Disclaimer:If I owned X-men Evo, it'd still be on air. But I don't. Tears fall. Enjoy.

X.x.x.x.X

Even if she could touch him, would she let his fingers, his lips graze her pale, virgin flesh? Because, she figured, he could just be a dog that wants a bone, and than gets bored once he has it. That would always send her into a tizzy of depression until Kitty, or Kurt, or-God forbid-Jean asks her what's wrong and she chooses to be unhealthy, bottle it up, and say in her Southern drawl, "Nothin…"

Every time he saw her, he smiled in that addictive way of his, mouth slightly to side, charming, and his demonic eyes are lusty and could it be? Caring; to see past the purple lips, eyes eye lined into oblivion, maybe want more than to touch her and not end up comatose? More than a quick kiss, a unforgettable night in bed. Could the Ragin' Cajun not want to break her heart?

Almost every conversation was banter, him asking if she could part her lips (but never spread her legs, he was to much of a gentlemen-wasn't he) and let them meet hers', he could deal with his deep secrets being drained, and his veins popping out, always saying "Remy's strong. He can take a bit of hurt from his favorite Chere." One day, she would give in, and give him the ultimate test.

Today was the day.

They met in a bar, immediately chiding her for her fake I.D. "Remy don't wanna see you in trouble Chere, non. He couldn't live with you being locked up, kissin' jail trash." She'd throw him a, "And what are ya? Swamp rat trash?" He'd chuckle, and buy her a drink-vodka on the rocks, her favorite. All while she was drinking it, the room would begin to move but no, the Gambit's eyes were unwavering. Maybe it was her intoxication, induced by his money, or maybe she was just daring that night. So she giggled-it had to be the alcohol-and gave him the kiss he'd been waiting years for.

The thief would stagger, and she'd be flood with memories of his Louisiana pickpocket days, and of course, the recollection of their first kiss when he'd kidnapped her and made her fall for him even more. His knees would give way, but the denim that covered them wouldn't hit the floor, he was strong enough. Letting her inside his head, it made him a little sheepish, he scratched his stubble, and leaned in for more, but she waggled a gloved finger at him.

"Non, non, not tonight," mocking him, she absorbed his French.

But there would be other nights. Other nights where they would do more, because he could take it.