Disclaimer: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Unbeta-ed, so all mistakes are mine.

CHAPTER TWELVE: IT’S RAINING MEN

Did Remy LeBeau’s ass just fly by me?

And without really thinking about it Marie darted over to her window, yanked it open. Poked her head through to check the (now soaking) alley out back. Below her the Cajun was lying, spread-eagled, on the sidewalk; Despite the rain he was holding a glowing playing card in one hand and a pair of familiar-looking- make that a very familiar-looking- Hello Kitty panties in the other. The fact that he had probably just condemned himself to a slow and painful death for underwear theft apparently of no consequence to him at all-

Because after all, he was the amazing Gambit: Marie seriously doubted hers were the first undies he’d lifted, just like she seriously doubted they’d be the last.

And Ah believe the phrase Ah’m looking for is Eew.

Apparently his Moronic Assness wasn’t done with making with the suicidal yet however. “You-hoo, fur-ball!” he was cooing up at a point to her left, “Look what Roguey gave me-”

And as if to emphasise he began spinning the panties around on one finger. Lifting the other hand and giving someone on at the window beside her a jaunty little wave. Marie flipped him the bird and his grin grew wider: The rain was slicking his clothes to his body now, and he knew that he looked good. Devilishly good. Gay porn actor good- Not that Marie had ever been persuaded to watch that stuff with Bobby before he finally renounced his Narnia-seeking ways. But moving swiftly along…LeBeau caught her watching and raked on hand through his soaking hair before shaking it out, smouldering. The effect what every Calvin Klein ad campaign had tried to capture and none had ever come near. “You welcome to look, Armed,” he was calling to her, pouting, “Cos Ah know you no get enough o’ me tonight, darlin’-”

Well, that was a epically dumb word to use.

Because with an oh-so-familiar snarl Marie saw another shape blur by her window then. A muscular, hairy, angry-looking shape that landed easily on the alleyway, its body automatically folding into a perfect crouch. The scent of Kick-Ass pouring off of it like the stink of Teen Spirit deodorant at a high-school dance, the fact that Remy had used his term of endearment on her obviously making him ornery as Hell. Lightning struck again, glinting off adamantium claws but even without that Marie knew who she was looking at: Logan had just jumped into the alley and appeared ready to engage Gambit in a spot of hottie-on-hottie action. Jesus Christ, Shepherd of Judea, she thought, What did Ah do to deserve this? Marie shook her head to herself, trying to clear it: The smart, adult X-Man part of her brain so beloved by Ororo Munroe and Hank McCoy was telling her to go down there this instant and break the fight up but the Jubilee portion of her brain was practically bouncing with excitement. Clapping with pent-up, girlish glee. Because while Marie genuinely didn’t want anyone hurt, and had never gotten off on watching two men fight for her, and knew well that she was a strong-minded, independent woman with a mind and a will of her own-

Well, she had a ringside seat for two gorgeous, soaking wet mutants making with the manly and she was only frickin’ human: Of course she wanted to watch this.

She wasn’t very proud of herself about it, but whatcha gonna do?

“I’m gonna gut you, Gumbo,” Logan growled then. He was circling the Cajun slowly, the claws to the fore. “They’re gonna be finding pieces of you fer weeks-”

Remy grinned. “Maybe, but dat no matter Wolvie: Marie’s already found herself the most interesting piece o’ me-”

Snikt. “No matter how much you’ve taken from Rogue,” Logan hissed, “I guarantee you ain’t come close t’seeing the most interesting parts o’ my Marie-”

“Like what? That gorgeous rack o’ hers?”

The feral showed his teeth. “No, that gorgeous fucking person inside, ya dumb-ass.”

And with that he slashed angrily at Gambit, the Cajun darting out of the way at the last minute. A blush at his words rapidly staining Rogue’s face even as he swatted Gambit’s pre-charged playing card easily out of his hand. Because only Logan could have made the threat of skewering one of his best friends into something endearing. The card went off with a small boom, taking some of Remy’s shirt and jeans leg with it. Leaving him sporting an expanse of bare, muscled-looking calf, thigh and chest where once there had been cloth. Marie heard a burst of applause to her right and realised that the local working girls- and some drunken female tourists- were now watching the match, ogling her honeys. Sending a surge of possessive annoyance through her veins. Neither man seemed worried though: Gambit clearly liked the idea of putting on a performance and Logan was too fucking angry to give a rat’s ass. (He was also wearing a lot more and looking a lot better, which might have had something to do with his mood). Remy turned to give the female spectators a playful bow and Logan took his opportunity, raining down three quick, dirty blows on his friend and forcing LeBeau back into a corner. Muttering an angry string of cuss words like man-whore and Chlamydia-carrier and (Marie’s new favourite) yo-yo boxers with the fervour of a Baptist minister who’d suddenly found he could speak in tongues-

Which was all kinds of hot and wrong and sexy, but Marie couldn’t bring herself to mind.

Gambit began fighting back then, keeping up the taunting. “Six fucking years with her, homme, and no action?” he was calling. “What, you need me to draw you a fucking map?” He began ducking and diving, practically dancing around Logan. Manoeuvring the feral towards the back an open garage at the end of the alley. Marie felt worry race up her spine at the realisation- nobody puts Wolvie in a corner, dammit!- and began making for the ground floor. Hoping that she got outside before somebody lost a limb. Because while on some level she knew that she was being paranoid- he was The Butch and Mighty Wolverineä , for crying out loud- she couldn’t help the way her protective instincts went off where Logan was concerned-

After all, he was her Wolvie; Remy could go get his own damn feral to annoy.

Determined therefore to stop the match- she’d gotten her eyeful already- she tore down the stairs and out through the bar to the alley. Half consciously noting Jubes taking bets to her right, muttering, “Mommy likes La Perla,” when Kitty tutted disapprovingly beside her. Pete Parker’s face buried in one hand, muttering “Why couldn’t I be blind, God? Why didn’t you make me blind?” to the chica’s left. By now Gambit had started charging small objects and flinging them at Logan, the need to force him into that open garage obviously becoming more pressing. The swamp rat’s glances at Jubie getting more and more noticeable, panic starting to leak off him just like his French cologne. Before Jubes could intervene- which was what Marie presumed LeBeau wanted her to do- Rogue lunged in between the two fighters. The need to stop this nonsense making her slightly less than strategically-minded for all her X-Men training. As soon as was in place Remy grabbed her and launched her into Logan, knocking both of the backwards into the darkened garage and then charging the garage door with a single, well-thrown card. The door slamming shut with lightning speed and plunging both herself and Logan into darkness. For a second the only things she could register were the sound of their panting breaths and the feel of 300 pounds of soaking wet badass against her chest and then-

Then-

A tiny paff appeared in the corner of the garage. Another joining it, too miniscule to do any damage if they went off. Within seconds a whole host of paffs had appeared at the side of the garage, illuminating a bunch of warm-looking blankets, a make-shift double bed. Multi-coloured fairy lights blinking on to replace the paffs and lighting up the space, showing off the poster someone had hung over the bed: You‘re not getting out until you sort this shit, chica, it read. Marie felt Logan shift, taking in the scene around him: Candles stood stacked in one corner, a post-it saying light me plastered next to them. Another post-it saying unclench, hair-ball and talk to her plastered to their right. A bottle of red wine and some containers of food were arranged on the blankets, a box of Cubans and- in an act of tactlessness which could only be the handiwork of Jubilee- a massive box of Trojans XXL beside them. A CD player and batteries laid out near the back. In short, they’d been left in here with everything they needed for a romantic night in, or a heart-wrenching discussion of their relationship-

“You get the feeling that they’re trying to tell us something, shuggs?” Marie drawled.

“What the fuck gave you that idea, darlin’?”