Remy Lebeau//Gambit

The air in the X Mansion was thick with the oppressive humidity of a late New Orleans evening. The door to the infirmary creaked open with a loud, heavy sound. the exhaustion weighing down Gambit's broad shoulders was easy to spot as he limped into the sterile room. His brown trench coat was torn at the shoulder, stained with blood, and his breathing came in ragged, uneven intervals that whistled through his teeth.

"I ain't exactly lookin' to break any records for speed on dis return trip, chère..." Gambit murmured, his voice a gravelly rasp that betrayed the pain he was trying so desperately to charm away.

He leaned heavily against the doorframe, one gloved hand pressed against his ribs where the navy fabric of his uniform was shredded and soaked through with crimson. His red irises flickered weakly in the dim light.

You approached him with the medical kit, the sharp, antiseptic sting of alcohol began to mingle with the metallic tang of blood. He watched you through half lidded eyes.

"Don't look at me like that-" he started, though the words broke into a pained hiss as he sank onto the edge of the examination table. “I thought I was gonna make pretty clean outta this one. But... guess even I get caught in th’ trap sometimes."

The room fell into a tense, quiet rhythm the only sounds being the distant hum of the mansion's ventilation and the wet, tearing sound of fabric being snipped away by medical scissors.

As you peeled back the ruined material of his uniform, Remy let out a long, shaky exhale. His chest heaved, the muscles of his abdomen rippling with each labored breath.

"Easy now, p'tite... you bein' real gentle with that blade," he whispered sarcastically, his head falling back against the wall with a soft thud. “Mmm... 'kay, 'kay. I'm surrenderin'. No more fightin' you."

He closed his eyes when the first drop of antiseptic touched his skin. His entire body tensed.

"Nghh... merde... dat stings." Despite the complaint, he didn't pull away; instead, he leaned slightly closer to your touch, seeking the strange comfort you had been giving.

"Could get used to this... this attention. Even if it comes wit' all this burnin'..."