TITLE: A Reasonable Compromise"
AUTHOR: FyrDrakken
EMAIL: FyrDrakken@juno.com
Rating: R/NC17 for naughty language and semi-graphic sex **WARNING**: I cannot stress this enough — this story is Rogue/Gambit Logan/Gambit Logan/Rogue. That means m/m slash is a *major* part of this story. If this squicks you, read no further! If you're curious, read on...
Archive: WR list fanfiction archive, anyone else ask — answer will no doubt be yes, but I do like knowing where my stuff goes! :-) Classification: Eventual L/R smut, but that's *not* how it starts out... Series: No way in hell does this relate in any way to anything else I've done or am currently working on. One of the vicious jackalope/smut bunny hybrids native to this area got me by the leg and *wouldn't let me go!* Disclaimer: Marvel owns much, Bryan Singer kicks ass, Hugh Jackman is eminently lickable, the story is bloody well my own.
Author's Note: I've read enough of the comics to know that Remy LeBeau is a New Orleans native who readily admits he can barely speak French, and I have enough dealings with my Cajun cousins not to be able to give him the Parisian accent the comic writers have mistakenly foisted on him. That's why I've written his dialogue the way I have...
Inspiration/Blame: Jenn was not only the one who sent me on to Jane St. Clair's "All the Animals" (at http://www.angelfire.com/sk2/mirrorgirl/animals.htm — a fabulous read and if you're interested go check it out — it has L/S and managed to convert me to the slashable view of Logan without ruining my take on his essential character), but she was the one who brought me into the Musical Beds revolving-door X-Smut anthology, and she was the one who kept demanding more and more of this via AIM. She also volunteered for human shield duty... ;-D
Dedication: To the women I overheard during my lunchbreak at work the day I began writing this, complaining about a lesbian subplot being introduced on _ER_ and expressing their beliefs as to the damnatory consequences of such activities...
Note:
[ ] = thoughts
* * = emphasis
/ / = Rogue reliving a bit of borrowed memory
*****
"Won't you come a bit closer, close enough so I can smell you. I need you to feel this, I can't stand to burn too long. Released in this sodomy. For one sweet moment I am whole." — "Prison Sex," by Tool
* * *
It all came to a head on the day Logan was passing by Remy's room just as he was coming out. The kid reeked of sweat, of Marie and of fulfilled desires. Logan halted, the mingled scents hitting him in the deepest instinctive reptile centers of his brain with all the subtlety of a battleaxe.
Remy turned to look at him over one shoulder. "Got a problem, Wolvie?"
Wolverine growled, the pain and frustration boiling over and emerging as a guttural feral warning. His fists clenched, as Logan kept just enough control to keep from attacking the punk. [Let it go, kid. Turn and walk away, *right now*...]
Unfortunately, telepathy seemed to be one power that Remy definitely did *not* have. Leaning against the wall with one shoulder, he stuck his hands in his pockets. "I don' know what your deal is, man. Can't even say hello without growlin' at me, and I *know* it ain't just that you don't got a nice word for anyone cause I see you with other people gettin' on okay."
Wolverine tensed. This rat bastard son-of-a-bitch prettyboy as good as had a sign on him saying, "I just fucked the girl who *should* have been yours — and she liked it, too," and here he was trying to start a fucking *conversation*? Could he really be *that* clueless as to who he was fucking around with here? Right now the only thing keeping this punk in one piece was the lingering knowledge that Marie would *not* be pleased if he gutted her boyfriend — and that little fact was getting awfully hard to keep in the forefront of his mind...
Throwing in a pouty look, Remy added, "I'm beginnin' to think that maybe you don' *like* me that much. Be nice if you at least told me *why*..."
It was the pout that did it. The sulky little James Dean-wannabe pose didn't hurt, nor did the fact that he was entirely too damned pretty — but it was that eminently biteable little lip thrusting forward at him that really tipped him over the edge.
Logan had always had a thing for redheads.
He was entirely too close to be able to read the look on Remy's face when he slammed him against the door — but he felt the kid's hands pressing against his shoulders. In startlement only, not seriously trying to push him away, as in another moment his hands were coming up, his arms around Logan, his lips parting under his. Logan only vaguely noticed the signs of cooperation — he was more interested in the taste of Marie lingering on the kid's mouth — and jaw — and throat...
Tangling one hand in the unruly auburn tumble, he pulled Remy's head back, exposing his throat. He followed the intoxicating scent across and down, trying to find every last bit of Marie left on the aggravatingly attractive punk currently pressed against him. Remy fumbled behind him, finding the doorknob and turning it, and then Logan stumbled forward as the door they had been leaning against opened inward.
The kid managed to get the door closed behind them, and then he was pressed against it again, from the inside this time. Still following the lingering traces of Marie, Logan started opening Remy's shirt impatiently. Right now the thought uppermost in his mind was removing every last bit of Marie from his rival's skin. He started scrubbing at Remy's throat with his tongue, and the younger man murmured happily and tangled his hands in Logan's hair. Buttons gave as the shirt was yanked farther open and the scent trail was followed down an almost hairless chest.
Rather than protesting at the treatment of his wardrobe, Remy pushed away from the door and began urging his companion towards the bed. The Wolverine was happy enough to comply, since rendering the opponent horizontal made him that much more helpless. Enthusiastically pushing the kid back onto the bed, he followed him down and knelt astride him, continuing to follow that scent ever southward. Remy put his hands on the older man's head again, and Logan had enough coherent thought left to him at that point to muse that he wasn't at all surprised — Gumbo was *way* too pretty to be entirely straight.
It wasn't until he was undoing Remy's jeans that the thought occurred to him that Marie might not approve of what he was doing. Logan paused for the briefest of instants — The Wolverine almost quivering with impatience to finish subduing his opponent by whatever means necessary — before concluding that Marie would *probably* rather he fuck her boyfriend than kill him, since he couldn't refrain from doing both. Besides, the kid hadn't protested even once — he wasn't exactly proving himself a model of fidelity to his beloved, so if he would no doubt be cheating on her *anyway*...
All doubts were forgotten when Logan got Remy's zipper undone and tugged his jeans and briefs down. Not only did he positively reek of Marie, but it was those bits of Marie that were the most interestingly obsessed over. Wolverine started enthusiastically running his tongue over the regions that had been the most intimately in contact with the object of his affections, saving the best for last.
Remy moaned when Logan started scrubbing his tongue along the shaft of his penis, and when the older man actually took him in his mouth he began trying to move his hips. Wolverine growled and put his forearms across the kid's upper thighs, using his weight to pin him to the bed. Accepting the unspoken command to hold still, Remy gasped and moaned enthusiastically, tensing the muscles in his legs and quivering slightly.
When he came, Logan pulled away. Taking advantage of the kid's sudden total relaxation, he grabbed him by the hips and flipped him over, positioning him on the edge of the bed. Remy didn't protest the treatment, nor the sound of a zipper going down behind him. He bucked a little when the Wolverine took him, a bit harder and faster than he liked and with no lubrication involved, but the hard-muscled forearms pressing his shoulders to the bed brooked little argument. Knotting his hands in the comforter, Remy submitted with only minor gasps and shivers of protest.
Finishing with a final shudder and pulling free, Logan paused for another of those brief moments of clarity. Staring at the bent shoulders before him, noting the hands tensely gripping the bedclothes, he wondered, [What the hell did I just do?] Rising from his knees to his feet in a single fluid motion, he pressed one hand briefly to Remy's head, silently telling him to stay where he was.
Ducking into the bathroom, he got himself cleaned off while feeling his heart rate slow to something approaching normalcy. Zipping up, he came back out to find the kid half-sitting, half- kneeling by the bed, still leaning against the mattress. Turning half-dazed eyes up to him, Remy started to murmur something about how amazing that had been, how unexpected.
Logan's lips tightened. Walking past the kid without sparing him another look, he headed for the door and let himself out.
Closing the door behind him, he belatedly thought to check the hall for potential witnesses. None — he had been lucky. And with such a notedly temperamental lover as Rogue, Remy would be the absolute last to talk about what had just happened. So this afternoon could remain their little secret. Which was a blessing, to say the absolute least.
Leaving the scene of the crime with rapid strides, Logan slowed to a more thoughtful pace as he neared the kitchen. What he really wanted right now was a beer or three — not just to get the taste of Remy out of his mouth (and more importantly, off his breath), but so that he could have a nice quiet hour or three to stare into his bottle and ponder the ramifications of what — and who — he had just done.
*****