Okay, so this fic was totally and utterly inspired by both the song and music video, Latch by Sam Smith and Disclose. It was like 5 am, and I'd been unwittingly sucked into the bottomless void of YouTube. In my state of sleep deprivation and delusion, I'd found myself watching some weird shit, before finally stumbling across said music video. The whole time I couldn't stop thinking about just how much it reminded me of them, and suddenly I had all these little scenarios in my head which just wouldn't quit pestering me until I wrote them down. THUS this train wreck of a fic was born.

Rogue yawned. God, she hated early morning danger room sessions. 5 am really wasn't the time to be battling simulations and getting your ass handed to you by a computer programme.

Given the circumstances however, she was in a relatively good mood. She'd been the first one to kitchen and had managed to grab a cup of coffee and a slice of toast before quickly changing into her uniform. She'd even managed to avoid everyone and everything in the short space between her bedroom, the kitchen, and the basement elevator. It had taken a downhill turn once she'd reached the control booth of the danger room, and had found at least half the team waiting for her.

So there she was. Half asleep and only partly paying attention to what Storm was saying to them, fazing in and out of all comprehensible thought every other second. Her eyes drifted from teammate to teammate, noting that they each looked just as tired and disgruntled as she felt.

Rogue had managed to stay awake enough however, to realise that Logan, who was slouchedon the control panelchair, chewing at a large cigarwhich he wasn't aloud to light on the school grounds (at least not where anyone could findhim), was fiddling with the knobs and switches which she knewfrom experience meant that todays session wasn't going to be any sort of walk in the park.

It took quite a bit of self restraint on Rogues part, not to walk right out then and there.

Kurt, who was in front of her, suddenly leaned backwards into her personal space, turning to very briefly catch her eye.

"You sleep okay?" He mumbled in a way of good morning.

Rogue made a sort of grunt in answer, pretending to be thoroughly engrossed in the rundown of the exercise. She'd strategically placed herself at the back of the small huddle the X-Men had unconsciously made, hoping to eliminate all possible chances of interaction. Apparently this had not worked.

"Have you seen Gambit?" He asked, still keeping his eyes on Storm under the pretence of actually still listening. Storm may have had the patience of a saint, but they'd seen first terrifying hand that she had little tolerance for anyone who blatantly ignored or tried to talk over her.

"No." She shot back rather quickly, "Why would Ah have seen Gambit?"

"You tell me. He's just not here is all," Kurt shrugged, stealing another quick glance at Rogue, his yellow eyes flashing.

She ignored him.

It was no secret at The Xavier Institute that Gambit had developed some sort of a connection with Rogue, no matter how much she'd vehemently denied it to any one who decided to point it out.

The day he'd suddenly rocked up at the school, completely unannounced, all smug smiles and smooth words, swagger just oozing from his being, had been like a sucker punch to gut with a 50 tonne stack of adamantium bricks. His presence in the mansion hadn't taken long to pick up on, and by the end of the morning he'd made quite a commotion without so much as lifting a finger. Apparently he'd gotten a good kick out of it too.

Rogue had -accidentally- found him in the rec room, his feet propped up on the coffee table and arms draped casually over the back of the couch.

He'd smirked when their eyes had met, and Rogues nerves, much to her dismay and frustration, had picked up considerably.

She'd stayed stark still in the doorway, not really knowing what to say or do. The last time they'd seen each other, they'd both been completely drenched, cold, and smelling of swamp water, exchanging final glances and subtle goodbyes. Rogue could still almost feel the damp, overly handled, queen of hearts he'd pressed into her palm, his hand lingering on hers just a moment too long. She had made a mental note to hide the card in a much better place in case he decided to go snooping in her room.

"I was wondering when you'd show up, p'tite," he'd said, as if he'd known she'd been avoiding him on purpose. Which she had.

He'd swivelled completely to face her, patting the seat next to him, crimson eyes flicking briefly across her figure.

"I ain't seen you all day," he'd said conversationally. "But then again, I don't think that was on accident, eh Chèrie?" He'd called her out, grinning egotistically and visibly enjoying her very put out expression.

"What, I don't even get a hello?" He'd pouted, but quickly switched that to a look of something which made it relatively hard to remember how to think, once she'd strode towards him.

"You look good, Chère." He'd commented appreciatively, following her movements closely as she reached the back of the couch, completely undeterred by her lack of response.

"Okay, Cajun, why're you here?" She'd snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.

Apparently he'd been expecting that reaction, and his lopsided smirk widened as he stood up. He was taller than she'd remembered.

"S'funny, I've been askin' m'self that very same question for the past few weeks," he'd countered, sauntering around the couch towards her.

"I thought you weren't into the whole 'X-Men crap'," she'd mimicked his confident stance, trying to cover the hitch in her breath when they'd come so closely face to face.

"I wasn't," his smile dimpled his cheeks slightly. He'd stood far too near for comfort.

"Oh yeah?" She'd scoffed, willing herself to stay indifferent at their tight proximity. "What changed?"

His eyes had shifted, barely noticeable. It had made it hard for her to decipher what it meant.

"A damn lot."

Over six months had passed since he first set foot at Xavier's, and he'd proved to have been a valuable asset to the team. So much so, that even Scott, who Gambit just loved to piss off, could appreciate the advantage his being there brought to the team.

Rogue's gaze shifted to the elevator doors briefly. It hadn't escaped her attention that a certain Cajun had failed to turn up to the session, but she hadn't really lingered on it too long. It wasn't unlike him to be tardy or lazy with his responsibilities, he preferred the much more laid back approach, since he had "far better things to be doing than worryin' about the next time Cyke wants to run us over with another sentinal." Until of course it really mattered, in which case he was surprisingly enthusiastic.

Still, he hadn't actually missed a danger room session yet, and Rogue held that on account of the fact that he always seemed to be looking for a way to release pent up energy, and danger room sessions were a perfect outlet for that. And man, could he let off steam. He was exceedingly quick with a quarter staff, and could easily take on several opponents at once with a variety of fancy kicks, flips, punches, and blocks. Not to mention the small, rectangular explosives which would skim between his fingers at an exceptionally fast rate and precise direction, never missing a target and always appearing from absolutely no where. Rogue huffed away a strand of hair that was blocking her vision.

God, he was a show off.

Storm was still explaining the rules of an apparently complex and much more challenging version of 'capture the flag,' and was just about to split up teams when the elevator doors slid open. Out strolled the devil himself, looking completely unapologetic, and far too satisfied to have been doing anything remotely innocent before he got here.

All heads immediately turned towards him, and Rogue could hear Logan starting to grumble about 'Lack of respect' and 'Damn Cajuns.'

Storm paused and raised an eyebrow at him.

"Mr LeBeau," she drawled with that same air of elegant grace she always unfalteringly maintained, "so kind of you to finally join us."

"Sorry, Stormy," he grinned, "alarm didn't go off."

Rogue was absolutely certain that was bullshit, no matter how smoothly the lie had slipped from his lips. She was also certain that Storm, like her, hadn't bought it for a second, so she was surprised to see Storm dismiss his lack of punctuality quite so easily.

"Perhaps you should invest in a new one, Gambit, seeing as you have used that same excuse at least twice before." She stated dryly, "In the meantime it would do you well not disrupt me much longer, your teammates can fill you in on what you have missed." Storm nodded at him pointedly.

"I'll take that into consideration." He replied, and Rogue could've sworn she saw the corner of Storms mouth twitch into a light smile.

Both Gambit and Storm seemed to have developed a mutual trust in each other, one which grew from circumstances she wasn't totally caught up on. Although she'd never especially bothered to ask Gambit about it, seeing as it wasn't really her business, she now made a note to do so since curiosity was starting to get the better of her. She was sure it was why Storm was being more lenient towards him. Rogue had no doubts however, that the danger room session today would be slightly more targeted towards him. She was pretty certain he was aware of this too from the smug expression playing on his face.

He situated himself next to Rogue, right at the back.

She inhaled sharply when his hand briefly brushed hers.

"Chèrie," he greeted, a lopsided smirk gracing his lips, looking far too good for this time of the morning.

"Swamp rat," she nodded back in acknowledgement.

She turned away and tried to refocus her attention. Storm began pointing at things on the screen and holding up a pile of coloured lights which apparently needed to be clipped to your uniform to show who was on who's team. Rogue cracked her neck, rubbing out the kinks from countless sparring sessions and bad sleep. God, she really did hate early morning danger room sessions.

She felt Gambit shuffle next to her, moving just that bit closer, enough so that the end of his coat skimmed her thighs and their elbows touched. Rogue cleared her throat.

"You always clean up this good at 5 am?" He murmured, his lips far too near to her ear for it to safe.

"Cram it, Cajun."

She was certain she could feel his grin, her body going rigid on instinct. Even as he drew back and pretended to pay attention to the instructions being given, she couldn't help noticing the warmth of his body and the smell of everything that was quintessentially Remy.

"What'd I miss?"

He'd definitely smoked recently. It was a very faint scent, combined with the sweet smell of his cologne and shampoo, as well as something which very strongly reminded her of petrichor, but it was there nonetheless. She really hated that he somehow made it smell good, no matter how much the mere sight of a cigarette made her scrunch up her nose.

"Shut up, Ah'm tryna listen," she grumbled, trying for all the world to ignore him.

But his shoulder kept brushing hers, the back of his hand kept touching her hip, and the pad of his thumb just kissed her own. This seemed to make ignoring him significantly harder.

"You scowl any harder than that and it might just stick. Although I s'pose that wouldn't be much of a difference." He was reaching for a reaction, like he always was, and stupidly she'd taken the bait.

"Maybe if your dumbass actually had a good sense of humour then that might change."

"You wouldn't know what funny was if it hit you in the face at 40 miles an hour."

Rogue was about to shoot back a very vulgar quip which she was sure would definitely get him to shut up, but quickly closed her mouth when she noticed Logan eyeing the two of them carefully. She really didn't feel like getting called out on it in front of her entire team, especially if it would just fuel everyones constant alluding looks whenever the two were stood within a 5 metre radius of each other. Moreover, she really didn't need another talk with Logan about how bad it was to get 'mixed up' with that sort of person. Rogue had had to nip that particular conversation in the bud very quickly.

So she dropped her witty come back, and instead resorted to muttering something about wanting to hit him in the face at 40 miles an hour, crossing her arms firmly across her chest, thinking maybe that if she was given the opportunity in the danger room today, she might do just that.

He'd somehow moved even closer during their short lived verbal spar. The collar of his coat hung limply over her shoulder and she noted that their hips had not 3 centimetres between them. If he was trying to get himself killed by accidental absorption that was fine by her; it would give her far less to worry about.

Rogue really couldn't help herself getting one more jibe in.

"You know, Cajun, sometimes Ah wonder how you don't get weighed down from just how big your heads gotten."

Gambit was quick on the uptake. "If you didn't fuel my ego so damn much with all your gawkin' and oglin' then mebbe it wouldn't."

This seemed to momentarily shut her up, her eyes firmly trained on Storm. Perhaps if she didn't look at him the shade of crimson her face had suddenly adopted would die down a little.

"Don't know what you're yappin' about. There ain't nothin' there for me to stare at in the first place." She retorted, uncrossing her arms and glowering at the screen in front of her.

He laughed quietly, "Well thats a lie if I ever heard one." She wasn't sure which part of the sentence he was referring to, but then thought it was most likely both. "Don't think I ain't noticed you checkin' me out all this time," he added slyly.

"You seein' things now, Gambit?" She scoffed, stubbornly ignoring his hand just touching her own.

He was not. Rogue had tried to be very subtle with her brief glances and quick appreciative looks she'd sometimes give him after a particularly strenuous session, when his hair was sticking to his forehead and his cheeks were flushed with heat. Or just after a shower and his t-shirt stuck to the moisture on his torso, eyelashes and lips still wet. She'd even steal a quick glimpse his way during one of the mansions famous movie marathons which everyone at Xavier's was required (by law of course) to take part in, the light from the tv blaring across his olive skin and accentuating the ridges and lines of his face. The explosion spectacles on the screen had had nothing on glow of his eyes. Apparently she hadn't been as inconspicuous as she would've liked.

"You tell me, Chère." Rogue didn't miss the suggestive insinuation in his tone. It was like he lived to piss her off.

"Swamp rat, if you're lookin' to get your ass kicked, you picked a real great time to get on my nerves." She snapped, finally tearing her gaze away from Storm and shooting him a hard glare.

"Chèrie, I've been lookin' for a good excuse for a one on one wit' you for months. Don't tempt me." His tone immediately switched to that soft, buttery treacle that he always loved to use with those heavy, lidded eyes; sultry and blazing like they always would just before he charged a card.

Rogue faltered briefly and turned away.

"You never get tired of listening to yourself, do you?" She drawled, keeping a straight, determined stare, directly ahead.

He watched her carefully, a slow grin curling at his mouth. Gambit took the opportunity to lean slightly into her and stroke her gloved thumb with his little finger, so gently she almost didn't notice at first.

"It's one of my talents."

She flinched when she felt his touch, whipping around to look at him and swallowing the large lump in her throat.

Her eyes met his, the alluringly burning, scorching, ferocity of them, seared her dancing blood and pounded at the large ache in her stomach.

Rogue opened her mouth to protest - any degree of touch, was of course, out of the question - but found that her brain wasn't quite responding to its commands, too concentrated on the light, up and down movement on the side of her thumb. Any retorts or insults that had been previously buzzing around her head seemed to have slipped into a cloud of smoke, lost in the fray of every other thought frantically escaping just as quickly.

He tested her boundaries, slowly, carefully. Running gentle circles across her glove and searching her face for some sort of reaction. Anything.

She looked away suddenly, distancing herself from the flurry of emotions and other things she didn't like allowing herself to feel. But the pull of whatever else was happening seemed to draw her right back to his face, and right back to him. She realised this was becoming a habit.

Gambit's movements were attentively cautious, just plucking at the thin thread of her limits, the one which he always loved to tease whenever given the opportunity. He'd taken his time exploring the expanse of her thumb, as if he checking to see if it was safe. Briefly she wondered if it was for his safety or for her own.

Rogues brow crinkled in concentration, eyes shining brightly and glistening in the artificial light. She'd been caught off guard, and Gambit wasted no time in using this to his advantage.

Gradually, almost painfully languid, he curled his little finger around her thumb.

She inhaled sharply, still staring right at him, trying to warn him just how bad of an idea this was. But God, the things it was doing to the cloudy, giddying rush of her head and her chest; it made it hard to hide anything else that melted onto her expression.

It was the first taste of genuine, raw connection since that night in Blood Moon Bayou, since his hand had held hers out of comfort and out of farewell. He'd never hesitated to touch her in all the time she'd known him, a rarity among all, so she wasn't privy to the feelings he could illicit from her in doing so. But not since New Orleans had she felt the pang of needing him: needing his attention, and his words, and his touch, and his lips, needing his warmth and affection - at least not like she felt it now.

He unconsciously licked his lips, and then grazed the pad of his thumb along her knuckles attentively, exploring the ridges and bumps of her hand, following each and every dip in long, lazy lines.

"What are you doing?" She murmured. Rogue couldn't hear the words actually come from her mouth, or anything else in the room besides her own heavy heartbeat, so she just had to trust her body wasn't too busy being flooded with adrenaline to actually cooperate for once.

Gambit didn't answer. Instead, he unhooked his little finger and lingeringly slid it across her palm as if it were following an invisible trail across the leather of her glove. It left behind deep, tingling channels of touch and warmth, burning right through the material and into her skin like molten bronze.

Then he wrapped it around her own, his eyes following each movement as a small, genuine smile twitched at his lips.

"Faites-moi confiance."

One by one, link by link, the tips of his finger hooked with her own. Just the very tips, not quite reaching where she desperately wanted him to be. He just held her hand gently in his palm, as if he were protecting it in his own and concealing it beneath the comfort of everything that was him.

"Remy…" She breathed, barely a whisper.

He stilled.

Rogue looked up at him, and was slightly startled to see just how intently he was looking at her. His expression was achingly soft and mellow, a hazy glow of gold brushing at the rises and dips of his face like melting elixir, the artificial light shrouding him in a cast of tender warmth. His eyes, lidded and smouldering, lips parted. God, it was making the throb in her stomach explode and scream at her to do something.

But that was exactly what he was doing, she realised. He was waiting on her to act, to take the initiative. It was her move, completely and utterly.

She swallowed. Barely even thinking, barely even breathing.

He knew that for her, touch was precious. Knew that it had a heavy meaning to it.

Of course, to Remy it was an inconsequential and trivial action, something which came so easily to him, that it was almost as natural as the steady pound of his heart beat.

And of course he'd frequently taken the opportunity to touch Rogue however he could. Brushing the back of a gloved finger against her cheek with the excuse of a stray eyelash, bumping his knee against hers at the dinner table, pushing that same damn stray strand of hair behind her ear when she was too frustrated to notice it. He'd pull her into him and hold her impossibly close during a mission to try to protect her from falling shrapnel, run his fingers lightly over her forearm if it looked like the psyches were getting too much, or press lightly at the small of her back to direct her through doors she already knew to walk through. Sometimes even slipping a lazy arm around her waist or shoulder if she looked relaxed enough to not push him away. That was always a gamble, but he'd revel in it for as long as he could when it paid off.

Rogue was used to him touching her. But not like this. Not with the compassionate daze of his expression or the careful, coveting blur of his gaze which kept making her head spin in a blissful obscurity.

Her heart drummed against her ribs, pleading with her to close the gap and to back down. To indulge in the feelings which always soared at the sight or mere mention of him. Every fibre of her being craved him, shouted at her to do exactly what she always convinced herself she wouldn't do. To relish in his touch.

Rogues eyes didn't leave his as she slid her fingers slowly down his own. It felt like two parts of her were yelling at her to do two very different things, but one of them had started to loose its conviction, it had been for a while, and it was hard to actually pay attention to it when everything else was telling her just how right he actually felt.

She slipped her fingers into his as far as she could, relishing at how they both clasped tightly at the contact, how she could so clearly feel the lines and chords of the back of his hand, and breathe in the security and comfort he provided. Palm to palm, almost skin to skin, she'd forgotten every good reason she ever had for keeping him away from her, for keeping the distance safe. Risk was far more intoxicating and euphoric.

She held onto Remy tightly, lips twitching into a barely restrained smile at the flurry of her stomach as he squeezed her hand. He matched her expression with his own, cheeks dimpling just a little, same as they always did when he smiled one of those rare, real smiles.

His thumb stroked her own affectionately, sending every nerve and every synapse into a blizzard of excitement. The warmth of his skin seeped through the material of their gloves and lit up the electricity in her bones, sparking at every spare inch of her body.

Neither noticed when Storm had finished her run down of who knows what, or when she'd called out their names and assigned them to their teams, and they didn't notice when said teams began to split off from the group and the two of them were left standing on their own, too delirious and oblivious to even acknowledge anything beyond one another.

They just stood in silent companionship, relishing in the feel of their hands grasped together and the safety of each others implicit promise of protection, of each others touch.

5 am danger room sessions didn't seem so bad anymore.

—

Translation:

Faites-moi confiance - Trust me