Title: Murder by Gaslight 1/?
Author: Gothabilly13
Fandom: X-Men, AU SLASH
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Logan/Remy
Summary: It's the fall of 1888, Something is stalking the streets of London. The gifted men of Sir Charles Xavier are needed to help find the evil. A tricky thief throws a wrench in the works.
Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men Fandom or Characters. I make no money from writing these fictions.
A/N: This is Steampunk X-Men. I was inspired by something Cee said and encouraged by Sarah, it's really not all my fault. I think this could be AWESOME, if I pull it off.
So here is a teaser to see if anyone else likes where I'm headed. I have not forgotten my other fics! I just wanted to try and do something for the Halloween challenge on Logan_Remy. Oh yeah and there are some cameos by Abberline and Godley of 'From Hell'
FYI: Steampunk is set in an era or world where steam power is still widely used—usually the 19th century, and often set in Victorian era England—but with prominent elements of either science fiction or fantasy, such as fictional technological inventions like those found in the works of HG Wells and Jules Verne. In case you were unfamiliar with the term.
Feedback NEEDED.
Chapter 1
August 1888, Whitechaple, London
The muffled screams went unheard as the dark deed was perpetrated. Slashing, cutting, the gush of blood. Unseen and unknown, a woman called Martha lost her life in a dark alley under the stairs. When the last breath was expelled, the shadow slipped away, unobserved.
The papers screamed of murder most foul the next morning, all of London was a buzz. Viciousness of this kind never seen before in the bulging metropolis. The police were baffled and rumors were spreading like wildfire.
On the outskirts of the city, in the walls of Xavier estate, Sir Charles Xavier the third, sat in his study. The newspaper lay on his desk. The evil story splashed across the front page. He rubbed his temple with one hand and sighed deeply.
The psychic backlash from the events unfolding, were giving him a headache. His ward and soon to be daughter-in-law, Jean, was feeling it as well. The poor girl was laid up in her room with a migraine from it.
There was knock at the door and a moment later his son, poked his head in the room. The morning sunlight glittered off his ruby lens goggles.
"Father, an Inspector Abberline is here from Scotland Yard. He wishes to speak with you." the young man said, stepping fully into the room. He was dressed in his riding clothes. High black boots, black trousers with sable waistcoat. He cocked his head and looked at his father.
"Yes, Thank you, Scott. I will see him in the sun room." Charles smiled thinly and nodded to his son. "How is Jean fairing?" he asked as he rolled his wheelchair from behind the desk. Scott moved to give him room.
The chair was a creation of Charles' genius mechanic, an exotic man named Forge. It ran on steam power and could race along the halls at quite a clip. The young man was uncanny in his ability to make gadgets and machines that worked perfectly.
Charles turned the chair out the door and Scott fell in step behind him.
"She is still suffering. I don't know what else to do for her. Hank said to keep giving her the drafts he prescribed but they don't seem to make much difference." The young man sounded pained. Charles knew it troubled his son, to be unable to help his ailing fiancee. The emotion between the two had been tangible since they were 6 and 7 years old. When Lady jean Gray came to live with them.
Assuring his son that she would recover, they made their way into the sun room. The porter showed the inspector in.
He was a striking fellow, Charles noticed. Black hair, only slightly unkempt. Dark eyes that seemed to dominate his handsome face. He was a bit thin and pale. The psychic picked up the tang of opium in the man's energy and his heart fell. The Inspector may be brilliant but he was shackled by his addiction.
"Good mornin', Sir, I'm sorry to bother you so early but I was told you might be able to 'elp me wif some information." The young officer held his gloves in his hands, twisting them. Charles smiled warmly and waved for the man to sit.
"No bother at all, Inspector. What can I be of help with?" he asked and nodded to Scott who hurried off to call for tea. Abberline sat stiffly and leaned on his knees.
"I'm sure you've read t'papers this mornin', sir. There is somefin' not normal bout this murder an' I was told...that...well.." he trailed off, trying to find the right words.
Charles reached out with his gift, ignoring the lull of the drug that still clung to the man's psyche. He delved in and discovered that the policeman had a low level gift of his own.
"Yes...Inspector, I know what you are trying to say. I can tell that you are not unfamiliar with what I am known for." he replied and watched the young man go even paler. "I am sure you can feel what I and my ward have been suffering with this horror. You try to stifle it but it comes through anyway, does it not?" he asked and leaned his elbow on the arm of his chair. Resting his chin on his fist, he studied the inspector with calm gray eyes.
Abberline looked stunned and gaped his mouth for a few moments. Collecting himself, he gave a dry chuckle and sighed.
"M'sergeant told me I'd be in good comp'ny." he said and tried to shake off the shivers that racked his body. "'Ave you gotten anyfin' from...what 'as 'appened?" he asked and looked embarrassed by the question. Charles took a breath and frowned.
"The only clear things I have gotten, other than a blinding headache, are that he isn't finished and there is something shielding him from discovery." he said. Abberline looked pained again and nodded his head.
"I get pictures of what 'e does to 'em. It's ghastly." He rubbed his face and then looked around as the maid came in with a tray.
"Ah, Miriam, thank you, my dear." Charles said as she laid them their tea and scones. "Please, have some, Inspector. I am sure you have been on the job all night. No time to break your fast while hunting murderers." The policeman smiled and thanked the nobleman.
"Tell me when you began to get these kinds of visions." Charles said, making the man pause in his sip. Abberline shook his head and smiled again. After taking his sip, he told Xavier all he could remember about his 'gift'.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
It was strange on the streets tonight, the people were disturbed by the horrific murder and wondering who could have done such a thing.
Remy LeBeau sauntered through the Whitechaple district with a warm buzz and pockets full of gambling winnings. He smiled at the working girls who cooed and called to him. Their Cockney accents sounding musical to his ears. He swept into the next pub, a place called The Ten Bells, and took a seat at the rail.
Slapping the bar, he called for whiskey and laid his coin on the wood. His bronze plated boots rang against the boot rail and he caught the attention of most of the patrons.
His long leather coat swung behind him as he sat on the stool. The dark glassed spectacles caused speculation and murmurs.
Two buxom lasses stepped to his side without a thought, leaning in and jabbering to him. He was a beautiful man with expensive clothing and foolish bravado.
They expected, either way, it was win-win for them. If they rolled him for his purse, they were sure to get a heavy one. If he took them for a tumble, then he was sure to pay well. And who wouldn't want a tumble with such a fine figure of a man?
"Easy now, Cheries, There is enough of Remy to go around." he said, his French accent making them titer with giggles.
He downed the drink when the barkeep set it before him. "Another, Garçon." he said and laid out more coin. "And for the mademoiselles as well." The smile was wide and engaging.
The women cheered and downed their drinks. Remy felt a warm prickling on the back of his neck. Someone was watching him with a heavy gaze.
Wrapping his arms around the women's waists, he herded them to a booth and set his back to the wall. He flirted and teased, buying them drinks and studying the crowed subtly. After about ten minutes, he found the source.
On the other side of the room, in a corner by the window, sat a man alone, in shadow. He seemed to be staring at the young man and the two tarts.
Feeling irritation at this unwanted attention, Remy excused himself. Telling the women we would be back, he headed outside, pretending he needed a piss.
Instead, he slipped round the corner and flattened against the wall. He could hear the shuffling and loud chatter of the people walking the street. Further down the alley, a whore was servicing her john. Remy ignored it all. Listening for the step of heavy steel toed boots, like those he had seen under the table in the pub.
And there is was, a soft chinking sound on the cobble stones. He held his breath and pushed his glasses up on his head. His night vision turning the darkness into twilight.
There was a strange moment of silence and then, Remy felt a hand like iron clamp around his throat.
The arm having come around the corner before it's owner, took him by surprise. The young man struggled and fought as he was pinned to the brick wall. Angry blue eyes pierced into him and a deep growl rumbled up.
"What are you doing in London, Thief?" the man demanded and shook the slender frame a little. Remy went from fighting for his life to relief to wanting to bolt, in a matter of seconds.
"L-Logn...M-Mon Amie...What are you doing in London?" he asked, choking on the still firm hold on his throat. He tried to push a little charm but it was hard when his words were not smooth and seductive. Logan shook his head and let go of the long neck.
"I asked you fist." he said, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
His reenforced boots came to the knee and had armored plates. His leather long coat was weather beaten and scuffed. He glared at the thief with a steely look and then scratched at his mutton chops. Remy smoothed his coat and shirt before rubbing his aching throat.
"Just on Holiday. How about you?" He smiled and leaned against the wall casually. Logan snorted and shook his head.
"Here visiting friends. Then the Yard asked for my advice and assistance, on account of the murder." his voice dipped at the dark word. Remy's brow arched and he seemed to hold back a smirk.
"Yes, terrible thing, I read about it this morning. So, why did you feel the need to choke Remy as a greeting?" he asked, pulled a cigarillo from his pocket and lit it. Logan grunted and rolled his eyes then stole one for himself. He drew hard before blowing out a long breath.
"You are forgetting the last time we saw each other." he stated and turned his head toward the sounds of the whore and her client finishing their business. Making a disgusted face, he looked back at Remy.
"Still haunting the same quality areas, I see." he replied and grabbed the young man by the elbow. "Walk with me, LeBeau." he said and pulled the man along. Remy gave a squawk of indignation but stumbled after him.
"You can't still be sore about that, Logan. Really, it was all in good fun." the thief protested and tried to squirm out of his hold. Logan ignored his prattle and dragged the young man up the street. The pair getting lewd calls and comments from the people they passed.
"Yes, I am sure, being left naked in a bayou shack, in the middle of the stinking swamp, is nothing to a bog frog like you. But to me, it was damned infuriating." He growled and ushered Remy faster.
"Aww, Cher. You can't be thinking so badly of Remy. It wasn't his fault, honestly." the thief said as he was led into a modest hotel. Paying the blinking reception keep no mind, Logan pushed Remy up the stairs and down the long dark hall. Remy felt his skin flush with adrenaline and he took a deep breath.
"Where you taking Remy?" he asked, his voice wavering ever so slightly. Logan keyed open a door and hauled the man in.
Slamming it behind him, he locked the door and turned to stare at the young man. Remy's long copper hair had been mussed in the choking and fast march. Several fine tendrils slipped free of the tie, to cling to his neck and jaw. Full pouting lips gasped short breaths as he watched the stocky man with trepidation.
Logan shook his head and shucked his coat. The tea dyed shirt was linen and stretched over his muscled chest pleasantly. He walked slowly toward Remy, his fingers clasping and unclasping.
"You welched on a bet, Swamp Rat. You owe me." he said and lunged to catch the slim body as it moved to break for the door. Arms like tree trunks wrapped around the slender waist and held him fast.
"Non, Remy didn't welch. Told you, wasn't his fault. M. Creed and M. Essex detained Remy against his will." he said frantically while he was pushed backwards into the wall. His back flush with the surface and Logan's muscled body pressed tight to his.
"Likely excuse." Logan said and lowered his mouth on the sensual lips. The kiss was hard and deep, tongue delving with violence. Remy struggled for a beat before the man's lust overpowered him. Moaning wantonly, he returned the kiss, long arms wrapping around Logan's neck.
TBC? What do you think? Tell me, tell me, tell me!