X-Men Fan Fiction ❯ Doctor Robert ❯ Chapter 1
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: aliccolo 
Bobby finds himself playing counselor and confidant to a distraught Remy in the middle of the night. Awkwardness ensues. Lomy slash warning!!!
Non Anime: X-Men Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Comedy | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 08.16.2008 | Updated On: 08.16.2008 | Pages: 5 | Words: 4.8K | Visits: 702 | Status: Completed
Bobby finds himself playing counselor and confidant to a distraught Remy in the middle of the night. Awkwardness ensues. Lomy slash warning!!!
Non Anime: X-Men Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Comedy | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 08.16.2008 | Updated On: 08.16.2008 | Pages: 5 | Words: 4.8K | Visits: 702 | Status: Completed
Doctor Robert by aliccolo
Pairing: Logan/Remy, Bobby/Bobby
Rating: NC-17, for language and some smut. Please do not read this if you can't handle sex and profanity.
Archive: Seriously? Yes. If you think it's good enough. I would be so happy. Just let me know if you want to, and if so, where.
Notes: This is my very first attempt at an X-Men fanfic...please be gentle...this is also my very first NC-17 story ever. Any and all feedback is welcome. I'd love to know how to improve. This has not been beta'd. Any mistakes are due to my typing too fast at 4am trying to finish this before I lose my nerve and forget the whole idea.
Synopsis: Bobby finds himself playing counselor and confidant to a distraught Remy in the middle of the night. Awkwardness ensues.
Disclaimers: Characters belong to Marvel, et al. No money is made, no harm intended. I am a divorced college student, I assure, you, I have no money.
Completed: July 2008 Contact: magical_soybean@yahoo.com
***
The digital clock on the nightstand flashed a steady 3:32, which meant it was probably closer to midnight. Bobby casually dried himself off, not really caring that he hadn't reset the clock since he'd tripped over its cord four days prior. He'd just remember the approximate time of socket dislodge and figure the time from that.
He felt fresh, clean, and satisfied as he applied deoderant and tossed it across the floor. Collapsing in a happy heap on the bed, he inhaled, and remembered he hadn't changed his sheets in awhile.
No matter. He was spent, and by his own hand. After all, sex is fun, but it ain't the real thing. No, no, Bobby Drake was one of the few people on the planet who preferred masterbation to intercourse. And why not? Masterbation is a completely selfish act, and, Bobby was the first to admit he was selfish.
Not bothering to dress, he crawled under the sheets and settled in for some shut eye. 3:37. He dozed off.
4:58. BOOOOOOM. Bobby peeked an eye open, observing nothing in the still of his room. Was that an explosion? He brushed the thought aside as just a bad dream and curled into a snug ball.
But his ears didn't deceive him. Faint shouting, and slamming, and stomping. Someone was running up the stairs.
"Christ," He muttered, forcing his eyes closed, waiting for whoever felt the need to run a marathon in the middle of the night to reach their destination and chill out.
The footsteps got louder. Bobby waited in the dark for the silence. And finally, the night was still again. For about three seconds.
Before Bobby could react, his bedroom door flew open and someone dashed inside, slamming the door and locking it tight. In a fury, Bobby let out a scream of pure terror, flailing his arms, tangling himself in the sheets.
The visitor fell to the floor in a ball, panting and shaking, obviously just as scared as Bobby. The man begged, voice quivering, "Don' kill me Bobby."
Bobby nearly knocked over the lamp on his bedside table in a rush to comprehend the situation. In the moment it took for his eyes to adjust, he could have sworn he was dreaming. There, huddled on his bedroom floor, beside his deoderant tube and a pair of dirty socks, was Remy LeBeau. A sad, horrified, completely adreneline spiked Remy LeBeau.
"What the fuck, man!" Bobby sputtered. He didn't think he could manage anything else. Gambit was the absolute last person he expected to barge into his room at 1:30 in the morning.
"Shhhh!" The Cajun hissed, eyes wide in horror. "Hush!"
Bobby shook his head, his face painted with sheer confusion. "Um, what? Look, pal, you bust in here at an insane hour, and then tell me to 'hush'? Uh-uh, buddy, start talkin'. What the fuck is going on?" Crossing his arms, he added sharply, "And if this is some sort of demented prank, I will make a Gumbo popsicle out of you, got it?" Bobby almost cracked a grin at his own wit, before realizing it wasn't really that funny.
"He's gonn' kill me." Remy said, eyes flashing with fear. He paused a moment, before suddenly leaping to his feet, pacing frantically in a small circle. He started talking a mile a minute. "I'm gonn' die. I am literally dead, homme! Got it? Dis boy is no more. Dis boy'll cease to be. I am about to die, Bobby! He's gonn' kill me! I am a dead man! Dis is worse 'an any other shit I been in befo'. I ain't gonn' make it t'rough tonight. He gonn' catch me and den I is a goner."
Bobby wrapped the sheet around his waist, motioning for Remy to sit on the bed. "Look, LeBeau, I have no idea what the hell you're saying, but--"
"Den you ain't list'nin'. Der's a guy outside dat I jus' pissed off royally. He's gonn' kill me, homme. You gotta he'p me!" Exasperation tainted his tone. Remy had ignored Bobby's offer to sit, instead opting to continue his pacing.
It was in this moment that Bobby noticed something unusual. His southern compatriot was clad in nothing but a pair of cut off denim shorts. Denim shorts which were mysteriously unbuttoned, with the belt unhooked. He frowned at the scene unfolding in his bedroom. This was too weird not to be some sort of joke. Perhaps Hank had been an asshole and mention Bobby's penchant for solo sex and the gang had decided to play some stupid prank on him. Send in a scantily clad, ripped, fine as all fucking hell Cajun and tease poor Bobby into some embarrassing situation before running in the a Polaroid and playing keep-away with the resulting picture. They'd all say it was his fault for going to bed early, his fault for not locking his door, his fault for not kicking Gambit out as soon as he'd realized who it was. Christ, he hated them sometimes. Bobby wouldn't put it past those fuckers. Things like that were known to happen. But, the joke would be on them. Any plans to blackmail him with dirty pictures would be for naught. Bobby didn't swing that way. Usually.
But, on the off chance his teammate wasn't flat out lying, Bobby decided perhaps he should take the bait. "Ok, Gambit, ok. Who's gonna kill you?"
The thief stared at him, panic evident on his perfect face. "Logan".
Bobby laughed. Hard. Yep, definately a prank. Smiling, he shook his head, "Nice try, Gambit."
"What? You don' believe me? You don' t'ink dat Logan is capable of murderin' me?"
Iceman leaned back against his headboard. Gambit was not reacting the way one would expect when caught in a failed trick. "Ok, Cajun. Why's Logan gonna kill you? You throw a card at him or somethin'?"
Remy coughed nervously, obviously not at ease with Bobby's reaction, "Uh-huh."
Bobby raised an eyebrow. He was more confused than before. "Ok, kid, let me get this straight. You threw a card at Logan, so he's gonna kill you?" He paused as Remy nodded furiously. "You realize that that makes no sense at all, right? I mean, either you're completely bullshitting me, or you left something out. 'Cuz I've known Wolvie for awhile now, and let me just say that one little card exploding in his face ain't gonna kill him. I mean, it'll piss him off --like, seriously, dude, he'll be pissed--but I highly doubt he'll want you dead for it..."
Remy didn't seem to take any comfort in Bobby's reassurances. "No, homme. You don' get it."
"Ok, Gambit, I'm trying here. Cut me some slack. Just tell me the whole fucking story or scram." It was clear that Bobby was sick of this game.
"'Kay." Remy paused a moment, looking from Bobby to the door, as if weighing his options. In a split second, he dove onto the foot of the bed. Bobby quickly pulled his legs to his chest, allowing the Cajun to spread out horizontally on the edge. "I tell you de whole story."
"Ok."
"And you listen?"
"Sure."
"And you don' kick me out or yell or try an' kill me?"
"Not until I hear everything."
Remy seemed satisfied with that answer. He rolled onto his stomach, a hand sliding into his back pocket for a cigarette. Bobby forced his gaze away, trying to ignore that the other man was smoking in his bed. He grabbed an empty Coke can from the floor and tossed it to Remy, "You ash on my bed, I kill you." Remy chuckled and nodded.
"How do I start? Well, I start wit' de trut', I s'pose." He took a long drag, the nicotine calming him. Bobby studied the theif's face, unsure exactly where this story was headed. "It started out back."
"Out back?"
"Oui, in de yard. Po' Remy was jus' sittin' smokin', mindin' himself when his ol' pal Logan shows up."
"Ok, then what? You threw a card at him?"
"Quit skippin' ahead." Remy exhaled, a cloud of tangy smoke forming above the bed. "So dere I was, not doin' not'in to no one. And here comes ol' Wolverine. He say he been lookin fo' me. He say he been lookin' and scentin' fo' me."
Bobby sighed impatiently.
The Cajun frowned, "If'n you want me dead, just' keep on with your sighs and your hurry up's."
"Sorry. Please, continue."
"Like I were sayin', he say he been scentin' me. Which is code." He let the smoke fill his lungs.
"Code?" Bobby's attention was once again snared.
Remy nodded, "Yeah, it mean he wanna fuck me."
Bobby choked. He coughed, and coughed, and coughed, and pounded his chest, gasping for air. Gambit looked more than slightly amused. "What the fuck, LeBeau!"
"I ain't foolin' you, Drake."
"You are, you lying rat. Logan does not want to fuck you."
Remy ashed into the red and white can, "Sure he do."
"No."
"Why would I make dis shit up, Bobby?"
He paused, at a momentary loss. "Because you...you..." He crossed his arms to his chest, "Look, Cajun, Wolverine ain't a queer. I know the guy, and trust me, he does not want to fuck you."
Bobby shuttered at even the thought, before catching the Cajun's serious as shit stare. Remy, sucked on his ciggie, and stated plainly,"If he didn' wanna fuck me, den he wouldn' have."
"Oh my GAAWWWWD!" Bobby wailed, the mental image trampling through his mind, destroying any innocent preconceptions he may have still kept buried in the back of his head. "You mean you--?"
The Cajun nodded, a small smirk plastered on his lips. He spoke, cigarette in mouth, "Sure. We been fuckin' fo' 'while now. Mebbe two, t'ree months..."
"Ugh! Spare me the details. Christ, man. I just...God...I wasn't expecting that." The Iceman shivered.
"We ain't told no one." Gambit's voice lowered. "Just fuck buddies, s'all."
Bobby forced himself to recompose. He nodded, watching cautiously as the other man dropped the cigarette butt into the soda can. "So, um, he was 'scenting' you?"
"Oui. So, we go back behin' de garage. Is a good place to fuck, dat. Hardly anyone goes back dere..."
Bobby made a mental note to *never* go back there.
Gambit fished out another cigarette. Bobby extended his hand, silently bumming one. Remy looked surprised, but complied, lighting two with his finger before passing one to Bobby. "So we back dere, an' I go down on him--"
Bobby coughed on the smoke, "Details, man! Jesus!"
A chortle escaped Remy's lips, "Yeah, right. Sorry. Anyways, we're gettin' into it when he say somet'ing."
"What'd he say?" Bobby ashed into the can thoughfully extended to him.
"He say to me 'Je t'aime'."
Bobby's brow furrowed. "Je t'aime?"
"Oui."
"And it means...?" Bobby's French was a little rusty. He was sure he should know what the phrase meant, but he was at a loss.
Remy sighed, cigarette dangling dangerously from his lips. "Means I love you."
Bobby nodded, his eyes wide, still in disbelief. He still couldn't honestly fathom that any of this was true. "Ok, so, you two are doing the nasty behind the garage, he says he loves you...then what."
"Den I let him finish--"
"LeBeau!"
"--and I try to leave." Remy said between drags. "And Logan come up behin' me and try to talk at me."
"What'd he say?"
Remy had inched his way up the bed and was now level with Bobby. Laying on his back, he took in some air, doing his best impression of the Canadian,"He say, 'You hear what I said, darlin'? I said I love you.' And I says at him, 'My eye.' And he say, 'Why, you don't believe me?' And I says, 'Cher, ain't nobody say dat to me and mean it.' And he say, 'I do.' And I say, 'Fuck you.'"
"So...?" Bobby tried not to cough.
"So den he try to pull me back to 'im. He try to kiss po' Gambit."
"And? By your own admission you two have been fucking for months. What's the big deal?"
"De deal, homme, it dat everyt'ing were just fine. We'd hang out, smoke, get drunk, mebbe play some poker, an' den have de best sex a guy could ever want. Everyt'ing is perfect. No strings, no worries, just two friends fucking each other. Make sense, mon ami?"
Bobby then realized the problem, "So if he says he loves you then it's over? No more casual butt sex, or what ever it is you two do?"
"Oui."
Bobby stole a sideways glance at the Cajun man, noting the dispair in his handsome face. "Why is does it have to be over, Gambit? Why can't things just stay the same?" And why do I care? He asked himself silently.
"He lied to me."
"How do you know?" Bobby rolled onto his side, facing Remy straight on.
The kid milked his cigarette for one last drag, "Like I say befo'. Nobody say dat to me an' mean it. I can tell."
Iceman closed his eyes, vaguely remembering mention of the Cajun having some sort of empathic abilities. He wished he'd paid more attention when the Professor rambled.
"I could tell if he loved me, and he don'."
Bobby shrugged, "Ok, so he lied. So what? Then things are still the same. He doesn't love you, and you don't love him...unless..." Then, it dawned on him. It hit Bobby like a ton of bricks. Or ice. "Oh shit."
The Cajun's head turned quickly, his cheeks burning bright red. His jaw clenched. Bobby wasn't sure if Remy was more angry or embarrassed.
"So, there are emotions in play..." Bobby couldn't help but grin. And giggle.
"Shut up."
"No, no, no, LeBeau. This is just, um, well...to be honest this is completely amusing. I mean come on. Come on! How did I not know about this before? Gambit is in love with Wolverine! Christ, I mean, jeez. Wow!"
"Shhhhh!" Remy hissed angrily. Bobby, realizing he was practically shouting, pulled a pillow to his face to laugh into.
"Ain't funny."
Bobby's shoulders shook. He couldn't stop.
"Right den. Later, Drake."
Remy forced himself upright to leave, a firm hand grabbed his forearm. "I'm done, I swear."
"Ain't funny."
Bobby peered over the pillow, examining Gambit's sad expression. The kid looked like he was about to cry. That couldn't be good. The guy with the tough, fuck you exterior, the devil may care charm, the ladies man persona, sat on Bobby Drake's bed, an emotional wreck. Bobby' hand still rested protectively on the other man's arm. He gave him a reassuring squeeze. "I'm done laughing, Remy."
The kid nodded, sensing the shift in Bobby's mood. He lazed back onto the bed. "So, he lied to me."
"You sure? Maybe you just didn't get a good read on him..."
"No, mon ami. Logan lied to me. He looked me in the eyes and lied to me."
Bobby gently stroked Remy's arm, trying to settled him down. "So, what happened next?"
Remy lowered his eyes, "I say, 'Fuck you, Logan'. An' befo' I can stop myse'f, I got a card from my pocket an' I t'row it at 'im. An' I hit him square in de face. An' I take off like a bat outta hell."
"That probably wasn't a good idea, kid."
"Oui. But alls I kept sayin' was, 'He gonn' kill me. He hate me now, he gonn' kill me.' So, I keep on running 'til I get up here."
"And you rudely break into my room."
"Needed a place to hide."
"Why my room, Remy?"
He shrugged, "Dis is de last place I'd look fer me."
"Good point." Bobby slowly let his hand drop from Gambit's arm. "So now what? You plan on hiding in here forever? 'Til when? I mean, Wolverine is pretty good at waiting around for shit. That guy can hold a grudge like no one's business."
"I know."
"Well, what's your brilliant exit strategy? Hard for me to believe a legendary bullshit artiste like Gambit can't slither his way out of this mess."
"Don' know what to do, cher."
Remy reached for another cigarette. Bobby batted his hand away from the pack. "Stop that, you dumb chain smoking bastard. Suicide via lung cancer is not a viable option."
"Don' know what to do." He repeated numbly.
Bobby sat up straight, crossed legged on the bed. "Jeez, Cajun. You don't hide in my bedroom. You face it like a man. I mean hell, you made the bed, now sleep in it. You and Logan both decided to be fuck buddies, so it's your own fault you let yourself get emotionally involved. But you can't hide from it and pretend nothing's happened, or assume I'm going to let you hide in here."
"He'll kill me." Remy's eyes pleaded.
"No he won't."
"He will. I know him, cher, he will gut me like a catfish."
Bobby snorted, and before he could think twice, he blurted, "Three Benjamins says he won't."
The prospect of a bet caught Remy's attention. "You bullshittin' me, Drake?"
"No. Look, LeBeau, you can take the bet and face Logan on your own, or I can go get Logan and make you face him."
"D'accord." Remy stood slowly, Bobby rose a moment after. "But when he fillets me, you gonn' be de one I curse wit' my dyin' breath."
"Get out of my room, asshole." Bobby jibed, opening the door ahead of Remy.
The Cajun man groaned, leaving as slowly as possible. "Connard."
Bobby slammed the door on him. He shuffled back to bed, sheet still wrapped tight around his nude body. He flicked off the bedside lamp, and sat silently in the dark for several long, arduous minutes. "What the hell am I doing? What if I was wrong? What if Logan does kill him? He'll put some backwoods voodoo curse on me!"
With the silence that comes from years of sneaking around the mansion, Bobby slowly made his way down the hall, down the stairs, following the only light on in the otherwise black building. Scott's office. Two familiar voices carried on a private conversation. Bobby quietly approached, his ears straining to pick up on the heated discussion.
"Are you fucking crazy?"
"I tol' you, it was just a reflex s'all. I weren't trying to hurt you..."
"Ha. Well, funny way of showin' it, Gumbo."
They were silent for a moment before Bobby heard the most terrifying noise he'd every heard. Snikt. A second later, Bobby sighed with relieve, the tell tale sound of a beer can being popped open.
"You lied to me." Bobby could hear Gambit's voice crack.
"I ain't never lied to you, darlin'." Logan growled. Bobby shivered.
"Liar. You tell Remy je t'aime, you tell him dat. Ain't true."
"It is true."
"Non, cher. I can feel it. Dis mon la vérité."
Logan said nothing, he just sniffed. Bobby flattened himself against the wall, praying Logan hadn't caught his scent.
"I ain't the kinda person to lie about something like that, LeBeau." Bobby's face fell, the anger was evident in Wolverine's voice. "But if you say you can't feel it, then maybe I should try and make it more obvious."
"Mais--"
"Shut up Remy."
A muffled whimpered was all Bobby could hear. His pulse quickened. He lightly pressed his ear against the door, hearing only heavy breathing. To his surprise, the door wasn't quite latched shut. He nudged it opened with his nose, his eyes wide in awe.
Remy stood, back pinned against the large window, completely exposed, save Logan's head covering his crotch. Logan's mouth wrapped tightly around Remy's cock, taking in the entire length. The Cajun moaned, "Dieu...Dieu..."
Logan slowed his pace, tenderly and deliberately teasing Remy. The younger man reached for Logan's head, in a desperate, vain attempt to speed things up. Logan fiercly swatted the unwanted limb away, letting Remy's throbbing cock slip from his mouth, "No. Hands off."
The kid complied, and Logan resumed his worked. His head bobbed slowly, his eyes gazing up, watching pleasure dance over Remy's face. Logan took him in deeply, keeping an easy, steady rhythm.
Lust permeated the office. Bobby couldn't stop from grasping as his own needy erection. He was hard as a rock, he needed to come. Thoughtlessly releasing his grip on his sheet/outfit, he worked on his cock, fucking his own hand in time to Logan's careful movements.
"Dieu...don' stop, cher..." Remy begged.
Logan growled in response, causing the younger man to writhe with pleasure. He steadily sped up, tongue swirling over the pulsating cock. A big, firm hand reached around, grasping at Remy's ass, spreading the cheeks apart. A thick finger eagerly teased at the tight hole, the tip entering and leaving quickly.
Remy's eyes grew wide. He stared down at Logan, licking his lips. A slew of emotions crashed into him like a tidal wave. Lust, jealousy, anger, concern, forgiveness...love. There was no mistaking it now. Remy was tempted to drag the shorter man up off his knees and just hold him. But his cock, being so lovingly sucked needed further attention. Remy instead fed off the emotions, returning them in kind.
Bobby's breathing hitched as he felt the familar wave of climax sweep over him. It took all of his strength not to gasp outloud as he came into his hand. Grabbing blindly for the sheet, he stumbled haphazardly down the hall, seeking a moment to recover in a dark shadow.
Remy picked up on an unfamilar , yet overpowering rush of lust. It was all he needed to send him over the edge. He clenched onto Logan's shoulders, fucking the other man's mouth quickly to orgasm. The Canadian nursed his cock, swallowed his seed eagerly. Remy sank forward, leaning heavily on Logan. "Je suis désolé."
"Believe me yet?"
The kid nodded, "I'm so stupid..."
"I know. That don't make me love you any less." Logan rose to his feet, half dragging Remy toward the door. "Don't ferget yer shorts, Gumbo. Scooter'lll shit a brick if he finds those in here..."
Remy snorted, grabbing the discarded cut-offs. Logan gently urged him into the dark, still hallway. "I'm tired, cher. Come tuck me in."
Logan grunted, gazing at a human shaped outline against the stairwell, "How 'bout you, Snowball? Need me to tuck you in too?" His lips twisted into a menacing grin.
Bobby grimaced at being caught. "No thanks, gentlemen. I am quite capable of getting myself to bed."
"Have fun, mon ami?" Remy beamed.
Bobby ignored him as the three walked silently upstairs. Before parting ways, Bobby tapped the Cajun's shoulder, whispering as quietly as he could, "Il vous aime."
Remy nodded as Bobby padded back to his room, wrapped tightly in that wickedly dirty sheet, and whispered softly, "Merci."
Bobby turned quickly "Hey, LeBeau?"
"Oui?" The Cajun leaned against his doorframe. Wolverine peered out from Gambit's room.
"I'll get your money tomorrow...Three hundred."
Remy winked at him before yawning happily, "Keep it, cher. Don' need it."
Bobby silently basked in the relief, "Well then, gentlemen, good night."
"Bon nuit, Drake."
Logan grunted, closing the door tight. Bobby stood still in the hall, his mind wanting to grasp exactly what he had witnessed. Shrugging, he heard his bed call his name. It could wait 'til morning.
Pairing: Logan/Remy, Bobby/Bobby
Rating: NC-17, for language and some smut. Please do not read this if you can't handle sex and profanity.
Archive: Seriously? Yes. If you think it's good enough. I would be so happy. Just let me know if you want to, and if so, where.
Notes: This is my very first attempt at an X-Men fanfic...please be gentle...this is also my very first NC-17 story ever. Any and all feedback is welcome. I'd love to know how to improve. This has not been beta'd. Any mistakes are due to my typing too fast at 4am trying to finish this before I lose my nerve and forget the whole idea.
Synopsis: Bobby finds himself playing counselor and confidant to a distraught Remy in the middle of the night. Awkwardness ensues.
Disclaimers: Characters belong to Marvel, et al. No money is made, no harm intended. I am a divorced college student, I assure, you, I have no money.
Completed: July 2008 Contact: magical_soybean@yahoo.com
***
The digital clock on the nightstand flashed a steady 3:32, which meant it was probably closer to midnight. Bobby casually dried himself off, not really caring that he hadn't reset the clock since he'd tripped over its cord four days prior. He'd just remember the approximate time of socket dislodge and figure the time from that.
He felt fresh, clean, and satisfied as he applied deoderant and tossed it across the floor. Collapsing in a happy heap on the bed, he inhaled, and remembered he hadn't changed his sheets in awhile.
No matter. He was spent, and by his own hand. After all, sex is fun, but it ain't the real thing. No, no, Bobby Drake was one of the few people on the planet who preferred masterbation to intercourse. And why not? Masterbation is a completely selfish act, and, Bobby was the first to admit he was selfish.
Not bothering to dress, he crawled under the sheets and settled in for some shut eye. 3:37. He dozed off.
4:58. BOOOOOOM. Bobby peeked an eye open, observing nothing in the still of his room. Was that an explosion? He brushed the thought aside as just a bad dream and curled into a snug ball.
But his ears didn't deceive him. Faint shouting, and slamming, and stomping. Someone was running up the stairs.
"Christ," He muttered, forcing his eyes closed, waiting for whoever felt the need to run a marathon in the middle of the night to reach their destination and chill out.
The footsteps got louder. Bobby waited in the dark for the silence. And finally, the night was still again. For about three seconds.
Before Bobby could react, his bedroom door flew open and someone dashed inside, slamming the door and locking it tight. In a fury, Bobby let out a scream of pure terror, flailing his arms, tangling himself in the sheets.
The visitor fell to the floor in a ball, panting and shaking, obviously just as scared as Bobby. The man begged, voice quivering, "Don' kill me Bobby."
Bobby nearly knocked over the lamp on his bedside table in a rush to comprehend the situation. In the moment it took for his eyes to adjust, he could have sworn he was dreaming. There, huddled on his bedroom floor, beside his deoderant tube and a pair of dirty socks, was Remy LeBeau. A sad, horrified, completely adreneline spiked Remy LeBeau.
"What the fuck, man!" Bobby sputtered. He didn't think he could manage anything else. Gambit was the absolute last person he expected to barge into his room at 1:30 in the morning.
"Shhhh!" The Cajun hissed, eyes wide in horror. "Hush!"
Bobby shook his head, his face painted with sheer confusion. "Um, what? Look, pal, you bust in here at an insane hour, and then tell me to 'hush'? Uh-uh, buddy, start talkin'. What the fuck is going on?" Crossing his arms, he added sharply, "And if this is some sort of demented prank, I will make a Gumbo popsicle out of you, got it?" Bobby almost cracked a grin at his own wit, before realizing it wasn't really that funny.
"He's gonn' kill me." Remy said, eyes flashing with fear. He paused a moment, before suddenly leaping to his feet, pacing frantically in a small circle. He started talking a mile a minute. "I'm gonn' die. I am literally dead, homme! Got it? Dis boy is no more. Dis boy'll cease to be. I am about to die, Bobby! He's gonn' kill me! I am a dead man! Dis is worse 'an any other shit I been in befo'. I ain't gonn' make it t'rough tonight. He gonn' catch me and den I is a goner."
Bobby wrapped the sheet around his waist, motioning for Remy to sit on the bed. "Look, LeBeau, I have no idea what the hell you're saying, but--"
"Den you ain't list'nin'. Der's a guy outside dat I jus' pissed off royally. He's gonn' kill me, homme. You gotta he'p me!" Exasperation tainted his tone. Remy had ignored Bobby's offer to sit, instead opting to continue his pacing.
It was in this moment that Bobby noticed something unusual. His southern compatriot was clad in nothing but a pair of cut off denim shorts. Denim shorts which were mysteriously unbuttoned, with the belt unhooked. He frowned at the scene unfolding in his bedroom. This was too weird not to be some sort of joke. Perhaps Hank had been an asshole and mention Bobby's penchant for solo sex and the gang had decided to play some stupid prank on him. Send in a scantily clad, ripped, fine as all fucking hell Cajun and tease poor Bobby into some embarrassing situation before running in the a Polaroid and playing keep-away with the resulting picture. They'd all say it was his fault for going to bed early, his fault for not locking his door, his fault for not kicking Gambit out as soon as he'd realized who it was. Christ, he hated them sometimes. Bobby wouldn't put it past those fuckers. Things like that were known to happen. But, the joke would be on them. Any plans to blackmail him with dirty pictures would be for naught. Bobby didn't swing that way. Usually.
But, on the off chance his teammate wasn't flat out lying, Bobby decided perhaps he should take the bait. "Ok, Gambit, ok. Who's gonna kill you?"
The thief stared at him, panic evident on his perfect face. "Logan".
Bobby laughed. Hard. Yep, definately a prank. Smiling, he shook his head, "Nice try, Gambit."
"What? You don' believe me? You don' t'ink dat Logan is capable of murderin' me?"
Iceman leaned back against his headboard. Gambit was not reacting the way one would expect when caught in a failed trick. "Ok, Cajun. Why's Logan gonna kill you? You throw a card at him or somethin'?"
Remy coughed nervously, obviously not at ease with Bobby's reaction, "Uh-huh."
Bobby raised an eyebrow. He was more confused than before. "Ok, kid, let me get this straight. You threw a card at Logan, so he's gonna kill you?" He paused as Remy nodded furiously. "You realize that that makes no sense at all, right? I mean, either you're completely bullshitting me, or you left something out. 'Cuz I've known Wolvie for awhile now, and let me just say that one little card exploding in his face ain't gonna kill him. I mean, it'll piss him off --like, seriously, dude, he'll be pissed--but I highly doubt he'll want you dead for it..."
Remy didn't seem to take any comfort in Bobby's reassurances. "No, homme. You don' get it."
"Ok, Gambit, I'm trying here. Cut me some slack. Just tell me the whole fucking story or scram." It was clear that Bobby was sick of this game.
"'Kay." Remy paused a moment, looking from Bobby to the door, as if weighing his options. In a split second, he dove onto the foot of the bed. Bobby quickly pulled his legs to his chest, allowing the Cajun to spread out horizontally on the edge. "I tell you de whole story."
"Ok."
"And you listen?"
"Sure."
"And you don' kick me out or yell or try an' kill me?"
"Not until I hear everything."
Remy seemed satisfied with that answer. He rolled onto his stomach, a hand sliding into his back pocket for a cigarette. Bobby forced his gaze away, trying to ignore that the other man was smoking in his bed. He grabbed an empty Coke can from the floor and tossed it to Remy, "You ash on my bed, I kill you." Remy chuckled and nodded.
"How do I start? Well, I start wit' de trut', I s'pose." He took a long drag, the nicotine calming him. Bobby studied the theif's face, unsure exactly where this story was headed. "It started out back."
"Out back?"
"Oui, in de yard. Po' Remy was jus' sittin' smokin', mindin' himself when his ol' pal Logan shows up."
"Ok, then what? You threw a card at him?"
"Quit skippin' ahead." Remy exhaled, a cloud of tangy smoke forming above the bed. "So dere I was, not doin' not'in to no one. And here comes ol' Wolverine. He say he been lookin fo' me. He say he been lookin' and scentin' fo' me."
Bobby sighed impatiently.
The Cajun frowned, "If'n you want me dead, just' keep on with your sighs and your hurry up's."
"Sorry. Please, continue."
"Like I were sayin', he say he been scentin' me. Which is code." He let the smoke fill his lungs.
"Code?" Bobby's attention was once again snared.
Remy nodded, "Yeah, it mean he wanna fuck me."
Bobby choked. He coughed, and coughed, and coughed, and pounded his chest, gasping for air. Gambit looked more than slightly amused. "What the fuck, LeBeau!"
"I ain't foolin' you, Drake."
"You are, you lying rat. Logan does not want to fuck you."
Remy ashed into the red and white can, "Sure he do."
"No."
"Why would I make dis shit up, Bobby?"
He paused, at a momentary loss. "Because you...you..." He crossed his arms to his chest, "Look, Cajun, Wolverine ain't a queer. I know the guy, and trust me, he does not want to fuck you."
Bobby shuttered at even the thought, before catching the Cajun's serious as shit stare. Remy, sucked on his ciggie, and stated plainly,"If he didn' wanna fuck me, den he wouldn' have."
"Oh my GAAWWWWD!" Bobby wailed, the mental image trampling through his mind, destroying any innocent preconceptions he may have still kept buried in the back of his head. "You mean you--?"
The Cajun nodded, a small smirk plastered on his lips. He spoke, cigarette in mouth, "Sure. We been fuckin' fo' 'while now. Mebbe two, t'ree months..."
"Ugh! Spare me the details. Christ, man. I just...God...I wasn't expecting that." The Iceman shivered.
"We ain't told no one." Gambit's voice lowered. "Just fuck buddies, s'all."
Bobby forced himself to recompose. He nodded, watching cautiously as the other man dropped the cigarette butt into the soda can. "So, um, he was 'scenting' you?"
"Oui. So, we go back behin' de garage. Is a good place to fuck, dat. Hardly anyone goes back dere..."
Bobby made a mental note to *never* go back there.
Gambit fished out another cigarette. Bobby extended his hand, silently bumming one. Remy looked surprised, but complied, lighting two with his finger before passing one to Bobby. "So we back dere, an' I go down on him--"
Bobby coughed on the smoke, "Details, man! Jesus!"
A chortle escaped Remy's lips, "Yeah, right. Sorry. Anyways, we're gettin' into it when he say somet'ing."
"What'd he say?" Bobby ashed into the can thoughfully extended to him.
"He say to me 'Je t'aime'."
Bobby's brow furrowed. "Je t'aime?"
"Oui."
"And it means...?" Bobby's French was a little rusty. He was sure he should know what the phrase meant, but he was at a loss.
Remy sighed, cigarette dangling dangerously from his lips. "Means I love you."
Bobby nodded, his eyes wide, still in disbelief. He still couldn't honestly fathom that any of this was true. "Ok, so, you two are doing the nasty behind the garage, he says he loves you...then what."
"Den I let him finish--"
"LeBeau!"
"--and I try to leave." Remy said between drags. "And Logan come up behin' me and try to talk at me."
"What'd he say?"
Remy had inched his way up the bed and was now level with Bobby. Laying on his back, he took in some air, doing his best impression of the Canadian,"He say, 'You hear what I said, darlin'? I said I love you.' And I says at him, 'My eye.' And he say, 'Why, you don't believe me?' And I says, 'Cher, ain't nobody say dat to me and mean it.' And he say, 'I do.' And I say, 'Fuck you.'"
"So...?" Bobby tried not to cough.
"So den he try to pull me back to 'im. He try to kiss po' Gambit."
"And? By your own admission you two have been fucking for months. What's the big deal?"
"De deal, homme, it dat everyt'ing were just fine. We'd hang out, smoke, get drunk, mebbe play some poker, an' den have de best sex a guy could ever want. Everyt'ing is perfect. No strings, no worries, just two friends fucking each other. Make sense, mon ami?"
Bobby then realized the problem, "So if he says he loves you then it's over? No more casual butt sex, or what ever it is you two do?"
"Oui."
Bobby stole a sideways glance at the Cajun man, noting the dispair in his handsome face. "Why is does it have to be over, Gambit? Why can't things just stay the same?" And why do I care? He asked himself silently.
"He lied to me."
"How do you know?" Bobby rolled onto his side, facing Remy straight on.
The kid milked his cigarette for one last drag, "Like I say befo'. Nobody say dat to me an' mean it. I can tell."
Iceman closed his eyes, vaguely remembering mention of the Cajun having some sort of empathic abilities. He wished he'd paid more attention when the Professor rambled.
"I could tell if he loved me, and he don'."
Bobby shrugged, "Ok, so he lied. So what? Then things are still the same. He doesn't love you, and you don't love him...unless..." Then, it dawned on him. It hit Bobby like a ton of bricks. Or ice. "Oh shit."
The Cajun's head turned quickly, his cheeks burning bright red. His jaw clenched. Bobby wasn't sure if Remy was more angry or embarrassed.
"So, there are emotions in play..." Bobby couldn't help but grin. And giggle.
"Shut up."
"No, no, no, LeBeau. This is just, um, well...to be honest this is completely amusing. I mean come on. Come on! How did I not know about this before? Gambit is in love with Wolverine! Christ, I mean, jeez. Wow!"
"Shhhhh!" Remy hissed angrily. Bobby, realizing he was practically shouting, pulled a pillow to his face to laugh into.
"Ain't funny."
Bobby's shoulders shook. He couldn't stop.
"Right den. Later, Drake."
Remy forced himself upright to leave, a firm hand grabbed his forearm. "I'm done, I swear."
"Ain't funny."
Bobby peered over the pillow, examining Gambit's sad expression. The kid looked like he was about to cry. That couldn't be good. The guy with the tough, fuck you exterior, the devil may care charm, the ladies man persona, sat on Bobby Drake's bed, an emotional wreck. Bobby' hand still rested protectively on the other man's arm. He gave him a reassuring squeeze. "I'm done laughing, Remy."
The kid nodded, sensing the shift in Bobby's mood. He lazed back onto the bed. "So, he lied to me."
"You sure? Maybe you just didn't get a good read on him..."
"No, mon ami. Logan lied to me. He looked me in the eyes and lied to me."
Bobby gently stroked Remy's arm, trying to settled him down. "So, what happened next?"
Remy lowered his eyes, "I say, 'Fuck you, Logan'. An' befo' I can stop myse'f, I got a card from my pocket an' I t'row it at 'im. An' I hit him square in de face. An' I take off like a bat outta hell."
"That probably wasn't a good idea, kid."
"Oui. But alls I kept sayin' was, 'He gonn' kill me. He hate me now, he gonn' kill me.' So, I keep on running 'til I get up here."
"And you rudely break into my room."
"Needed a place to hide."
"Why my room, Remy?"
He shrugged, "Dis is de last place I'd look fer me."
"Good point." Bobby slowly let his hand drop from Gambit's arm. "So now what? You plan on hiding in here forever? 'Til when? I mean, Wolverine is pretty good at waiting around for shit. That guy can hold a grudge like no one's business."
"I know."
"Well, what's your brilliant exit strategy? Hard for me to believe a legendary bullshit artiste like Gambit can't slither his way out of this mess."
"Don' know what to do, cher."
Remy reached for another cigarette. Bobby batted his hand away from the pack. "Stop that, you dumb chain smoking bastard. Suicide via lung cancer is not a viable option."
"Don' know what to do." He repeated numbly.
Bobby sat up straight, crossed legged on the bed. "Jeez, Cajun. You don't hide in my bedroom. You face it like a man. I mean hell, you made the bed, now sleep in it. You and Logan both decided to be fuck buddies, so it's your own fault you let yourself get emotionally involved. But you can't hide from it and pretend nothing's happened, or assume I'm going to let you hide in here."
"He'll kill me." Remy's eyes pleaded.
"No he won't."
"He will. I know him, cher, he will gut me like a catfish."
Bobby snorted, and before he could think twice, he blurted, "Three Benjamins says he won't."
The prospect of a bet caught Remy's attention. "You bullshittin' me, Drake?"
"No. Look, LeBeau, you can take the bet and face Logan on your own, or I can go get Logan and make you face him."
"D'accord." Remy stood slowly, Bobby rose a moment after. "But when he fillets me, you gonn' be de one I curse wit' my dyin' breath."
"Get out of my room, asshole." Bobby jibed, opening the door ahead of Remy.
The Cajun man groaned, leaving as slowly as possible. "Connard."
Bobby slammed the door on him. He shuffled back to bed, sheet still wrapped tight around his nude body. He flicked off the bedside lamp, and sat silently in the dark for several long, arduous minutes. "What the hell am I doing? What if I was wrong? What if Logan does kill him? He'll put some backwoods voodoo curse on me!"
With the silence that comes from years of sneaking around the mansion, Bobby slowly made his way down the hall, down the stairs, following the only light on in the otherwise black building. Scott's office. Two familiar voices carried on a private conversation. Bobby quietly approached, his ears straining to pick up on the heated discussion.
"Are you fucking crazy?"
"I tol' you, it was just a reflex s'all. I weren't trying to hurt you..."
"Ha. Well, funny way of showin' it, Gumbo."
They were silent for a moment before Bobby heard the most terrifying noise he'd every heard. Snikt. A second later, Bobby sighed with relieve, the tell tale sound of a beer can being popped open.
"You lied to me." Bobby could hear Gambit's voice crack.
"I ain't never lied to you, darlin'." Logan growled. Bobby shivered.
"Liar. You tell Remy je t'aime, you tell him dat. Ain't true."
"It is true."
"Non, cher. I can feel it. Dis mon la vérité."
Logan said nothing, he just sniffed. Bobby flattened himself against the wall, praying Logan hadn't caught his scent.
"I ain't the kinda person to lie about something like that, LeBeau." Bobby's face fell, the anger was evident in Wolverine's voice. "But if you say you can't feel it, then maybe I should try and make it more obvious."
"Mais--"
"Shut up Remy."
A muffled whimpered was all Bobby could hear. His pulse quickened. He lightly pressed his ear against the door, hearing only heavy breathing. To his surprise, the door wasn't quite latched shut. He nudged it opened with his nose, his eyes wide in awe.
Remy stood, back pinned against the large window, completely exposed, save Logan's head covering his crotch. Logan's mouth wrapped tightly around Remy's cock, taking in the entire length. The Cajun moaned, "Dieu...Dieu..."
Logan slowed his pace, tenderly and deliberately teasing Remy. The younger man reached for Logan's head, in a desperate, vain attempt to speed things up. Logan fiercly swatted the unwanted limb away, letting Remy's throbbing cock slip from his mouth, "No. Hands off."
The kid complied, and Logan resumed his worked. His head bobbed slowly, his eyes gazing up, watching pleasure dance over Remy's face. Logan took him in deeply, keeping an easy, steady rhythm.
Lust permeated the office. Bobby couldn't stop from grasping as his own needy erection. He was hard as a rock, he needed to come. Thoughtlessly releasing his grip on his sheet/outfit, he worked on his cock, fucking his own hand in time to Logan's careful movements.
"Dieu...don' stop, cher..." Remy begged.
Logan growled in response, causing the younger man to writhe with pleasure. He steadily sped up, tongue swirling over the pulsating cock. A big, firm hand reached around, grasping at Remy's ass, spreading the cheeks apart. A thick finger eagerly teased at the tight hole, the tip entering and leaving quickly.
Remy's eyes grew wide. He stared down at Logan, licking his lips. A slew of emotions crashed into him like a tidal wave. Lust, jealousy, anger, concern, forgiveness...love. There was no mistaking it now. Remy was tempted to drag the shorter man up off his knees and just hold him. But his cock, being so lovingly sucked needed further attention. Remy instead fed off the emotions, returning them in kind.
Bobby's breathing hitched as he felt the familar wave of climax sweep over him. It took all of his strength not to gasp outloud as he came into his hand. Grabbing blindly for the sheet, he stumbled haphazardly down the hall, seeking a moment to recover in a dark shadow.
Remy picked up on an unfamilar , yet overpowering rush of lust. It was all he needed to send him over the edge. He clenched onto Logan's shoulders, fucking the other man's mouth quickly to orgasm. The Canadian nursed his cock, swallowed his seed eagerly. Remy sank forward, leaning heavily on Logan. "Je suis désolé."
"Believe me yet?"
The kid nodded, "I'm so stupid..."
"I know. That don't make me love you any less." Logan rose to his feet, half dragging Remy toward the door. "Don't ferget yer shorts, Gumbo. Scooter'lll shit a brick if he finds those in here..."
Remy snorted, grabbing the discarded cut-offs. Logan gently urged him into the dark, still hallway. "I'm tired, cher. Come tuck me in."
Logan grunted, gazing at a human shaped outline against the stairwell, "How 'bout you, Snowball? Need me to tuck you in too?" His lips twisted into a menacing grin.
Bobby grimaced at being caught. "No thanks, gentlemen. I am quite capable of getting myself to bed."
"Have fun, mon ami?" Remy beamed.
Bobby ignored him as the three walked silently upstairs. Before parting ways, Bobby tapped the Cajun's shoulder, whispering as quietly as he could, "Il vous aime."
Remy nodded as Bobby padded back to his room, wrapped tightly in that wickedly dirty sheet, and whispered softly, "Merci."
Bobby turned quickly "Hey, LeBeau?"
"Oui?" The Cajun leaned against his doorframe. Wolverine peered out from Gambit's room.
"I'll get your money tomorrow...Three hundred."
Remy winked at him before yawning happily, "Keep it, cher. Don' need it."
Bobby silently basked in the relief, "Well then, gentlemen, good night."
"Bon nuit, Drake."
Logan grunted, closing the door tight. Bobby stood still in the hall, his mind wanting to grasp exactly what he had witnessed. Shrugging, he heard his bed call his name. It could wait 'til morning.