The Fallen and the Angel

It’s too hot to sleep. I needed to feel a little wind in my feathers, and it helps cool me off, but I’m still restless. Know what’s better than counting the stars? Flying high enough to reach out and touch them. This is my playground.



But that’s not the only reason I came out. It’s not my turn yet in our little game.



We live in a crowded house. Discretion’s important.



He said he was going to turn in early. You know as well as I do that that’s a likely story. Remy’s as nocturnal as Logan, and I know he’s not sleeping. He’s waiting. But I like being fashionably late. It’s another rule of the game.



No strings. No questions. No overthinking it. And to be honest, no words. We never made it to this point with small talk. This is about attraction, and needs, his and mine, and if you want me to be honest, it’s about convenience.



I know it’s crazy. But being in the line of work we are has never been sane, and I gave up sanity a long time ago when I tried to kill myself. One last flight. One last chance to go down in a blaze of glory. I stole the sky back after it was taken away from me, for those last few seconds… but I woke up on a lab table. Apocalypse made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, and I sold him my soul. Warren Worthington, fallen Angel. I lied to myself that my new calling as a killer was his fault, that he forced it on me. I lost my wings playing the hero, remember.



So by rights, I should hate Gambit. I do. I don’t have any easy explanations for why things changed. You keep your enemies closer. That doesn’t mean you fuck them until you collapse.



I had to walk in his shoes before I could judge him. That thought came to me one night, while I was awake listening to him breathe. When this started, we hardly touched after we finished. The emotions were too raw, and I felt too exposed, allowing him into my head. He’d betrayed me once, and I’d lost everything. Fool me once, shame on you. Your second attempt may well get you killed.



It meant nothing to fuck. Like I said, I have needs. And the Cajun got under my skin. It’s those damned eyes. And that smirk. God, it makes me want to knock him on his ass one second, and bend him over the next.



I don’t want his apologies. They’ve healed none of my wounds, but there’s no better solace than sex. Unbridled, no-awkward-looks-in-the-morning, where-did-I-leave-my-pants sex.



Speaking of which…



Right on time. Look at him, shuffling his cards. I can hear his music from all the way out here. It’s not loud; he knows better than to blast it when Slim’s banged on his door before and nagged him to turn it down. I just have sharp ears and eyes. I can see everything from here, especially everything he wants me to see. Remy looks damned good, just humming along with his BB King and swinging his leg out the window. I respect a man who’s not afraid of heights, since his room’s on the third story. I like watching him play with the cards, because I like his hands. I shiver when I think of how they feel on me, and when I remember all of the wicked things they can do.



It’s sultry out, and the air feels thick, but there’s a low breeze building that’s still not enough to cool the sweat running down my back. I don’t mind the heat, though. My metabolism helps me adjust quickly, and clichéd as it sounds, birds are fair weather friends. I’m in my element.



…did he just moan? Mmmmmmmm. Yeah. He did.



He knows I’m here. I feel it, right there, just that light caress of my consciousness. He feels what I’m feeling, and it gets my juices flowing. Feel this, Cajun. Feel how hard my cock got just from watching you, seeing you smile like that, because you know it turns me on. You don’t know the things I wanna do to your mouth, Remy.



Teasing bastard. Ooohhhhh… That’s it. Touch yourself. Get rid of your shirt, Remy. It’s too hot out for clothes. I know what you really want when you suck your finger like that. I know what you wish it was, dipping into your mouth, pushing inside, waiting for you to make it hot and wet.



That’s it. Stand up and let your angel look. You’re killing me, Remy. I should hate you, but damn it, I can’t. Not tonight.



I want to feel those nails running down my back. It makes me almost come just thinking about it. That’s it, Remy. Take off your pants. Sure. Take your sweet time, buddy. Once that ass is bare, it’s mine. God, I’m hard. Just a stroke, just a quick…no. If I keep going, I’ll get off before I take him. That’s not an option.



But I just need a second. That’s it, open the fly. Yeah. Yeah. Open it up, let me see it. Beautiful. You’re a natural redhead, Cajun. I can see that from here. I lick my lips. I want to taste him. I want him so bad. And I know he wants it, too, because he’s stroking himself, just a little, just a quick tease.



Bastard. I can feel him, because he’s projecting. And he’s laughing at me!



That’s it. No more playing nice…



He has the nerve to turn away from me, but he opened the window all the way to make room for me. So damned smug.



He doesn’t say anything when I land almost soundlessly. He doesn’t look embarrassed at being caught “indisposed.” Not at all. He’s hard, practically dripping, and I lick my lips because I want to taste him. Then I want to make him beg. And his eyes are doing something to me; they’re already begging me, Take me. Take what you want. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, then I’m as good as damned, because his make me want to sin. I don’t want to make love to him. I want to break him. I need to fuck him. It’s the only thing that will fix this.



He smiles. That wicked, naughty smirk that drives me crazy. That won’t do at all. There’s better things he can do with that mouth… I stalk over and reach for him, and suddenly he’s moaning into my mouth; I don’t even remember the first stroke of his lips or where the kiss began, but it’s getting results. I want him. Oh, God, how I want the Cajun. I just hold him, practically trapping him with my wings, because I need to be near him, feel him against all of me. And he likes it, enjoys my possession, because the secret about the Cajun that no one else knows is that he’s been abandoned before. More than once. He craves the feeling of belonging to someone. He’s no loner like Logan, or Ororo. When Rogue banished him from us, she destroyed him. Once again, Remy LeBeau was thrown away. He’s begging with me not to stop, and his fingers are combing through my feathers. I told you he likes it…



I love the spicy smell of his skin and hair, and I can’t get close enough to him. My arms lock around him, and I cup his ass. It’s firm and feels good to grab, and I can’t help giving it a hard little slap. Remy chuckles beneath my lips, and I rub it to take away the sting. I grind against him, and his cock’s begging me for attention, rubbing against mine and asking it to come out and play. I’m already dripping. That’s how much I want him. That’s it, Remy, make that little sound for me…



I only let him break the kiss when I notice that he’s letting his mouth slide down my body, going exactly where I need him. Tricky thief’s fingers undo my zipper and pull me out, and my cock’s impatient, craving the warm breath that mists over the head. His mouth wraps around me like velvet, and his moan vibrates through me, turning me into jelly.



It’s too good. Perfect. A guilty little voice in the back of my mind knows this isn’t just about pleasure. He wants to smooth old hurts between us, and there’s guilt etched in every touch, apology in every kiss, each smooth lap of his tongue. I don’t hate Remy, because I can’t. I was an angel of Death, fueled by anger and hate. If I let myself keep feeling that way toward Remy, then I fall back into that dark place. If I don’t let him reach out to me, if I don’t accept and share his burden, then I’m crushed beneath it, myself.



My breath catches in my throat, and I feel Remy on the fringes of my consciousness. He’s enjoying this, he’s getting off on the effect he’s having on me. I feel his lust lick over me, and my hips jerk, shoving me more deeply down his throat. He takes me to the hilt, letting the head of my cock buffet his tonsils. His fingers comb through my bush and caress the base, and my skin’s heating up in his grip. I didn’t think I could get any hotter. He knows how to push my buttons. His other hand is busy cupping me, gently rolling my balls and making them draw up, tight and stiff. I’m losing it, because he’s treating my body so well and knows all of its secrets.



“Tencule moi mon ange.” He murmurs it so softly I almost don’t hear him, and it takes a moment for my brain to kick back into gear from one of the best blowjobs I’ve ever had to realize he’s speaking French. His hands are all over me and it’s driving me crazy to listen to his swallowing me. Those low, huffy grunts pulse through me and make me tingle. Look at him; I like that look he gives me. Those eyes of his laugh, whether his mouth’s smiling or not. I feel a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of my mouth, but he won’t let me get away with it… God, there’s the tongue. He’s…oh, God.



You like my cock? Have some more. Bad Remy. He likes it when I boss him around, and if we get a little rough, it’s okay. I never dish out anything that he can’t handle, and I love his hair. It feels good to tangle my fingers in it and pull on it, dragging his mouth where I want it.



But I can’t resist him. I need… I just need. Damn it. My cock’s throbbing to bury itself in him. It doesn’t matter where, but he’s teasing me, and I want to kiss him again. I hate pulling him off of me when we’re getting to the good part, but he needs to get back up here. He sounds sexy when I kiss him, moaning like he’s satisfied, but I want to give him more.



Those damn jeans have to go. Sure, Remy, laugh it up. Just wait til I get you on your back. He’s grinning at me again, and I peel him out of those Levi’s like he’s a banana. He’s enjoying it, me playing rough, and his legs open for me when I push him back against the mattress. I get another flash of lust from him, and there’s just this moment…I feel how he sees me when I’m hovering over him, how hot he thinks I am, how much he wants me. It’s a rush.



I have to get inside him. Fingers first, even though I can tell he’s ready, but I don’t want to hurt him. His hips are bucking up toward me, exposing that sweet little hole that’s just begging for attention. I suck on my digits, kiss him, and keep his mouth busy while I probe him. Damn it, he’s tight…feels like silk. He’s working himself into the thrust of my fingers, rocking against them, and now that’s naked, I can’t resist the feeling of his skin against mine. I lean in closer, and I hiss out when I feel his cock brush against mine. I only remove my hand long enough to shrug off my shirt, which Remy’s already scraping down my shoulders, impatient to look at me, and again, I sense that attraction from him and see it in his eyes how much he likes just looking at me.



I need you so much right now, Remy. I can’t wait anymore, and I know you can’t, either, when you’re whispering my name like that against my lips, sounding more and more desperate each time I rub my cock against your crease this time, teasing you, just barely pushing myself inside. Kiss me again, Remy. Let me lose myself in you.



His face looks so stunned when I seat myself in him with one neat, hard thrust. My brain short-circuits at how tight he is and how he’s pulsing around my cock, muscles squeezing my length. He feels so right, and I can’t help but give in to the primitive urge to thrust, deeper, faster, harder, wanting to mark him. Yes. Yes. Please. Please, Remy. The words beat like a tattoo in my head, even though I won’t let myself say them. It doesn’t work that way. If you haven’t guessed it by now, we don’t talk when we fuck. There’s a time and a place for it, but talking makes us lose focus. All I want to do when I’m with Remy is feel. Not think.



I listen to his breathing change, watch his eyes roll back in his head from the pace I set for him. I bang into him, giving him what he needs, and he’s practically folded in half from the angle of my body, but every thrust is hitting his prostate. I’ll be impressed if we don’t break the bed… I hold onto his lean hips, and my nails will leave marks on him in the morning, but he’ll forgive me. I can feel the change in him and see him falling over the edge, and his eyes are pulling me into it, he’s sharing how good it feels. A few more hard, sharp thrusts and he comes apart beneath me, and I feel him drench my middle with his cum, leaving my skin sticky and hot. But it’s not enough, because damn it, I still want him.



I can’t stop, and he’s fine with it, because he’s holding on to me, and even though we’ve got this little agreement that we won’t ruin it by talking, I can hear him. I’ve got him gasping, and he’s practically speaking in tongues. “More…more, cher…Dieu, but you feel good…so good. Fuck…jus’ like dat. Desole, cher…Remy sorry…non…don’…don’ stop.” His words are punctuated by the audible, steady slap of my balls against his and the creaks of the mattress, and I feel an odd pang at the mist of tears I see gathering in his eyes. That’s not physical pain; I’ve moved him. And I’m lost in him, just how I wanted to be, and my body heed’s Remy’s call until I feel my climax break loose.



His hands are all over me, pulling at me, kneading me and combing through my feathers, and I make him come - again! - as my body keeps pumping me into him, stealing that last jolt of pleasure and trying to make it last. My juices erupt inside him, and he clenches himself around me to keep me there and absorb my heat. My breathing sounds ragged to my own ears, and Remy’s not in any better shape.



I collapse against him, and my temple’s pressed against his pulse. Those thief’s hands are caressing me, even though I know I’m covered with sweat. He doesn’t complain about my weight pressing him down into the bed. We just loll together while my cock slips free from him, and I feel him drifting into a stupor, listening to his breathing slow down.



I lay with him until he falls asleep. His skin feels cool as a low breeze kicks up outside, sweeping out a hint of the funk we created. For a few moments I just look at him, and he’s smiling in his sleep. Wonder why… I caress his cheek, just the slightest graze of my knuckles, and I ease out of bed, but not before I pull up the sheet and a light blanket to cover him to his chest. Dream about me if you want, Remy. But I won’t stay. Like I said, no strings. No questions. For a moment, I feel his empathy slip away, and I know Remy’s just given me one last caress before I leave, too. I almost regret its loss, because now I really am going to sleep alone. But I always feel as though I take a part of him with me, that same part of him that I own every time I stare into those incredible eyes.