The Streets

God, but the kid could be annoying as hell. Throwing a punch at the grinning figure he had it met by empty air as the Cajun arched backwards, down low over his heels. The only way he figured the kid should be able to make a move like that was that his spine must be some sort of liquid rather than bone. There was no way he could match that kind of flexibility otherwise.



Remy bounced up and turned the full watt grin back on him. “So why not? I know it is down dere. Annnd I know what y’all do. Can hold my own.” The kid was still yabbering on about the damn jet and the team, which was pretty much an endless conversation with him since he’d sussed it out weeks back. While he was distracted with trying to come up with an answer that would finally shut the kid up once and for all, Remy swooped in around with a high kick to his face. It was a cheeky move - you had to be quick to try kicking high or your adversary could get you by the leg and then you were screwed.



Remy was quick enough.



Grunting hard, he stepped back a few steps, wiping repeatedly at the bloody nose he’d gotten, knowing as the throbbing pain quickly faded that it would be already healed. And crap, he still hadn’t thought up a good final answer to the kid, so he gave him the obvious - which Remy should be able to repeat by now by heart. “It’s cause you’re reckless for one. Plus we’re still getting to know you.” The kid back-flipped out of his way as he lunged again, cause him to miss again with what he’d hoped would be a good punch to the kid’s gut to knock some of the wind and questions out of him.



“So I’m what? On probation? Still?” Remy stopped for a moment and looked at him, chest heaving from the workout that he’d been getting. Xavier had paired them together when it came apparent that Remy was way above starting class level. They couldn’t very well just toss him in with the team training either though, so he’d got stuck doing one on one with him.



Today the pair of them had been at it hard for a good two hours and the brat still looked like he had a lot of spunk left in him. He wondered what it would take to wear it out of him so that he’d stop annoying the hell out of everyone within a ten foot radius for at least tonight. Everyone but Marie, he amended, which simply pissed him off even more. Maybe he should make the kid jog. But then he’d probably have to jog along to make sure the kid was doing it, which vetoed that idea. Hmm. Maybe he could exercise him like the people that ran their dogs beside them while they biked. That bore further consideration.



Remy was still watching him for an answer so he grunted out a bored reply. “Yeah, kid. You aren’t ready yet.” For whatever reason, that bland answer ticked the kid right off when it hadn’t all the days before it. He could see it in those oddly coloured eyes moments before Remy launched himself in a series of moves, blindingly fast and precise. Now that was one thing with this kid that he had to give him full marks for. He took fighting seriously. With a capital S. He’d started off as a damn good street fighter which was then coupled with amazing flexibility and reflexes that had to be part of his mutation. The few months he’d worked with him had honed Remy well; made him more refined and had tightened up the spots he’d previously left open. He knew that the Cajun probably could whip pretty much any of the kids here – at least if it was just hand to hand without powers. They didn’t even know how he’d do fighting with them as they hadn’t even tried him with powers yet, due to the very nature of them. An earlier demonstration that Remy had given when they were assessing him had made him thankful that the kid hadn’t let go of his claw that day in the elevator.



Still, he’d been doing this for a long time - a lifetime or maybe lifetimes for all he knew. At any rate it was a helluva lot longer than Remy had been doing it. He had the kid down and pinned in a few minutes, even if he wore several rapidly healing marks for his troubles. Remy struggled furiously when he got him down, even though the kid had to know this hold wasn’t one he could break. To underline that fact he tightened it a bit, which made lines settle deep on Remy’s brow and his lips go tight with pain. Little bastard didn’t stop though, which ratcheted up his opinion again both on how tough and how dumb this kid was.



“Stop being an idiot and give. Ain’t smart fighting to bust your arm, bub, and its stupid things like this that keep you from gettin’ on the team.”



A stream of gritted out gutter French greeted him in response. After a long moment Remy did give though, and accordingly he relaxed the hold he had on him, looking down at the sweat matted hair, flushed cheek and thin slitted eye. “Look Cajun. Life isn’t always about fighting the hardest. It’s fighting smart. And I know you know how to fight. That’s until you get pissed off. Then it all goes right out the window. Fighting like that you’ll get hurt or you’ll get others hurt.”



The Cajun didn’t seem to be paying as much attention to his lecture, which was irritating. Instead the kid was peering over him though his half closed eyes. Not in a way where he met his eye and let him know that he was hearing at least one god damned word in five – it was more a sort of watching like he was sizing him up or something.



Frustrated, he let go of the hold, expecting the kid to scramble up from under him and get into sparring position again or at worse stomp off in a snit to the showers since he’d told him he didn’t pass muster and then mushed his face into the mats. Instead Remy shifted, stretching in a way that highlighted every muscle, houndish body arching up to press against him where hovered over the kid. Startled, he went to lift off of him, but Remy sat up enough to loop an arm around his neck and grinned. “Seems I got y’ in a bit of a hold now, neh?”



“Quit playing around kid. I keep telling you this isn’t some game.” The smile was wiped off of Remy’s face at those words, but the kid didn’t let him go.



“Ain’t some game.” His words were underscored by a squirm that definitely laid any questions that he was getting hit on to rest. “And I’ve told y’ over and over dat I ain’t a kid.” And then the Remy’s lips were on his, in a kiss that was surprisingly gentler than what he ever could have expected from this jaded street brat. Soft and warm, with a slight ghost of a breath as Remy shifted under him and slanted his head to take his lips on more fully.



God...and did he ever know how to kiss.



Dazed, he jerked when he felt the testing flick of a tongue over his bottom lip. Breaking it off with a twist of his head to one side he pulled back as much as he could, glaring hard at the kid. “I told you to knock this shit off.” And then just as suddenly as he’d been clung onto, Remy flung him off with a well placed knee in the chest; leaving him laying on his side frustrated and confused as the kid got to his feet and just stood there, watching him.



Shit, it wasn’t like he’d ever let a guy kiss him before. He was pretty damn sure of that, at least as sure as he could be given that he only remembered a handful of years. So why he’d even let the kid get as far as he had was a fucking mystery. Hell – still he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t busted the kid’s nose for him. To top it off, he wasn’t quite sure what to do now. When Remy had first got to the school, he’d hit on him and it had rang false. His moves had been practiced – very professional. He knew that the kid had done it for many reasons – but desire wasn’t one of them.



Now, well, he could smell him in the air and on his own skin and clothes where Remy had touched him. The kid smelt, not to put a fine point on it, horny as hell - a mix that was sharp in his nostrils but far from unpleasant. One discrete look at the kid’s shorts definitely answered any lingering suspicions. Remy turned his side to him, bending to retrieve a water bottle, stance all stiff and obviously intensely embarrassed. The kid’s mask was back into place, but he couldn’t fool his nose.



He said the only thing he could think of. “You wanna spar some more? Or you done for the day?”



He’d not thought he’d ever see anything in that kids poker face other than flashes of hot anger as they boiled through. But this time he saw a quick twist of something he could only name as hurt before the jaw firmed into an angry clench. “I’m done.” The kid turned on his heel and stalked off then, leaving him to try and puzzle out what had just happened and what the fuck he was supposed to do about it now.