Summary: Humor, sexual situations. What if Gambit's charm powers were as much a curse as a blessing?
Archive: As often as possible, wherever you like.

by Mercutio

When Remy woke, he had no idea that anything was wrong.

He was, after all, in his own bed, in his own room, in Professor Xavier's mansion. The sun was shining, birds were peacefully chirping outside his room, and Scott Summers had not yet come barging in to drag him away from a Danger Room session.

Everything was just fine.

That confident attitude lasted until he was showered and shaved, dressed, and out the door.

Or, almost out. Rogue stood on the other side of the door, fist poised to knock. She paused for a second, took in that Remy was fully dressed and then threw herself into his arms, slamming the door behind her.

He caught her automatically, not at all displeased to have the object of his affections touching him. "What be de matter, chere?"

"Oh, Remy. Ah'm in love with Joseph. Ah-- Ah couldn't keep it from you any longer."

Gambit stiffened. "Den maybe you don't belong here no more, p'tite. De man not going to be happy dat you in here wit' me."

She looked up at him, tears enlarging her already large, dewy eyes. "But that's it, sugah. Ah..." she blushed. "We made love. I touched him!"

"T'anks for telling me dat," Remy said in a tone just to one side of sarcastic, trying to let go of her. She clung to him, making his task difficult. "I 'ppreciate you letting me know."

"You don't understand. Now that Ah've touched Joseph, Ah realize that Ah was just being shallow with you, Remy. I can have sex with you -- I just can't touch you with my bare skin. That's not a problem."

"Uh..." he was beginning to have difficulty thinking with his brain. "Dat's nice, Rogue, but..."

"But nothing, sugah! I can have sex now, and I want to have it with you. Right now."

Suddenly, all the justifications and excuses and arguments he'd been mounting seemed irrelevant. "If dat's de way you feel about it..."

"Ah do." She fluttered her eyelashes at him. "And Ah know it won't bother you that I'm dating Joseph now, 'cause you've always been such a flirt, Remy LeBeau."

Two hours and a short nap later, Remy woke again. This time, the sun seemed a little too bright, and the birds a little too cheery.

He was in his own bed, in his own room, and he'd made love to Rogue for the first time. Everything should be just fine.

It wasn't. Rogue was already gone, flitting back to the man she had declared "mah one true love", and he was alone, relationship over, with the peculiar feeling that Rogue had never thought that he was serious about her at all. The way she'd kissed him when she left said that, as had her, "This is mah way of thanking you for being nice to me all this time, Remy."

He felt like he'd just been stripsearched by a mall security guard. Remy showered again, got dressed, and went looking for breakfast.

Or tried to, at any rate. Jean stood on the other side of the door, fist poised to knock.

"What seems to be de matter?" Remy asked, relieved that she wasn't Rogue. He needed some time to think before he saw her again.

"Can I come in?"

He nodded, stepped back, and let her into the room.

She closed the door softly behind her, and then came to him, staring earnestly up into his eyes. "I-- I don't know how to say this, Remy, so I'm just going to say it, and hope that I don't shock you. Scott and I have been having problems. I needed someone to be with, and I hoped that you..." She touched his chest tentatively.

"Moi?" he asked, surprised. "Is dis a joke?"

"No, Remy."

"Why me?"

She laughed, which surprised him even more. "Because I know you won't take this seriously. You flirt with everyone -- and if what I've caught on the edges of your mind is representative, you don't stop there -- or are you going to try to tell me that your reputation isn't true?"

Remy was beginning to wonder just what kind of reputation he had, that women would leave their lovers and throw themselves at him. "But Scott--"

She had her hands under his shirt. "I've got our bond shielded against him. And you won't bring this up, will you? It's not like you'd take this seriously, after all."

"And what if I did?" he challenged her. "What if Gambit say, 'Scott, I love your wife and Remy wan' her for his own?'"

Jean laughed again. "That's funny, Remy. You've got a great sense of humor. Now kiss me."

An hour later, Remy stared up at his ceiling from his prone position on his bed. Having a telepath/telekinetic involved in lovemaking had sped up the process. He squirmed, thinking about the things that Jean could do. Scott was a lucky man.

And he was starting to feel oppressed. What was going on? He knew he liked women -- and apparently, so did everyone else -- and liked to have sex with them. But that was perfectly normal male behavior. So why had he been propositioned twice in one day?

He sighed, got up, took a shower, dressed, and then looked suspiciously at the door. Nothing happened. There was no knock, and he relaxed, opening it.

Jubilee looked up. "Hey, Gumbo! I was just about to pick the lock."

"Wasn't locked."

"Oh," she said, snapping her gum. "Well, that explains it.  Listen, can I talk to you?"

Remy considered the request. All right, so Rogue and Jean had both propositioned him. That could almost be called a trend. But it could just be coincidence. And what harm could Jubilee cause?  She was only fifteen, and he was hardly the kind of man who got involved with children. "Sure, p'tite."

"Great!"

They entered his room, and he sat down on the bed. "So what did you want t'talk to Remy about?"

She folded her arms, shifting her weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. "Just this -- do you think I'm attractive?"

Uh oh. "Why you wan' t'know, chere?"

"'Cause, like, I want to know, okay?" she said defiantly. "And you're the only one I can ask. I can't ask Wolvie, and all Jean or Betsy'll say is that I should wait 'til I get older to worry about my looks, and stuff about how being beautiful is really on the inside -- which I know means that they think I'm not very pretty, and like, well, you're the guy."

"The guy?"

"Y'know," she said impatiently, gesturing at him. "The womanizer. The flirt. The man with the plan."

At any other time, Remy might have taken this as a compliment.  Right at the moment, he was feeling threatened. "If Remy tell you what he t'ink, den you go away?"

"Sure, sure."

He sighed. "P'tite, Remy t'ink dat you very cute for your age, and dat you only going t'get more beautiful as you get older."

She squealed, and launched herself at him, taking him off-guard and spilling him backwards on the bed. Straddling his chest, she pressed kisses on his face. "Thank you, thank you.  That's the nicest thing anyone's every said to me."

"You're welcome, 'tite," Remy said, struggling to get up. "Now maybe you t'ink dat you go like you promise Remy you would?"

She stopped kissing random spots on his face to pout. "You don't really want me to go, do you?"

Gambit thought that 'hell, yes' might be a bit too strong under the circumstances. He didn't really want her bursting into tears. "Remy t'ink dat it for de best. And you did promise."

"Yeah..." she said slowly, then kissed him again, this time on the mouth. Springing up, she called, "Thank you!" again, and ran out the door.

Remy laid there for a long moment after Jubilee left, contemplating. At least she left, he thought. Dat could've gotten awkward.

Feeling slightly ashamed of himself, and definitely unsettled, he stood up. This was more than he could handle. He didn't like the picture of himself he was getting from the mansion's female residents. Which meant that he had to have gone insane, as 'sex toy' was the kind of image that a normal man was supposed to fantasize about. Right?

A knock came at the door.

Paling, Remy stepped back. Not again. Was there some sort of graffiti in the bathroom that said, "For a good time, see Remy LeBeau"? Not that he minded feminine attention, but he was getting tired of not being taken seriously.

On the other hand, he couldn't hide in his room forever.  Nervously anticipating the visitor on the other side of the door, he opened it.

Wolverine stood there, hands on his hips, wearing a soft, mostly unbuttoned, flannel shirt and jeans. No boots.

Remy slammed the door. "Go away!" he yelled, before grabbing a bag lying on the floor of his room. He started shoving clothes into it, and odds and ends. "Gambit not here! Gambit not goin' t'be here de rest of de day! You can go find someone else t'have sex with!"

He felt the door opening. Warily, Remy looked up, sock in hand. Without thinking, he charged it. "You stay 'way from me, Logan. Not goin' t'do this wit' you."

Wolverine regarded him curiously. "I was just gonna ask if ya wanted ta reschedule tonight. I gotta go into town."

Tonight? Remy's imagination inserted a picture of Logan holding him down while he pounded himself into him, before his memory could remind him that he'd bet Logan last night that he could beat him at darts down at the local bar. "Oh. Dat," he said weakly, uncharging the sock and letting it drop. Remy forgot 'bout dat. Whatever you wan'. We can do dat later."

Wolverine nodded. "So, what were ya sayin' about you and me havin' sex?"

-the end-

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