Tell me not to, chere,” he whispered, the words spilling over one another feverishly.  “Tell me not to touch you for the millionth time, tell me to stop, because I don’ think I can stop myself any longer.  I tell myself no, Remy, don’ do it, but all I see is you, your sweet, sweet skin, your dips and curves.  All I smell is the jasmine in your hair, that fucking shampoo you use.  I want to taste you so bad it’s like I’m starving, and you’re the only food I can eat.  Please, chere, tell me no.”  He leaned in, so close, his mouth only a breath from hers.  “Make me stop.”

Her lips parted, but no sound emerged.  She couldn’t find her voice.  Half of her was screaming at the top of her lungs yes, stop him, don’t let him touch you!  While the other half hovered on the brink of temptation – yes, finally, just one kiss, what can one kiss hurt?

“Please…” she whispered, not knowing herself what words her lips were going to form.  “Remy, please…I…”

“What, chere?”

“Don’t.”  So soft even she almost didn’t hear it. 

For a second she thought he would anyway, just lean in that last centimeter and kiss her, and damn the consequences.  And oh, God, the selfish part of her wanted him to.  But all she had to do was fill her mind with images of Cody, stuck in a coma he’d never wake from, and Carol, drained of everything she was, dead, and she found her strength again.

“Don’t,” she said again, more forcefully.  “I couldn’t stand it if I hurt you, Remy.  If you don’t care enough about yourself, anymore, don’t put me through that.”

He cursed again, viciously. 

You don’ play fair, chere,” he said finally, and levered himself away from her. 

He put space between them, ran his hands through his hair.  She stayed where she was for a moment, felt the absence of his body like cold burning her skin, a familiar emptiness suddenly made achingly acute.  She had to swallow back a bitter laugh.  Wasn’t this what she’d wanted, when she’d been with Bobby?  Someone to want her so badly he didn’t care about her power, the consequences?  She hadn’t had it, then.  Or when she’d taken the cure, and could have touched anyone, been touched by anyone.  No, she found it now, when she was right back to square one, with no cure to turn to, even if she’d wanted to take it. 

She looked at Gambit, who paced in small circles with his eyes closed, his head thrown back, hands still buried in his hair.  Was he wrestling with his own power, kinetic energy coursing through his body, or was he only frustrated with his feelings?

“I’m sorry,” she said finally.  “Remy…”

“No, chere.  I don’ want your apology.”  He stopped, looked at her with eyes that burned.  “But you should go, now.  Before I change my mind.”

She swallowed, and nodded, holding her arms tight around herself in that old familiar way, to keep them from reaching out to him as she passed.  Her legs were weak and unsteady, but she made them move fast, until she was back out in the hallway.  Then she stopped, and leaned against the wall until she stopped trembling, and her heartbeat had slowed to something approaching normal.  She took a deep, shuddering breath.

Logan had been right.  This thing with Gambit was playing with fire.  He wasn’t like Bobby.  Remy LeBeau was dangerous, both to himself and to her.  The problem was, that danger was more exhilarating than it was frightening.  God help her.