Mutineer

A sequel to "Look but Don't Touch"
 
 

Logan put the crystal case down on his nightstand and lay down in bed
on top of the covers. He knew there was no chance of getting to
sleep, not with so much on his mind, but it was awhile before he
decided to take a look at the CD.

The album cover didn't make him feel any better. Piltdown Man's
skull smoking a Meerschaum pipe and wearing a tinted monocle in which
the singer's face was reflected. Still, he opened the case and
popped the disk into his stereo.

He kept the volume down low, in deference to the hour. His ears were
keen enough that he didn't need to play it loud, anyway. He was
surprised to discover that he recognized the first song. "Poor Poor
Pitiful Me," which he'd known first from Linda Ronstadt and more
recently from Terry Clarke. He checked the booklet and was surprised
to see that the writer's credit was given to Warren Zevon.

The album wound away, twisting through songs about prostitutes and
drugs and selfish celebrities. The songs were almost always
startling, and although he found he didn't understand half of it as
well as he would have like to, he enjoyed the thick, almost good-
humored irony that ran like a bright copper skein through many of
them.

"Mr. Bad Example" was near the end, and he listened to it twice
through, grinning wider and wider with each line. He could see why
Gambit liked that one: not only was the song a celebration of the
kind of hedonism that had characterized the Cajun's life before (and
likely, to some extent, since) joining the X-Men, it was performed
with such jocose cupidity that you found yourself liking the guy in
the song in spite of all the horrible things he was admitting.
Reminded him of someone he knew, actually. He laughed out loud.

He let the CD continue after the second time through. "Wake me up
for meals," he snorted, repeating the song's abrupt final line. The
next track was slow to start.

It was a slow song all the way through. Although he thought at first
that the lyrics were absurd, he quickly found himself lost in the
quiet, prayer-like quality of the song. He realized about halfway
through that it was a love song.

When it was over, he played it again. And then again. And again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum,
Hoist the mainsail—here I come.
Ain't no room on board for the insincere.
You're my witness, I'm your mutineer.

I was born to rock the boat.
Some may sink, but we will float.
Grab your coat—let's get out of here.
You're my witness, I'm your mutineer.

Long ago we laughed at shadows,
Lightning flashed and thunder followed us.
It could never find us here.
You're my witness, I'm your mutineer.

Long ago we laughed at shadows,
Lightning flashed and thunder followed us.
It could never find us here.
You're my witness, I'm your mutineer.

I was born to rock the boat.
Some may sink, but we will float.
Grab your coat—let's get out of here.
You're my witness, I'm your mutineer.

You're my witness, I'm your mutineer.
I'm your mutineer.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The song got him thinking about Gambit more than "Mr. Bad Example"
did. Maybe it was the "grab your coat" line, or the reference to a
witness. Or maybe it was just because he was completely in love with
the Cajun, and EVERYTHING was apt to remind him of the kid now.
Whatever it was, he could picture the two of them slow-dancing to
this song.

He turned off the stereo without bothering to finish out the album
and lay back down. He closed his eyes and let his imagination take
him where it wanted to go.

Arms around that slender waist, pressing the younger man's lean, hard-
muscled body against his own. He could actually feel the unnatural
heat of him again—standing very near Gambit was a little like
standing beside a blast furnace, particularly during a fight. He
imagined himself reaching up to twine his fingers in all that thick
cinnamon hair, and it seemed he could almost smell it, a clean,
indefinable scent that would be uniquely Remy and incredibly
sensual. He felt again his lips press against the Cajun's, and in
his mind Remy had just begun to kiss back when he fell asleep.

-------
Mac O'Roni

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

-Gambit, Uncanny X-Men #334
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