Dark Legends It's My Aeroplane

Nathaniel Essex tried to settle his emotions. They didn't
react as quickly as he was used to. He ground his teeth for a moment
and closed his eyes. The rage, the pain, the frustration retreated to
their little corner of his mind. He pressed his handkerchief to his
nose and wiped away the blood. The shots were slowing the virus, not
defeating it. He nearly snarled at the soft knock on his hotel room
door. The soft, silky pressure of LeBeau's empathy reached out in
greeting.
Essex opened the door. "Enter."
LeBeau slid in. His leather pants and dark red tee-shirt
clung to him. His battered trench-coat was folded over his arm, a
show of trust. "Sit down. I've called room service." They settled to
either side of the small, circular table. Gambit held his coat on his
lap. "What information do you have for me?"
"McCoy's sent some disks f' y'. HE ain't found anyt'in' that
explains why we ain't affected. Mais, it's just random chance."
"Or perhaps your powers are already at their peak level. I
don't particularly care. Find a way to reverse the damage done by the
virus."
Gambit pushed the disks to the center of the table. Sinister
caught his wrist before he could pull it back. "LeBeau."
"Oui?" Remy's nerves jangled in an uneven cadence. He hated
skin to skin contact. Essex's emotions tingled along his skin like
the threat of a lightening strike. He met Sinister's eyes without
betraying his fear.
"This lack of progress is intolerable."
"Y're frustrated, oui?" Remy soothed. The grip on his wrist
tightened.
"Sources tell me you've become distracted."
Gambit blinked. "Nat'aniel?"
"This relationship with Wolverine is distracting you."
"It's necessary. It gives m' access t' t'ings I ain't allowed
near otherwise. Keeps people form questionin'."
"You've forgotten that you aren't his."
"Nat'aniel? Nat'aniel, it was one night. I needed t' f'get
Belle and y' needed release! Let go of m'."
"No, I will not let go."
//Lust. Anger. Pain. Need. Possession.// Remy felt the
emotions batter against his shields – raw, needy. He couldn't deny
that need when it was so easy to cure. Maybe if he soothed the
scientist's ache he'd be more rational. A sudden twist of Essex's
wrist and Remy whimpered in pain. He summoned tears to his eyes.
"You cannot lie to me, LeBeau. I know your involvement with
Wolverine is more than you have told me. On your knees, whelp."
Remy complied, eyes wide, coat a crumpled mass by his side.
The grip on his arm was exquisitely painful and incredibly arousing.
Logan oscillated between roles and Remy found himself controlling
their stolen moments. Nathaniel had no such difficulties. The
backhanded blow was unexpected. It split Remy's lip. The second left
his cheekbone so sore he was sure it was broken.
"Never lie to me again, Remy," Essex warned. His arousal was
reaching fever pitch. He opened his pants. "Wet it well. It's all
you'll get," he stated, pulling the thief forward by his chin. Remys
trugged and his arm was twisted further. He opened his mouth to suck
and lick the presented cock. There was an oddly metallic taste to
Essex's skin. Remy assumed it was due to his armored skin. He took
Essex as deeply as he could. He tasted his own blood. Hopefully, he'd
be able to bring the man off before anything more happened. Essex
pulled him away by his bangs. "Fool." He released the thief's wrist.
Then, tossed him face down. He saw his zipper start to glow. "That
would be unwise." The glow faded. Remy pushed himself upright with
one hand, his other wrist strained if not broken.
Sinister pushed him down and pulled at the leather pants
until they were at Remy's knees. Remy whimpered in the back of his
throat. He whispered his empathy across the scientist's shields and
felt the dam holding back the emotions give way. He sobbed as the
rage battered at his mind. He reached for the lust and pulled at it.
Lust he could handle, find pleasure in the force of it. The rage
frightened him too badly to think.
"You don't control *me*, LeBeau. It will do you well to
remember that, boy." Essex let his emotions run free and Remy's
shields rippled, but held against the assault. Remy closed his eyes
and escaped to the quiet place in his mind, leaving his body for the
Englishman's use.
He surfaced a space of time later and looked up. "Essex?"
"Take the bag and get out of here." Remy pulled his pants up.
He saw the tray of coffed and flushed with shame. He favored his
aching wrist. He pulled on his coat and slipped the bag over his
shoulder. Sunglasses hid his red on black eyes, but little of the
darkening bruises. "Contact me once per week. We will arranged
another meeting."
Essex let the ghost whisper of Remy's probe pass his shields.
The rage was under control once more. The lust and possessiveness
still focussed firmly on Remy. The thief raised a hand in farewell.
He escaped to his motorcycle and winced as he sat. Essex was soothed,
but at what cost?
He kicked the motor to life and the vibrations made him aware
of his aches and pains. Driving let him think and he hated that.
Perhaps Logan would indulge him and drive him mad with silks and
velvets instead of leather and flesh.
*****
Remy knocked lightly on the door of McCoy's lab. He ran
errands for many of the X-men, getting them what they needed locked
in their decadent, spiraling, heavenly, dangerous Hell. McCoy treated
Remy as his special pet on the rare occasions he ventured forth from
the lab, partly out of desperate secrecy, and partly out of true
affection for sharp, biting wit and good chess games. Hank let no one
else into his lab unless they were injured. "What?" McCoy growled
irritably. "Oh, come in, Remy. What on Earth happened to you?" He
shut the door on the curious ears and under the safety of the
psi-blocking shields Jean had insisted upon, accepted the offered
sachel. "I'm quite serious, Remy. What happened? Are you injured?"
"Mais, a bit. Essex. . ." Remy trembled at the gap in his
memory. "M' wrist hurts, think it's sprained and. . ." Remy flushed.
"Lost control of m' charm, M. Bete. Don' tell Logan. Please. It's m'
fault he lost control."
Hank McCoy lifted Remy's battered face with gentle fingers
and turned it to the light. "He raped you."
"Got off on it. Ain't rape."
"You didn't want it."
"He needed it. Needed release. He's so frustrated. He wants
progress so bad, Henri."
"He doesn't have the right to take his frustrations out on you."
"Better Remy than some innocent chitlin from the street. He
wants m' t' tell y' that your lack of progress is intolerable."
Hank cleaned the split lip. He did this because of me, he
thought in dispair. Sweet Lord. And this boy will take it for as long
as necessary with no complaints. Hank X-rayed the injured wrist. He
bandaged the sprain. "Go easy on it for awhile, Remy. Let me see if
you need stitches."
"Remy'll heal. I'm fine, M. Bete. Mebbe Henri needs easin' too?"
Hank smiled and brushed back Remy's bangs, humbled slightly
by the offer. "While I will admit that I admire your form, you are
not my type."
"Too pretty?"
"Too male."
"Turn off the lights and m' mouth'll feel the same."
Hank shook his head again and Remy nodded.
"See y' f' dinner, Henri."
*****
"Where ya been, Cajun?" Logan asked sniffing Remy suspiciously.
"Out. Henri wanted junk food," he said for the benefit of
their audience. The others in the room watched with avid interest.
Wolverine stalked around the thief again. "And Remy wanted a good
hard fuckin'. Ain't like he's gettin' that here," he sneered.
Logan snarled and kicked Remy's legs out from under him. "Lil
pup-pup like y' ain't got the balls t' hold m' down proper," Remy
taunted. He could feel Logan's arousal building. "What's the matter,
pup? Can't mark y' territory clear enough?" Logan pounced and buried
his hands in Remy's hair as he kissed him until he bled once more.
Hank would be so pissed. Remy snorted as soon as he was released.
Logan growled. He bit Remy's throat, tasting blood. He could smell
Jean's arousal, her frustration, her anger, and her fear. Remy was
what she'd thought she wanted, a mind contained in himself, but he
scared her. She couldn't control him. He was a threat that she
couldn’t neutralize. Logan wrapped his hand in Remy's hair and
dragged him up and away from their eyes.
Remy twisted, hissing a challenging, "There ain't not'in' y'
got that'll hold m', pup." Logan wrenched Remy's arm up behind him
squeezing through the bandage. Remy kept up the sneering insults
until they were inside Remy's room. Logan kicked the door shut. He
spun the Cajun around. He gripped the sprain until Remy sank to his
knees, tears sliding over high cheekbones.
"Who?"
"Logan."
"Who!"
"Essex," Remy breathed. "Maitre, please."
Logan released him suddenly and Remy fell back. Logan ran his
hands through his hair. "God damn it, Cajun, ya know better'n to rile
me up. I ain't got much control!"
Remy pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them.
"I’m not gonna let this go, kid. I could've hurt ya. Ya ain't
Jeannie."
"Non, I ain't!" Remy surged to his feet. He stalked towards
Logan, eyes flaring, charm leaking out. "I ain't y'r pretty moambo. I
don' have a way t' take away y' soul. I don' got that type of power,
but I can make y' fly, cher. I can take y' outta y'self. Y' give m'
what I need, I'll make y' lose y'self. I'll give y' bliss. Just do
m', pup. Hard an' fast. Make m' stop thinkin'. Hold m' down t' the
world an' keep m' from feelin' every vibration of the air."
Logan growled low, surprised at the intensity of both his
jealousy and his protectiveness. Remy kissed him making sure he
tasted blood. "I ain't gonna hurt ya."
"Then y' better find a way t' hold m' 'cause I’m gonna fight
y', cher," Remy purred in Logan's ear.
The Canadian grabbed him around the waist and carried him,
despite his struggles, to the bed. He loomed over the young man, one
hand tight around his throat as his other hand sought the silk ties
he knew were attached to the bedframe. He bound down Remy's good
wrist, making sure the knot was out of reach, then did the same with
his sprained one. "Open up, boy." Remy took Logan's cock happily.
Logan groaned at warm, wet heat. He let the thief suck cock for a
moment, resting his weight on the headboard. He watched the tiny
trickle of blood from the corner of Remy's lip. Then, he started
thrusting. He held the boy's head back by his bangs and used that
full, fuckable mouth with deep, pounding thrusts.
Remy forced himself to relax and fought back his gag reflex.
His world narrowed to Logan, only Logan – his pleasure, his lust, his
protectiveness, his passion. Remy let them fill his mind ina primal
rush, his own cock, hard and leaking, held back by tight leather
pants. Logan pulled away before he came and Remy moaned. He licked
his swollen lips.
Logan was working at the buttons of Remy's fly. They slid
free under his surprisngly deft fingers. He stroked the erection he
found there, enjoying the sensations Remy's empathy dumped into his
mind. He stripped the young man from the waist down, leaving him
shivering on silk sheets, legs splaying wide in invitation. Logan
smelled blood and another man's come. He growled, angry. How dare
someone else claim his mate. His brain stuttered for a moment, but he
shoved the thought aside for examination at a later date. "Fuck m'!"
Remy demanded, air cooling his damp skin.
Logan extended his claws and shredded the man's tee-shirt,
leaving a trail of bloody pricks behind.
"Y' wouldn't dare!" Remy's chin rose haughtily. He was
royalty, who did this man think he was?
Logan growled, acting on instinct, knowing what Remy needed.
He rolled a strip of red jersey into a ball and forced his between
the stubborn, proud lips, packing down the sharp tongue. A second
piece was packed in around the first. Then, a strip was tied firmly
around the boy's mouth to keep him from forcing the fabric out.
Satisfied, Logan lapped at the blood and semen. Only one competitor
he determined. That was strange. Remy was a certified slut.
He slicked his cock and pushed in, staking his claim in one
deep thrust. Remy arched up under him, screaming into the makeshift
gag, pulling wildly at his bonds, then stilling, trembling as Logan
started to move. The deep, burning press of him blanked Remy's
thoughts and he was nothing but pleasure spike with pain, caught in a
feedback loop of his own creation with Logan's mind. Logan thrust
deeply, angrily, claiming, marking, using. His mind was washed in
expressionist whirls of reds and whites. There was nothing and no one
in the world except the straining body beneath him. He came, dragging
Remy with him. The spasming clench milked him dry.
He collapsed, half on the Cajun and nuzzled gently at his
neck, leaving a dark, painful bruise there. He slept. Remy tugged at
the firm silk to convince himself his bonds were real, then followed
Logan into sleep.
FINIS

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