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There are too many people in the club, which could be sort of dangerous for one of them if they aren’t careful, but after a few rounds of drinks they go out dancing anyway.
The two of them flank her so she can dance without worrying about anyone accidentally bumping into her. Pyro’s not used to dancing with a girl like this and it’s weird, but okay, because he’s a little drunk and Gambit’s smiling at him with something very much like encouragement.
Rogue stares at him with eyes gone drowsy from alcohol and the relief that comes from being able to blow off a little steam, which they’re all feeling at being able to be out without having to care where exits are or where to put a bomb for maximum effect.
Gambit’s hands are on her waist, and hers are on Pyro’s shoulders, and the music is all the same but it doesn’t matter because it’s just an excuse. Gambit shoves Rogue closer to him and still Pyro isn’t sure what to do with his hands. Maybe he needs another drink. Gambit laughs at him and tells him to relax.
Pyro glares at him because he doesn’t like that condescending tone in Gambit’s voice, or the implication that just because he’s never done this before that he can’t. He puts his hands above Gambit’s on Rogue’s waist and hauls her closer out of spite.
The three of them are pressed together and no one’s paying them any attention, and Gambit’s murmuring something in Rogue’s ear that makes her laugh. Pyro’s surprised to feel himself get hard because this isn’t usually his sort of fantasy.
Someone’s hands are on his back—hers, the satin is slick against his sweat-dampened skin—and it’s nice even though it’s different, which is just like how her body feels pressed against his.
Gambit wraps his hand in Rogue’s hair and tugs her head back so that it’s pressed against his shoulder. His hands slide up from her side to rub over her breasts. Pyro watches and reaches out to rub his fingers over Gambit’s mouth. Gambit sucks on them hard.
Gambit lifts Rogue up off the floor and pushes her forward so she ends up straddling Pyro, her legs tight around his waist. She’s gyrating like she’s dancing, and he’s smiling up at her because she’s hot and it feels good, and Gambit’s grinning like he won the lottery.
Pyro presses his fingers down over Rogue’s breasts and twists her nipple, wondering if he’ll hurt her. She tightens her legs around him but doesn’t cry out, though her eyes close briefly when he does it again. She pushes herself against him harder and he stumbles backwards a little. Her gloved fingers are wrapped in his shirt and she’s giving him a challenging sort of look, so he twists her nipple one more time, hard, and smiles when she gasps and bites her lip.
He feels the familiar spread of Gambit’s hands on his hips, thumbs rubbing in slow circles over the fabric of his jeans. The tension grows until it’s almost unbearable. Pyro doesn’t care whose body’s against his anymore. He just wants to come.
Gambit meets his eyes and jerks his head over towards a secluded corner, and Pyro follows with Rogue still straddling him. He pushes her against the wall and she doesn’t seem to mind the strength with which he does this. Gambit’s behind him, and they’re all breathing too fast but still nobody’s making a sound that isn’t a gasp or a moan.
Gambit’s hands tangle in Pyro’s hair and pulls, and he kisses him hard while Pyro’s hips push against Rogue. Pyro can feel Gambit against his back, and Rogue’s arms around his neck, and his hands are on her breasts again. He’s not sure what he’s doing but she seems to be having fun, so he’s not going to worry about it.
If anyone could see them, Pyro’s pretty sure they’d get kicked out, and he really hopes no one sees them because he doesn’t think any of them could stop even if they wanted to. Gambit’s biting his neck, and the hand that’s not tangled in Pyro’s hair presses over the one Pyro has on Rogue’s breast. Her hair is in her face and Pyro can barely see her, but he lets Gambit move his hand over her body and tilts his neck so Gambit has more places to bite.
Rogue’s body tenses against him and she tosses her head back, and he hears her cry out. She’s grasping at Gambit’s hair now, too, panting as she comes. Pyro shoves forward one last time as the tension breaks, and he buries his face in the crook of her neck and doesn’t care that she’s starting to draw from him. It hurts but it feels good, too, and he stays that way until he’s finished. Gambit’s body arches forward and he yanks Pyro’s head back again, but he doesn’t kiss him, just stares at him while his body shudders and relaxes.
Ten minutes later and they’re all in a booth on the other side of the club with a new round of drinks, talking about nothing important. Gambit switches to water after his last bourbon, because someone has to drive the boat when they leave. Gambit steals a pack of smokes from some drunk guy at the bar, and hands them all one. Rogue’s hand shakes slightly and Pyro tries twice to light her cigarette before he manages to do it, and Gambit winks at him when Pyro lights his.
They leave shortly after that with the pack of smokes lying on the table. They don’t need them anymore.
The boat groans low beneath them as it cuts across dark water, the shoreline a jagged smear of lights behind them. None of them speak for a long time. The club's noise still thrums in their heads, muffled now by distance and the slap of waves against the hull.
Rogue’s sitting up front, legs pulled to her chest, hair whipping loose in the wind. She hasn’t said a word since they climbed aboard. Every so often, Pyro sees her thumb the spot where his hand had been, like she’s checking whether it really happened. He wonders if she regrets it. Wonders if he should.
Gambit steers with one hand and rests the other on the back of the seat beside him, like it costs nothing. Like none of it mattered. His eyes would flick over toward Pyro, and there’s something in the look, measured, not unkind, that keeps Pyro from lighting another cigarette.
It was supposed to be a release valve. A weird, maybe slightly fucked-up kind of celebration. They survived another job. No one got shot. No one got burned. No alarms, no sirens. Just them, music, drinks, bodies.
Pyro leans back and watches the water spray up white along the edges of the boat. His skin still tingles where Gambit touched him. Where Rogue’s gloves gripped tight enough to leave wrinkled impressions on his shirt. His neck stings faintly. It’s not bad.
He doesn’t know what to do with the feeling sitting behind his ribs. He isn’t used to this kind of closeness. Not when it doesn’t come with blood or fire.
“Y’all good back there?” Gambit calls out, voice light but carrying over the motor.
“Peachy,” Pyro mutters. Rogue doesn’t answer. She’s staring out at the dark like it’s trying to say something to her.
Eventually, Gambit cuts the engine and lets the boat drift near the shore. There’s an old dock they sometimes use when they don’t want anyone noticing they’ve come back. The moon’s low, fat and dull, and the trees make shadows like arms stretching.
Gambit tosses a rope to Pyro.
“Tie us off?”
Pyro moves automatically, grateful for something to do. When he climbs back in, Rogue is standing. She hops off first and lands light, boot heels silent on the weathered boards. Gambit moves to follow, then pauses and looks at Pyro.
“We don’t have to talk about it,” he says. Not an offer. Just a statement.
Pyro shrugs. “Good. I wouldn’t know what to say anyway.”
“Didn’t look like you were having trouble earlier.”
Pyro shoots him a look.
“You gonna be smug about it now?”
Gambit’s grin is brief. '
“Only a little.”
He slings his bag over his shoulder and steps onto the dock, leaving Pyro alone for a moment. The air is damp and smells like moss and gasoline. Pyro runs a hand through his hair. He still doesn’t know how he feels. That’s the part that bothers him.
When he finally steps off the boat, he catches up with them just as they’re heading down the narrow path toward the house. Rogue doesn’t look at him, but her hand brushes his as they walk side by side, just once.
He doesn’t know what any of it means yet. Maybe nothing, or it's something more dangerous than he wants to admit. For now, they’re alive, and the woods are quiet, and no one’s hunting them. And that, was always worth celebrating.