Sans Pitié
Day One, 1st Hour, 10th Minute
Remy had never for a moment thought that he would lose. And now for the next thirty-one days (or 744 hours or—best not to think of minutes), he was entirely at Rogue’s mercy.
Remy knew from personal experience, Rogue had no mercy.
He growled in frustration and paced his bedroom while holding his head in his hands and trying vainly to find some way he could have played it differently. Won.
They knew what their big blind was from the beginning. The slavery. But for fun, they opted to work terms as bets.
Round One:
Start time. Rogue had yawned and called for start time of 5:00 am following the game. He’d raised her, went for midnight. She grinned lazily. He won that round, two out of three.
Slavery began at midnight directly following the game. His win. Wake up calls were a viable labor available (no way that Rogue would be wanting to get up the next morning; Remy, of course, said he’d be fine). Her win. Duration would be the length of the longest month, namely thirty-one days. His win.
His grim smile at that.
Round Two:
Acceptable labors. Rogue seriously won this two out of three hands. One of his first clues, something was afoot. (Who taught that femme to play!)
He’d gone for physicality (or at least trying; he may not have known her well, but he did know she had killer skin). She’d slapped that down with a full house on top of his flush of hearts (yes, he’d been making a point).
Rogue bet any physical labor, including but not limited to errands, chores, bodyguarding, and general non-contact manual labor. He’d been dealt a made hand, four of a kind. Unless she had something real special going on (and she had a fabulous poker face!), then he had her. He called without raising. They drew. He won. She smiled slightly, having learned he bluffed.
Remy decided to bet the house: any kind of labor whatsoever, providing it neither broke rules (at Logan’s forceful suggestion) or dignity (disregarding earlier clauses regarding manual labor), was eligible. Rogue raised to drop the dignity clause. Lousy sucker, he went for it. And lost. The femmehad a straight flush to his full house. Of course, this was after he re-raised for required company being dubbed "labor."
Round Three:
Punishment for misbehavior. He won the hands solid. In summary, punishment of the slave could be anything the imagination of the winner devised, provided it was acceptable by Xavier’s house and, if applicable, school rules.
Never should have gone there.
Remy groaned, still pacing, and glanced at the clock by his bed. 2:30 a.m. A slave and already dreading it, though his mistress was sound asleep.
He sat down.
They went six more rounds. The slave’s schedule belonged to Storm first, but afterwards to the winner. The winner had to provide any funds if required for slave to accomplish duties and assignments. The slave had to be available to help with classwork if required (Remy had liked that one especially, as he was a much worse teacher than he was a thief). Thievery was not allowed by the slave in the completion of his assignments (this was after she let on that she was playing like a poker master). No arbitration was available for the slave. Clothing and general appearance of the slave could be determined by the winner.
Finally, they played to take the pot.
Round Ten:
This time, it was only one hand and Remy’s was anything but a made one. The Ten of Spades, the Ten of Diamonds, the Ten of Clubs. The Jack of Diamonds and the Queen of Diamonds. He could draw for four of a kind (easier to achieve perhaps) or for a straight flush in Diamonds (more valuable).
Rogue made an infinitesimal frown at her cards before blanking her face like a stone. Emma Frost smirked.
He’d bet money she had a drawing hand too. Of course, not his money.
Remy called. Rogue called.
They drew.
He traded in his Club and Spade and got back the Nine and Eight of Diamonds. It had been a risk, but unless the femme went royal, the hand was his.
Remy had never thought for a moment he would lose.
Until she lay down a Ten of Hearts (good thing he hadn’t gone for four of a kind!), a Jack of Hearts (this wasn’t looking good), a Queen of Hearts (this was impossible!), a King of Hearts (he was speechless), and the Ace.
No mercy. He knew from personal experience that Rogue had no mercy at all.
Day One, 4th Hour, 28th Minute
The Prince of Thieves had finally fallen into some kind of a fitful sleep when his cell phone began a violent assault on his dream world. He stumbled out of the bed and opened it.
"Gambit." His voice betrayed nothing but the perfect thief for hire.
"Hey, sugar," Rogue’s sexy voice said breezily. "I just finished a session with Emma and I need a wake-up call in exactly one hour. 5:30 sharp, ya hear?"
He sank back onto his covers. 5:30 a.m.? Didn’t she know he needed sleep too? But as he toyed with it, ideas came to mind. Not unpleasant ones. Thoughts and images of her sleeping flitted through his consciousness. "Certainly, chère. I’ll wake you up."
Something in his tone must have tipped her off. "Just call, Swamp Rat," she snapped.
From sugar to rat in a matter of seconds.
"You wound me, chère."
"The only thing wounded is your pride. Here’s Kitty’s cell number." She drawled out her roommate’s phone number.
"Kitty’s? What about yours?" Remy grinned. "You need the wake-up call, non?"
He heard some shuffling of papers and something, then a thump and Rogue’s voice again. "If you’d ever heard the obnoxious ringtone she has for when you call, you’d know it’s more than sufficient to wake you after one of your drunken binges—"
He sat straight up at that. "Chère!"
"—from here!" Rogue huffed. "So call Kitty. Five thirty. And you don’t have to wait for her to answer."
She hung up.
Remy swore softly at his cell phone in French. He’d wake her up. He set his own alarm for another forty-five minutes.
Day One, 5th Hour, 30th Minute
At 5:30 a.m. sharp, Remy picked up the phone and tapped out Kitty’s number.
She picked up fairly quickly. A groggy voice demanded, "Hello?"
"Morning, petite," Remy replied smoothly. "This is your wake up call."
"My what?" Kitty squealed.
He winced.
"Wake up—" Kitty’s loud voice stopped abruptly. "Oh. Her wake up call."
"Oui. Time she be up."
Kitty broke out into giggles. "You should see her, Gambit. She’s running around this room looking for the rest of her clothes."
He could hear angry shouting in the background, but his curiosity was piqued. "And what is the Rogue wearing?"
"Remy!"
Remy grinned. He had apparently shocked her enough to get his proper name. "Well, what is she?" He had all sorts of ideas of what Rogue wore to bed. More interesting the idea that she might be getting dressed.
"You’re evil!" Kitty choked out between giggles. "I can’t tell you that. Rogue!"
"Non. Merci." Remy withdrew hurriedly. "Rogue not be needing to know I asked."
No arbitration was available for the slave.
Kitty snickered.
"He wanted to know what you were wearing." A slight pause. "Or weren’t."
Remy cringed and a shriek in the background assured him that Rogue would exact revenge. He hung up the phone and stared at it.
Remy knew from personal experience, Kitty had no mercy.
Remy had never for a moment thought that he would lose. And now for the next thirty-one days (or 744 hours or—best not to think of minutes), he was entirely at Rogue’s mercy.
Remy knew from personal experience, Rogue had no mercy.
He growled in frustration and paced his bedroom while holding his head in his hands and trying vainly to find some way he could have played it differently. Won.
They knew what their big blind was from the beginning. The slavery. But for fun, they opted to work terms as bets.
Round One:
Start time. Rogue had yawned and called for start time of 5:00 am following the game. He’d raised her, went for midnight. She grinned lazily. He won that round, two out of three.
Slavery began at midnight directly following the game. His win. Wake up calls were a viable labor available (no way that Rogue would be wanting to get up the next morning; Remy, of course, said he’d be fine). Her win. Duration would be the length of the longest month, namely thirty-one days. His win.
His grim smile at that.
Round Two:
Acceptable labors. Rogue seriously won this two out of three hands. One of his first clues, something was afoot. (Who taught that femme to play!)
He’d gone for physicality (or at least trying; he may not have known her well, but he did know she had killer skin). She’d slapped that down with a full house on top of his flush of hearts (yes, he’d been making a point).
Rogue bet any physical labor, including but not limited to errands, chores, bodyguarding, and general non-contact manual labor. He’d been dealt a made hand, four of a kind. Unless she had something real special going on (and she had a fabulous poker face!), then he had her. He called without raising. They drew. He won. She smiled slightly, having learned he bluffed.
Remy decided to bet the house: any kind of labor whatsoever, providing it neither broke rules (at Logan’s forceful suggestion) or dignity (disregarding earlier clauses regarding manual labor), was eligible. Rogue raised to drop the dignity clause. Lousy sucker, he went for it. And lost. The femmehad a straight flush to his full house. Of course, this was after he re-raised for required company being dubbed "labor."
Round Three:
Punishment for misbehavior. He won the hands solid. In summary, punishment of the slave could be anything the imagination of the winner devised, provided it was acceptable by Xavier’s house and, if applicable, school rules.
Never should have gone there.
Remy groaned, still pacing, and glanced at the clock by his bed. 2:30 a.m. A slave and already dreading it, though his mistress was sound asleep.
He sat down.
They went six more rounds. The slave’s schedule belonged to Storm first, but afterwards to the winner. The winner had to provide any funds if required for slave to accomplish duties and assignments. The slave had to be available to help with classwork if required (Remy had liked that one especially, as he was a much worse teacher than he was a thief). Thievery was not allowed by the slave in the completion of his assignments (this was after she let on that she was playing like a poker master). No arbitration was available for the slave. Clothing and general appearance of the slave could be determined by the winner.
Finally, they played to take the pot.
Round Ten:
This time, it was only one hand and Remy’s was anything but a made one. The Ten of Spades, the Ten of Diamonds, the Ten of Clubs. The Jack of Diamonds and the Queen of Diamonds. He could draw for four of a kind (easier to achieve perhaps) or for a straight flush in Diamonds (more valuable).
Rogue made an infinitesimal frown at her cards before blanking her face like a stone. Emma Frost smirked.
He’d bet money she had a drawing hand too. Of course, not his money.
Remy called. Rogue called.
They drew.
He traded in his Club and Spade and got back the Nine and Eight of Diamonds. It had been a risk, but unless the femme went royal, the hand was his.
Remy had never thought for a moment he would lose.
Until she lay down a Ten of Hearts (good thing he hadn’t gone for four of a kind!), a Jack of Hearts (this wasn’t looking good), a Queen of Hearts (this was impossible!), a King of Hearts (he was speechless), and the Ace.
No mercy. He knew from personal experience that Rogue had no mercy at all.
Day One, 4th Hour, 28th Minute
The Prince of Thieves had finally fallen into some kind of a fitful sleep when his cell phone began a violent assault on his dream world. He stumbled out of the bed and opened it.
"Gambit." His voice betrayed nothing but the perfect thief for hire.
"Hey, sugar," Rogue’s sexy voice said breezily. "I just finished a session with Emma and I need a wake-up call in exactly one hour. 5:30 sharp, ya hear?"
He sank back onto his covers. 5:30 a.m.? Didn’t she know he needed sleep too? But as he toyed with it, ideas came to mind. Not unpleasant ones. Thoughts and images of her sleeping flitted through his consciousness. "Certainly, chère. I’ll wake you up."
Something in his tone must have tipped her off. "Just call, Swamp Rat," she snapped.
From sugar to rat in a matter of seconds.
"You wound me, chère."
"The only thing wounded is your pride. Here’s Kitty’s cell number." She drawled out her roommate’s phone number.
"Kitty’s? What about yours?" Remy grinned. "You need the wake-up call, non?"
He heard some shuffling of papers and something, then a thump and Rogue’s voice again. "If you’d ever heard the obnoxious ringtone she has for when you call, you’d know it’s more than sufficient to wake you after one of your drunken binges—"
He sat straight up at that. "Chère!"
"—from here!" Rogue huffed. "So call Kitty. Five thirty. And you don’t have to wait for her to answer."
She hung up.
Remy swore softly at his cell phone in French. He’d wake her up. He set his own alarm for another forty-five minutes.
Day One, 5th Hour, 30th Minute
At 5:30 a.m. sharp, Remy picked up the phone and tapped out Kitty’s number.
She picked up fairly quickly. A groggy voice demanded, "Hello?"
"Morning, petite," Remy replied smoothly. "This is your wake up call."
"My what?" Kitty squealed.
He winced.
"Wake up—" Kitty’s loud voice stopped abruptly. "Oh. Her wake up call."
"Oui. Time she be up."
Kitty broke out into giggles. "You should see her, Gambit. She’s running around this room looking for the rest of her clothes."
He could hear angry shouting in the background, but his curiosity was piqued. "And what is the Rogue wearing?"
"Remy!"
Remy grinned. He had apparently shocked her enough to get his proper name. "Well, what is she?" He had all sorts of ideas of what Rogue wore to bed. More interesting the idea that she might be getting dressed.
"You’re evil!" Kitty choked out between giggles. "I can’t tell you that. Rogue!"
"Non. Merci." Remy withdrew hurriedly. "Rogue not be needing to know I asked."
No arbitration was available for the slave.
Kitty snickered.
"He wanted to know what you were wearing." A slight pause. "Or weren’t."
Remy cringed and a shriek in the background assured him that Rogue would exact revenge. He hung up the phone and stared at it.
Remy knew from personal experience, Kitty had no mercy.
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