Look but Don't Touch

A sequel to "Royally Flushed"
 

Gambit parried Wolverine's flashing claws with his bo staff, knocking
them away before they could slash his bare chest. He charged a
handful of cards and flung them at the Canadian as he somersaulted
away.

They'd been fighting for maybe thirty minutes already, and neither
man yet broke a sweat. In fact, neither man was really concentrating
all that hard on the fight. Each blow and counterblow was just as
deadly as if they were in actual combat, but this was so routine to
them that they simply didn't have to dedicate all their brain cells
to defense and offense. Remy was actually singing under his breath.

Logan, for his part, was unashamedly admiring his opponent more than
anything. The Acadian was bare-chested and barefoot, turning lazy
back-flips and spinning his staff from hand to hand, looking almost
bored. He was skinny, or at least what Wolverine considered skinny,
but that lean body was well-muscled. He wasn't built like a Mack
truck, like most male mutants. Wolverine's lips parted in a toothy
grin as he made his second analogy in as many seconds. The kid was a
Ferrari in a garage full of Humvees.

Gambit had apparently moved on to another song, and it seemed he
liked this one better than whatever he'd been singing before, because
he sang it much louder. "I'm very well acquainted wit' de seven
deadly sins. I keep a busy schedule tryin' to fit dem in. I'm proud
t'be a glutton, an' I don't have time for sloth. I'm greedy, an' I'm
angry, an' I don' care who I cross.

"I'm Mr. Bad Example, intruder in de dirt. I like to have a good
time, an' I don' care who gets hurt. I'm Mr. Bad Example; take a
look at me. I'll live to be a hundred, an' go down in infamy."

He grinned wickedly as he sang the words. "What's that yer singin',
Cajun?" Logan asked.

"'Mr. Bad Example,' by Warren Zevon," he replied. "It Gambit's t'eme
song."

"I thought `Ace in the Hole,' George Strait, was yer theme song,
Gumbo."

Gambit shrugged as he charged another handful of cards. "Gambit have
many t'eme songs, mon ami."

"Anyway, I like it. It's very you."

"You ever listen to Zevon, Wolverine? One of Gambit's favorites.
Great music, if you don't let the words drive y'outta yo' min'."

"Nope, can't say I have."
"I let you borrow my CD—you like it, jus' don' worry too much `bout
de lyrics `cause dey can be pretty confusin' sometime."

"I'll keep that in mind," Logan said.

They fought awhile longer, and Logan found his eyes glued more and
more powerfully to the flash of glowing eyes, the smooth fluidity of
well-trained muscles, the easy grace and deceptive speed. At some
point the rubber band tying up the Cajun's long cinnamon hair broke
and it all spilled out over his back and shoulders, almost down to
his waist. It was then that he felt the first electric shock of
desire spark somewhere deep inside himself.

He was only a little surprised. He'd always known he had strong
feelings for this young man. From the start, he respected his
talents as a fighter and a thief, even if there were those among his
teammates who found some of those talents somewhat undesirable. Over
time, he'd come to develop a strong liking for the Cajun because of
his fearless, balls-out style in battle, and there was no one he'd
rather have at his back when the chips were down. And parties?
They'd closed down a lot of bars in a lot of towns together, and he'd
never known Gambit to lose his savoir faire no matter how stone-drunk
he got.

And he now knew what it was to feel protective of him. He'd never in
all the time he'd known the Cajun believed he needed to be protected—
he was a big boy, and more than capable of taking care of himself.
But these last couple of days…finding out just how hurt his friend
had been in his youth made him angry and sad. He wanted to take him
in his arms and hold him tight, keep him safe from all the people who
wanted to use him.

Used to acting on his feelings, Logan stepped up to Gambit, seized
him around the waist, and kissed him full on the lips.

Gambit's reaction was exactly what Logan would have expected to see
if he had sunk his claws into his guts.

Remy pulled away, for once in his life not caring that all his
defenses were down, his face naked and terrified. "Gambit gettin'
tired out," he said in a strangled voice. "G'night, Wolverine."

He turned tail and fled from the Danger Room. Logan could have
kicked himself. Why had he done something so stupid? The kid was
hardly prepared, and God knows he had ample reason not to like men in
the first place. He hit the showers and tried to forget how
foolishly he'd behaved.

When the hot water ran out he returned, slowly, to his room. He'd
just closed the door when someone knocked. He turned back and opened
it to find Gambit standing just outside. He held out a CD case.

"Dis dat Zevon I promised'y," he said, thrusting it into Logan's
hand. Then he disappeared.
 

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Mac O'Roni

"After all dis time--an' I still manage to impress myself."

-Gambit, Uncanny X-Men #334
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