Categories > Comics > X-Men > Beneath the Cherry Blossom Trees
Beneath the Cherry Blossom Trees
Remy/Scott. Can Remy help pick up the pieces of Scott's heart after Jean's death?
?Blocked
Beneath the Cherry Blossom Trees
By Scyllablue
X-Men: Remy/Scott
Rating: FRAO (And I mean that. Whatever those letters mean.) N-17
Disclaimer: Do not own any of the characters herein.
Summary: Can Remy help pick up the pieces of Scott's heart after Jean's death?
*
Beneath the Cherry Blossom Trees
It was a soft ache of disquiet that woke Remy LeBeau in the early hours of Tuesday morning. In the two months since Jean Grey's death on the X-Men's mission to the Savage Land he had inured himself to the suffering of his teammates. As a beta class empath it was all he could do to block out the others and deal with his own grief. Jean Grey had been a beautiful woman, the heart of the X-Men where her long-time lover Scott Summers was its soul. Resident telepath and matriarch, her loss blanketed the mansion with a pall Remy could almost literally see.
The pain that stirred him had to be acute then to feel its stain through his heavy shielding. Slipping himself from bed the thief turned superhero slithered into a pair of cut off shorts before opening himself enough to track his interloper.
Downstairs, and he heard his quarry before he saw him, the low thrum of the microwave and the sharp rapping of something metal guiding him into the kitchen. Pausing in the doorway he quietly admired what he discovered.
Tall, of a height with Remy's 6'2, and leanly muscled under lightly tanned skin that highlighted a dusting of freckles across his broad shoulders the man who'd woken him stood slouched against the kitchen island, spoon tapping as he waited on the microwave. Despite his known strength he moved with a graceful fragility, like the gawky thin boy he'd once been still directed his movements. It was as an endearing trait as his forever mussed tree brown hair. The face turned away from him Remy knew to be of classic Anglo-Irish good looks, offset by a beautifully chiseled full mouth that could rival any woman's to pout. Scott Summers was an exquisite rendering of masculine beauty and Remy unashamedly took his fill, thrilled to find him roaming the mansion in his boxers.
"Hey, Remy," the brunette greeted without turning around. "Couldn't sleep either, huh?" Glancing over his shoulder Scott invited the thief into the kitchen with a small smile. It seemed genuine, albeit tired. As usual, the X-Men's team leader was projecting calmness and confidence, despite the turmoil Remy could feel roiling beneath the surface. He hadn't bothered to swap his narrow sleep goggles for his glasses and Remy almost moaned at the burst of heat that flared in his loins at the sight. Somehow, the goggles made him look more open. Vulnerable. "Help me make hot chocolate?"
"Sure, cher." The man really made it too easy. Remy eyed the chocolate syrup and milk sitting lonely on the island's countertop and tsked softly. Scooping up the milk he swapped it for half and half, then dug out the cinnamon and almond extract. Scott watched in open amusement, eyebrows arching as Remy shooed him out of the way to dig out a set of measuring spoons.
"I'm thinking you take your hot chocolate seriously," Scott laughed.
"Anything decadent should be taken seriously, Scottie," the Cajun chastised. The microwave tinged and Remy got down two mugs as Scott carefully retrieved the teapot of boiling water.
"It's good to have you back, Remy. I hope my stomping around didn't wake you up," he said as he watched Remy measure out portions.
"Non. Remy restless most nights," the empath assured. He laughed inwardly at the brunette's self-description, knowing Scott could be as quiet as a thief when he wanted to be. Plucking the spoon from those long fingers, he quickly stirred both mugs before proffering one. "Scottie keepin' secret a night owl life?"
"Thanks," Scott murmured, wrapping both hands around the warmed ceramic. "Just bad dreams is all." He didn't hesitate to take a sip of Remy's concoction and his delight tickled the younger mutant. "This is really good, Remy. You can make me hot chocolate anytime."
"My pleasure, cher." And it was. Though he hesitated to act openly on his attraction, Remy did enjoy watching his ever polite, ever desirous leader take pleasure in something, especially in these times. The silence they fell into was comfortable, Remy gently soothing the raw edges of Scott's pain with his empathy as he sipped his own cocoa. They stood facing each other and the thief luxuriated in the rareness of having this time alone with the man who had unwittingly caught his heart. It upset him, to think Scott was being chased from needed sleep by nightmares. He wanted the man he loved whole and his cunning mind began to churn ideas on how to possess all he desired.
Tilting his head, Scott caught sight of the time display on the microwave past Remy's shoulder. "Shit! Remy, it's late. You should go back to bed."
"An' you, cher?"
Putting his cup in the sink the brunette tiredly shook his head. "I won't be able to go back to sleep, not once the dreams start." Stepping past the Cajun, he made his way to the living room. "I'll just veg for a bit, then head down to the Danger Room."
Following his leader to the couch, Remy dropped himself close to the haunted young man, his easy smile undiminished by the countering frown. "Remy sit a spell, homme."
Scott shook his head. "You going to hold my hand every time I run from a dream?"
"Only de bad ones."
"They're all bad," came the whispered reply, barely heard as the lanky body shifted to a more comfortable position. Remy had taken up most of the couch, but Scott didn't comment, just curling as tightly into the corner as he could manage. The red head said nothing more and they lapsed back into familiar quiet.
Remy watched the man across from him, confident the exhausted mind would put up little resistance to his charm. He was, of course, correct. By slow increments Scott slipped back into sleep, his breathing evening out as the empath exerted control.
"Dere you go, cher. Remy slip you to sleep. Keep you safe from de ghosts eatin' your heart." Slinking to his feet he scooped the older man into his arms and headed for the stairs. Scott mumbled and made a fist in the Cajun's shirt, but did not wake.
*
The next night Remy was awake and waiting when he felt Scott's mood darken. Slipping on a pair of sweat pants he padded down the hall and quietly stole into the field leader's room. Putting his back to the door he listened for any sounds that would reveal his excursion had been noted by one of his teammates, but the hallway was quiet. Breathing out a quiet sigh, he turned his attention to the room's sole occupant.
Scott Summers was a beauty Remy burned to possess. As a master thief he'd stolen countless works of art, treasures that men had fought and died for. That he sold for their mere dollar value. He'd relished the challenge of acquiring them and the profit they'd later bring, but he'd never understood the gleam in his buyer's eyes, the greedy swirl of emotions when the object of their passions finally fell into their grasp. Trinkets and baubles, lifeless inanimate junk. Worthless compared to the tall lean man laid out before him, sweat sheening his golden pale skin as he fought the hold of another nightmare. Linen sheets rustled as the brunette twisted and jerked, close to waking as the adrenaline in his system started to peak.
Waking wasn't on Remy's agenda. Padding silently towards the bed he carefully climbed onto the firm mattress, reaching out a hand to one cotton pajama clad knee. The contact allowed him to more quickly re-establish their earlier contact from the night before, Scott immediately calming at the touch of another's mind against his own. His heart rate slowed and Remy gingerly stretched out alongside him, grinning smugly as Scott snuggled into his arms, head butting under his chin. The older man's mind settled into a deeper, peaceful sleep, leaving Remy free to explore the treasure he'd inadvertently inherited.
He marveled at what the absent Charles Xavier and the dead Jean Grey had created, a man conditioned to telepathic intimacy. From his unauthorized researching in Cerebro's database the thief knew Scott had come to the school after suffering years of abuse and neglect in state foster care and orphanages. A history not so dissimilar to his own. Why the recluse mutant peace activist had chosen a kid with as many problems as Scott must have had Remy could only guess at, but he did know Xavier had used his telepathy to control the then volatile teenager. The man had rebuilt the boy's mind from the ground up, creating the shy, disciplined young man he'd needed to spearhead his infantile X-Men. Remy wondered what Scott's first love had thought when she first entered his mind, because even as novice as Jean Grey had been in those early years, she must have realized Scott's head was too compartmentalized for it to be natural.
It was Jean's efforts Remy used now, following the pathways she had roped out to the innermost recesses of Cyclop's mind, stretching his empathic abilities beyond their reach by the grace of her meticulous work. There were old steel doors down here that reeked of the Professor's handiwork, but the redhead knew better than to tamper. Scott's mind was too fragile for him to start throwing open doors into his past. Instead he swept along filling and soothing the ache that tormented the brunette at night. By design or accident Scott had become inured to the sensation of another's mind continuously streaming through his own and could not function alone.
Parched for that contact and Remy happily obliged, pouring himself into the waiting mind and washing away the taint of any previous interlopers. Scott pressed into him with a soft sound and Remy tightened his hold. Scott was his.
That night became the first of many. As Remy's hold strengthened the nightmares came less frequently until they disappeared altogether. Still Remy stole into the brunette's room. Their connection was strong enough that the empath could have calmed his field leader without leaving the warmth of his own bed, but he acknowledged his weakness in being a tactile creature. He needed to have Scott safe and warm in his arms, even if the brunette would have no memory of him come morning.
During the day his field leader treated him with the same amused impatience he always did. It was what had first brought Scott to his attention, the indifference to his sarcasm and flirting with anything legal. So long as he followed orders Scott ignored the smoking, womanizing, and adamant refusal to do anything resembling manual labor. It had confused him the first time he'd blundered, his charm telling him he'd done something to piss off the older man, yet receiving no outward reaction. Scott insisted a team leader had to remain neutral and Remy learned to take comfort in that. No matter what he did, so long as he didn't betray the X-Men and their code of ethics, Scott would treat him no differently than he did the others. It was an understandable position for him to take; being put in charge of people like Wolverine, Rogue and Remy made blindness an occupational requirement. It had come as an epiphany that Cyclops could only deal with them as they came to him, their pasts set aside in favor of what they could give to Charles Xavier's dream. A second chance.
Then Jeannie had died and something vital in Scott died with her. A few days after the funeral their leader seemed to return to normal, if a little withdrawn. Everyone trod carefully and Remy was the only one who felt how deeply his still grieved. The man seemed to want his privacy and the thief gave it to him, worried but hopeful time would heal his broken heart.
New Orleans and his father called him back to his guild, months spent away from the X-Men trying to keep the peace between thieves and assassins. A stalemate was reached, the best he could ask for, and he returned to New York to find his family still whole, its leader as aloof as ever and quietly dying inside. The man was so exhausted it amazed Remy to see him standing and brusquely ordering everyone about as usual. The only other person who seemed to notice was Logan whose feral senses were heightened enough to smell the emotional distress. The normally antagonistic mutant was unusually quiet, staying to the shadows as he watched their leader live by rote. Remy's return barely registered on Logan, the man as obsessed as any predator stalking his prey.
It wasn't until he first saw the older man again, was graced with one of his quiet smiles, that Remy realized his heart had seen to its own affairs. Scott had always held his trust and no little affection, but he'd possessed enough integrity to steer clear of someone else's property. Now the brunette was available and Remy returned to the X-Men with a whole new set of priorities.
Logan may have been the acknowledged tracker on the team, but Remy possessed his own skills when it came to pursuing a mark. Which led him to the kitchen that night a few days after his return to learn of Scott's recurring nightmares.
To say that Scott treated him no differently by day after unwittingly seeking solace in his arms by night was not entirely true. Not given to casual physical contact, the X-Men field leader had even further withdrawn from the familial hugging and touching after Jean's death, always careful to stay just out of arms reach. Yet for all his wariness he never seemed to notice Remy's hovering. It was as though he'd developed a blind spot to the thief's proximity, a boon the redhead unhesitatingly took advantage of. Nothing overt, just small possessive touches: a hand on one slim hip as he leaned around him to grab a soda; a teasing tug on a crumpled mahogany curl; always sitting close at meals to let the lengths of their bodies rub together. Dozens of fractional intimacies that filled his day, somehow reassuring and absolutely maddening at the same time.
"Remy? Little brother, the hour is late to be brooding out here alone. What troubles hold you from sleep?" Ororo Monroe was an angelic vision as she hovered in the air before him. Her control of the wind gently swirled her diaphanous robes about her slender figure and Remy smiled, as always warmed by the sight of his closest friend.
"Don' worry dat pretty head o'ter Remy, Stormie." What could he truthfully say? His bedroom window was just below, but he'd planned to re-enter the house by the fourth window down, tired of weeks of sneaking through the hall when there was the convenience of the roof. And what was the Windrider doing floating around the men's wing? Curious, but he could hardly expect her to respect his privacy if he butted into hers, so he chose a truth that told nothing with a shake of the almost forgotten cancer stick in his hand. "Scott won' let Remy smoke in his own room, do it ére, no evil one-eye."
An indulgent smile and Ororo let him go. "The stench carries farther than you'd think, my friend." she seemed inclined to say more, but stopped. Their friendship was mostly built on the keeping of secrets. Remy inhaled deeply around the paper wrapping and the African lifted herself on a sudden gust of wind that blew her gown into wings and played havoc with his long red hair. "Enjoy your evening, my friend, but remember not to tarry overlong. We all have to wake in the morning."
So she knew or at least suspected. Remy leisurely finished his cigarette, then nimbly climbed back down into his own room. He doubted Storm knew everything; it was more likely she was bluffing, waiting to see what few cards she held could get her. Better to spend the night alone and monitor Scott from afar than risk fully revealing himself. He could no longer see her, but that didn't mean she wasn't watching.
Propping himself up against the headboard the Cajun amused himself with a deck of cards. He'd grown too used to sleeping with Scott to settle for himself, even for one night. Humming quietly, he stretched open the link and settled down to a long night of tedium.
Halfway through a losing hand of solitaire he fell asleep.
Remy started, cards scattering across the duvet and onto the floor as he jerked awake. Hysterical panic, grief, and mounting fear choked his breath. He fought for control, to shove Scott's emotions out of his head. It was instinctive, to close the link so he could separate himself from the brunette's turmoil. Too late he realized his mistake and he cursed his selfish stupidity as sudden terrified screams broke the stillness.
Logan was already in Scott's room when he made it to the hallway, Bobby and Peter right on his heels. Ignoring everyone but the figure huddled against the headboard, Remy clambered onto the bed and pulled the brunette's rigid body into his embrace. Scott's arms were wrapped around his head as he screamed into his knees, an agonized desolate wail that stabbed through what was left of Remy's heart. What kind of bastard shut an infantile link to a mind that needed such intimacy to keep hold of sanity? Crooning a Creole lullaby his Tante used to sing to him, the thief re-opened the connection and surged into Scott's scarred mind. It wasn't till now that he realized the enormity of what he had committed himself to when he bridged a link between their minds. This was forever, unless he could find another psychic to take his half of the bond. An idea he immediately rejected. Scott was his now, and he'd fight tooth and claw against anyone who tried to take him. Jeannie's death had left such a void in his mind, but Remy had filled it, become a part of Scott's psyche. There could be no parting them now.
The screams stopped. Reassured that there was still someone there with him, Scott quieted. Muscles unclenched and the lanky body sagged into his own, Remy taking the weight gratefully as that much loved tousled brown head dropped to his shoulder with a quiet exhalation.
The peace was brief. With a deep growl his only warning Scott was abruptly torn from his arms and Remy found himself on the floor with one of Wolverine's claws centimeters from his left eye. Ignoring the immediate threat, the redhead rolled his eyes until he saw a dazed Scott folded in Peter's massive arms. Reassured to his safety, Remy re-focused on his own precarious situation.
"Ya mind tell'n me what yer doin' ta Slim, swamp rat?" Logan growled, his rank breath of cigars, whiskey, and raw meat making Remy's aquiline nose wrinkle.
"Remy calm Scottie's nightmare, dat all. Jus'a lit'le charm to soothe de heart." He kept his voice level and let none of his fear leak our for the feral to catch whiff of. They may have come from different worlds for all that they had in common but Remy understood the predator that dominated the older man's personality. Fear made you prey and Wolverine killed his prey.
"Logan. Get off him. Now." The voice was weak but lacked none of its command. Scott Summers was a man who expected obedience, even from his most rebellious subordinates. What Remy envied and respected was that he got it. With a last warning growl Logan rolled off him and he was able to slide to his feet.
Arms wrapped protectively about his waist Scott looked too pale and wobbly to be standing on his own, but he managed, stubbornly ignoring Peter's hovering at his back as he glared at the two men before him. In his low slung dark blue pajama bottoms and sleep goggles glaring a thin red glow he was kissably adorable, but Remy refrained from putting thought to action.
"Logan, Bobby, Peter, everything's fine. Get out."
"Scott, are you sure you're - " the teenage popsicle began, but the words petered out when Scott slowly swung his head to level him with a trademark glare.
"Now."
They went. Logan made a point of shouldering Remy on his way past and quietly promising to finish with him later, but he left. Leaving Remy alone with his brunette. He wanted to take Scott into his arms before the man fell down and bury them back beneath the covers of the king sized bed, but he held himself still. Patient for Scott to make the first move.
A minute slipped past, then two. Scott stared at him blankly, but he could feel the brunette probing the link he was now consciously aware of. Physically and psychically, Remy waited until finally, Scott looked away, hugging himself tighter.
"You're in my head." It wasn't a question, but Remy answered anyway.
"Oui."
"I thought I could do this, but it hurts too much," the slender mutant whispered, more to himself than his audience, but Remy heard anyway. Then, that red glare re-focused on him. "What do you want from this? What do you want from me?"
"You, amour," Remy quietly replied, daring to take a step closer. "Remy want you."
A harsh, disbelieving bark of laughter, but Scott held his ground. "Me? You already have me, you're in my head!"
Another step and the shivering older man was within arms' reach. "Remy wants all of you."
Mahogany curls fell across his high forehead as Scott slumped. "There's nothing here to want. Can you understand that, Remy? Je-Jean was the best part of me. You've seen, you know, I'm not a complete person. This is just, you don't know what you're getting into, what kind of pathetic leech I am. I think-"
Remy tuned out the rest when he realized Scott wasn't rejecting him. Too late Scott looked up and caught his approach. A step back and Remy's arms were around him, spinning to put them back to front, pressed close enough together by the Cajun's capturing arm that the brunette's shivers vibrated his frame. His other hand gently cut off the tirade. Scott stiffened at the restraint, but didn't struggle.
He'd never had the opportunity to hold his broken X-Man like this and Remy found he quite enjoyed the possessive clasp. Breath whistled through Scott's slightly upturned straight little Irish nose and the thief blew a puff of air into the ear next to his mouth to smile at the surprised start.
"Remy will complete you, amour." The promise darkened Scott's ruby quartz goggles. Remy took the opportunity to gather him up and carry him back to the bed. The brunette almost seemed grateful to lay down and didn't protest Remy stretching out alongside him, slowly pulling up the thick comforter to cover them both. The breadth of a body lay between them at first, but by slow increments Scott scooted closer till his cheek pressed into the Cajun's bare shoulder. His hands nervously fluttered about until Remy caught them within his own and pressed them to his chest.
"No more nightmares, Scottie," he whispered, palming one bony hip as he kissed a lock of hair that smelt of cloves, but Scott was already asleep.
*
Morning came later than Remy had grown used to, for the first time in weeks not having to rouse himself before dawn to sneak back to his own room. Scott's warm weight was a familiar comfort, but slowly another sensation began to creep into his waking. He was being touched. With soft hesitancy he felt the subtle roughness of fingertips stroking his face, arms and chest, mapping the contours of his flesh. Keeping himself still with the looseness of sleep Remy cracked open one eye to see Slim studying him, serious expression broken by the bottom lip being gnawed upon. The X-Men field leader was curious, yet uncertain, and probing the man's emotions a little deeper, attracted and afraid. Considering he'd been worried that Scott would greet him with an optic blast upon finding himself in another man's arms, Remy took his reaction as hopeful. Any response that left him intact and non-smoldering had to be a good sign.
His morning erection chose that moment to make itself known. Normally he took care of it in the shower, fantasizing about the man in his arms, but the devil in him urged reckless boldness. Scott had separated them marginally to conduct his exploration, but the redhead was confident he was normal enough to share the male affliction. Tightening his grip on the hip he'd claimed last night Remy rocked them together, groaning softly at the pleasurable sensation of another man's hardness grinding into his own.
Scott gasped, pretty mouth falling open and Remy opened his eyes as he leaned in to claim a kiss. There was shocked resistance at first, but the Cajun persisted, dulling the brunette's fear and hesitancy, and heightening his arousal until with a delicate shiver Scott surrendered.
Kissing the shy field leader disarmed what moral fortitude Remy aspired to. Submissive and playful at the same time, Scott relaxed to his tongue's entreaty only to chase it about with his own, teeth nipping, his whole body giving in to the possession of mouth on mouth. Strong, long fingered square hands clutched desperately at his shoulders, neither pushing away nor pulling closer as the brunette moaned, soft breathy sounds that fueled Remy's ardor.
His hand traveled from the slope of Slim's hip to the small of his back, lightly kneading the muscles as he inched his way ever lower. The drawstring pants he'd appreciated the night before proved a boon to him now, easily giving way to his questing hand. The small, pert ass he'd admired since the first time he saw it was as firm as he'd imagined, his proprietary squeeze earning him a sharp grunt.
"Bon," he breathed, rocking them together as he kissed a path down Scott's throat. "Give yourself to me."
"Ah! If you're going to say that shit to me - fuck! - say it in French." Tousled head tossed back Scott eagerly thrust his covered erection against Remy's, squirming and moaning as the Cajun massaged the thin skin surrounding the entrance to his body.
Remy chuckled, but did as asked. "Donnez-vous, amour. /Give yourself, love. Let me feel your pleasure./ Slickened with sweat Remy's finger pressed into Scott's body, sinking deeply. Scott frowned at the odd sensation of being penetrated, instinctively tightening his rectal muscles to push the intruder out.
"Am I hurting you, cher?" The redhead soothed, swallowing thickly at the tightness crushing his finger. It was exquisite and made his cock ache, imagining Scott squeezing something significantly larger. Introducing his lover slowly to the joys of anal sex was going to kill him.
"No," Scott whispered, tentatively squirming on his finger. Then Remy found his prostate and scraped it, shooting off a bolt of pleasure. "Ah!" Scott's hips rocked into his own in a reflexive jerk.
"Like dat, did ya?"
"Yes," Scott panted, a blush staining his cheeks. The thief grinned and kissed him, lazily rubbing his erection against its mate. The brunette submitted to the kiss for a few moments but pulled away when Remy's finger stayed still inside his body. Frustration spiked and Scott impatiently rocked his hips. "Dammit, Remy!"
/What, love?/ Red eyes twinkled as he thrust his finger in and out but deliberately avoided his prostate. /Tell Remy what you want him to do./
Scott growled, nails cutting into Remy's flesh where he gripped his arms. "You bastard."
"Say it, Scottie," Remy laughed, dipping his head to peck that pert nose, but the brunette angrily jerked away. /Say what you want or Remy leave you like this. Begging like a sweet tart to have your every whimper of ecstasy eaten as I gorge myself on your succulent flesh before filling you with-/
Brown hair whipped his face as Scott snorted, shoving him none to lightly in the chest. "You're full of shit and don't tell me those lines actually work on someone. Sweet tart? You're as hard as I am." He rubbed them together to emphasize his point.
Remy shrugged, hiding his surprise that Scott understood his French. "Remy used to pining for you. He know dis pain." Feeling Scott's angered frustration was about to truly leave them both unsatisfied, the last thing he wanted his teasing to do, he lightly massaged that little hidden button, reminding Slim of the ecstasy to come. "Come, amour, play wit' Remy."
Scott moaned at the ghost of sensation. "Nnnn. Do that-" He stopped, a blush again warming his cheeks as he licked his lips. /Please do that again, Remy. Please, touch me./ Voice a little shaky as he tried not to laugh but his French was perfect, with a slight Parisian accent Hank McCoy probably didn't realize he stained his lessons with.
"Of course, cher." Remy pressed his prostate hard, the sudden spike of pained pleasure catapulting his lover into orgasm. A cry muffled into his shoulder and he felt the spread of wetness against his own underwear before he rode Scott's release into his own.
They drifted for a time after that, neither inclined to disturb the sated comfort of the moment. Remy wasn't certain if he fell back asleep, but he roused when Scott moved against him. There was noise in the hall, Bobby's loud laughter coming clearly through the walls. The rest of the mansion was stirring and Scott rose up to his elbows, leaning over his bedmate as he yawned and looked towards the bathroom.
"Time to get up, cher?"
"Yeah. I have a Danger Room session at seven. Actually, so do you. And we both need a shower."
"Oui." Remy compliantly agreed, stroking his finger deeper into Scott's body. The brunette shuddered deliciously so Remy did it again.
"Remy. Shower." There was more than a hint of the field leader in the growled words, clear warning Scott was serious. Remy slid the finger free, kissing the smooth chest above him to soothe away the wince of discomfort.
"Remy wash Scottie's back?" he offered hopefully.
Slim snorted as he clambered from the bed. "I doubt I'd get very clean if I let you wash any part of me." He smiled then, before stepping away, reaching down to finger a lock of reddish brown hair. "Thank you."
Remy rolled over onto his stomach to watch his lover's strong lean backside disappear into the adjoining bathroom. "Don' worry, Scottie. I'll take care of you."
*
The day went as any other when they weren't saving the world or being viciously attacked by it. Everyone seemed to know where Remy had spent the night, but no one was willing to openly address it. Their field leader was still withdrawn, but the shadows in his eyes had lightened and at moments he moved with his old grace. Ororo seemed the most pleased, nearly beaming with her joy, but refrained from assaulting them with it. During practice Gambit treated his new lover as Cyclops, leader of the X-Men, and noticed the older man's tension ease. And though it took execution to realize it, Remy knew the game well enough that Scott needed to separate the lover from the hero to accept their relationship.
What reassured in the Danger Room quickly twisted into doubt, however, when Remy thought to make a public display of respecting his lover's space. Though there was no outward reaction to Remy keeping their chairs at the lunch table apart, the thief was suddenly grateful for his empathy as he felt the flash of anger, quickly followed by hurt and self-doubt. The proprietary hand he settled onto one knee almost got knocked off, but sulking anger gave way to amused affront when he casually filched the strawberries from the brunette's plate. His fork stabbed out for the last one, but before he could savor his prize his wrist was caught and Scott bit the berry from the tines without turning from his discussion of astrology with Hank. Across the table Kitty giggled and Remy flicked his fingers at her.
Later that night, as David Letterman was winding to a close in the communal room, Remy excused himself and slipped upstairs to the Professor's study. With Xavier on hiatus Scott had taken over the space and the duties that went with it. Remy found him hunched over the old cherry wood desk, a pen absently being chewed as he shuffled paper from one stack to another.
"Time for bed, cher," he said from the doorway.
Scott didn't look up, mumbling around the pen. "In a few."
"Non. In this, you can't fool Remy. He can feel, Scottie almost asleep where he sit. Time for bed now." There was temptation to use his charm, to sweep Scott under, but the brunette was too aware of him now and their trust too new. If Scott felt he was losing control he would resist, would fight their link and Remy's claiming of his bed. Sweetest irony that years spent tumbling from one forgettable affair to another now gave him the experience to woo a man as pure as Scott Summers. No heavy chains could hold such an independent soul, but the finest of gossamer webs would fastly secure. "Come wit' me, cher."
And Scott relented, surrendering to his exhaustion and that sultry pleading voice. In the doorway Remy caught him in a kiss, reward and promise that coaxed greedy little noises from the back of his throat, body shuddering under the nimble hands that mapped it. Up against the doorjamb and Remy wove his fingers through the thick sable of Scott's hair, holding him in place and protecting his head from banging into the hard wood. His other hand swept down the strong lean back, a thief's dexterity wiggling him past fitted slacks and the elastic waistband of boxers to palm warm, firm flesh. Merci, Scott had an ass.
"Want you," he husked, pulling sharply on his handful of hair to lay claim to the taut column of throat. Pulse beating rapidly just beneath the skin and he suckled, raising the blood until he'd left a passion mark no one could mistake. This man was his.
Scott led the way to his bedroom and did not question Remy following at his heels. A swirl of arousal, trepidation and exhaustion thickened the air in the room and Scott escaped into the bathroom. Remy took the opportunity to secure the door and draw the drapes, remembering just last night Ororo had been doing flybys over the men's wing. Stripping to the skin he slipped beneath the covers before Scott finished his ablutions.
Propped on one elbow, he lazily watched a scrubbed clean Slim cross to the bed, sleep goggles in place, T-shirt and boxers hugging his lean frame with the comfort of old familiarity. Without a word the older man climbed into bed and Remy reached for the lights. Plunged into shadowed darkness and the rustle of bedclothes was the only sound to be heard over soft breathing as the two men settled into the other's closeness.
Scott seemed inclined to keep to his side of the bed, hugging himself and facing the outside as he tried to relax, but Remy closed the distance. With a soft grunt on his part Scott was yanked back to lay them flush, Remy's arms curling about him as a leg nudged between his own. The brunette's hair was slightly damp and Remy happily buried his nose to breath him in, ready to sleep now that he had his most loved secure in his arms.
"Comfortable?" Scott grumped, wiggling slightly in his clasp. He managed to free an arm but Remy snatched it back, fingers interlacing on the pillow.
"Oui. Now sleep."
Scott wiggled again, then abruptly froze in shock. "Remy, what are you wearing?"
It was almost a stage whisper and the redhead grinned into the thick locks. "N'ting, cher."
"You're naked!" The older man attempted to roll away, but Remy tightened his grip. "Let go! What if we're attacked? If there's an emergency?"
With a dexterous twist the thief had his field leader under him, hands still clasped on the pillow as he used his weight to trap Scott's other arm between them. His free hand languidly stroked the leanly muscled flank, up to his slightly jutting ribcage and back down again. Scott had lost weight, not that it didn't look good on him. "Remy don' need his smallclothes to fight. Sleep better this way. Even better, if Scottie let me," he reared up to tug at the concealing T-shirt, but the brunette's hand was there to stop him.
"No." Shy embarrassment and lingering doubt caused the gentle flush to stain his cheeks and Remy knew he could force the intimacy if he pushed. But why push when patience would reward? "Bien, cher. We sleep as we are, eh?" A jerky nod and they returned to their earlier positions, Scott lying stiff. Long minutes passed, but when Remy made no other move than to hold him, he relaxed. Shortly after that, he slept.
Listening to his deep breathing Remy cautiously tested the tethering of their bond, pleased to find it still firmly rooted. All of his protests aside, Scott had done nothing to distance himself mentally, and that told the empath more than his physical reluctance did.
Scott Summers had accepted his courtship.
*
TBC.
By Scyllablue
X-Men: Remy/Scott
Rating: FRAO (And I mean that. Whatever those letters mean.) N-17
Disclaimer: Do not own any of the characters herein.
Summary: Can Remy help pick up the pieces of Scott's heart after Jean's death?
*
Beneath the Cherry Blossom Trees
It was a soft ache of disquiet that woke Remy LeBeau in the early hours of Tuesday morning. In the two months since Jean Grey's death on the X-Men's mission to the Savage Land he had inured himself to the suffering of his teammates. As a beta class empath it was all he could do to block out the others and deal with his own grief. Jean Grey had been a beautiful woman, the heart of the X-Men where her long-time lover Scott Summers was its soul. Resident telepath and matriarch, her loss blanketed the mansion with a pall Remy could almost literally see.
The pain that stirred him had to be acute then to feel its stain through his heavy shielding. Slipping himself from bed the thief turned superhero slithered into a pair of cut off shorts before opening himself enough to track his interloper.
Downstairs, and he heard his quarry before he saw him, the low thrum of the microwave and the sharp rapping of something metal guiding him into the kitchen. Pausing in the doorway he quietly admired what he discovered.
Tall, of a height with Remy's 6'2, and leanly muscled under lightly tanned skin that highlighted a dusting of freckles across his broad shoulders the man who'd woken him stood slouched against the kitchen island, spoon tapping as he waited on the microwave. Despite his known strength he moved with a graceful fragility, like the gawky thin boy he'd once been still directed his movements. It was as an endearing trait as his forever mussed tree brown hair. The face turned away from him Remy knew to be of classic Anglo-Irish good looks, offset by a beautifully chiseled full mouth that could rival any woman's to pout. Scott Summers was an exquisite rendering of masculine beauty and Remy unashamedly took his fill, thrilled to find him roaming the mansion in his boxers.
"Hey, Remy," the brunette greeted without turning around. "Couldn't sleep either, huh?" Glancing over his shoulder Scott invited the thief into the kitchen with a small smile. It seemed genuine, albeit tired. As usual, the X-Men's team leader was projecting calmness and confidence, despite the turmoil Remy could feel roiling beneath the surface. He hadn't bothered to swap his narrow sleep goggles for his glasses and Remy almost moaned at the burst of heat that flared in his loins at the sight. Somehow, the goggles made him look more open. Vulnerable. "Help me make hot chocolate?"
"Sure, cher." The man really made it too easy. Remy eyed the chocolate syrup and milk sitting lonely on the island's countertop and tsked softly. Scooping up the milk he swapped it for half and half, then dug out the cinnamon and almond extract. Scott watched in open amusement, eyebrows arching as Remy shooed him out of the way to dig out a set of measuring spoons.
"I'm thinking you take your hot chocolate seriously," Scott laughed.
"Anything decadent should be taken seriously, Scottie," the Cajun chastised. The microwave tinged and Remy got down two mugs as Scott carefully retrieved the teapot of boiling water.
"It's good to have you back, Remy. I hope my stomping around didn't wake you up," he said as he watched Remy measure out portions.
"Non. Remy restless most nights," the empath assured. He laughed inwardly at the brunette's self-description, knowing Scott could be as quiet as a thief when he wanted to be. Plucking the spoon from those long fingers, he quickly stirred both mugs before proffering one. "Scottie keepin' secret a night owl life?"
"Thanks," Scott murmured, wrapping both hands around the warmed ceramic. "Just bad dreams is all." He didn't hesitate to take a sip of Remy's concoction and his delight tickled the younger mutant. "This is really good, Remy. You can make me hot chocolate anytime."
"My pleasure, cher." And it was. Though he hesitated to act openly on his attraction, Remy did enjoy watching his ever polite, ever desirous leader take pleasure in something, especially in these times. The silence they fell into was comfortable, Remy gently soothing the raw edges of Scott's pain with his empathy as he sipped his own cocoa. They stood facing each other and the thief luxuriated in the rareness of having this time alone with the man who had unwittingly caught his heart. It upset him, to think Scott was being chased from needed sleep by nightmares. He wanted the man he loved whole and his cunning mind began to churn ideas on how to possess all he desired.
Tilting his head, Scott caught sight of the time display on the microwave past Remy's shoulder. "Shit! Remy, it's late. You should go back to bed."
"An' you, cher?"
Putting his cup in the sink the brunette tiredly shook his head. "I won't be able to go back to sleep, not once the dreams start." Stepping past the Cajun, he made his way to the living room. "I'll just veg for a bit, then head down to the Danger Room."
Following his leader to the couch, Remy dropped himself close to the haunted young man, his easy smile undiminished by the countering frown. "Remy sit a spell, homme."
Scott shook his head. "You going to hold my hand every time I run from a dream?"
"Only de bad ones."
"They're all bad," came the whispered reply, barely heard as the lanky body shifted to a more comfortable position. Remy had taken up most of the couch, but Scott didn't comment, just curling as tightly into the corner as he could manage. The red head said nothing more and they lapsed back into familiar quiet.
Remy watched the man across from him, confident the exhausted mind would put up little resistance to his charm. He was, of course, correct. By slow increments Scott slipped back into sleep, his breathing evening out as the empath exerted control.
"Dere you go, cher. Remy slip you to sleep. Keep you safe from de ghosts eatin' your heart." Slinking to his feet he scooped the older man into his arms and headed for the stairs. Scott mumbled and made a fist in the Cajun's shirt, but did not wake.
*
The next night Remy was awake and waiting when he felt Scott's mood darken. Slipping on a pair of sweat pants he padded down the hall and quietly stole into the field leader's room. Putting his back to the door he listened for any sounds that would reveal his excursion had been noted by one of his teammates, but the hallway was quiet. Breathing out a quiet sigh, he turned his attention to the room's sole occupant.
Scott Summers was a beauty Remy burned to possess. As a master thief he'd stolen countless works of art, treasures that men had fought and died for. That he sold for their mere dollar value. He'd relished the challenge of acquiring them and the profit they'd later bring, but he'd never understood the gleam in his buyer's eyes, the greedy swirl of emotions when the object of their passions finally fell into their grasp. Trinkets and baubles, lifeless inanimate junk. Worthless compared to the tall lean man laid out before him, sweat sheening his golden pale skin as he fought the hold of another nightmare. Linen sheets rustled as the brunette twisted and jerked, close to waking as the adrenaline in his system started to peak.
Waking wasn't on Remy's agenda. Padding silently towards the bed he carefully climbed onto the firm mattress, reaching out a hand to one cotton pajama clad knee. The contact allowed him to more quickly re-establish their earlier contact from the night before, Scott immediately calming at the touch of another's mind against his own. His heart rate slowed and Remy gingerly stretched out alongside him, grinning smugly as Scott snuggled into his arms, head butting under his chin. The older man's mind settled into a deeper, peaceful sleep, leaving Remy free to explore the treasure he'd inadvertently inherited.
He marveled at what the absent Charles Xavier and the dead Jean Grey had created, a man conditioned to telepathic intimacy. From his unauthorized researching in Cerebro's database the thief knew Scott had come to the school after suffering years of abuse and neglect in state foster care and orphanages. A history not so dissimilar to his own. Why the recluse mutant peace activist had chosen a kid with as many problems as Scott must have had Remy could only guess at, but he did know Xavier had used his telepathy to control the then volatile teenager. The man had rebuilt the boy's mind from the ground up, creating the shy, disciplined young man he'd needed to spearhead his infantile X-Men. Remy wondered what Scott's first love had thought when she first entered his mind, because even as novice as Jean Grey had been in those early years, she must have realized Scott's head was too compartmentalized for it to be natural.
It was Jean's efforts Remy used now, following the pathways she had roped out to the innermost recesses of Cyclop's mind, stretching his empathic abilities beyond their reach by the grace of her meticulous work. There were old steel doors down here that reeked of the Professor's handiwork, but the redhead knew better than to tamper. Scott's mind was too fragile for him to start throwing open doors into his past. Instead he swept along filling and soothing the ache that tormented the brunette at night. By design or accident Scott had become inured to the sensation of another's mind continuously streaming through his own and could not function alone.
Parched for that contact and Remy happily obliged, pouring himself into the waiting mind and washing away the taint of any previous interlopers. Scott pressed into him with a soft sound and Remy tightened his hold. Scott was his.
That night became the first of many. As Remy's hold strengthened the nightmares came less frequently until they disappeared altogether. Still Remy stole into the brunette's room. Their connection was strong enough that the empath could have calmed his field leader without leaving the warmth of his own bed, but he acknowledged his weakness in being a tactile creature. He needed to have Scott safe and warm in his arms, even if the brunette would have no memory of him come morning.
During the day his field leader treated him with the same amused impatience he always did. It was what had first brought Scott to his attention, the indifference to his sarcasm and flirting with anything legal. So long as he followed orders Scott ignored the smoking, womanizing, and adamant refusal to do anything resembling manual labor. It had confused him the first time he'd blundered, his charm telling him he'd done something to piss off the older man, yet receiving no outward reaction. Scott insisted a team leader had to remain neutral and Remy learned to take comfort in that. No matter what he did, so long as he didn't betray the X-Men and their code of ethics, Scott would treat him no differently than he did the others. It was an understandable position for him to take; being put in charge of people like Wolverine, Rogue and Remy made blindness an occupational requirement. It had come as an epiphany that Cyclops could only deal with them as they came to him, their pasts set aside in favor of what they could give to Charles Xavier's dream. A second chance.
Then Jeannie had died and something vital in Scott died with her. A few days after the funeral their leader seemed to return to normal, if a little withdrawn. Everyone trod carefully and Remy was the only one who felt how deeply his still grieved. The man seemed to want his privacy and the thief gave it to him, worried but hopeful time would heal his broken heart.
New Orleans and his father called him back to his guild, months spent away from the X-Men trying to keep the peace between thieves and assassins. A stalemate was reached, the best he could ask for, and he returned to New York to find his family still whole, its leader as aloof as ever and quietly dying inside. The man was so exhausted it amazed Remy to see him standing and brusquely ordering everyone about as usual. The only other person who seemed to notice was Logan whose feral senses were heightened enough to smell the emotional distress. The normally antagonistic mutant was unusually quiet, staying to the shadows as he watched their leader live by rote. Remy's return barely registered on Logan, the man as obsessed as any predator stalking his prey.
It wasn't until he first saw the older man again, was graced with one of his quiet smiles, that Remy realized his heart had seen to its own affairs. Scott had always held his trust and no little affection, but he'd possessed enough integrity to steer clear of someone else's property. Now the brunette was available and Remy returned to the X-Men with a whole new set of priorities.
Logan may have been the acknowledged tracker on the team, but Remy possessed his own skills when it came to pursuing a mark. Which led him to the kitchen that night a few days after his return to learn of Scott's recurring nightmares.
To say that Scott treated him no differently by day after unwittingly seeking solace in his arms by night was not entirely true. Not given to casual physical contact, the X-Men field leader had even further withdrawn from the familial hugging and touching after Jean's death, always careful to stay just out of arms reach. Yet for all his wariness he never seemed to notice Remy's hovering. It was as though he'd developed a blind spot to the thief's proximity, a boon the redhead unhesitatingly took advantage of. Nothing overt, just small possessive touches: a hand on one slim hip as he leaned around him to grab a soda; a teasing tug on a crumpled mahogany curl; always sitting close at meals to let the lengths of their bodies rub together. Dozens of fractional intimacies that filled his day, somehow reassuring and absolutely maddening at the same time.
"Remy? Little brother, the hour is late to be brooding out here alone. What troubles hold you from sleep?" Ororo Monroe was an angelic vision as she hovered in the air before him. Her control of the wind gently swirled her diaphanous robes about her slender figure and Remy smiled, as always warmed by the sight of his closest friend.
"Don' worry dat pretty head o'ter Remy, Stormie." What could he truthfully say? His bedroom window was just below, but he'd planned to re-enter the house by the fourth window down, tired of weeks of sneaking through the hall when there was the convenience of the roof. And what was the Windrider doing floating around the men's wing? Curious, but he could hardly expect her to respect his privacy if he butted into hers, so he chose a truth that told nothing with a shake of the almost forgotten cancer stick in his hand. "Scott won' let Remy smoke in his own room, do it ére, no evil one-eye."
An indulgent smile and Ororo let him go. "The stench carries farther than you'd think, my friend." she seemed inclined to say more, but stopped. Their friendship was mostly built on the keeping of secrets. Remy inhaled deeply around the paper wrapping and the African lifted herself on a sudden gust of wind that blew her gown into wings and played havoc with his long red hair. "Enjoy your evening, my friend, but remember not to tarry overlong. We all have to wake in the morning."
So she knew or at least suspected. Remy leisurely finished his cigarette, then nimbly climbed back down into his own room. He doubted Storm knew everything; it was more likely she was bluffing, waiting to see what few cards she held could get her. Better to spend the night alone and monitor Scott from afar than risk fully revealing himself. He could no longer see her, but that didn't mean she wasn't watching.
Propping himself up against the headboard the Cajun amused himself with a deck of cards. He'd grown too used to sleeping with Scott to settle for himself, even for one night. Humming quietly, he stretched open the link and settled down to a long night of tedium.
Halfway through a losing hand of solitaire he fell asleep.
Remy started, cards scattering across the duvet and onto the floor as he jerked awake. Hysterical panic, grief, and mounting fear choked his breath. He fought for control, to shove Scott's emotions out of his head. It was instinctive, to close the link so he could separate himself from the brunette's turmoil. Too late he realized his mistake and he cursed his selfish stupidity as sudden terrified screams broke the stillness.
Logan was already in Scott's room when he made it to the hallway, Bobby and Peter right on his heels. Ignoring everyone but the figure huddled against the headboard, Remy clambered onto the bed and pulled the brunette's rigid body into his embrace. Scott's arms were wrapped around his head as he screamed into his knees, an agonized desolate wail that stabbed through what was left of Remy's heart. What kind of bastard shut an infantile link to a mind that needed such intimacy to keep hold of sanity? Crooning a Creole lullaby his Tante used to sing to him, the thief re-opened the connection and surged into Scott's scarred mind. It wasn't till now that he realized the enormity of what he had committed himself to when he bridged a link between their minds. This was forever, unless he could find another psychic to take his half of the bond. An idea he immediately rejected. Scott was his now, and he'd fight tooth and claw against anyone who tried to take him. Jeannie's death had left such a void in his mind, but Remy had filled it, become a part of Scott's psyche. There could be no parting them now.
The screams stopped. Reassured that there was still someone there with him, Scott quieted. Muscles unclenched and the lanky body sagged into his own, Remy taking the weight gratefully as that much loved tousled brown head dropped to his shoulder with a quiet exhalation.
The peace was brief. With a deep growl his only warning Scott was abruptly torn from his arms and Remy found himself on the floor with one of Wolverine's claws centimeters from his left eye. Ignoring the immediate threat, the redhead rolled his eyes until he saw a dazed Scott folded in Peter's massive arms. Reassured to his safety, Remy re-focused on his own precarious situation.
"Ya mind tell'n me what yer doin' ta Slim, swamp rat?" Logan growled, his rank breath of cigars, whiskey, and raw meat making Remy's aquiline nose wrinkle.
"Remy calm Scottie's nightmare, dat all. Jus'a lit'le charm to soothe de heart." He kept his voice level and let none of his fear leak our for the feral to catch whiff of. They may have come from different worlds for all that they had in common but Remy understood the predator that dominated the older man's personality. Fear made you prey and Wolverine killed his prey.
"Logan. Get off him. Now." The voice was weak but lacked none of its command. Scott Summers was a man who expected obedience, even from his most rebellious subordinates. What Remy envied and respected was that he got it. With a last warning growl Logan rolled off him and he was able to slide to his feet.
Arms wrapped protectively about his waist Scott looked too pale and wobbly to be standing on his own, but he managed, stubbornly ignoring Peter's hovering at his back as he glared at the two men before him. In his low slung dark blue pajama bottoms and sleep goggles glaring a thin red glow he was kissably adorable, but Remy refrained from putting thought to action.
"Logan, Bobby, Peter, everything's fine. Get out."
"Scott, are you sure you're - " the teenage popsicle began, but the words petered out when Scott slowly swung his head to level him with a trademark glare.
"Now."
They went. Logan made a point of shouldering Remy on his way past and quietly promising to finish with him later, but he left. Leaving Remy alone with his brunette. He wanted to take Scott into his arms before the man fell down and bury them back beneath the covers of the king sized bed, but he held himself still. Patient for Scott to make the first move.
A minute slipped past, then two. Scott stared at him blankly, but he could feel the brunette probing the link he was now consciously aware of. Physically and psychically, Remy waited until finally, Scott looked away, hugging himself tighter.
"You're in my head." It wasn't a question, but Remy answered anyway.
"Oui."
"I thought I could do this, but it hurts too much," the slender mutant whispered, more to himself than his audience, but Remy heard anyway. Then, that red glare re-focused on him. "What do you want from this? What do you want from me?"
"You, amour," Remy quietly replied, daring to take a step closer. "Remy want you."
A harsh, disbelieving bark of laughter, but Scott held his ground. "Me? You already have me, you're in my head!"
Another step and the shivering older man was within arms' reach. "Remy wants all of you."
Mahogany curls fell across his high forehead as Scott slumped. "There's nothing here to want. Can you understand that, Remy? Je-Jean was the best part of me. You've seen, you know, I'm not a complete person. This is just, you don't know what you're getting into, what kind of pathetic leech I am. I think-"
Remy tuned out the rest when he realized Scott wasn't rejecting him. Too late Scott looked up and caught his approach. A step back and Remy's arms were around him, spinning to put them back to front, pressed close enough together by the Cajun's capturing arm that the brunette's shivers vibrated his frame. His other hand gently cut off the tirade. Scott stiffened at the restraint, but didn't struggle.
He'd never had the opportunity to hold his broken X-Man like this and Remy found he quite enjoyed the possessive clasp. Breath whistled through Scott's slightly upturned straight little Irish nose and the thief blew a puff of air into the ear next to his mouth to smile at the surprised start.
"Remy will complete you, amour." The promise darkened Scott's ruby quartz goggles. Remy took the opportunity to gather him up and carry him back to the bed. The brunette almost seemed grateful to lay down and didn't protest Remy stretching out alongside him, slowly pulling up the thick comforter to cover them both. The breadth of a body lay between them at first, but by slow increments Scott scooted closer till his cheek pressed into the Cajun's bare shoulder. His hands nervously fluttered about until Remy caught them within his own and pressed them to his chest.
"No more nightmares, Scottie," he whispered, palming one bony hip as he kissed a lock of hair that smelt of cloves, but Scott was already asleep.
*
Morning came later than Remy had grown used to, for the first time in weeks not having to rouse himself before dawn to sneak back to his own room. Scott's warm weight was a familiar comfort, but slowly another sensation began to creep into his waking. He was being touched. With soft hesitancy he felt the subtle roughness of fingertips stroking his face, arms and chest, mapping the contours of his flesh. Keeping himself still with the looseness of sleep Remy cracked open one eye to see Slim studying him, serious expression broken by the bottom lip being gnawed upon. The X-Men field leader was curious, yet uncertain, and probing the man's emotions a little deeper, attracted and afraid. Considering he'd been worried that Scott would greet him with an optic blast upon finding himself in another man's arms, Remy took his reaction as hopeful. Any response that left him intact and non-smoldering had to be a good sign.
His morning erection chose that moment to make itself known. Normally he took care of it in the shower, fantasizing about the man in his arms, but the devil in him urged reckless boldness. Scott had separated them marginally to conduct his exploration, but the redhead was confident he was normal enough to share the male affliction. Tightening his grip on the hip he'd claimed last night Remy rocked them together, groaning softly at the pleasurable sensation of another man's hardness grinding into his own.
Scott gasped, pretty mouth falling open and Remy opened his eyes as he leaned in to claim a kiss. There was shocked resistance at first, but the Cajun persisted, dulling the brunette's fear and hesitancy, and heightening his arousal until with a delicate shiver Scott surrendered.
Kissing the shy field leader disarmed what moral fortitude Remy aspired to. Submissive and playful at the same time, Scott relaxed to his tongue's entreaty only to chase it about with his own, teeth nipping, his whole body giving in to the possession of mouth on mouth. Strong, long fingered square hands clutched desperately at his shoulders, neither pushing away nor pulling closer as the brunette moaned, soft breathy sounds that fueled Remy's ardor.
His hand traveled from the slope of Slim's hip to the small of his back, lightly kneading the muscles as he inched his way ever lower. The drawstring pants he'd appreciated the night before proved a boon to him now, easily giving way to his questing hand. The small, pert ass he'd admired since the first time he saw it was as firm as he'd imagined, his proprietary squeeze earning him a sharp grunt.
"Bon," he breathed, rocking them together as he kissed a path down Scott's throat. "Give yourself to me."
"Ah! If you're going to say that shit to me - fuck! - say it in French." Tousled head tossed back Scott eagerly thrust his covered erection against Remy's, squirming and moaning as the Cajun massaged the thin skin surrounding the entrance to his body.
Remy chuckled, but did as asked. "Donnez-vous, amour. /Give yourself, love. Let me feel your pleasure./ Slickened with sweat Remy's finger pressed into Scott's body, sinking deeply. Scott frowned at the odd sensation of being penetrated, instinctively tightening his rectal muscles to push the intruder out.
"Am I hurting you, cher?" The redhead soothed, swallowing thickly at the tightness crushing his finger. It was exquisite and made his cock ache, imagining Scott squeezing something significantly larger. Introducing his lover slowly to the joys of anal sex was going to kill him.
"No," Scott whispered, tentatively squirming on his finger. Then Remy found his prostate and scraped it, shooting off a bolt of pleasure. "Ah!" Scott's hips rocked into his own in a reflexive jerk.
"Like dat, did ya?"
"Yes," Scott panted, a blush staining his cheeks. The thief grinned and kissed him, lazily rubbing his erection against its mate. The brunette submitted to the kiss for a few moments but pulled away when Remy's finger stayed still inside his body. Frustration spiked and Scott impatiently rocked his hips. "Dammit, Remy!"
/What, love?/ Red eyes twinkled as he thrust his finger in and out but deliberately avoided his prostate. /Tell Remy what you want him to do./
Scott growled, nails cutting into Remy's flesh where he gripped his arms. "You bastard."
"Say it, Scottie," Remy laughed, dipping his head to peck that pert nose, but the brunette angrily jerked away. /Say what you want or Remy leave you like this. Begging like a sweet tart to have your every whimper of ecstasy eaten as I gorge myself on your succulent flesh before filling you with-/
Brown hair whipped his face as Scott snorted, shoving him none to lightly in the chest. "You're full of shit and don't tell me those lines actually work on someone. Sweet tart? You're as hard as I am." He rubbed them together to emphasize his point.
Remy shrugged, hiding his surprise that Scott understood his French. "Remy used to pining for you. He know dis pain." Feeling Scott's angered frustration was about to truly leave them both unsatisfied, the last thing he wanted his teasing to do, he lightly massaged that little hidden button, reminding Slim of the ecstasy to come. "Come, amour, play wit' Remy."
Scott moaned at the ghost of sensation. "Nnnn. Do that-" He stopped, a blush again warming his cheeks as he licked his lips. /Please do that again, Remy. Please, touch me./ Voice a little shaky as he tried not to laugh but his French was perfect, with a slight Parisian accent Hank McCoy probably didn't realize he stained his lessons with.
"Of course, cher." Remy pressed his prostate hard, the sudden spike of pained pleasure catapulting his lover into orgasm. A cry muffled into his shoulder and he felt the spread of wetness against his own underwear before he rode Scott's release into his own.
They drifted for a time after that, neither inclined to disturb the sated comfort of the moment. Remy wasn't certain if he fell back asleep, but he roused when Scott moved against him. There was noise in the hall, Bobby's loud laughter coming clearly through the walls. The rest of the mansion was stirring and Scott rose up to his elbows, leaning over his bedmate as he yawned and looked towards the bathroom.
"Time to get up, cher?"
"Yeah. I have a Danger Room session at seven. Actually, so do you. And we both need a shower."
"Oui." Remy compliantly agreed, stroking his finger deeper into Scott's body. The brunette shuddered deliciously so Remy did it again.
"Remy. Shower." There was more than a hint of the field leader in the growled words, clear warning Scott was serious. Remy slid the finger free, kissing the smooth chest above him to soothe away the wince of discomfort.
"Remy wash Scottie's back?" he offered hopefully.
Slim snorted as he clambered from the bed. "I doubt I'd get very clean if I let you wash any part of me." He smiled then, before stepping away, reaching down to finger a lock of reddish brown hair. "Thank you."
Remy rolled over onto his stomach to watch his lover's strong lean backside disappear into the adjoining bathroom. "Don' worry, Scottie. I'll take care of you."
*
The day went as any other when they weren't saving the world or being viciously attacked by it. Everyone seemed to know where Remy had spent the night, but no one was willing to openly address it. Their field leader was still withdrawn, but the shadows in his eyes had lightened and at moments he moved with his old grace. Ororo seemed the most pleased, nearly beaming with her joy, but refrained from assaulting them with it. During practice Gambit treated his new lover as Cyclops, leader of the X-Men, and noticed the older man's tension ease. And though it took execution to realize it, Remy knew the game well enough that Scott needed to separate the lover from the hero to accept their relationship.
What reassured in the Danger Room quickly twisted into doubt, however, when Remy thought to make a public display of respecting his lover's space. Though there was no outward reaction to Remy keeping their chairs at the lunch table apart, the thief was suddenly grateful for his empathy as he felt the flash of anger, quickly followed by hurt and self-doubt. The proprietary hand he settled onto one knee almost got knocked off, but sulking anger gave way to amused affront when he casually filched the strawberries from the brunette's plate. His fork stabbed out for the last one, but before he could savor his prize his wrist was caught and Scott bit the berry from the tines without turning from his discussion of astrology with Hank. Across the table Kitty giggled and Remy flicked his fingers at her.
Later that night, as David Letterman was winding to a close in the communal room, Remy excused himself and slipped upstairs to the Professor's study. With Xavier on hiatus Scott had taken over the space and the duties that went with it. Remy found him hunched over the old cherry wood desk, a pen absently being chewed as he shuffled paper from one stack to another.
"Time for bed, cher," he said from the doorway.
Scott didn't look up, mumbling around the pen. "In a few."
"Non. In this, you can't fool Remy. He can feel, Scottie almost asleep where he sit. Time for bed now." There was temptation to use his charm, to sweep Scott under, but the brunette was too aware of him now and their trust too new. If Scott felt he was losing control he would resist, would fight their link and Remy's claiming of his bed. Sweetest irony that years spent tumbling from one forgettable affair to another now gave him the experience to woo a man as pure as Scott Summers. No heavy chains could hold such an independent soul, but the finest of gossamer webs would fastly secure. "Come wit' me, cher."
And Scott relented, surrendering to his exhaustion and that sultry pleading voice. In the doorway Remy caught him in a kiss, reward and promise that coaxed greedy little noises from the back of his throat, body shuddering under the nimble hands that mapped it. Up against the doorjamb and Remy wove his fingers through the thick sable of Scott's hair, holding him in place and protecting his head from banging into the hard wood. His other hand swept down the strong lean back, a thief's dexterity wiggling him past fitted slacks and the elastic waistband of boxers to palm warm, firm flesh. Merci, Scott had an ass.
"Want you," he husked, pulling sharply on his handful of hair to lay claim to the taut column of throat. Pulse beating rapidly just beneath the skin and he suckled, raising the blood until he'd left a passion mark no one could mistake. This man was his.
Scott led the way to his bedroom and did not question Remy following at his heels. A swirl of arousal, trepidation and exhaustion thickened the air in the room and Scott escaped into the bathroom. Remy took the opportunity to secure the door and draw the drapes, remembering just last night Ororo had been doing flybys over the men's wing. Stripping to the skin he slipped beneath the covers before Scott finished his ablutions.
Propped on one elbow, he lazily watched a scrubbed clean Slim cross to the bed, sleep goggles in place, T-shirt and boxers hugging his lean frame with the comfort of old familiarity. Without a word the older man climbed into bed and Remy reached for the lights. Plunged into shadowed darkness and the rustle of bedclothes was the only sound to be heard over soft breathing as the two men settled into the other's closeness.
Scott seemed inclined to keep to his side of the bed, hugging himself and facing the outside as he tried to relax, but Remy closed the distance. With a soft grunt on his part Scott was yanked back to lay them flush, Remy's arms curling about him as a leg nudged between his own. The brunette's hair was slightly damp and Remy happily buried his nose to breath him in, ready to sleep now that he had his most loved secure in his arms.
"Comfortable?" Scott grumped, wiggling slightly in his clasp. He managed to free an arm but Remy snatched it back, fingers interlacing on the pillow.
"Oui. Now sleep."
Scott wiggled again, then abruptly froze in shock. "Remy, what are you wearing?"
It was almost a stage whisper and the redhead grinned into the thick locks. "N'ting, cher."
"You're naked!" The older man attempted to roll away, but Remy tightened his grip. "Let go! What if we're attacked? If there's an emergency?"
With a dexterous twist the thief had his field leader under him, hands still clasped on the pillow as he used his weight to trap Scott's other arm between them. His free hand languidly stroked the leanly muscled flank, up to his slightly jutting ribcage and back down again. Scott had lost weight, not that it didn't look good on him. "Remy don' need his smallclothes to fight. Sleep better this way. Even better, if Scottie let me," he reared up to tug at the concealing T-shirt, but the brunette's hand was there to stop him.
"No." Shy embarrassment and lingering doubt caused the gentle flush to stain his cheeks and Remy knew he could force the intimacy if he pushed. But why push when patience would reward? "Bien, cher. We sleep as we are, eh?" A jerky nod and they returned to their earlier positions, Scott lying stiff. Long minutes passed, but when Remy made no other move than to hold him, he relaxed. Shortly after that, he slept.
Listening to his deep breathing Remy cautiously tested the tethering of their bond, pleased to find it still firmly rooted. All of his protests aside, Scott had done nothing to distance himself mentally, and that told the empath more than his physical reluctance did.
Scott Summers had accepted his courtship.
*
TBC.
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