Consolation Prize

Summary: John wants Bobby, and Gambit wants Rogue. But as long as Bobby and Rogue are together, they have to settle for what they can get SLASH
Fandom: X-men
Pairings: Bobby/Rogue, John/Bobby (One-sided), Remy/Rogue (One-sided), Remy/John
Warnings: Slash
Disclaimer: They all belong to people with expensive lawyers. I'm just screwing with them for my own twisted amusement
Author's Note: I have nothing more than the vaguest passing acquaintance with the comic-verse canon. Everything I know about Gambit comes from reading other people's fics. So if he's OOC, it isn't my fault. Besides – he's drunk. He doesn't have to be in character

Always remember – feedback is crack for fan-fiction writers

St John Allerdyce was in an exceptionally foul mood. Because Bobby Drake, the guy he'd wanted ever since he'd first laid eyes on him, had just announced to the entire school that he was going out with Rogue. A cheer greeted this declaration, since most of them were at the stage where they would cheer anything on general principle – they were so high on sugar they might as well have been drinking. John decided that he'd had about all he could take of this particular party.

He wove his way through the crowd and slipped out of the doors to the corridor. The thought of drinking heavily suddenly seemed very appealing, so his feet took him on the familiar route to the boy's dorms.

John tensed at the sound of footsteps behind him. Anyone but Jubilee, he thought. She'd spent half of the night trying to chat him up, and the other half happily ignoring his decreasingly subtle hints that he wasn't interested. He couldn't see what was going to put her off short of standing on a table and announcing to the entire school that he was gay. Admittedly he'd probably get a cheer, but that was beside the point.

But whoever it was turned a corner before they reached him, so he continued on his way undisturbed. It wasn't long before he reached his destination – Gambit's room.

Drink was technically forbidden to students, but the Cajun always seemed able to get alcohol from somewhere, and a black market of sorts had sprung up. The alcoholically inclined students always went to him for drink. Although he generally charged money, it was free to a select few, and John was privileged to be one of them. They had spent a great many nights getting pleasantly drunk, turning up for class hung-over if they turned up at all. He knocked the door – no answer.

"You lookin' fo' Remy, chéri?"

John turned at the sound of the voice behind him. Gambit ambled along the corridor, his usual devilishly charming grin slightly marred by the fact that he was clearly supremely pissed-off about something. John shrugged;

"I was lookin' for some drink."
"Chéri no' havin' fun at de party?"
"Well guessed."

John followed Gambit into the room, and flopped onto the bed as the thief rooted about in a drawer - finally producing a bottle of whiskey which he tossed to John. He opened it gratefully and took a long pull as Remy sank onto the bed beside him. They passed the bottle back and forth in companionable silence for a while, the noise of the party filtering up through the carpet. The floor trembled slightly from the volume of music and sheer mass of people below.

"So what eatin' you, chéri?" Remy said eventually.

If anyone else had asked, John would have said that he was just in desperate need of a drink, then changed the subject. But apart from Bobby, Remy was the closest thing he had to a friend at the school. So he found himself telling the whole, long, pathetic saga. Later he would blame the whiskey (They were on the second bottle), but it seemed like a good idea at the time.

"…and now he's with her," he finished morosely. He drained the last of the whiskey and looked at Remy, who had a rather odd look on his face.
"Remy glad to see he no' de only one no' happy 'bout that."
"Eh?" With parts of his brain gently dissolving in Jack Daniels' finest, John wasn't exactly thinking straight. But even in such a state, certain things suddenly became clear to him. He likes Rogue? Actually, that does explain a lot.

They spent the next while plotting ways of breaking up Bobby and Rogue, which was fun even if they would never work. A third bottle – Morgan's Spiced this time – was being passed back and forth as they commiserated. Ironic that the school's biggest rebel and most notorious skirt-chaser would find themselves in such a situation.

John finished the Morgan's, staggered across the room – much more difficult that it sounded, as the floor kept trying to become a wall – and fished in the drawer for a fourth bottle. To his frustration, he couldn't find one. He shook his head to clear the fog from his mind and tried to concentrate. Come on, alcohol tolerance, where are you when I need you? He stood still for a moment and forced himself to think coherently.

"Remy? Where's the booze?"

Remy stood and crossed the room – a little more steadily than John – and looked at the drawer for a moment as if trying to work something out.

"Remy don' think dere is any more."

John looked up at Remy, who was probably a foot taller than him, and shrugged. They were probably drunk enough already. He turned and attempted to walk back to the bed, but his feet betrayed him and he stumbled. He probably would have done himself a serious injury if Remy hadn't caught him and pulled him upright. John leaned against the thief, not trusting his own legs to hold him.

"Rogue doesn't know what she's missin'," he mumbled into Remy's jacket.
"Remy thinks cheri 'as 'ad too much to drink."
"No, m' serious." John gave a bright smile quite unlike his usual smirk.

John prided himself on knowing what to do in almost every situation. But he found himself momentarily at a loss when Remy kissed him.