Archive of Our Own ^beta

Gambit’s leaning on the doorjamb of the front door of the Xavier Institute, halfway through his second cigarette. It’s a nice night, one of those cool, late summer evenings that always makes him miss home and the humid heat just a little less for a moment. The crickets chirping, the sun just now starting to set, he couldn’t have asked for a better night than this one for tonight.

Because tonight is the night that he and Rogue are going on their first date.

After years of dancing around each other, she’d finally agreed to let him take her somewhere, some new restaurant she’d wanted to try, so he’d stood in the hall flipping through the phone book, trying to find the place so he could call and make a reservation. And while he’d searched through the pages, Jubilee had sat on the stairs a few steps up, singing, “Remy and Rogue sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

“Petite, please.” He’d given up and called the operator then. Place was so new, wasn’t even in the phone book yet.

“First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in the baby carriage!”

Gambit had balled up a sheet of paper off the notepad next to the phone and tossed it at her. She’d easily dodged it, stuck her tongue out at him, and scurried back up the stairs.

He’d gotten ahold of the restaurant eventually, but come to find out, the place wasn’t even fancy enough to take reservations. The homme on the other end had told him just to get there by 8:00, and they’d have a table for them.

So he checks the clock in the foyer again. Where is that girl? he thinks. A few more minutes and they’ll be late.

Gambit’s just finished lighting a third cigarette when he hears voices at the top of the stairs. He looks up in time to see Jubilee come rushing down them with giddy, childish excitement, and then at the very top, Rogue appears.

Now, Gambit’s had the chance to see some of the finest, rarest art that exists in this world, even gotten to get his hands on some of it, but he’s not ashamed to say that none of it even comes close to touching the beauty of the work of art that is the woman in front of him.

Rogue descends the steps slowly, careful of her heels. She’s in a deep red dress, of a satiny material that shines where it catches the light, with short sleeves just off her shoulders and a collar like a halter around her neck. Whatever skin the dress left exposed is covered by red lace, including the gap a couple inches wide that wraps around her midsection, and Gambit can just catch a glimpse here and there of her skin through the holes of the lace.

He can’t take his eyes off her.

She stops on the last step, one red gloved hand on the banister and the other holding a little matching clutch bag. She looks like she’s waiting for him to say something.

Realizing he’s been staring, Gambit removes the cigarette from his mouth where it’s been dangling dangerously with his open-mouthed gaping and clears his throat. “Chѐre… for me?” he says, laying on the charm, hoping it’ll cover up how much just the sight of her has affected him.

“You wish,” Rogue scoffs before stepping down and approaching him. “A lady has to look her best when she goes out on the town, Remy.” She’s close enough he can see her earrings now, too, a gold hoop in each ear, glinting gently. “After all, there might be some real gentlemen at that restaurant,” she teases.

She comes closer still, to peer around him at his motorcycle parked outside, and he’s caught between wanting to hold his breath from her being so near and yet wanting to inhale deeply when he catches a whiff of her perfume, light and floral, like they somehow found a way to stash a meadow inside a bottle.

Rogue begins tying a scarf over her hair and smiles at him. “Well, we better get going then. Don’t wanna be late.”

He stands aside to let her pass through the doorway. Jubilee goes to follow her outside, and Gambit puts his hand on her shoulder to drag her back into the house.

“And where you think you going, petite?”

Jubilee looks up at him. “You’re buying, right?”

“Oui, but for me and–”

Jubilee ducks under his arm and darts through the door before he can snatch her up again. “Never said no to free food!” she calls over her shoulder as she goes.

Gambit’s about to go retrieve her when a gruff voice speaks from the foyer behind him.

“Don’t think I’m letting you out of my sight tonight, Cajun.”

Gambit turns back to face Wolverine, forgetting Jubilee for the moment. The other man is slipping on his Sherpa jacket, a scowl already in place for the night. “Ah, Logan. Seems my bike only got room for two, and I ain’t quite remember asking you along.”

“However, Mr. LeBeau, I do remember asking you not to use our floors as your personal ashtray.”

Gambit and Wolverine both look over then as Beast now enters the foyer, dressed in his trench coat and fedora that do next to nothing to hide his large, blue furry form.

A few weeks back, Beast had asked both Gambit and Wolverine not to smoke in the house anymore, so Gambit uses the cigarette still smoking between his fingers to point at the doorway he’s standing in to show that, technically, he is not inside the house. Beast is unamused.

Wolverine says then, “We don’t need that scooter you call a bike anyway. Jeep’s in pieces in the garage right now, but Cyke said we could take his car if Hank drove. So we’re coming, whether you like it or not.”

Gambit takes a long drag from his cigarette, lets the nicotine settle his temper. Ain’t gonna argue with ‘em. Just lose ‘em somewhere ‘long the way. “Fine.” He exhales slowly through his nose, the smoke curling up and away, before dropping his cigarette on the porch side of the threshold and stubbing it out with the toe of his boot. “If y’all think you can keep up.”

They all exit the house. Beast goes to bring Cyclops’s car around while Wolverine waits on the porch and Gambit walks down the steps to where his motorcycle is parked. Rogue’s sitting sideways on the seat, listening to whatever Jubilee’s chattering away about, but she looks up at him as he approaches.

“Well, what took you so long?”

“Sorry, chѐre,” Gambit replies apologetically. “Change of plans.”

Rogue looks disappointed. “We ain’t going no more?”

“Non, we still going,” Gambit assures her. “Just gon’ have some company now, is all.”

Rogue still looks disappointed, and doubly so when Beast pulls up behind his bike in Cyclops’s car. Gambit doesn’t blame her. Whatever cozy dinner date they had planned just got blown out of the water in her mind.

Wolverine and Jubilee go to get in the car, and Gambit can hear her as she whines, “But I wanted to ride on the motorcycle!”

Gambit calls after her, “Maybe next time, petite!” and gives them all a little wave while Rogue moves to sit on the passenger seat of the bike.

“You awful cheerful,” she says suspiciously.

Gambit waits for the other two to get in the car before he turns back to her. He takes a moment to just look at her, admiring the pretty picture she makes sitting sidesaddle in that red dress of hers on the back of his bike, like some kind of an Americana Venus.

“We going?” Rogue asks as she starts to fidget a little under his stare. Gambit finally moves to sit astride the motorcycle then, and it settles a little lower than usual under their combined weight.

“Don't worry, chère.” He puts his sunglasses on to keep the wind and the last rays of the day’s sun out of his eyes. “They don't know where we headed. Once I lose ‘em, night’ll still be ours.”

“Uh-oh,” Rogue says as Gambit puts his hands on the handlebar grips. “I think I just done a bad thing then.”

“What's that?”

“Jubilee done talked where we're going right outta me just now. I wouldn’t’ve said nothing if I’d known they’d be helping themselves along,” she says regretfully.

Gambit makes no response, only hitting the kick start a little harder than is necessary. Rogue grips her fingers under her seat, and he revs the engine a couple times before steering the bike down to the end of the drive. He pulls out onto the lane, Beast and the others close behind in the car, and they make their way to the state route that'll take them right into the heart of the city.

They're sitting at the stop sign waiting for a break in the evening traffic, a few headlights coming on here and there as the sun begins to set proper. Gambit's got the bike pointed to the left and the weight partially leaned on one foot while they wait, and he starts to think about how tonight's going to go. Even if he could manage losing them, the others now knew where he and Rogue were going. Wouldn't be hard for them to just show up at the restaurant anyway. But that don’t mean he’s going to make it easy for them.

So when a gap appears in the flow of traffic that's maybe just wide enough for a motorcycle but definitely not for both a motorcycle and a car, Gambit guns it, cutting into the lane between two old beaters.

He checks the mirrors. Beast's still stuck sitting at the stop sign, but after only a few more cars pass, he makes a maneuver even Gambit thinks is reckless, and now he's on the highway only two, three cars back.

Gambit looks forward again and shakes his head. Cyclops probably wanted Beast to drive thinking he was the safest one besides himself and Jean, and little did he know, Beast was out here treating his sensible commuter like it was a real dragster.

Traffic begins to thin as they’re going down the highway, and soon, Beast is right behind Gambit and Rogue again. Gambit’s pushing ten over the speed limit, but between the curves in the road and his passenger on the back, he doesn’t feel comfortable going any faster than that.

But Beast’s still back there stuck to them like glue, and Gambit’s starting to get frustrated with this whole situation. He was hoping to lose them for at least a little while so that maybe he and Rogue could enjoy just a few minutes of peace to themselves, but it looks like that ain’t gonna happen now.

And he starts to think about what is gonna happen, about all five of them seated together in that sorta nice place, of Jubilee ordering a kid’s meal and eating off his plate anyway, of Beast regaling them all with talk of some new experiment in his lab, and of Wolverine probably plunking his ass right between him and Rogue so he could growl at him every time he tried to talk to her.

Now, any other night, Gambit wouldn't have minded that much, but tonight? Tonight was supposed to be special. Tonight was supposed to be just the two of them.

So when they make their way through a series of tight curves that leaves just enough distance between his bike and Beast’s car so that Gambit can’t see the headlights in his mirrors anymore, he makes a decision.

Gambit lets up off the throttle before pulling the clutch and braking, hard. He swerves off the main road and onto the old highway that diverts from the new one, nearly laying the bike on its side in the process.

Rogue shrieks in surprise and instinctively wraps her arms around him to hold on for dear life. “You trying to kill us?” she shouts next to his ear, loud enough to be heard over the engine and the wind.

“Sorry, chѐre!” Gambit shouts back while he checks his mirrors. No headlights. He smiles. “Change of plans.” Again. But this time for the better, he hopes.

Gambit’s able to slow down and do the actual speed limit now that he’s not trying to outrace Beast, and they can enjoy the ride. The cool, early night air, the way the woods on either side of the road look after dark. Rogue’s still got her arms around him, and Gambit thinks that maybe he should’ve pulled a stunt like that a little sooner.

The road ahead of them is dark and empty, just his lone headlight cutting through the night. He’s been down this road enough times now he could probably ride it in his sleep, but it feels different tonight with Rogue here, like maybe he’s kinda seeing it for the first time again. And he wonders if when they reach their new destination, it’ll feel like seeing it for the first time again, too.

Just a few more miles fly by before they see the lights of a building through the trees. Gambit slows the bike as they come across a little roadhouse set off the old highway out here in the middle of nowhere. There’s a couple other bikes parked out front, and he pulls in beside them. The lights are all on inside, and the faint tune of music’s just seeping through the walls.

He cuts the bike off and slips his sunglasses inside his jacket, and he and Rogue both look up at the sign over the front porch of the place.

Johnny’s.

Gambit stands and holds his hand out to help Rogue up off the bike. She takes it and looks over the building in wonder.

“Looks like something from back…” she trails off as she unties the scarf over her hair with her other hand.

Gambit only smiles, Rogue’s hand still in his as they walk towards the porch steps. He’d thought the same thing first time he’d laid eyes on the place.

Like something from back home.

The first time Gambit had seen Johnny’s, it’d been wholly unexpected, like stumbling across an oasis way out in the middle of the desert.

It’d been a nice, sunny summer afternoon, but that didn’t mean the climate had been fair at their house. There’d been a tempest that day, one of his and Rogue’s nasty arguments that always seemed to end the same way: with her tearfully yelling “I can’t touch you!” before flying away. This one’d been his fault again. He’d pushed her too far, asked for too much. So after Rogue had fled and he’d hated himself a little more for it, he’d decided to take a ride.

And out on the main highway, going too fast and taking the turns too tight, he’d almost missed the sign for the old highway that meandered beside the new one. Opting for a road that wouldn’t tempt his reckless driving, he’d turned off. A little two-lane thing, no shoulder, but easy curves that made you not even notice.

He'd only gone a few miles down the road, and there’d been Johnny’s.

Gambit had pulled in and looked up at it in awe. An old worn wooden building, a little tattered from age and use, not much to look at really. But what had made him pause was the fact that it looked like any old roadhouse from down South, like somebody’d just plucked it right out of the Delta and dropped it here in New York.

Signs for stores and gas stations that he’d never even seen north of the Mason-Dixon, tin metal painted with advertisements that belonged in a five-and-dime in Mississippi, not nailed to the side of a bar in Upstate New York.

Curious to find out if it was for real or all just some kind of mirage, he’d cut the bike off and put his kickstand down, deciding to stay for a cold beer or two.

Now, places like Johnny’s and the folks who frequented them could be the nicest, friendliest ones you’re liable to find in this world. But on occasion, when folks that looked like him showed up, they could make themselves a real unfriendly bunch. So he’d made sure to push his sunglasses up firmly over his eyes before he’d made his way to the front porch.

After going up the rickety old steps, Gambit had stopped a moment in front of the door. He’d gotten a funny feeling, like he might not walk back out the same way he went in. He’d pushed the door open and walked in anyway.

The place had seemed even smaller than it’d looked from the outside. There was a short bar faced with stools, a few booths lining one wall, a couple of pool tables off in one corner, and an old jukebox in the other. A little divey, and with more junk hanging on the walls than a damn Cracker Barrel, but it was nice. Felt good. Felt a little like home.

It’d only been midafternoon, so the place was mostly empty, just a couple of guys shooting pool and a lone man eating a late lunch in one of the booths. Gambit had gone to take a seat at the bar and was still taking the place in when a voice had spoken to him from behind it.

“What can I get for you, hon?”

He’d looked at her then. He hadn’t seen her when he’d first come in, she must've been in the back, but he’d gotten to look at her then. The woman standing behind the bar had a decade on him going off the graying hair at her temples, but she was good-humored if the crow’s feet and laugh lines on her face had anything to say about it. And her accent, that was definitely Southern, but not from as far south as his own. He’d had trouble placing it exactly, but everything about the place had made sense to him then.

Gambit had smiled at her, let his own accent hug his words when he’d answered, “Just a beer for now, chѐre.”

She’d blinked at him in surprise, big brown eyes that looked almost black to him through his sunglasses and in the low light of the bar. “Little far from home, ain't you?”

And he'd watched her as she grabbed him a beer, popped the cap off, and then set it on the bar in front of him. “Could say the same thing ‘bout you,” he'd said before taking a sip.

She'd laughed then, and his first impression had been spot-on. Her laugh was well-oiled, like she did it freely and often. “Memphis ain't but a stone's throw compared to Cajun country, hon.”

Memphis. Gambit had smiled against the lip of his bottle while he'd thought of Beale Street and the blues, the city set right up against the Mississippi and this woman born from it all.

They got to chitchatting while Gambit drank his beer. He learned that the woman's name was Agatha but she went by Aggie ‘cause she thought Agatha made her sound like an old crone, found out that she hadn't seen the sun set on the city of Memphis in over a decade, and got to hear about how much she missed a good barbecue sandwich.

Gambit had finished his first beer and ordered a second before letting his curiosity win out over manners when he'd asked her, “Who's Johnny?”

And that's when he’d learned that the eponymous Johnny was her no-good husband that'd dragged her up North to open the place before he’d gotten bored with it and her and run off with a woman half his age a few years back.

Gambit had looked around at the place again while he tipped his bottle back and thought, His loss.

And when he'd finished that beer and declined a third, stood up and placed a few bills and change on the bar, and Aggie had asked him, “We be seeing you again, stranger, or you just passing through?” maybe it'd been the strange magic of the place that'd made him do it, he doesn't really know why, but Gambit had introduced himself then.

“Name’s LeBeau. Remy LeBeau,” he'd said while pushing his sunglasses up to rest on top of his head ‘cause it wasn't polite, introducing yourself to a lady without letting her see who you was.

And Gambit had waited. For the fear or disgust or hatred that would inevitably come, waited for Aggie to scream or tell him to get the hell out of her bar.

But it had never come. She'd only gasped a little, said softly, “Well, would you look at you,” with nothing worse than plain old curiosity.

And Gambit had smiled at her. “Now we ain't strangers.” He'd started walking back towards the door. “Been nice speaking with you, Miss Aggie. Maybe you see me again,” and he gave her one last look before pushing the door open and letting all the late afternoon sun shine right in. “Maybe not,” he'd added with a smirk, knowing full well that he'd be returning to Johnny’s, and sooner rather than later.

He'd gone out and gotten back on his bike, rode home and made up with Rogue, and everything was just fine for a while.

And while Gambit had plenty of other haunts to keep him entertained, scattered around the city and of varying degrees of disrepute, Johnny’s soon became his most frequent. The siren song of the place always dragged him back, somehow. And he'd be lying to himself if he didn't admit that half the appeal was Aggie herself.

He enjoyed their talks, would come in during the early hours so he could selfishly have her all to himself for a while, and as the months passed, they grew closer and closer.

The first time Aggie had kissed him, it'd been just as unexpected as finding Johnny's had been.

It’d been a rainy Tuesday night, the kind of downpour that made you wish for an ark. Hours had passed and not a soul had hauled their soggy ass through the door except for him. So Aggie had decided to close up early and try to make it home before the roads washed out.

Gambit had stood next to her while she'd locked up and then held his leather jacket over the two of them best he could while they ran to her car. They were both laughing and a little breathless, and she'd done it quick while she was getting her car door open. Just a light press of her lips against his, the rain all over their faces making it hard for him to even register what had happened.

“Thanks, hon,” she'd said. “You be careful on that bike of yours, ya hear?”

And Gambit had hurried back to stand on the porch out of the rain while he watched her go. He’d stood there, waiting for the rain to ease up some before he rode back home and wondering what the hell he was getting himself into.

The second time Aggie had kissed him, now that one he had seen coming.

It'd been a long, hard week. The team had had to deal with some new threat, but the worst part hadn't even been the giant alien roaches hell-bent on world domination.

Non.

Worst part had been Cody.

Rogue's childhood beau, Cody.

Just the way Rogue had said his name had set Gambit’s teeth on edge, let alone how easily she’d fallen for his simpering when he’d offered her the one thing she ached for most.

Gambit hadn't wanted to admit how much it’d hurt or how green with envy it'd made him, knowing Cody could touch her. He couldn't even hate the guy for trying to sell himself as well as her out to the Colony to do it. He might've done the same if given half the chance.

So to blow off some steam, Gambit had gone to Johnny’s.

It'd been a Friday night, and one busier than he’d ever seen Johnny’s get. He’d walked in, seen the place was packed tighter than a can of sardines, and seen Aggie running herself ragged trying to keep everything moving smoothly.

He’d taken his jacket off, rolled up his sleeves, and asked her, “What can I do?”

Aggie had set some plates down on the bar and started pouring drinks. “Cook called out sick. Think you could manage the griddle?”

“I’ll try,” he’d said before making himself at home in the kitchen.

So he’d flipped burgers and dropped fries most of the night, and the two of them kept the place afloat and everybody fed and watered.

And later, after the place had cleared out and it was just him and Aggie all alone again in that old wooden building, Gambit had been helping her clean the bar, wiping the top down with a rag while she’d emptied bottles and glasses down the drain.

“Don't know if I would've made it tonight without your help,” she'd said, soft and grateful.

Gambit had finished cleaning and turned to her to reply, “Aw, you made it outta the weeds on your own plenty of times before. You ain't need me.”

“Still, I appreciated the company.” She'd asked then, with a playfulness she'd recently begun to take with him, “How ever can I thank you?”

“Can think of a few ways, chére,” he’d said, his tongue finding the groove between each word like well-worn ruts in a dirt road, so often he’d used them before.

And, okay, maybe he’d sorta been asking for that one, but this part had always come easy to him. Picking the locks on women’s hearts was not so different than cracking a safe, and the prize was often far more worth the effort. Just spin the dial and listen for the clicks.

And he’d been listening to Aggie. A woman with her heart behind a dead bolt after what her husband had done to her. Every other man that’d come in there and tried his hand at winning her over, but Gambit had been the only one she’d let in. That first afternoon he’d come in, it’d been real quiet, but he’d still heard it, the first click. And during all those early evening talks of theirs between rushes. Click. Click. And that night he’d gotten the door open somehow.

Gambit had placed the dirty rag over his shoulder before he’d leaned back against the bar and watched as Aggie slowly walked up to stand in front of him. They’d looked at each other a long moment, and he’d admired the way a couple curly strands of her dark hair had come loose and were framing her face. And not for the first time he’d thought that Johnny’d been a fool for running off on her.

Aggie had reached up to brush his hair back, some of his own having sprung free from his ponytail holder during the hectic hours earlier. And when she’d laid her hand against his cheek then and used it to pull him down into a kiss, damned if he didn’t let her.

Their kissing had started out gentle, little pecks against the other’s lips while they tried to figure out how much the other wanted, but Aggie was hungry, and soon their kisses became heated and lingering. Aggie had let her hands do all the talking, raking them through his hair before scratching them down his back.

Gambit had used his own hands around her back to pull her close against him, and he’d thought about how the night could go. Of letting Aggie take him home with her, if she wanted, and spending the night in her arms. She’d tugged on his hair then, and he’d smiled against her lips. Or better yet, taking her right there on top of the bar, giving in to her desperation and letting her have whatever pieces of him she needed.

And it’s a nice thought, ain’t it? But there’d been a big ol’ problem standing in the way of that little fantasy. His mind may have been keen on it, but the rest of him? Not so much.

So when Aggie had gotten a hand between their bodies, dragging it lower and lower until the problem was inevitably revealed to her as well, it was with a simple “Ah” that she’d pulled away from him.

Now, this part had always come easy to him, and that’d been the first time his body hadn’t been just as eager as his head. So Gambit had panted a little, trying to catch his breath, and maybe a little panicked.

Non. This had never happened to him before.

“Sorry,” he'd mumbled, feeling a sudden hot spark of shame. “I don’t– I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

And Aggie had patted his chest. “I do, hon,” she’d said with a knowing smile.

“Huh?” had been his witty response.

Aggie had reached up then to wipe his tears away – Damn. When he’d start that up? – and she’d said to him softly, “I should’ve seen it sooner, I’m sorry. Only one reason a man come in here trying to pickle his liver the way you do some days: it’s really his heart that’s bothering him.” She’d stepped back then, leaned against the liquor case so they were facing each other, and crossed her arms over her chest. “What’s her name?”

“Huh?” he’d said again, still trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

“Anybody ever tell you you're an idiot?” Aggie had said before she'd gently asked again, “What’s her name?”

And Gambit had wiped the back of his hand over his eyes. “Rogue,” he’d answered, quiet.

“What kind of name is that?”

“I don’t know, all anybody’s ever called her. Why you asking?” he’d started to get a little irritated. Felt like Aggie was poking at him, trying to shine a light into his deepest, darkest crevices.

She’d raised an eyebrow. “You’re in love with her and you ain’t even know her name?”

And there it was. Gambit had grit his teeth and looked away. “Ain’t even matter. She don’t want me anyway.”

Aggie had changed her line of questioning then. “She like you?”

And Gambit had looked back at her. “How you mean?”

She’d pointed at her own eyes, and he’d nodded. “Oui. She a mutant. Pretty, though. Can’t tell by just looking at her like you can me.”

“And where is she? You leave her down South?”

“Non. She here.” He’d smirked at the irony of the situation. “I live with her.”

Aggie had puffed up then like she was about to go off on him, so he’d added, “Ain’t like that. We live with a bunch of other folks, too. I don't know, it's hard to explain, but it's…” It's home, he’d almost finished, and ain't that the kicker.

She'd slowly nodded her head. “So while you been in here schmoozing with me,” he'd winced at her tone, “what's she doing back home?”

And Gambit had thought about Rogue then. It was late, she'd probably be in bed by now, curled up in her big four-poster like a princess and with all her stuffed animals. He’d used to tease her about them, but he’d stopped after he’d realized they were the only things she could hold, only things that brought her any comfort. And maybe she'd cried herself to sleep tonight, like she did a lot of Friday nights. He'd see her puffy eyes in the morning, and it'd make him hurt all over, but wouldn't be a thing he could do about it.

Aggie had taken his silence as answer enough and just looked at him before she'd shaken her head and asked quietly, “What the hell you doing here, Remy?”

Gambit had said then, not without a little heat, “Already told you. She don’t want me.”

“She tell you that?”

He’d looked away again. “Didn’t have to.”

And Aggie had sighed before reaching up to pluck the rag off his shoulder. “I don’t wanna see you in here no more, ya hear?”

Gambit had opened his mouth to protest, but she'd held her hand up.

“Whatever this is, figure it out. But you ain't using me to do it. Understand?”

He’d nodded in acquiescence before saying quietly, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” Aggie had gone to grab his jacket then and handed it to him before continuing, “Now get, ‘fore I change my mind and do something we both gon’ regret.”

Gambit had started to put his jacket on, but he’d stopped to say to her, smug, “Like kissing me again?”

“No, like putting the end of my 12-gauge in places it don’t belong.”

The smirk dropped from his face. She was serious, too.

“All right, I’m going! I’m going.” He’d finished getting his jacket on and had started walking towards the door when Aggie had called after him.

“Don’t wanna see hide nor hair of you again, Remy LeBeau!” she’d yelled.

Gambit had pushed the door open and stepped out into the night, and he’d just been able to catch the last thing she’d said to him before he'd let it close behind him.

“Not unless you got that Rogue of yours with you!”

And so here they were.

Months had passed, he and Rogue had been figuring it out, and Aggie still hadn’t changed the name of the place, bless that woman.

Rogue’s hand still in his, Gambit leads her up the rickety old steps, and this time it’s Rogue who pauses right in front of the door.

She looks a little nervous when she says, “Ain’t been in too many places like this.” She makes a gesture with her other hand, the clutch bag still held in it. “Fellas in ‘em can get a little… handsy.”

Drink could make some men worse than just a little handsy. Gambit squeezes her hand in his and says reassuringly, “Won’t let nobody touch you. Promise.”

Rogue gives him a coy look. “Maybe it ain’t them I’m worried about.”

Oh-ho. “Don’t think I can keep my hands to myself?” And to prove the point, he lets her hand go.

Rogue quickly takes it in hers again, and he chuckles.

“C’mon. Let’s get in here and get us something to eat.”

Gambit pushes the door open and leads Rogue to the empty corner booth. He lets her sit with her back against the wall so she can look around at everything, which leaves him with his back exposed to the door, but it also gives him full-view of the only thing worth looking at in the place.

He watches her as she takes the place in, everything on the walls, the other patrons eating and drinking, playing pool and dancing. The place ain’t too busy tonight, just enough people in it to make it feel lively.

Rogue’s eyes catch on the jukebox. Aggie kept it stocked with an eclectic mix of ‘60s crooners, ‘70s rock and country, and poppy ‘80s bops that he’s certain Jubilee had played to death on their home stereo. But the thing’s currently belting some jangly song about love lost and found, and Rogue closes her eyes and listens.

Gambit’s watching her, the way her eyelashes rest against her cheek, the red of her lips as she mouths along with the song, when a voice speaks from behind their booth.

“Thought I told you to stay the hell out of my bar, Remy LeBeau.”

Rogue snaps out of her reverie, and she stares over his shoulder at the owner of that voice.

Gambit slowly looks back at Aggie. She hasn't changed a bit since he’d seen her last. She’s standing with her hands on her hips, madder than a wet hen and with a glare set hard on him.

“That you did, Miss Aggie. But I wanted you to meet somebody.” He makes a grand sweeping gesture with his arm towards Rogue.

Aggie looks over at her then, and that sour look on her face fades. She glances back at Gambit and asks softly, “This her?”

He nods. “She the one.”

“Well,” Aggie says, a little astonished, and Gambit can’t say that it don’t sting some, her thinking he couldn’t find some way of winning Rogue over.

“Rogue,” he says, turning towards her again. “Want you to meet Aggie. She own the place.”

Rogue’s looking between them, trying to piece things out, he’s sure, when Aggie claps her hands together. “If this ain’t cause for celebration, then I don’t know what is. Anything y’all want, it’s on me tonight.”

Gambit gives her an easy smile. “Thanks, Aggie. I appreciate that.”

Aggie leaves then to attend to one of the other booths, and Gambit turns back to Rogue.

She’s looking at him still, her eyes narrowed. “Y’all seem pretty chummy.” She looks away to watch her finger as she traces the wood grain of the tabletop. “You come here often?”

He leans back against the booth and puts his arms along the back of it. “Used to. Not so much anymore. Got better things to do most days now,” he says, trying to catch her eye.

Rogue refuses to look at him and humphs. He chuckles.

Aggie returns then to take their drink orders. “What can I get y’all?”

Gambit holds his hand up with his fingers pressed together to indicate just a smidge. “Just a shot of your best whiskey, y’know, the good stuff you keep on the top shelf.”

“‘Course, I tell you it’s free, and you try and drink me outta business,” she says in mock disapproval.

“Just a shot? If that put you outta business, think you got worse problems than me, Aggie.”

She just shakes her head before turning to Rogue. “And how ‘bout you, hon? What you drinking?”

“I’ll have what he’s having,” Rogue announces boldly.

“You sure?” Gambit asks, surprised. Her tastes usually skewed fruity and bubbly, not anything close to the hard stuff.

“I’m sure,” Rogue says, ignoring him and addressing Aggie instead.

“All right. Be right back with those.” And Aggie heads back to the bar to serve the other patrons drinks and to grab theirs.

Gambit sits back to look at Rogue again. He frowns. “You feeling all right?”

“Fine. Just fine.”

He's about to press her further when Aggie returns with their drinks. She sets them on the table and stands back. “Y'all be wanting something to eat, too?”

“Just a couple burgers, nothing fancy.”

“Good. Thought you'd order the lobster,” Aggie deadpans before walking towards the kitchen area.

“You need me to come back there and fix ‘em?” Gambit calls after her. He laughs and turns back to Rogue.

She’s staring at him again, hard, but she looks away finally to pick up her shot glass. She holds it up and looks at it like she’s trying to figure out how to tackle it.

“Careful, chѐre,” he warns. “This for sipping.” He picks up his own, takes a small sip, and savors the smooth warmth of it.

Rogue gives him a look that he’s not sure how to interpret before putting her glass to her lips and tossing the thing back. She coughs and splutters as it must burn, and her whole body shudders as the liquor settles in her belly.

Gambit frowns again. “You sure you all right?” She’d never been one for drink, why was she starting now?

“Already told you I was fine, didn’t I?” She shudders again before setting her glass down. “How’d you even find this place way out here in the sticks anyhow?”

He decides to let it go and takes another sip of his own drink. “Was out riding one day and just sorta stumbled upon this little watering hole. Thought I’d stay for a drink or two.”

“Sure you didn’t stay for any other reason?” Rogue says then, and, oh, if there ain’t some weight to those words.

“Chѐre, what’s going on with you?” he asks, feeling a bit off-kilter. He knows the night isn’t going like they’d planned, but he’d thought she’d at least prefer this to eating with all the others. But he’s starting to feel like he misstepped somewhere and he was just waiting to fall into the spike pit.

“Nothing,” she says, in a way that makes it seem like there's a whole lotta something.

“You wanna leave?” he asks. Maybe it’d be best if they just threw the towel in for the night, try again some other time.

Rogue’s about to say something, but then her eyes go to the jukebox. It’s started playing the first notes of a new song, one she knows apparently from the look on her face. Gambit listens a moment, and even though the song is unfamiliar to him, the voice he soon recognizes. He smiles at Rogue. Of course. It’s her favorite singer, the Queen of Country herself, Dolly Parton.

And maybe, just maybe, he can salvage the night yet.

He stands and holds his hand out to her. “Care for a twirl, chѐre?” It’ll still be a sec on their supper, might as well dance while they’re waiting. ‘Sides, it’ll be harder for Rogue to keep her bad mood if she’s up and dancing to good music.

When she doesn’t immediately take it, he starts to worry that the night really is over, but then she slips one of her red gloved hands into his and says, “Why not?”

“That’s the spirit,” he says, tugging her with him to the small area in front of the jukebox that makes for a passable dance floor.

There’s nobody else there at the moment, so the two of them have all the space that they could need. He lets her hand go so they can dance apart from each other, keeping a safe distance. He watches as Rogue closes her eyes and begins to sway, trying to find the rhythm.

And then she starts to dance.

The song isn’t too fast-tempoed, so she moves slow and languid as the music starts to take her, her eyes still closed and her lips upturned into a small smile. She swishes her hips as she turns in a circle, and the skirt of her dress flares in a flash of red. She opens her eyes then to look at him, like maybe she's making sure he’s still there.

Like there’s anywhere else he’d rather be right now.

Gambit’s stepping side to side, hardly dancing, more interested in just watching Rogue. She smiles at him and then brings her hands up to toss her hair over her shoulders before starting in on some kind of fancy footwork, even holding the skirt of her dress out of the way while she taps away in her red heels. She drops the fabric back down with a final flourish, and looking at him from under her lashes, she tips her head back as she drags one red gloved hand down the side of her neck and down over the red lace covering her décolletage, her fingers catching a little in the fabric.

Gambit stares. Damn. If she don’t know how to get under his skin.

A little breathless, Rogue laughs at the look on his face, but her little show comes to a screeching halt as her eyes land on something behind Gambit. He reluctantly tears his eyes away from her to turn around.

It’s Aggie. She’s setting their plates down on the table back at their booth, and she gives them a little wave as she heads back to the bar area.

And when he turns back to Rogue and sees the clouded look that’s come over her face, it all makes sense to him. Her drinking and bad mood earlier, and now, her sultry dancing.

She’s jealous, feeling insecure, thinking she’s got competition.

Well. Best put an end to that.

Rogue’s still watching Aggie at the bar when Gambit takes her hand again, and she gasps in surprise as he twirls her under his arm before tugging her against him, her back against his front and both their arms crossed together over her chest.

“‘Here you come again, and here I go…’” he finishes quietly alongside Dolly as the record spins to an end. But he doesn’t let Rogue go, and he can feel where she’s tensed from their being so close, her breath coming in shallow little gasps.

“What’s the most beautiful femme in all the world got to be jealous of?” he whispers against her hair. “Her?” he asks then, looking at Aggie on the other side of the place as she wipes the bar down with a rag. “Like any other woman could draw my eye when all I see’s you.”

He lets Rogue go finally, but not without trailing his hand across her body and over all her curves as he does, his promise to keep his hands to himself be damned. She takes a shuddery breath at his lingering caress and steps away slow, like she doesn’t really want to.

“Food getting cold,” he says with a smirk and a gesture towards their booth.

They return to their booth, and Gambit sips his whiskey and watches in amusement as Rogue pours an obscene amount of ketchup on her fries. She swirls a couple around on her plate before putting them into her mouth, and then she starts wolfing down her hamburger.

“Hungry much?” he asks jokingly. “Ain't nobody gonna take it from you.”

“Sorry,” Rogue mumbles around her food. She swallows and pats her mouth with her napkin. “I might've skipped lunch with my planning on a big dinner and all tonight.”

Gambit winces. “I know this ain't the fancy date I promised you.”

“Reckon you owe me a second one then, mister,” she says with a smile that she tries to hide in her burger as she takes another bite. She frowns as she chews, though, before pointing at his own plate that's remained untouched. “You ain't hungry?”

Starving, he thinks. Just not for anything on that plate. “I'll eat in a bit. Don't stop on my account.”

Rogue shrugs before placing some more fries into her mouth.

Gambit leans against the back of the booth and asks then, “Where'd you learn to cut the rug like that?”

She laughs. “I grabbed a clogger once. Reckon some of it stuck.”

“Reckon so.” He ain't never seen a clogger move quite like that before, but there a first time for everything, he supposes.

Rogue finishes her food, and she looks dangerously close to licking her plate clean, so Gambit spins his around so she can pick at his fries, tide her over a bit.

“Maybe I take you to a Cajun restaurant for our second, chère. Gotta be one or two good ones in the city,” he says casually, like he’s not hoping on it too much, like it wouldn’t mean the world to him if she really wanted a second.

She plucks a fry off his plate and nibbles on the end of it. “Summer ain't over yet. Don't see why we can't just go on a picnic or something simple.”

He smiles, is about to ask her why they can't just do both, when the jukebox starts playing a song he knows all too well. The opening notes of the guitar strumming, that raspy voice singing about the sweet divine in the summertime, about doing things in the night that felt almost close to love. A voice that was from way up North that still somehow spoke to his down-home heart.

When Rogue sees the look on his face, she finishes off the french fry she's eating, stands, and offers her hand to him. “C’mon. Don't know how much dancing I got left in me, but you ain't got to strut your stuff yet.”

So Gambit takes her hand and lets her lead him back to the area in front of the jukebox. She lets his hand go and then stands back, giving him the floor.

He looks down at his boots, his leather motorcycle jacket. Ain't really dressed for dancing, but not wearing the proper attire for something ain't never stopped him before.

The song's already on the first chorus, and he lets the music carry him into the next verse as he begins tapping his boot to the rhythm. He dances in place a moment, just shuffling his feet a little, and then he slides them faster, scuffing the floor up some. Turning in a slow circle as he moves, he glances over his shoulder at Rogue.

She's clapping her hands to the beat, still watching him dance, smiling and laughing.

Gambit smiles back at her as he comes back around again, and not to be outdone, he pulls the same trick she had earlier. He brings a hand up to brush the loose strands of his hair back, letting his fingers curl against his scalp as he tilts his head back and exposes the long line of his throat. He hums along with the song as he continues to dance, watching Rogue through half-lidded eyes.

She's staring, all right, with her lips slightly parted and her hands paused mid-clap. He gives her a slow, lazy smile. If he don't know how to get under her skin right back.

The song winds down, but when Gambit moves then like he's going to leave the dance floor, he stumbles over his boots. Rogue steps forward to catch him, but he easily regains his balance while he takes her hand in his and spins her around again, bringing her up against his front just like before, their arms crossed together over her chest. He wraps his other arm around her middle, and he feels a thrill at his jacket sleeve resting over that tantalizing stretch of lace around her waist.

And this time she's not so tense, letting him sway them gently along to the song as it continues through the quiet verse.

“'Ain't it funny how the night moves?’” Rogue sings along softly, her voice strangely harmonic with Bob Seger’s gruff one. “‘When you just don't seem to have as much to lose.’”

As the song kicks back into the final chorus, Gambit spins her back out again and takes her other hand in his so they can two-step together. The record finally fades out, and they stand there watching each other, catching their breath.

Gambit lets Rogue's hands fall from his, and it seems to bring her back to herself. She shakes her head like she's trying to clear it. “You tripped on purpose, didn't you?” she asks, a little of that sourness back from earlier.

“Maybe,” he says as they start back towards their booth. “But you know what they say. Fool you twice…”

“Shame on you?” she finishes, and he chuckles.

They sit again, and Gambit finishes his whiskey while Rogue picks at his cold fries.

“Do I even wanna know where you learned to move like that?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Probably not,” he replies with a smirk. “Definitely wasn't no clogger, I'll tell you that much.” And Rogue laughs, one of the ones that makes her snort and always makes him want to hear it again. He smiles back at her. The night may not be going how he'd planned, but it's turned out all right still, he thinks.

Now, any other night with any other girl, right now would just about be the time that he'd lean in close, suggest in a low voice that they find somewhere quiet to work on their own night moves.

But it's tonight and this is Rogue.

So they just sit and watch each other, and there's nothing he can do to help the aching.

Aggie comes back over at some point to take up their glasses and plates. Gambit turns to her to say, “Just one last thing, Aggie.”

“Sure,” she says. “What can I get you?”

“A slice of that chocolate chess pie of yours.”

She smiles. “Coming right up.”

Aggie leaves and brings the pie back, setting it down in the middle of the table between him and Rogue. “Need anything else?”

Rogue answers this time, warmly saying, “That'll be all, Aggie.”

Aggie smiles at her then, “All right, hon. Y'all let me know now, if you be needing anything else,” she says before leaving again.

Rogue looks at the pie. “This for me or you?”

Gambit slides the plate towards her in answer.

She picks up the fork and cuts into the slice. She brings it up and takes a bite, and her eyes go wide as she chews it.

He chuckles at the look on her face. “Damn fine pie, ain't it?”

Rogue nods her head. “Ain't had chess pie like this since I don't know when.”

“Aggie makes it herself.”

She looks over at the bar area where Aggie’s working, while she takes another bite. “Where she from?”

“Memphis.”

She nods again. “Figures. Best chess pie I ever had was made by one of the little old church ladies that always brung food around to the needy. Think she was from Memphis, too.” She looks around at the place then. “She’d clutch her pearls, seeing me in a place like this,” she says with a little half-smile.

“Aw, it ain't that bad. Aggie runs a tight ship. Keeps the riffraff out.”

“Wonder how a scoundrel like you made it through the door then,” she teases.

Gambit laughs. “Reckon I sorta just slipped in.”

Rogue gives him a soft look. “Yeah. You got a way of doing that.”

Before he can say anything in response, Rogue pierces another bite of pie on the end of her fork and holds it out to him. “Here, sugar. Want a bite?” she asks quietly.

He goes to take the fork from her, but when Rogue shakes her head a little and pulls her hand back, he realizes she's wanting to feed it to him herself. And if that doesn't make him feel some type of way, he doesn't know what would.

So Gambit leans forward, and he waits as Rogue brings the fork to his lips. He parts them so she can place the bite of pie on his tongue, and he brings his teeth down on the tines of the fork as she pulls it out again, the metal cool against his lips. He chews slowly, not breaking eye contact with Rogue as he does, and savors the sweet chocolaty dessert.

It's good, but he's had it before, and all he wants right now is to see if it tastes any better sampled directly from her lips instead.

Gambit sits back, licks the pastry crumbs from his lips, and watches Rogue watch him do it.

She goes back to eating, finishing the pie in a few more bites and setting her fork down. “Mind if I visit the ladies’ room?” she asks as she grabs her clutch bag and scoots out of the booth.

He shakes his head and then watches her go, not for the first time admiring how she looks just as fine walking away as she does coming towards you.

Gambit gets up himself after a few minutes and walks over to the jukebox. They’ll be leaving soon, probably as soon as Rogue finishes powdering her nose, but maybe he can entice her into just one more dance before they go.

He scans over Aggie’s collection of songs and chuckles to himself when he gets to the section that houses what must be half of Elvis Presley’s discography. He’s still looking over the rest of the music when Aggie walks by to get Rogue’s pie plate.

“You like Elvis?” he calls out to her as she comes back by with it.

“Hell yeah,” she says. “The King was from Memphis, y’know.”

Gambit nods. “That I do. Reckon he lives on in here now,” he jokes. “You got, what? Every song he made from here to Vegas in this thing?”

“Viva Las Vegas, and same to the King.”

He laughs in response as Aggie heads back to the kitchen.

Gambit’s looking over the music still, trying to decide on a song, when a red gloved hand wraps around his arm.

“You ‘bout ready to go?” Rogue asks as she steps up beside him to look at the music, too. “Dang, what’s with all the Elvis?” she says suddenly.

He chuckles again. “That’s Aggie for you.” He puts his hand over hers on his arm as he turns his head to look at her. “Was wondering if you’d be up for one more dance ‘fore we head out?” he asks quietly.

She glances at him then, and that’s when he sees that she must have reapplied her lipstick while she was in the restroom. Her lips are bright cherry red again, and if she were any other girl, he’d think she wanted to make sure she left her mark when she kissed him.

But this is Rogue.

He’s still trying to figure it out when she nods finally. “All right, one more. Nothing too fast, though. Ain’t up for square dancing.”

Gambit gives her a soft smile. “Merci.” And he knows just the song.

She steps back as he slips a quarter into the jukebox and makes his selection. A few seconds of silence pass as the machine picks out the record, and then the first notes of Elvis Presley’s “Love Me Tender” begin to play.

When he turns back to Rogue, she’s smiling and shaking her head like she should’ve known better than to agree to his request. He smiles back and shrugs before stepping up to stand in front of her.

Gambit holds his hands out and raises an eyebrow in question, waiting for permission to put one on her shoulder and to take one of hers in his so they can slow dance together.

But Rogue, still smiling, shakes her head again before gently pushing his hands out of the way so she can step up into his personal space. She slips her arms under his leather jacket, wrapping them around his back while she lays her head on his chest.

Taken by surprise, a few seconds pass before he hesitantly brings his own arms up to wrap them around her in turn, his hands clasped together against the small of her back. He leans his cheek against her hair and sighs.

Rogue steps onto the tips of his boots, her red heels in stark contrast against them, and he turns them in a slow circle, hardly moving his feet, and for a moment, he could’ve sworn it felt like they were floating, but it must've only been a trick of the light, or maybe a sleight of the heart.

The song comes to a gentle end, the last few notes of the guitar being plucked fading away, and Gambit stops dancing them in a circle. When Rogue doesn’t immediately pull away, he considers zipping his jacket up around her, keeping her there forever if she’d let him.

But eventually, she pulls away and looks at him, her voice soft when she says, “There. Got your dance. You ready to go now?”

“Yeah,” he says simply, feeling more content than he has in a long time. “You go on out while I go tell Aggie we’re going.”

“Okay,” she replies, and it’s nice to see that her jealousy from earlier has dissipated. She goes to push the door open and heads outside.

Gambit watches her go, and then he goes up to the bar where Aggie is at, and he’s reminded of the first time he’d walked in here, what feels like so long ago. He slips a tip into her jar on the bartop.

She looks up from cleaning the ice bin at the sound. “Now, I told you, you don’t need to do that.”

“Yes, I do,” he says. “Gotta help you buy that new sign.”

“New sign for what?”

“For when you change the name of the place to ‘Aggie’s.’”

She chuckles and shakes her head. “It’ll be a while on that, I’m afraid.”

“Why?” he asks, genuinely curious.

She sets her rag on the bartop. She looks conflicted, like she's trying to decide if she wants to say something or not. She makes her decision. “What if he comes back? If I change the name, what if Johnny can’t find it?” she admits quietly. “...Can’t find me?”

“Oh, Aggie…” he starts.

But she laughs then, a little wet with tears. “Y’know, if he walked in through that door right now,” she points at the front door of the place, “I’d take him back, no questions asked.” She shakes her head and gives Gambit a sad smile. “Ain’t love a funny thing?”

He chuckles in sympathy. “Don’t gotta tell me twice.”

She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “Enough about me. When are you gonna tell that girl you love her?”

Gambit winces. “Touché.”

Aggie laughs again. “Look at us, both just fools when it comes to love.” She picks up her rag. “How ‘bout this. I’ll change the name the day you marry her. Deal?”

He laughs. “Deal.”

She goes back to cleaning the ice bin. “Got a feeling that’ll be a while yet, too.” She looks up at him again. “We be seeing you two again?”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” he says, knowing full well that he’ll be bringing Rogue back.

“Well, tell your Rogue it was good meeting her. She seems like a nice girl. Don’t know how she got a name like that. Or what the hell she’s doing with a man like you,” she says, smiling at him again.

Gambit smiles back at her. “Bye, Aggie.” He starts walking towards the door to leave.

“Bye, hon. Don’t be a stranger no more, ya hear?”

He holds a hand up in acknowledgement while he pushes the door open and steps outside.

The night’s cooled a little since they arrived. He walks down the steps and looks up at the sign. Johnny’s. He shakes his head. If only that man knew how much he was loved.

Gambit walks over to where Rogue’s sitting on the bike waiting for him. He slips his jacket off and places it around her shoulders. “Don’t want you to catch cold on the ride back,” he says in explanation.

“Thanks, sugar,” she replies, putting her arms through the sleeves. It’s a little too big on her, but she looks good in it, almost like it belongs on her.

He goes to sit astride the bike then, and after he gets it started, Rogue wraps her arms around his middle, holding on tight.

“Let’s get on back home,” he says over his shoulder before backing the bike out and doing just that.

The ride back to the mansion is uneventful, and if Gambit goes five under the speed limit so he can feel Rogue's arms around him for just a little while longer, nobody need know.

He pulls the bike right up in front of the porch, in the same spot they started the night, coming full circle. He cuts the engine off and looks up at the mansion. The house is dark. Everybody must've already gone to bed.

Gambit moves to stand then, but he's stopped when Rogue tightens her arms around him.

She leans her cheek against the back of his shoulder, over his shirt. “Not yet,” she murmurs. “Don't want the night to be over, not yet.”

He chuckles and leans back into her embrace while he puts a hand over hers around his middle. “Me neither, chère.”

So they sit for a while, listening to the sounds of the summer night, and Gambit gently strokes his hand over Rogue's gloved ones.

She finally lets him go, and he stands and offers his hand to help her up. He's expecting her to want to hold it while they walk up the porch steps, but she drops it in favor of digging around in her clutch bag for something.

They go up the steps slowly, careful in the dark, and Gambit complains, “I know we ain't Motel 6, but ‘least they could've done was leave the light on for us.”

Rogue makes no response while she still looks in her bag.

They make it to the porch, and Gambit's wondering if the others at least left the door unlocked or if he'll need to get his keys back out when he feels a hand come from the side and press against his chest, forcing him to step back until he comes up against the porch column.

He blinks. “Chère…?”

It's Rogue, all right, standing in front of him now, one hand still on his chest, her bag tucked under her other arm and a small object held in that hand.

Her lipstick tube.

“What…” he starts, but he trails off as Rogue begins applying it to her lips, swiping it back and forth more times than is probably necessary, laying it on thick and heavy before she slides her other hand up from his chest to the side of his neck, her red gloved fingers cupping his jaw.

And then she leans up and kisses him.

Just a quick peck, barely anything, but they both stand there staring at each other in shock after she pulls away.

'Cause he's still standing. It hadn't hurt him one bit.

“It worked…” Rogue breathes. She starts vigorously reapplying her lipstick.

“Wait.” Gambit's still trying to catch up. “How sure were you that was gonna w– mmph!”

Rogue’s grabbed him, her clutch bag falling to the porch floor as she puts both hands on either side of his head and plants her lips on his, kissing him again.

He kisses her back, his hands at his sides still, unsure how much he's allowed to touch.

But Rogue shows him, taking her hands from his face to drag them down his arms. She tugs them up to rest his hands against her sides, and that's all the guiding he needs as he digs his fingers into the lace around her waist.

They soon find Rogue's little lipstick trick has limits. After just a few seconds of kissing, whatever protection it offered fades, and Gambit groans against her lips as he feels the familiar sting of Rogue's powers grabbing on to him. He reluctantly breaks their kiss, leaning his head back against the column and closing his eyes as he pants to catch his breath and not lose consciousness.

“Sorry, sugar,” he hears her say, her voice muffled to his ears after the hit he just took. He then hears her pop the cap off her lipstick again.

He tilts his head back down to look at her. She's back at, putting more lipstick on, and he smirks despite himself. “Back at the bar… You thought about trying this then?”

She gives him a sheepish look. “Maybe. But I wasn't too sure it'd work. And I don't know how to drive one of them things.” She nods her head towards his motorcycle.

Gambit chuckles, deep and low in his throat. “Sucked on me hard enough, you would've learned.”

Rogue gasps, but he uses his hands on her waist to pull her closer, urging her to kiss him again.

She brings her gloved hands up to hold his face again, her lipstick still clutched in one as she leans in to kiss him slower, sweeter than the ones before. She moves her hands up into his hair, curling her gloved fingers into it.

She’s still in his jacket, and this close, he can smell how her floral perfume’s mixed with the scent of his own cologne on her, a smell like crushed petals and dark spices, a rich concoction that he finds intoxicating, making his already dizzy head swim with want.

Gambit lets his hands wander, loving the little hitches in Rogue's breath against his lips when he finds a sensitive spot. He runs his hand down the whole length of her spine under the jacket, and she shivers in his arms.

They eke out a scant few more seconds this time before Rogue's powers take hold of him again. But he feels the moment they start in on him this go-around, and he breaks away before she gets too much from him.

He leans his head back against the porch column again and breathes, “Mon Dieu…” If she ain't affecting him in more ways than one right now.

Rogue starts reapplying her lipstick again while he watches her, his eyes half-lidded. He doesn't know how much more he can take, but he’d give Rogue every piece of himself if she asked.

“Got an idea,” she says as she finishes. And then she puts the end of the lipstick tube to his lips. “Might help if we double up… if you don't mind?” she asks.

Oh, what the hell? he thinks. Gambit shakes his head, a little sluggish. “Non. Make me beautiful,” he jokes.

So Rogue slathers him up with her lipstick, and when she finishes, she puts the cap back on. “There.”

He smacks his lips. “How I look?”

Rogue's already got her hand around the back of his neck as she pulls him down. “Damn kissable,” she says against his lips before she does just that.

And her hypothesis is mostly correct. With the double layer of lipstick between them, this kiss lasts longer than the others had combined. Which gives Rogue plenty of time to get her hands in his hair to mess his ponytail all up, and gives Gambit all the time he needs to roam his hands anywhere he pleases. He lets them settle low on her hips so he can pull her close against him, and Rogue gasps and then smiles against his lips as their front sides come flush together.

But the lipstick only covers their lips, and as Rogue moves to suck kisses along his jawline, she starts taking little sips from him like he's fine whiskey.

But Rogue's never been one for sipping, and as she skims his desire off him like the foam off sorghum syrup, it only compounds with her own, making her greedier, insatiable.

Gambit moans as she kisses the bolt of his jaw, her tongue pressed just against the skin, and his legs threaten to buckle under him. He tightens his fingers in the lace of her dress, trying to keep himself upright. He tries to speak, but his tongue feels like lead, and all that comes out is another moan.

Rogue thinks he's just encouraging her, and she smiles against his neck before she moves to kiss his ear, her tongue making little licks to the inside of his conch.

Damn. He'd probably be pretty turned on right now, if he weren't on the verge of passing out.

Suddenly, the porch light over their heads comes on like a spotlight, bathing them both in impossibly bright light.

Startled, Rogue lets him go as she spins around to face whoever's opening the door, and without her pressing him against the column, Gambit collapses to the porch floor.

“Remy!” Rogue exclaims as she hears the thud of his body hitting the floor, and he can feel when she comes to kneel next to his prone form.

“‘M ‘kay… ‘M ‘kay…” he's able to slur, his eyes closed to the harsh light beaming down from above.

And distantly, like he's speaking through a tube, he hears Wolverine's gruff voice, irritated as he asks, “He try and kiss you again?”

“No. I kissed him,” comes Rogue's response, not quite as muffled but still hard for him to hear. “Oh, Remy, sugar, I'm sorry. Why didn't you say something?” she asks, quieter and closer like she’s leaned down to talk to him.

Gambit only moans in response.

Wolverine grunts with displeasure. “Come on. Let's get him up off the floor at least.”

“No, I got him,” Rogue says, and he can feel arms come under him and lift him up to standing again. “My fault he's like this.”

Gambit's head lolls against her shoulder as she carry-walks him into the house, his feet dragging as he tries to get them to work but it's no use.

Now Beast’s voice speaks from somewhere down the hall, “Ah. Put him on the couch, Rogue. The staircase may prove too difficult for him to traverse, even by morning.”

So Rogue drags him in to the living room and gently lays him on the couch. One of his arms ends up dangling over the side, and she picks it up and crosses it over his body.

Eyes still closed, Gambit can only feel when a furry hand takes his then, two clawed fingers pressed firmly against the inside of his wrist.

Beast sighs and lays Gambit’s hand back on his chest. “His pulse is a bit lethargic, but it's strong. He should recover by the morning, but I really do wish he would take more care so that this doesn't continue to happen.”

“I'm the one that went and kissed him, Hank,” Rogue says, repeating what she'd already told Wolverine. “Ain't his fault.”

“No, it's just his karma for ditching us,” says a fourth voice. Gambit finds the strength to crack one eye open.

Jubilee has joined them, and she's standing by the couch looking down at him with her arms crossed over her chest.

She blows a bubble with her gum and pops it. “Nice shade, by the way.” She circles a finger in front of her mouth. “Really brings out the red of your eyes.”

Gambit just closes his eye again, too tired to even attempt to respond to her light jabs.

He hears Rogue say to Jubilee, “Ain’t you supposed to be in bed, missy?”

“Wolvie said I could stay up to watch him tear Gambit a new one.”

“But looks like you beat me to the punch, darlin’,” Wolverine says then as he enters the room. “Wouldn’t be any fun now.”

“Oh, our resident Cajun will be quite recovered by tomorrow. You may speak with him then.” Beast laughs. “But I’m not sure he’ll find it as entertaining as you, Logan.”

“That's enough. Like he don't got enough trouble as it is. Don't need you lot in here joshing him on top of it. Out. Now,” Rogue says, raising her voice some, and if he could, Gambit would smile at that.

She must shoo everybody out then ‘cause the room gets real quiet. And though Gambit tries to fight it, Rogue had taken a lot out of him, and soon his exhaustion proves too much and he falls unconscious. He’s not sure how long he’s out or how much time passes, but the next thing he’s aware of is a cool damp cloth wiping at his face.

It takes a couple tries to get his eyes to open, feels like there’s weights hanging on them, but he’s able to get them open finally. And what a sight for sore eyes it is that greets him.

Rogue’s sitting on the couch in the narrow space left on the cushion next to where he’s lying. She’s still in her red dress, but she’d taken his leather jacket off at some point. But her face, that’s what draws his attention. Her lipstick is thoroughly ruined, ruby-red smeared all across the bottom half of her face from their kissing earlier.

She realizes that he’s awake, and she stops wiping at his face for a moment to look at him. “Hey, sugar,” she says softly. “How you feeling?”

Gambit tries to speak, but his mouth feels like it’s full of cotton, and whatever comes out is a mumbled mess.

Rogue cringes. “Okay. I won’t make you say nothing yet.”

So they sit in silence while he watches her and she tries to scrub the lipstick off his face and neck. He must look ravaged, even more than she does, after Rogue had set upon him worse than she had her supper.

She moves to work her cloth around his ear, and the cold wet sensation causes him to make a pitiful noise as he tries to move away but can’t.

“I know, but I gotta get this off you,” she says in sympathy.

Gambit’s able to croak, “Leave…” and Rogue looks hurt before he can get the second half of the sentence out, “...it.”

“But it ain’t good for your skin, leaving it on there like that. Especially in your ear like I got it.”

“Don’t… care…”

Rogue gives him a hard look. “Oh, you’ll care when you get yourself an ear infection from it.”

Gambit doesn’t have the energy to argue with her further, and he just grits his teeth and bears it while she continues swiping the cloth around his ear.

She makes a few more rough rubs against his neck and then sighs. “They ain't lying when they say this stuff’s waterproof.”

He twitches his finger against her leg where she's sitting next to him. “Just… leave it… chère.”

“Now, I just told you, I gotta get this off you.”

Gambit groans as he tries to get his tongue to work, damn it. Everything he wants to say, and it's like he's got glue in his throat.

But he's realized that what he'd first thought back in the bar, when Rogue had come out with a fresh coat of lipstick on right before they'd left, had been right. She'd wanted to mark him up, all right, stake her claim, and just like when she'd wanted to feed him some pie, it's making him feel some type of way.

Like maybe he kinda wants to be claimed.

Rogue makes a frustrated noise, still scrubbing at the lipstick staining his skin. “This ain't working. I'm gonna go grab something stronger.”

She moves to stand then, but Gambit's able to curl his fingers just enough that they catch in the skirt of her dress. He knows the fabric’s only satin, but right now it feels like the finest silk as it slips through his fingers like water.

He looks up at her when his light tug gets her attention and she stops. “Non,” he says heavily. “Leave it… I like… wearing you.” He winces. If that don't make a lick of sense even to his own ears.

But it does to Rogue apparently because she touches her fingertips to her own red-smeared face as she gets a sorta dreamy look in her eyes. “Me, too,” she says quietly.

It doesn't stop her from going, though. Gambit's fingers finally fall free of the end of her skirt as she walks away and towards the doorway to leave, and he's left lying on the couch alone in the late-night quiet of their living room.

And he thinks then that the night had turned out all right, despite his current condition. And, sure, he's still got an ass-chewing from the Wolverine to look forward to, and Jubilee’d probably never let him live down the lipstick, but Rogue seems happy, and all in all, that's all that really mattered to him tonight.

By the time Rogue returns, he's able to turn his head to look at her. And, hey, he can even give her a proper smile.

She smiles back. “Look at you. How you feeling?” she asks again now that she can get an actual answer out of him.

Gambit shuts his eyes and groans softly. That post-Rogue hangover headache he always gets after they touch has begun to set in. “Like shit,” he murmurs.

“See your tongue’s working just fine now, too.”

“Excusez mon Français,” he says with a smirk before opening his eyes again. “I'm all right. Just tired, is all.”

“I bet,” she sits next to him on the couch and leans down to start cleaning his face again, this cloth smelling like a cleanser of some sort. “Can't believe you hung on ‘long as you did.”

“Long enough you take my powers?” he asks out of curiosity while she dabs at his cheek.

“Not that long, thank goodness. We'd all be in trouble then.” She stops wiping his face a moment so she can look at him. “Just your memories.”

The look on his face must say all he's thinking ‘cause she gently laughs at him then.

“All your secrets are safe, Mr. Mysterious. I only got the ones from tonight.”

Gambit closes his eyes in relief. Plenty of things in his head he hopes nobody else’s ever got to see, least of all Rogue. The way she'd react if she knew the things he'd done… Mon Dieu. Perish the thought.

She resumes cleaning his face. “Just flashes of things. You waiting for me 'fore we left, the way you felt seeing me when I first come down.” She glances at him while she scrubs. “Surprised my hair didn't catch fire, as much as you was staring at my backside all night.”

“Oh, wasn't your hair I was looking at, chère,” he says with another smirk.

Rogue scoffs. “You must be feeling better. You're back to the womanizer act.”

“Ain't an act,” he counters, but then he frowns. Was it?

She just gives him a withering look. “I was just in your head, swamp rat. You can't lie to me.” She's finished with getting all the lipstick off his face except what's actually on his lips. She begins gently rubbing it off. “‘Sides, I seen the one of you and Aggie,” she adds quietly.

And at first, Gambit thinks it's just Rogue's jealousy rearing its ugly head again, that she'd seen any of his memories of the times he and Aggie had had a quiet conversation while he'd sat at the bar, or even that she might've glimpsed either of the times Aggie had kissed him.

But then he remembers. Rogue had said she'd only gotten his memories from tonight, and it takes a minute for his tired brain to click through his own memories before he comes across the only one she could mean.

He and Aggie’s talk right before they'd left.

When she'd asked him if he'd ever tell Rogue that he was in love with her.

Merde. Gambit closes his eyes again. Way to let the cat outta the bag, Remy.

Rogue gives him the dignity of not asking anything further of him, and she just silently rubs at his mouth until she gets all the lipstick off.

“There,” she proclaims softly with a final swipe. “Squeaky clean.” She rubs her thumb along his bottom lip a couple times, a look on her face like she's considering kissing him again despite just having gotten him cleaned up finally.

He brings his hand up to hold hers. His muscles are so fatigued it feels like swimming through molasses, but he gets his hand up so that he can hold hers against his lips.

“Thanks, chère,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to her red gloved fingertips in a gentle kiss. “For this, and for tonight.”

And what he’d meant to say was:

I love you.

Rogue smiles at him before moving her hand to pat his cheek. “Get some rest now, sugar. You still got Logan to deal with tomorrow. He's madder than a hornet about you whisking me away on our little adventure.”

“Aw, he's just mad we had all that fun without him.”

Rogue laughs then and stands to leave, and Gambit shamelessly watches her walk to the doorway, his eyes on the way the skirt of her dress hugs her–

“There you go again.” Rogue's turned around in the doorway to cross her arms over her chest.

He lets his gaze wander leisurely back up to her eyes, enjoying every curvy little detour. He smirks when she raises an eyebrow at him. “What? Can't help that I appreciate the finer things in life.”

Rogue just shakes her head and smiles, endeared despite herself, and Gambit thinks he’ll remember her like this always, her red dress with the lace, her face still smeared with lipstick, a contentedness to her that he foolishly hopes he might’ve had something to do with.

“I had fun tonight, Cajun. We oughta do it again sometime.” Her smile only grows. “Maybe next time I'll wear my liquid lipstick. Label says it’s got long-lasting full coverage. Reckon we could find out if there's any truth in advertising. If you're up for it,” she adds in a teasing tone before she goes finally.

But it sounds a whole lot like she'd meant to say:

Love you, too.